CAPTAIN, MIRROR LANCERS
Guarstyad
Around noon on sixday, the lookout calls out, “Guarstyad, ho!”
Alyiakal has been able to see the white-tipped mountains just above the horizon for some time, but they don’t seem to get any closer, though the Kief continues to cut through the choppy gray-green waters at a respectable speed. He wears his winter jacket and gloves to keep warm in the cold wind that blows from the north.
More than three glasses pass before the fireship enters the harbor, roughly three to four kays wide and stretching another five kays north between rocky hills on both sides. The hills end in cliffs that drop to the water, except for a few narrow beaches. The valley in which Guarstyad is located widens north of the port, located on the east side of the River Guar. The general shape of the harbor and valley seem to correspond to the map in Alyiakal’s atlas, but the map didn’t convey the height of the northern peaks, tops concealed by clouds dark enough that they hold rain or snow.
As the Kief nears the port, Alyiakal notes the town has two levels. The lower level holds only the piers and a few wooden sheds. A good ten yards higher and somewhat set back, the upper level contains several hundred structures, mostly dwellings. There are two modest piers. Several small sailing vessels are docked at the inner pier, likely fishing craft. The river mouth doesn’t look wide, possibly only thirty or forty yards across. He also sees no sign of what might be a Mirror Lancer post.
But then, why would it be that near the town?
On the west side of the river is a single long pier with a small stone building at the shore end, but Alyiakal can see no other structures nearby. Behind the foot of the pier is a low wall, but inshore of the wall, bog or marshland covers the west side of the river.
The fireship slows as it nears the outer pier on the east side of the river, where two Mirror Lancer officers wait with three wagons lined up at the end of the pier.
Judging that it won’t be much longer than a quint before the Kief docks, Alyiakal heads below to get his gear. When he returns, the Kief has pulled alongside the pier, and the lines are being doubled up.
At that moment, Sublieutenant Naartyn appears and hands Alyiakal an envelope. “Your travel confirmation on the Kief. Sometimes posts want them. Sometimes they don’t.”
“Thank you,” replies Alyiakal.
Naartyn glances northward. “Already snowing up there. You can have it, Captain.”
“We each make choices,” says Alyiakal. “I’m more inclined to have solid ground underfoot.”
“I’m inclined to have a decent bunk every night. Take care.” With that, Naartyn turns away and heads aft to where the Mirror Lancer rankers form up.
By the time the gangway is in place, Naartyn has returned and nods to Alyiakal, who then walks down the gangway, carrying his gear, and very glad that he is wearing his winter jacket because the wind becomes brisker the farther he gets from the fireship.
He’s met by an overcaptain. “You’re carrying a lot, Captain.”
“Winter uniforms and spare boots, ser.” Alyiakal doesn’t mention the healer’s satchel in the second duffel.
The overcaptain laughs. “At least you have some understanding of where you are. I’m Overcaptain Shenklyn, in charge of logistics for Guarstyad Post.”
“Alyiakal, reporting. Previous posting at Pemedra.”
“I understand Overcaptain Tygael is the deputy post commander there.”
“He was, but he was due to be reposted right after I left. He didn’t know where at that time.”
“Do you know who replaced him?”
“Yes, ser. Overcaptain Draakyr. He was recently promoted.”
“If I might ask, how did you find Overcaptain Tygael?”
“Very thorough, very knowledgeable, and quietly direct. He was acting post commander for almost a season before I was reposted.”
Shenklyn nods.
Alyiakal senses that the overcaptain is not displeased and might even be slightly satisfied.
“The advance on your posting indicates you’re also an effective field healer. How accurate is that?”
“I’d say it’s accurate, ser, but that’s a personal judgment.”
“How many men did you lose to wounds?”
“None, ser … if they survived the first few glasses after the fight.”
“Are there Magi’i or healers in your family?”
“No, ser. Not that I know. My parents were both single children, and my mother died when I was eight.”
“What about your father?”
“He was Majer Kyal. He died on duty at Inividra a little over three years ago.”
Shenklyn nods again. “I didn’t know him, but I heard good things about him.” He gestures toward the end of the pier. “We brought you a mount.”
As is his habit, Alyiakal does not immediately mount or load the horse provided for him, instead sensing the healthy, but slightly agitated, chestnut gelding, and projecting ordered calm as he approaches. He spends a little time talking to the gelding, patting his shoulder, before loading him with the two duffels, mounting, and easing the gelding up beside the overcaptain, also mounted.
“I see you calmed him down,” says Shenklyn.
“I talked to him. It helps.”
“I wondered. The advance said you were good with mounts. Majer Jaavor doesn’t trust much of what’s written about incoming officers. It was his idea to send the chestnut.”
While Alyiakal doesn’t know the command structure at Guarstyad, Jaavor is likely the deputy post commander, and Jaavor’s skepticism, in time, might work to Alyiakal’s advantage. Provided you don’t make stupid mistakes. “He’s a good mount. Can I keep him?”
Shenklyn chuckles. “No one else is likely to object.”
Once they load the thirty rankers and their gear onto the wagons, the other Mirror Lancer officer, a captain likely several years older than Alyiakal, rides up and addresses Shenklyn. “Rankers accounted for and ready, ser.”
“Good.” Shenklyn gestures to Alyiakal. “Captain Fraadn, Captain Alyiakal. Alyiakal is the Sixth Company officer. He had an eventful posting at Pemedra.” Shenklyn then looks to Alyiakal. “Fraadn is the senior captain and came off a tour at Inividra. His previous tour was at Lhaarat.”
“I’m pleased to meet you, ser,” says Alyiakal.
Fraadn offers a boyish smile at odds with a stern countenance. “No ‘ser’s among captains, Alyiakal.”
“Wagons! Forward!” orders Overcaptain Shenklyn as he leads the way from the pier toward a long stone ramp with a stone wall on the east side, a ramp that leads up to the town proper.
After the two captains ease their mounts in behind Shenklyn and head up the wide, gradual slope of the gray, stone-paved ramp, Alyiakal studies the area, immediately realizing the reason the town sits higher than the piers has to be due to the frequent floods that Tygael had mentioned. The flat and marshy lands on the west side of the River Guar must experience substantial flooding, Alyiakal reflects.
