L. Modesitt - Scion of Cyador

“You…insufferable…little…” Baryat steps forward, his entire body trembling in anger, half-lifting the pruning knife.

Lorn’s blade flashes, and a slash appears on the back of Baryat’s knife hand. “That could have been your neck.” He sighs…loudly.

Baryat continues to shake, but lowers the knife.

Lorn looks past the grower, but still watches the man. “Which of you is the eldest?”

A sandy-haired man, square-bearded, steps forward. “I be such.”

“Listen most carefully. A man has cheated on his tariffs. He has used golds and his daughter to bribe a senior enumerator. The enumerator and the daughter have vanished. The man blames the Emperor’s officials for their disappearance and vows revenge, even though the enumerator is guilty of accepting bribes. This man hires a mercenary archer to kill two officers of the Emperor who are looking into the bribery. Then he lies about doing so. He has cheated the Emperor and tried to kill two men for doing their duty.” Lorn’s eyes fix the eldest son. “Under the laws of Cyador, I could turn all your lands over to the Emperor. Should I?”

The sandy-haired and bearded son looks down at the packed clay of the cart road.

“Do your worst, and the black angels take you!” snaps Baryat. Blood continues to ooze from the slash on his hand.

Lorn looks at the son, then motions for the three archers to step aside. “You, archers, will return to Biehl with us. You must leave Biehl-either for the Grass Hills or the lands north of the Accursed Forest.”

The tall archer bows his head. After a moment, so do the two others.

“And what of me, Overcaptain? Will you exile me?” Baryat’s voice rises, fills with anger. “Will you turn your trained dogs on me?”

Lorn smiles sadly, ignoring the grower, and looking at his eldest son. “Should I turn your lands over to the Emperor, or will you keep his laws from henceforth?”

“Sybyn! Don’t answer that. I’m the landholder,” rages Baryat. “The Emperor will hear of this.”

“Indeed he will,” Lorn agrees. “He will receive a report of your bribery, your efforts to have two officials murdered, and your failure to pay proper tariffs. You no longer hold these lands. The question is whether your son will.” Lorn looks at Sybyn. “You cannot lie to me. I will know, even as I know of your father’s evils. If I allow these lands to pass to you, will you honor the laws of Cyador, and pay your just tariffs, and seek no further revenge against me or against any Mirror Lancer or enumerator?”

“You can’t do this!” snaps Baryat. “Besides, you aren’t man enough to do anything except threaten.”

“I’d like your answer, Sybyn,” Lorn continues, his eyes on the grower, rather than the son. “Will you obey the laws of Cyador and seek no revenge? If not for your sake, for the sake of your brothers, their consorts, and your children?”

“I…must…” stammers the younger grower.

“Coward! I disown you!” Baryat’s eyes flash at Lorn. “You are a cowardly little man, also. You hide behind your bars and your uniform.”

“You have hidden behind your lands and your golds,” Lorn says quietly. “You bartered your daughter, and bribed enumerators. You have tried to buy my death, and you see nothing wrong with it.”

“And I would have sooner than I did, the moment you arrived, had I known what you would do.” Baryat glares at Lorn.

“All of you note his words,” Lorn says. “He admits all of his lawbreaking.”

Baryat’s mouth closes abruptly. The three sons exchange glances.

“Prove it!” snaps the grower.

Lorn laughs. “I have seen Flutak’s ledgers. They show more than-”

Abruptly, Baryat lunges forward with the glistening pruning knife slashing toward Lorn.

Lorn’s blade flashes, with the smallest bit of chaos adding to its sharpness.

The grower’s mouth is open, even as his head is separated from his neck.

“As justicer I have heard this man declare his guilt. Not only did he declare that guilt, but he attacked a Mirror Lancer officer. More than twoscore witnesses have also seen and heard this.” Lorn lowers the sabre, but does not sheathe it, as his eyes seek out Sybyn. “I do not hold you or your brothers guilty of your father’s misdeeds. Nor will aught in harm befall you or these lands-unless there are other misdeeds after this moment for which you are responsible. Do you hear and understand?”

“Yes…ser…” stumbles Sybyn, his face blank.

Lorn wipes the sabre clean with the square of cloth he takes from his belt, then sheathes the weapon. Then he mounts, and nods to Tashqyt.

For a time, the column rides silently, and they are nearing the harbor before Tashqyt, riding beside Lorn, clears his throat.

“Yes, Tashqyt?”

“You could have executed him even if he had not attacked you, could you not?” asks the squad leader.

“I could have,” Lorn admits. “But I wanted as many lancers as possible to hear what he said.”

“I thought as much, ser.”

Lorn only hopes that the word spreads that he is fair as well as harsh, but he prefers to anticipate troubles, rather than react to such. While he has never seen Flutak’s missing ledgers, and doubts anyone ever will, he has no doubts-not now-about Baryat’s guilt.

But he wonders how long he will dream about the daughter.

At the thrap on the study door, Lorn glances up from the sheets that hold his calculations of the gear required for a lengthy ride by two full companies. While he would prefer to add another squad, he has no way at all to supply their gear, and many of the saddles his trainees use are barely serviceable. Two eightdays earlier, he had received a notice from the Majer-Commander, sealed by a Commander Inylt, that his provisions and equipment draw has been increased by five golds an eightday, and with that, he hopes, that he can upgrade the saddles and bridles, by summer’s end, and purchase some replacement saddles. “Yes?”

“There is a ship flying the ensign of Cyad entering the harbor,” Helkyt announces as he peers into the study.

“And you are here to tell me so that I may be at the piers before it lands to confer with the senior enumerator?” Lorn grins.

“You had said that you wished to avoid unnecessary unpleasantnesses, ser.”

“I did say that.” Lorn rises. “And I’d best be heading down there.”

“Chulhyr is saddling the chestnut.”

“Thank you.” Lorn inclines his head as he departs the outer study and heads down the corridor and out across the courtyard, under high, hazy summer clouds. His forehead is damp by the time he reaches the stable, but, as Helkyt had promised, the chestnut is waiting. So is a squad of mixed lancers and trainees, with Tashqyt leading them.

The Cyadoran vessel has still not reached the pier, carefully tacking its way southward, when Lorn reins up in the harbor at the end of the pier, where Neabyl and Comyr stand in their enumerators’ uniforms, with two linemen dressed in brown behind them.

Neabyl glances at Lorn and the lancers, but does not speak immediately.

“Greetings, Senior Enumerator,” Lorn offers.

“And to you, Overcaptain.”

Lorn dismounts and looks at Tashqyt. “Just have the men stand by here, except for those to accompany the senior enumerator.” He turns to Neabyl. “I had thought I would announce to the master right away that we are both here to prevent the kind of misunderstandings that have occurred in the past about tariffs and their administration. Is that satisfactory to you?”

Neabyl offers a pleasant smile. “It is, and I appreciate your present thoughtfulness.”

“And I apologize once more for the earlier awkwardness.”