L. Modesitt - Scion of Cyador

“In the Mirror Lancers, an officer faces far more dangers. One must develop many successors. Then…one may survive who has the training and the talents. As you pointed out, not all of those possible successors have the same patrons or goals.” Rynst closes his mouth as the rear doors of the chamber open and as Bluoyal hurries toward them to wait for the arrival of the Emperor and his consort.

Lorn sits at the desk in his personal quarters, looking down at the glass as he has done so many evenings before. It has been nearly an eightday since the Sligan vessel ported and departed, and but a single coaster has shown up since-and no larger vessels.

Still…it will take time for the word to spread, and longer yet for masters and traders to take risks, for they tend to trust little that is not certain. Lorn frowns, thinking about trust. In the end, is trade based as much upon trust as the value of the goods? He laughs. Another simple question with a simple answer. Of course it is, for no trader can verify in advance the true value of all goods. They may be poorly made within; or good grain may surround poor, good cotton be wrapped over that of lesser quality.

With a deeper breath, Lorn looks back down at the glass, concentrating and seeking Baryat yet again.

When the silver mists swirl and part, the image shows the grower talking to a tall and thin man wearing gray and a black leather vest, who holds a bow. Lorn frowns. Archers-good archers-can kill without being visible.

Lorn understands the grower’s concern or anger, but he wonders again how much is grief over a missing daughter and how much is anger and fear over the loss of golds and possible discovery of past bribes. While Lorn remains troubled over the woman’s death, he has seen enough to know that all too many in Cyador do not value daughters over golds. Even that observation troubles him, true as he knows it to be.

Lorn’s eyes drop as he considers the trade laws of Cyador that Baryat has already violated. It has taken Lorn almost the entire eightday to read the copy of the tariffs and laws he has borrowed from Neabyl and to find the sections which apply to Baryat. Those laws are most clear. One who bribes an enumerator can lose all his lands, and his life. Lorn’s problem is simple, however. He cannot prove such bribery, nor who bribed whom. The reaction of the Sligan ship master, however, was yet another confirmation of Flutak’s corruption.

As for the grower Baryat, Lorn may be able to prove that Baryat has hired a mercenary to kill him-a different offense, and also punished by death.

Finally, he shrugs. Tomorrow, he will act. There is little he can do at the moment that would further what he intends.

He takes a sip of the water in the mug, then shifts the larger sheets of paper so they are beside his right hand before he refocuses his concentration upon the chaos-glass once more.

When the image-that of a farm valley with a road along the ridge to the west-appears, Lorn looks from the image in the glass to the paper beside him on the quarters’ desk, slowly drawing in the course of the stream, and the position of the hamlet that lies a good hundred kays west of Jera, nearly on the edge of the Hills of Endless Grass.

In nearly five eightdays of working with the glass daily-mainly in the evenings, he has developed both a series of maps, and a growing concern about the barbarian depredations. There are no Mirror Lancer outposts along the northwest coast of Cyador-not west of Biehl, in any case. Inividra is the closest main outpost to Biehl, and it lies a good two hundred kays east-southeast of Lorn’s compound.

In the recent past, the Jeranyi barbarian attacks have been directed more at those sections of Cyador where the Grass Hills are narrow and more passable. The very ruggedness of that part of the Grass Hills that lies east of Biehl has been protection enough-that, and the fact that there is even less for raiders to seize that is close to the Grass Hills.

Lorn pushes away those thoughts for the moment, and concentrates on transferring what he is seeing to the map he is creating.

When the knives begin to jab into his eyes once more, he sets aside the glass, and stands, pacing around the small study of his quarters. As time has passed, he has become more adept, and can use the glass longer, but the end result is always the same. Or is that because he pushes until he reaches that point?

He pauses in his pacing to take yet another sip from the mug.

In the early morning light that fills the commander’s study, as he waits for Helkyt to appear, Lorn reads through the Emperor’s Code once more-the lines of the tariff and administrative laws. He shakes his head in wonderment. While he had known that Juist had acted as a justicer for the communities north of the Accursed Forest, he had not realized that the Emperor’s Code bestowed that right upon the senior Mirror Lancer officer in any district. And Lorn is the senior-and only officer-within two hundred kays.

Could he have used the Code against Flutak? Hardly, because he would have needed hard evidence of the kind he didn’t have, and wouldn’t have had, assuming he had survived Flutak’s attempts to kill him, since Lorn had no doubts that Flutak would have stopped with one attempt.

“Ser?” Helkyt peers into Lorn’s study. “You ever sleep, ser?”

“Enough, Helkyt, enough.” Lorn pauses. “We need to pay the olive-grower Baryat a visit.”

“Baryat, ser? He be most respected here.” The senior squad leader shifts his weight from one foot to the other, not quite meeting Lorn’s gaze.

“He’s also bribed a few people, and done a few other acts against the Emperor’s Code.” Lorn lifts the volume he has borrowed from Neabyl.

“Doing and proving…those be different, ser,” offers Helkyt.

“That is true. That’s why we need to visit the fellow.” Lorn smiles.

Helkyt shifts his weight again, looking down.

“You have a consort here in Biehl, do you not?” asks Lorn.

“Yes, ser. Dybnyt and I consorted sisters. My Gaelya is the sister to Daelya.”

The overcaptain fingers his chin. “We’ll take the first squad, and the lancers in training, but have them wear uniforms, and not training tunics. With firelances for the first squad, but not the training squad. And a firelance for me.” Lorn frowns. “Best you remain here, in the event all does not go as it should. Tashqyt can be the squad leader, so long as I am there.”

“Yes, ser. That might be best.”

“I understand. Would you take care of telling Tashqyt and getting the squads ready? And let me know when they’re almost ready to ride.”

“Yes, ser.” Helkyt bows and leaves the room.

Lorn shifts his reading from one section of the Code to another, the one dealing with the relationship of the District Guards to the Mirror Lancers. In training, the undercaptain candidates had been taught that even District Guard Commanders had to answer to the senior Mirror Lancer officer in a region, but Lorn wants to check the exact words and provisions.

“Blackest of angels…” he murmurs under his breath, for he had never thought he would be reading the laws of the land as a Mirror Lancer. Or using law like a sabre.

“More like a club or a truncheon,” he mutters to himself.

He has found the words he sought and just slipped a leather marker into the pages when Helkyt returns.

“All are formed and waiting, ser.”

“Thank you.” Lorn stands, reattaches his sabre to his belt, and makes his way out into the courtyard, where a column is drawn up in twos, the senior squad riding before, and the training squad behind. Tashqyt holds the reins to the saddled chestnut.

“Thank you.” Lorn takes them and mounts, touching the firelance, and then checking his sabre.