“How far is the post?”
“Roughly five kays north and a little east. It’s about the same distance to the town as to the foot of the road leading to the east pass.”
“What about the west pass?”
Fraadn shakes his head. “Way too far. You have to ride a good ten kays north where the ferry crosses the river. That’s if the ferry’s operating, and it can only take four mounts at a time. Half the time landslides or high waters on one side or the other close off the west pass. Subcommander Laartol said as much when he briefed me. I have taken First Company as far as the ferry when we scouted for other feasible approaches through the mountains to the east.”
“I take it that there’s more scouting to be done.”
“That’s how you’ll get your company working together. Except for what we’ve scouted and covered, there’s not a decent map or description of anything except the harbor, the road to the mine, and the area around Guarstyad itself.”
“What about Kyphran scouts?”
“We saw traces and tracks in late Summer and Harvest, but the snows closed the top of the east pass by mid-Autumn. Since then, the coastal watches see more, small, unflagged sloops along the coast east of here and in the waters off the entrance to the harbor. Most likely Kyphrans looking for places they could land troopers. I doubt they’ve had much success. You saw the cliffs on the east side when you came in, didn’t you?”
“I did. I didn’t see any place that could accommodate troopers.”
“Neither has anyone else, not even the naval types or the Mirror Engineers.” Fraadn pauses, then adds, “We all think they’re up to something, but so far we’ve seen nothing.”
When they reach the top of the ramp, the overcaptain turns his mount east on what appears to be the stone-paved main street of Guarstyad, past a sizable factorage on the north side and a modest inn on the south side. Two blocks later, the shops end at a cross street, beyond which are modest and weathered-looking dwellings with steep-pitched wood-shingled roofs. While some dwellings have stone or brick walls, many are built entirely of wood. The overcaptain turns left, again heading north on the cross street. The stone paving ends four blocks later, replaced by dirt covered with small stones and gravel, and the dwellings thin out and largely disappear three or four blocks later, except for houses for smallholders or tenants.
While the ground on each side of the road seems roughly level, when Alyiakal looks eastward to his right, he can see that, farther east, the land is slightly higher and the fields and plots give way to green-and-gray woodlands, signifying a mixture of seasonal trees and evergreens, unlike the Great Forest, which holds no evergreens at all.
“Have you had any snow yet?” asks Alyiakal.
“Only a dusting on oneday, but it’s close to freezing most nights.”
After a little more than half a glass, Alyiakal sees Guarstyad Post, situated on a low rise overlooking the road, although there are higher hills not that much farther to the east. From a distance the post does not look especially imposing, especially compared to Pemedra or Syadtar. Although its gray stone walls convey authority, those walls appear to be only a quarter kay in length, if slightly higher than those at Pemedra.
But then, the post here isn’t meant to be the command center for other posts farther north and east.
The causeway linking the post to the north road is roughly a half kay long and stone-paved, and as the chestnut’s hoofs strike the stone, he shies slightly. Alyiakal leans forward and pats him firmly on the shoulder, adding a touch of warm and reassuring order, while also trying to sense if there’s anything wrong with the gelding’s hoofs or legs. He senses no chaos or lingering wound chaos as he rides through the post gates behind the overcaptain.
Less than twenty yards behind the gates is a square two-story building.
Fraadn gestures toward it. “That’s headquarters. The building directly behind on the right has the officers’ quarters and study, as well as the mess. The mustering area is to the left with the stables behind it.”
Alyiakal listens to the senior captain’s description, looking around and trying to fix the buildings in his mind.
Moments later, the overcaptain reins up outside the officers’ stable, then turns to Alyiakal. “Once you take care of your mount and drop your gear in your quarters, you need to report to the deputy post commander. That’s Majer Jaavor. He’ll brief you before you meet Subcommander Laartol.”
“Yes, ser.”
Shenklyn then dismounts, as do Fraadn and Alyiakal.
The chestnut tenses slightly as Alyiakal leads him into the stable.
An ostler sees the chestnut and immediately says to Alyiakal, “Ser … he usually goes in the end stall.”
“Is there another stall available?” asks Alyiakal, suspecting that the gelding associates something bad with the stall, although that suspicion is based only on feelings and riding the gelding for less than a glass.
“There’s one at the other end. It’s farther from the stable doors…”
“That will be fine.” Alyiakal continues to the last stall, which is clean but without water or fodder. He opens the door and says to the gelding in a reassuring tone, “This should be better.”
He takes his time unloading and unsaddling the chestnut, as well as grooming him. During that time, one of the stable boys arrives with water, and Alyiakal watches to see if the chestnut drinks too much.
When Alyiakal finishes with the gelding, and leaves the stall, one of the ostlers approaches.
“Ser … you don’t have to—”
“I understand there may have been problems with this horse. Is that correct?”
“He’s … often … temperamental, ser.”
“I understand,” Alyiakal says quietly, “but I don’t want force used on him. If there’s difficulty, let me know.”
“Yes, ser.”
“Thank you. I know you have your hands full, and I do appreciate it.”
Then Alyiakal picks up his two duffels and lugs them to the officers’ quarters, where the duty squad leader shows him to his quarters—a single room farthest from the jakes and bathroom, containing a bed, a side table, a straight-backed wooden chair, a narrow three-drawer chest, and an open armoire for his uniforms.
He deposits his gear, then walks to the headquarters building, carrying only his orders and personal records.
A single anteroom serves the studies of both the subcommander and Majer Jaavor. An older squad leader sits at a desk equidistant from the doors to the studies.
“Ser?”
“Captain Alyiakal, reporting as ordered.” Alyiakal hands over his orders and records.
“Yes, ser. I’ll tell the majer you’re here.”
The squad leader has barely moved to the half-open study door when a firm but mellow voice says, “Let me have the orders and records, and have the captain come in.”
The squad leader enters the study, then returns to the door empty-handed and gestures. Alyiakal follows the prompt into the study, and the squad leader closes the door behind him.
The blond but partly bald majer stands from behind the desk. “Have a seat, Captain.”
