L. Modesitt - Scion of Cyador

Someone has made a recent effort to organize the cupridium lances, and most have been polished, if hurriedly, and the sabres are racked as they should be. There is little in the way of supporting gear, such as small spades, water bottles, and saddlebags.

Lorn walks around the long and dim room without speaking until he is ready to leave. “The weapons are adequately cared for. More than half your guards would perish of thirst in any long ride-or you would have them scattered across the land seeking water. Best you find water bottles for them, and soon.”

“Soon?”

Lorn ignores the question, posing one of his own. “Mounts and tack?”

“Each guard keeps his own mount. If it dies of a fault of his, he must replace it with one inspected by the guard ostler. Their mounts are in excellent shape.”

Lorn senses the truth of the answer, both from Repyl and the system.

“The tackroom…” The commander leads Lorn to the north end of the building, where he unlocks a door with a simple brass key. “There is an outside door. It is barred except when we drill.”

The tack is racked properly, and has been recently cleaned, although Lorn can see dirt in cracks in the leather, but the equipment is not nearly so bad as it could be-nor in as poor condition as some of what he had found at Biehl.

Lorn nods as they leave the tackroom, then turns to Repyl. “Matters appear solid here. Sometime in the late summer or early fall, I will be here to inspect all your guards, and their mounts.” Lorn smiles. “I will require that they be equipped and provisioned for an eightday ride.”

“That is not…”

“It is,” Lorn says quietly. “I will give you an eightday’s notice. If you find that difficult…” He leaves the implication unspoken.

“Ah…no. With an eightday’s notice, we will be ready.”

“Good. It has been a pleasure meeting you, and to learn that you understand that as the world changes so must what has been accepted in the past. I look forward to seeing you on my inspection.”

“We will be ready, Overcaptain, when you arrive.”

“Thank you.” Lorn bows, then turns and walks past the nervous young guard and out to his waiting squad.

Without speaking, Lorn unties and mounts the chestnut. While Repyl is neither overtly dishonest nor hiding matters about the District Guards, the man is clearly upset by Lorn’s visit and the changes taking place in Biehl. That means that he will bear watching, through the glass, and that means more work and headaches for Lorn.

“Form up!” orders Whylyn.

The lancers reform into a column two-abreast that rides south and back toward the bridges at Lower Island.

“If I might ask…ser?” ventures Whylyn after they have ridden a kay or so.

“The commander was quite pleasant,” Lorn observes. “We’ll be returning in half a season or so, perhaps a bit longer, to inspect the guards.”

“They’ll not be liking that,” prophesies the squad leader.

They will like what Lorn has in mind even less, the overcaptain suspects.

The breakfast room is hot, even though the late-afternoon sun is dropping below the brick walls of the Mirror Lancer compound at Biehl. Despite the heat and still air, Lorn finishes his dinner-a breast of fowl smothered in sawdustlike slivers of quilla. The bread is a dry rye that is not much better than the quilla. The single glass of Fhynyco he allows himself makes the bread and quilla half-palatable.

After he washes and stacks the dishes, he walks slowly into his study, where he sits at the narrow desk and takes out the scroll he has received from his father earlier in the day. He unrolls it and begins to reads it once more, this time more carefully and slowly.

All remains well with us, although we are not quite so active as those younger…Kysia has continued to help in ways we had not anticipated, and I am certain that, whenever you do return to Cyad, she will wish to serve you and Ryalth…

We are pleased to have dinner with your lovely consort often, generally once or twice an eightday, if not more often. She and Jerial have gotten rather close, and at times, even Myryan will join them.

Myryan’s garden prospers, and she often shares her bounty with us, and upon occasion Ciesrt will join us, although he and Vernt are most occupied, now that they are now adepts of the full second level, with the growing and myriad challenges that face those of the Magi’i in these days…Your young friend Tyrsal, although a lower second, is beginning to show a certain promise, if delayed. I am glad to see that, given the attention that the First Magus has showered upon Rustyl, who shares some of the deportment of the lancer officer who continues to write your sister. It is said that an arrangement is close for consorting Rustyl to Ciesrt’s younger sister, Ceyla. The older sister recently consorted with Zubyl…

More lancers are likely to be reassigned from the Accursed Forest in late summer or early fall…if all goes well.

Myryan and Jerial have been pressed into extra time at the infirmary once more, as a result of the chaos-tower failure on the First Star…

Lorn frowns. For his father to mention that chaos-tower failure so openly must mean all of Cyad knows about the failure, and that there were indeed many casualties. There is also the hint that the ward-wall project, whatever it may be, is about to be completed.

Will that have an effect on the barbarians? Will they find out? Or will they mount attacks before lancers can be transferred? Or shift their attacks elsewhere? Lorn glances out through the window at the growing twilight, a twilight that has yet to bring coolness to the still air that enfolds the lancer compound.

After a time, he lifts the scroll once more, frowning, as his eyes drift back up to the lines about Tyrsal and Rustyl. His father never mentions anything quite idly, and that means, for some reason, he must keep Rustyl in mind in the seasons and years ahead.

After he writes his reply, and another scroll to Ryalth, he will take out the glass again, and make a greater effort to determine where the barbarians are gathering forces-if they are-and to draw part of yet another map.

And he will have to plan how to best use the forces of the District Commander…

He rubs his forehead, glancing out into the summer darkness he has not seen creep across the compound. The rest of the summer will be long, and tiring, for he has much to do with the lancers, his screeing of the barbarians, and his maps-and with ensuring all ships that port in Biehl are treated well and fairly. And with occasionally checking on the olive-growers and other traders and factors.

None of these are exciting, nor glamorous. All are necessary, and the energy required leaves little for himself-or for using the glass, if briefly, to view Ryalth.

The two men meet on the balcony on the north side of the fifth level of the Palace of Eternal Light. Even the lightest breeze whispers loudly across this balcony, making eavesdropping difficult. The Captain-Commander of the Mirror Lancers nods to the Second Magus.

“There will be changes in the coming year,” Luss suggests.

“There are always changes,” returns Kharl with a laugh. The breeze disarranges his reddish hair. He smoothes it back from his face. “Everything changes, and yet everything is the same, and that is how it has been, and how it will be. Do not deceive yourself, my valiant lancer officer.”

“The Emperor’s audiences are brief,” Luss points out.

“There is nothing new to be said, and he waits for the results of the ward-wall effort of the First Magus.”

“You opposed such; do you still?”

“I opposed that effort because I fear the loss of power for the Magi’i and for the Mirror Lancers, and because I had doubts that the plan would do little more than cost us the chaos-towers before they failed in their time. Chyenfel has convinced all, and there is now little merit in opposing what will be. It will be Chyenfel’s last great accomplishment, and who am I to deny him such?” Kharl smiles. “It appears as though it may indeed succeed, and if it does, then the Accursed Forest will sleep for generations, and the Mirror Lancers will be free to send greater forces to the north. But your casualties will be much greater, I fear.”