“Thank you, ser.”
“How was your journey here?”
“Long, ser, but I took two eightdays of leave in Geliendra. So I’ve only been traveling five days straight.”
“How long did it take you to get to Geliendra?”
“Almost an eightday from Pemedra, but I was fortunate. I didn’t have to wait long at any of the stations.”
Jaavor pauses. “You must have suspected that you’re the junior captain here. Why do you think you were even considered?”
“My previous superiors must have found favor with what I did, how I did it, and were able to explain it.”
“What about your qualifications?”
Alyiakal can sense that the majer’s questions are more than merely curiosity, but he doesn’t sense malice, only a certain amount of puzzlement. Still, he decides to be cautious. “I would think that what my previous superiors reported would bear more weight than my impressions.”
Jaavor offers a wry smile. “They reported that you’re exceptionally qualified—for a junior captain. They also reported that you’re cautious about extolling your own accomplishments. Can you tell me why?”
“My father was a Mirror Lancer majer. He disliked junior officers who praised themselves, especially those who did so excessively.”
“It’s as dangerous to underestimate one’s abilities as to exaggerate them. I’d like an honest self-appraisal of your abilities.”
Alyiakal wants to take a deep breath. He doesn’t. “Since that is a direct order, ser, I’ll be as accurate as I can. I am able to direct my men in a way that they understand and obey. I’m excellent with a firelance and good with horses. I’m a better than decent field healer, better than most, but I’m certainly not a fully trained healer. I can see the possibilities of an opposing formation or group of raiders and can usually anticipate their possible actions, but I have almost no experience in combat above the company level.”
Jaavor nods. His expression remains pleasant, but all that Alyiakal can sense is that the majer is not displeased. After a moment, Jaavor says, “What you said is close to what both your previous superiors reported. Did they ever ask you what I did?”
“No, ser.”
“What have you been told about Guarstyad?”
“That command established this post in the past year because of the threat created by Kyphran forces and their newly constructed fortification.” Alyiakal quickly summarizes what he has been told.
“That’s correct, if incomplete. I’ll get back to that in a moment. For now, your immediate duties require you to ride patrols investigating and discovering any possible, if more difficult, approaches from Kyphros to Guarstyad. These patrols will also get you used to working with your squad leaders and lancers, and accustoming them to your leadership. Because Guarstyad has been overlooked, there’s much that’s not known about the lands away from the river and the town, especially in the woodlands.” Jaavor pauses, then taps all four fingers of his left hand on the desk. “The coastal border post the Kyphrans are building appears to be smaller than Guarstyad Post, with lower walls. It’s also located some twenty-five kays from the eastern end of the east pass, but before the snows closed the pass, some of our scouts discovered that they appear to be working to connect their post to the old trading road from the east pass through the high grasslands.”
Jaavor does not say more.
“How are they supplying the post?” asks Alyiakal.
“From a cove west of their post. It can take small vessels or boats in calm seas. They must have built a road down to the cove even before they started work on the post, because there’s no record of anything before last year.” Jaavor offers a cynical expression that isn’t either frown or smile.
“Then it appears this has been planned for some time.”
The majer then asks, “What’s your immediate reaction, Captain?”
“They think there’s far more silver in the mine north of Guarstyad, or something else of equal or greater value. Why else would they build a road to a small harbor that often can’t be used and work on a road to the east pass?” And all that is far too elaborate just to draw Mirror Lancer troops from other border passes with Kyphros.
Jaavor stands. “I’ve taken too much of your time after a long journey, and I know Subcommander Laartol wants to meet you.”
Alyiakal gets to his feet quickly, following the majer out the study door and to the open door of the other study.
“Ser,” says Jaavor, “you wanted to see Captain Alyiakal.”
“I do.” Laartol stands, if briefly, before settling back behind his desk, and motioning to the chairs. He is of wiry build, with silver-shot black hair, and hazel eyes, and his voice is a moderate light baritone.
Behind Alyiakal, Jaavor closes the door.
Alyiakal sits erectly in the middle chair and waits.
“Welcome to Guarstyad Post, Captain. I’m sure Majer Jaavor has outlined your duties and I won’t go into that.”
Not unless I get into a difficult situation.
“I like to meet each of my officers. In your case, I had another reason. I served briefly with your father years ago, and I found him an incredibly effective and dedicated officer. I suspect you already knew that, but I wanted to let you know that is my feeling as well.”
“Thank you, ser.”
“One of the reasons you—and the other captains—were selected for this duty is because the situation could become rather … interesting, for lack of a better word. You know about the silver mine, I presume?”
“I’ve been told that a mine exists. That’s about all I know, ser.”
“What many people don’t know is that the mine isn’t the usual silver mine. Most silver contains veins of lead, sometimes copper, or other metals and materials. Refining such ore is a cumbersome, time-consuming process and takes hundreds of people. It’s also messy and can leach various substances into the water. This mine produces what they call dry silver, which is remarkably pure. It was thought to be a small deposit when they began mining several years ago. It appears it is much larger.”
“Is that why the Kyphrans are—”
“Not totally. Another aspect of the problem is the Prefect of Gallos’s displeasure with the Duke of Kyphros. Kyphros is not exactly a wealthy land. The high grasslands to the east of the southern part of the Westhorns could be called a grass desert. You can see, I trust, why the Duke might have an interest in Guarstyad?”
“Yes, ser.”
“What is somewhat unsettling is that the Kyphrans have moved a considerable number of troopers into their recently constructed fortification, but do not seem to have done much beyond that. The mountains make ascertaining potential activities somewhat difficult, but with the size of their force…”
Alyiakal senses that the subcommander is looking for something more. “I was told it took some time to assemble the six companies for this post. I’m not privy to anything beyond that, but it suggests that with the past difficulties on the northern borders and the unrest with the Jeranyi and the Cerlynese—”
“Exactly,” says Laartol. “None of you captains can afford to spend men unnecessarily. You, in particular, have a record of accomplishing what was necessary with extremely low casualties. You’re also a good field healer. I’ve told the other company officers to call on your services as necessary, because every ranker may be needed. Your interactions with the rankers of other companies will be strictly limited to wounds and other injuries. Do you understand?”
“Yes, ser, but there is one aspect to this that other officers should know. Certain kinds of wounds can fester unseen. If I say that a man is not ready to return to duty, and his officer overrules me, I do not want to be held accountable for what happens to him.”
“You think you can judge that better than a lancer’s own superiors?”
“If I can’t, ser, I’d be a poor healer,” Alyiakal replies evenly.
Abruptly, the subcommander laughs. “Fair enough, Captain.”
Alyiakal can sense that his reply actually pleased Laartol, and that worries him, but if he hadn’t spoken, he’d likely have faced greater problems in the future.
“That’s all I have for you, right now. You need to get settled. You and those of your rankers who arrived with you won’t have patrol tomorrow, but after that you’ll be scheduled as necessary.”
“Yes, ser. By your leave?”
Laartol smiles and gestures toward the study door.
Alyiakal stands, inclines his head politely, then turns and leaves the study.
From there, he walks back to his new quarters, where he unpacks his gear, puts away his clean uniforms, and separates out those that need laundering. Then he looks for the officers’ study, where he locates the table desk for Sixth Company. He finds two unused logbooks and a stack of envelopes that contain a significant amount of paper. He’ll have to address that later this evening and on sevenday. He decides against opening any of them until after the evening meal. He walks around the rest of the building to discover what is where, then makes his way back to the mess, where he introduces himself to the duty mess orderly.
He’s barely finished when Fraadn appears with another captain, narrow-faced, brown-haired, and gray-eyed.
“Alyiakal, this is Rynst. He’s got Third Company.”
“I’m pleased to meet you,” replies Alyiakal.
Rynst grins. “I heard you’re very good with horses. Some of us didn’t fare as well. I could make that chestnut behave, but it was a struggle.”
“Did the overcaptain try that on all the captains?” asks Alyiakal.
“Only the two of you,” says Fraadn, adding in an even lower voice, “That’s not something he would have done on his own.”
“The overcaptain said it was the majer’s idea.”
“No harm done,” says Rynst amiably.
Before long, all the officers have seated themselves, except for the place at the head of the table. Alyiakal finds himself across the table from Rynst, with Kortyl, the Second Company officer, on his left, and Craavyl, the Fourth Company officer, on his right. Baentyl, the Fifth Company officer, sits across from Craavyl.
Subcommander Laartol enters the mess and stands at the head of the table. “For those of you who haven’t met him, the new face at the table is Alyiakal. He comes from an eventful tour at Pemedra. He’s also a skilled field healer, which could prove quite useful in our rather isolated situation.” Then he seats himself, and the two mess orderlies begin to pour the wine, then to serve the evening meal, which is a poached whitefish served in a wine reduction, accompanied by sliced boiled potatoes in a cheese sauce and roasted quilla.
“You’ll see potatoes in every form here,” says Rynst.
“We weren’t that fortunate in Pemedra,” replies Alyiakal dryly.
Craavyl laughs.
“Your supply squad leader must have left something to be desired,” suggests Kortyl mildly.
“Potatoes don’t grow there,” replies Alyiakal. “Neither do pole beans. The local produce was largely limited to carrots, turnips, spring beans, and false potatoes. Oh, and the local ale was made from the seeds of plains grass.”
“That must taste awful,” says Rynst.
“Not awful, but somehow off. I never got used to the taste.”
“What about the barbarians there?” asks Kortyl.
“It all depended on which barbarians and what season.” Alyiakal gives as brief a description as he can without elaboration, but he does mention the Jeranyi-forged weapons.
“Jeranyi have always been a problem,” says Baentyl. “My uncle had problems with them years ago.”
For the remainder of the meal, Alyiakal tries to say as little as possible, without being rude, by asking questions.
After the dessert, a pearapple-custard tart of sorts, and the departure of the senior officers, Alyiakal stands and stretches, and finds that he and Rynst are the last to leave.
“You never said where you served before this,” says Alyiakal, stopping in the hallway.
“My first tour was at Isahl, and then I had two years at Westend—the Accursed Forest.”
“I know about the Forest. I lived in Jakaafra before I went to Kynstaar. Did you have much trouble?”
“Not that much. Not if you kept yourself ready for anything.”
“Did you run across many of the large black panthers?”
“A few. They seemed to respect lancers and firelances. They were more likely to attack traders who risked using the road. The cougars were more dangerous for us—quicker, and they’d hide in the foliage of fallen limbs, especially those that bridged the top of the wall to the ground.” Rynst looks to Alyiakal. “Did you ever see any?”
“I saw one panther and two cougars—all on the top of the wall. That was before I went to Kynstaar.”
“They didn’t come after you?”
“Why would they? I wasn’t close to the wall, and I wasn’t a danger to them. They seem to focus on horses as much as on people.” Alyiakal offers a wry smile. “Of course, that’s only if there isn’t a fallen tree limb.”
Rynst frowns, then nods. “I never thought of it that way. They’ve gone after mounted messengers, but there weren’t any reports about people walking being attacked.” After a pause, he asks, “Where are you headed now?”
“To the officers’ study. A stack of envelopes awaits me, and I hope somewhere amid them is a company roster.”
“There will be. Overcaptain Shenklyn and Majer Jaavor are both good on keeping us informed. The majer likes reports on time, for your information.”
“I appreciate the tip.”
“I’ll see you later,” says Rynst, turning in the direction of the officers’ quarters.
Alyiakal turns toward the officers’ study.
On sixday evening, Alyiakal opens, reads through, and sorts the information in the waiting envelopes. In going over the Sixth Company roster, all he learns are the names of the men assigned and of his three squad leaders.
On sevenday morning he rises early. He checks his box in the officers’ study. Then he heads out in the chill dawn air for the study in the rankers’ quarters reserved for the senior squad leaders, looking for Torkaal, who turns out to be a not-quite-grizzled, but definitely weathered, figure half a head shorter than Alyiakal.
“Good morning, Captain. I figured you’d be here early.” Torkaal offers an amused smile. “Didn’t think I’d be wrong, either.”
Alyiakal smiles in return. “You’ve had a number of border postings, I imagine.”
“Five, ser. Last one was at Lhaarat. Others were at Inividra, Assyadt, Isahl, and Pemedra.”
“I’ve only been at Pemedra.”
“Heard that you had one of the companies that flattened the West Branch barbarians. That so?”
“It is.”
“Figured it had to be.”
“Tell me what you know so far about Sixth Company, if you would.”
“Both Maelt and Vaekyn are solid. About a third of the rankers don’t have much experience. The others have more. How good…” He shrugged. “… there’s no way of telling yet.” After several moments, Torkaal says, “That’s about it for now.”
“There’s one other thing you need to know.”
The senior squad leader stiffens. “Ser?”
“I’m also a field healer. But I’m under standing orders not to do any healing until the fighting’s over.”
Alyiakal can sense a certain amount of relief.
“Makes sense, ser. You can’t do much for fatal wounds, anyway. Is there anything else, ser?”
“Not right now. I’ve gone through all the notices and paperwork. So far there’s nothing urgent. Muster after breakfast? I’d like to do a walk-through. Not an inspection, but I’d like to see every face and have every man see me.”
“Yes, ser. The company will be ready.”
Alyiakal is fairly certain that meets with Torkaal’s approval. Certainly, the senior squad leader isn’t actively disapproving.
“Good.” Alyiakal then heads back to the mess, arriving at the same time as Fraadn and Baentyl.
“Good morning, Alyiakal,” says Fraadn cheerfully.
“The same to both of you.”
“I saw you working late last night,” says Fraadn.
“More like getting organized and making sure something wasn’t urgent.”
“That won’t start until tomorrow morning,” suggests Baentyl, with a trace of a smirk.
“Or possibly until oneday,” adds Fraadn.
Once the three seat themselves below Kortyl and Craavyl, Alyiakal says, “From what both the subcommander and majer told me, it didn’t appear that the Kyphrans have made any attacks. Or did I misunderstand something?”
Fraadn shakes his head. “During the last part of Summer, we thought they might. They brought two whole companies partway into the east pass, then withdrew when they saw Second Company. They might have held maneuvers below the pass on their territory, but our scouts didn’t see any sign of that. With the pass snowed in, it’s unlikely they’ll try anything until late Spring. We still have scouts checking the pass on our side. They certainly can’t move quickly through snow that’s almost waist-high already.”
Alyiakal can understand that. He can also see why the Kyphran forces worry the subcommander.
At that moment, the subcommander arrives and says, “Second Company will be patrolling the edge of the woodlands north of the east pass today. No other announcements.” He seats himself and pours some ale into his mug, then serves himself some of the fried eggs over the potato cakes.
Once the platters are passed around and everyone has served himself, Alyiakal says, “Once I found out I was being posted here, I started to see if I could find any maps.”
The hint of a smile crosses Fraadn’s face, but he says nothing.
“Are there any decent maps of the area?” Alyiakal asks, not addressing the question to anyone in particular.
“There weren’t any maps at all,” replies Overcaptain Shenklyn. “Of anything anywhere in this valley or around it.”
“There’s a large map on the wall next to the door to the officers’ study,” adds Fraadn. “We’re adding to it almost every day.”
For a moment, Alyiakal wonders why he didn’t see the map, then realizes that it would have been behind him as he entered the study, and in the dim light he might not even have noticed when he left late the night before. When he’d checked his box earlier in the morning, he’d definitely been preoccupied.
“We might even know our way around Guarstyad before the Kyphrans attack,” murmurs Baentyl in a voice even Alyiakal can barely discern.
“It’s not that bad,” says Fraadn cheerfully.
“What isn’t?” asks Shenklyn.
“My potato cake,” replies Fraadn guilelessly.
“Your last posting must have spoiled you, Fraadn. This is good food.” But Shenklyn grins.
“My apologies, ser.”
Alyiakal grins as well and addresses Fraadn. “You would have loved the turnip dumplings at Pemedra.”
Kortyl gives the slightest of headshakes, although he doesn’t look toward the foot of the table, or at anyone, for that matter, but Alyiakal discerns a sense of dissatisfaction on the part of the more senior captain.
“Are there any duties out of the ordinary?” asks Alyiakal.
“Only wood duty,” answers Fraadn.
“Wood duty?”
“Lancers who receive disciplinary punishment have to saw and split wood,” explains Fraadn. “It gets cold here in Winter, and the snow can be deep at times.”
The amount of silver in that mine must be considerable. But Alyiakal just nods.
After finishing breakfast, Alyiakal retrieves his winter jacket and walks to where Torkaal is forming up Sixth Company.
The walk-through goes as expected, with Alyiakal first meeting briefly with the three squad leaders, then walking through the ranks, asking each man his name and his previous posting, or in the case of recent recruits, their home.
As he finishes, Alyiakal notices that Captain Kortyl and Second Company head out of the post, but he has no way of knowing what their patrol entails. That reinforces his worry about being out of touch with what is occurring. While he knows it can’t be any other way less than a day after arriving, he still worries.
After that, Alyiakal walks to the stables, where he spends time with the chestnut gelding. When he leaves the stall, one of the ostlers appears.
“Is everything all right, ser?”
“He seems to be fine, thank you.”
Then Alyiakal returns to his quarters to pick up the atlas of Candar before making his way to his desk in the officers’ study. Both Fraadn and Rynst sit at their desks. Alyiakal does not disturb either, and settles in for what he knows will be a long day getting his records and files set up.
After that, he plans to spend some time studying the map of Guarstyad in the atlas to see how well it corresponds, or does not, to what he has so far observed—and to the larger map on the study wall.
Over the remainder of sevenday and all of eightday, Alyiakal discovers the map in his atlas appears to be more accurate than the wall map, at least so far as the coastline and harbor are concerned. Reluctantly, he lends the atlas to Overcaptain Shenklyn to allow the two maps to be compared.
As Alyiakal hands over the atlas, Shenklyn says, “We all appreciate this. It’s good to have another source. I don’t imagine it was inexpensive.”
“No, ser. Though, given how hard it was to find anything at all, I thought the cost would be worth it.”
As the overcaptain carries the map book away, Rynst says, “How did you come up with that?”
“I found a bookstore in Geliendra that happened to have it. It wasn’t cheap, and I think I got it for less than most would have because the bookshop owner knew I was a Mirror Lancer officer being posted here. He didn’t say why, but that he was glad I had a use for it.”
“Do you always think that far ahead?”
Alyiakal shakes his head. “I try, but I can’t say that I always succeed.”
Rynst looks amused, but doesn’t say more.
Late on eightday afternoon, Majer Jaavor summons Alyiakal and assigns Sixth Company a familiarization patrol for oneday.
Alyiakal takes the order to the officers’ study, where he reads the route and looks at the map. The directions simply state that Sixth Company is to follow the mine road along the east side of the River Guar until it reaches the junction with the trail/road to the east pass. They are then to take the trail road no more than a kay past the lookout post before riding back to the mine road and proceeding to the ferry crossing, then north to the gatehouse to the mine. The return can be in any fashion but should not retrace the outward route except where necessary.
After studying the map and taking notes, Alyiakal looks for Torkaal, whom he finds in the stables, and passes on the patrol order.
On oneday morning, Sixth Company sets out on a clear, chill, and blustery day.
Alyiakal observes that more than a few of the new rankers don’t look comfortable in the saddle, and the same was true when he accompanied new rankers from Syadtar to Pemedra. But then, three days in the saddle made a considerable difference. He smiles wryly, knowing that he and the squad leaders need to use the familiarization and scouting patrols to get the company working well together.
After leaving the post causeway, Sixth Company turns north on the road from Guarstyad, which is, in fact, the mine road, roughly following the river, if on higher ground several hundred yards east of the river proper. On both sides of the river, Alyiakal notices the profusion of low plants and higher grasses, as well as marshy areas, although the river itself is fairly straight and doesn’t appear that shallow. A few bent and gnarled trees edge the lower ground immediately bordering the river.
On the east side of the road are occasional small dwellings, more than huts but less than houses; all have chimneys.
And enormous woodpiles.
Less than three kays north from the post, the mine road shrinks to a track barely wide enough for a wagon and a single horse, side by side.
Alyiakal frowns, wondering about the road, then realizes, if the silver is as pure as the subcommander says, a wider road is scarcely needed, since most of the people in the valley live within five or ten kays of the harbor.
Almost a glass passes before Sixth Company reaches the even smaller track heading eastward. A stone with moss around the edges has one word and an arrow chiseled into it. The single word is PASS.
“They don’t like to use many words,” says Torkaal.
“Or build roads that are very wide,” returns Alyiakal.
Sixth Company heads east on the narrower way.
After riding about a kay eastward, Alyiakal notices that the mostly open ground slowly gives way to the mixed forest, and that the ground gradually rises toward the hills in the east. Beyond the hills, he can see rocky peaks above evergreen forests.
For another kay or so, the road to the east pass remains fairly straight with a modest shoulder, but then, as it curves around a hill, the shoulders shrink, and the undergrowth on each side is nearly head-high and continues for some distance into the trees.
While Alyiakal cannot sense anyone except lancers within half a kay, he doesn’t like being hemmed in. The Summer grass in Pemedra had been bad, but the hilly undergrowth would definitely be worse, if it weren’t for the fact that he’s now able to sense much farther than he could in Pemedra.
Thanks to the Great Forest.
He turns to Torkaal. “Send out another set of scouts, as necessary, so that we have a half kay between the forward scouts and the company, with the ability to report directly.”
“Yes, ser.”
Alyiakal senses a slight feeling of relief from the senior squad leader before he issues the necessary orders.
Once the company continues, Alyiakal says, “The Kyphrans could be less than half a kay away, and we’d have no way to tell, not if they were quiet. Do you have any other ideas?”
“Might be best if we position ourselves first. Not sure we’ll always be able to do that, though.”
For the next several kays, neither the scouts nor Alyiakal find any sign of anyone near the road, although Alyiakal has sensed several red deer, and possibly a mountain cat farther into the woods to the north.
Ahead, the road flattens slightly, and Alyiakal sees a recently cleared area. At the west end of the area stands a log watchtower, although he cannot see anyone posted there.
“That must be the lookout post,” says Alyiakal. “You and I will take first squad a ways up the road. We need to see what it’s like, but I don’t see that there’s much sense in taking the whole company.”
“Not right now, ser.”
Alyiakal smiles. “You mean since the snows have closed the pass?”
“Something like that, ser.”
“Second and third squads can stand down. Pass the orders.”
“Yes, ser.”
Before long, the scouts, Alyiakal, Torkaal, and first squad ride past the log tower. The platform on the top sits five yards above the road, which runs straight past the tower for fifty yards before curving northeast along a narrow stream to the right of the road.
After the first curve, the road then curves southeast, and Alyiakal calls a halt, then turns to Torkaal. “The road’s going to do this for at least another ten kays before it even gets to the snow line. We’ve seen enough for today. We’ll rejoin the other squads and give first squad a bit of a break.”
“Yes, ser.”
Alyiakal has no trouble sensing Torkaal’s approval.
As first squad heads back down toward the lookout tower, Alyiakal can’t help but silently ask himself why Mirror Lancer headquarters has put six full companies in Guarstyad, more than in any other border post, especially since the eastern border seems to consist largely of hills and mountains that are difficult to get through in the best weather and impassable the rest of the time.
He keeps pondering that question after first squad rejoins the other squads and the company heads west toward the mine road and north from there toward the ferry and the rest of the familiarization patrol.
Over the next three eightdays, Alyiakal and Sixth Company ride patrols over most of the passable roads on the east side of the River Guar. According to the maps—and Overcaptain Shenklyn—the only usable road west of the river is the one leading to the west pass, which is closed until Spring. It’s effectively impossible for the Kyphrans to attack from that direction.
Between patrols and drills, and other duties, Alyiakal spends time with the chestnut getting him used to a concealment and riding under it. He also writes a long and thoughtful letter to Saelora, but he isn’t able to dispatch it until the next fireship arrives with supplies on sixday of the sixth eightday of fall—two days after Guarstyad has received a light snow, light being less than four digits.
Less than a glass after Alyiakal has given the letter to the duty desk for dispatch and returned to the officers’ study, a ranker appears, breathing heavily.
“Captain Alyiakal, ser! There’s been an accident, ser. Squad Leader Torkaal said to get you. Hamstaadt … he’s hurt bad.”
“Where?” Alyiakal is on his feet immediately, although he doesn’t know who Hamstaadt is, only that he’s not in Sixth Company.
“The loading docks at the supply building, ser.”
“Get him to sick bay. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
Alyiakal hurries to his quarters, grabs the satchel, and moves quickly to sick bay, arriving before two men lead a third into the treatment room. “We had to help him, ser. Says his head hurts, and he can’t keep his balance.”
Both those symptoms worry Alyiakal far more than the superficial cuts and gashes on the lancer’s forehead and the blood on his face. The injured lancer, presumably Hamstaadt, cradles his right forearm with his left, and staggers as the two lancers set him in the chair beside the examining table.
Ignoring the blood for the moment, since the bleeding no longer seems profuse, Alyiakal senses the arm, then runs his fingertips along the skin. The larger arm bone is broken, if cleanly, roughly midway between the wrist and elbow, but his sleeve is in tatters, and the skin beneath is gashed and cut in more than a few places.
Why wasn’t he wearing a winter jacket?
That question will have to wait, Alyiakal knows, as he begins to sense wound chaos, not all of it from the arm. His eyes travel to the lancer’s forehead, where a right-angle gash suggests a box or crate struck with considerable force. The points of white-tinged red chaos within the lancer’s skull beneath that gash confirm the severity of the impact.
Alyiakal immediately gathers two small points of order and lightly touches Hamstaadt’s forehead. The order reduces, but does not eliminate, the white-tinged chaos. Then he says to the duty ranker, “I’ll need some clean water and spirits and clean cloths—also a splint and the canvas strips to go with it.”
“Yes, ser.”
Using his cupridium belt knife, after dusting it with order, Alyiakal cuts away what’s left of the right sleeve, being careful not to disturb the injured arm. As he does, he asks, “Hamstaadt, how do you feel?”
“Arm hurts like sowshit. Head … like … anvil … someone hammering…”
Alyiakal would like to use more order on Hamstaadt’s brain chaos, but he recalls Healer Vayidra’s warning about too much too often. As soon as the duty ranker returns, he gently cleans the cuts and gouges on Hamstaadt’s arm, then, using his senses and a little order pressure, realigns the arm and splints it.
After that, he dusts the abraded skin’s surface with order, and he and the duty ranker move Hamstaadt to one of the vacant beds, not that any are occupied at the moment. Alyiakal folds several blankets and eases them under Hamstaadt’s shoulders, neck, and head, something he recalls from what Vayidra taught him about head injuries.
Only then does he return to the squad leader.
“How is he, ser?” The squad leader looks to Alyiakal.
“The arm looks worse than it is, but he won’t have much use of it for almost a season, maybe longer. He’ll also be spending the next few days here because of swelling, and I can only put a splint on it until the swelling goes down. Then it will need a cast. There’s also that head injury. I’m fairly certain he’s not himself, and he’ll need to be very quiet for several days, possibly longer.”
“How bad is the head injury?”
“It’s not something to take lightly. If he were hit again at that point, he might not live.”
“How can you tell?”
“His pupils are larger, but they’re not the same size. He was dizzy and unbalanced, and his head hurts badly. There’s a slight indentation on the outside of his skull.”
“Can’t you do more?”
“Anything else I can do would likely kill him. Right now, quiet and rest are best.” Aided by judicious application of order.
“Could…?” The squad leader breaks off.
“Could a real healer do more?” asks Alyiakal. “In this case, I don’t think so. If we were talking about other injuries, yes.”
“Begging your pardon, ser, but did you ever work with healers?”
“I did. Before I went to Pemedra I had extra training at Kynstaar and again at the infirmary in Syadtar. At Syadtar, I worked under one of the best healers in Cyad.”
“Thank you, ser.”
Once the two lancers depart, Alyiakal returns to Hamstaadt, where he senses the chaos in the other’s brain. He adds the tiniest touch of order, then straightens.
Hamstaadt moans, but his eyes are closed.
Alyiakal leaves the ward and goes to the duty ranker, who is seated behind a table desk.
“Ser?”
“Hamstaadt is resting now. I’ll be back to check on him periodically. If he has a seizure or convulsions, send for me immediately.”
“Yes, ser.”
Alyiakal recovers his satchel and walks back to his quarters, then returns to the officers’ study, where Craavyl hurriedly meets him.
“How is Hamstaadt?”
Alyiakal takes a deep breath. “He has a broken arm. That should heal, but it will likely take a season, possibly a little less. He took a severe blow to the head. The next few days will tell. I’ve done what I could. He needs rest and quiet, and he needs to sleep with his head elevated slightly.” Alyiakal pauses, then asks, “Do you know what happened? I was more concerned about treating him.”
“I don’t know all the details. He was unloading supplies from the fireship. Somehow a crate skidded off the wagon and hit him.”
“Somehow?”
“I have the squad leaders looking into it,” says Craavyl dryly. “There’s more to it, I’m sure. Hamstaadt’s been … a little difficult.”
“I wish you well with that,” replies Alyiakal. “I’ll be seeing Hamstaadt on and off. If he lets anything slip, I’ll let you know.”
“I’d appreciate that. Thank you.”
After Craavyl leaves, Alyiakal makes his way to his desk and sits down, thinking.
He’d managed to use order, somewhat like a shield, to help nudge the broken bones into position. It would have been helpful if he also could have used order to immobilize Hamstaadt’s arm when he was splinting it.
You’ll likely have some time this Winter to work on that and on strengthening your shields.
Although no one has asked or suggested it, Alyiakal decides to write up a report on his efforts to heal Hamstaadt, both for the record and so there are no “misunderstandings” about what he did and why.
He needs to go back to updating his maps, both the one in the atlas that Overcaptain Shenklyn finally has returned and the one he is drawing for his own use in the field. Later, of course, he’ll need to check on Hamstaadt.
Over the next eightday, Alyiakal keeps a close watch over Hamstaadt, often checking on him using a concealment so that the apparent number of times he visits the lancer appears low, even to Hamstaadt, because Alyiakal can use order to keep the whitish-red chaos under control without Hamstaadt noticing that he’s present or what he’s doing. By oneday of the seventh eightday in fall, only a small amount of dull reddish gray remains, and Alyiakal allows Hamstaadt to return to the barracks, albeit with a solid plaster cast on his forearm.
Hamstaadt never lets anything slip about his “accident,” and Craavyl never asks Alyiakal.
The sky remains a hazy green-blue, and most of the traces of the previous snow vanish by twoday afternoon, when Majer Jaavor calls in Alyiakal.
“Ser?” asks Alyiakal as soon as he’s seated in the majer’s study.
“Now that we’ve mapped and explored all the trails and roads known to cross the Westhorns from here, we need to make sure we’re not missing anything,” the majer explains. “There are more than a few gaps in what we know. One area is the higher land south of Guarstyad that stretches east to the lower Westhorns. The locals say the road heading south at the top of the bluffs beyond the town ends after a while. No one can say exactly where. It would be useful to know, along with anything else. Tomorrow, Sixth Company will take that road and discover what it can. Plan for several days. That may not be necessary, but no one seems to know how far that road extends, and the few people living there are supposedly … odd. They grow some kind of tree-root mushrooms, and they don’t like strangers. Individuals who travel there tend to disappear. If they’re too hostile, do what’s necessary. We don’t need trouble here and from the Kyphrans.”
“Yes, ser.” Alyiakal sees no point in saying more, but he wonders about tree-root mushrooms. He also has the feeling that he’s heard something like that before, but he can’t recall where.
Once he leaves the study, he finds Torkaal and briefs him, then asks, “Have you heard anything about that area?”
“No, ser. Only that it’s rugged, bordering on impassable, especially where it’s close to the Westhorns.”
“Then the men should be in full winter gear.”
“Yes, ser.”
On a clear, not-quite-freezing threeday morning, Sixth Company rides through Guarstyad, and Alyiakal easily picks up feelings of puzzlement, as well as resentment, from the handful of people on the narrow streets. Both feelings are understandable, especially the second, given that no town is likely to welcome six companies of Mirror Lancers unasked for, especially a town boasting only three small taverns, at least that he has seen or heard mentioned.
When the company reaches the south side of town, a single dirt road leads up a gradual slope. While the land immediately around the port sits only just above the water, south of the town bluffs border the Western Ocean, and the land rises farther south and east so that the southern coastline east of Guarstyad becomes sheer rocky cliffs eventually merging into the southern end of the Westhorns at an unnamed rocky point.
That is, if the maps happen to be accurate. Alyiakal has no doubt that the rocky point exists, that the Westhorns end there, and that the maps of the coastline are largely accurate, but none of the maps show any detail of the area between Guarstyad and the coastline.
Which is why Sixth Company is here.
The edge of the bluffs is roughly fifteen to twenty-five yards from the west edge of the road. Alyiakal cannot see the eastern side of the harbor, but can easily make out where the waters on the west side lap at the narrow rocky beaches below the bluffs. On the east side of the road, the ground holds a mixture of rocky hummocks, low evergreen bushes, and a coarse, knee-high grass.
While the slope is gradual, it seems unending, and Alyiakal not only watches and senses, but concentrates on creating and holding an even stronger inner shield.
Two glasses pass before the bluffs give way to the sheer, rocky cliffs that angle slightly to the east. The dirt road remains the same, with traces of hoofs and wagon or cart wheels. Belatedly, he realizes that the road has remained well-kept since Sixth Company left Guarstyad.
So who is maintaining it … and why?
Ahead, perhaps a kay or so, Alyiakal sees scattered conifers in places farther inland.
“Someone has to live out here, or do some logging—something,” says Torkaal.
“It doesn’t look like anyone’s grazing the grass here,” adds Alyiakal. “Not recently, anyway.”
“There’s grass, but it’s sparse. Might not be enough for a large flock,” replies Torkaal.
Alyiakal extends his senses to see if there are large cats that may have enlarged their range from the Westhorns, or other large animals, but, so far, he doesn’t sense any.
Sixth Company rides another kay, and Alyiakal orders a break, riding the chestnut closer to the edge of the cliff. The stone cliffs drop straight into the water at the base of the cliffs on the west side of the inlet. While he cannot see the base of the cliff below him, he senses that the stone there also goes straight into the water. He eases the chestnut back to the dirt road.
Half a quint later, he gives the order to continue.
Almost another glass of gentle climbing passes before Sixth Company reaches the rounded point joining the north-south cliffs with those running east-southeast. A few yards back from the rounded point separating the inlet from the Western Ocean, someone has piled stones at least three yards high on a stretch of bare stone. The stones don’t appear to be shaped for use as masonry, but there are no other stones for at least several hundred yards in any direction, only scattered copses of weathered and bent evergreens and grasses that might conceal them.
The remains of a marker to show the entrance to the harbor, or something else?
Since the dirt road continues along the cliff line, Alyiakal and Sixth Company keep following the road, bordered by sandy and often bare ground on the ocean side, and thicker groves of the scraggly evergreens and occasional clumps of grass on the north side. He’s neither seen nor sensed anything but a few small rodents, most likely coneys, which concerns him. The lack of larger game—and sheep—might be a result of the severe weather suggested by the condition of the trees, or it might reflect those who use the road, or both.
Then Alyiakal notices a thin wisp of smoke rising from the evergreen forest bordering the north side of the road several kays farther east. Since Sixth Company has covered at least fifteen kays, he has to believe that there must be more than one stead so far from the town, but all he says to Torkaal is, “That smoke means someone’s living out here.”
“Doesn’t make sense to me,” replies the squad leader. “No sign of anything big enough to hunt or trap, and the only grazing land is five kays behind us. The trees don’t look to be that good for timber, either.”
After Alyiakal and Sixth Company ride another two kays, almost abreast of the location of the smoke, the road becomes a thin layer of dirt and sand over the underlying rock. Ahead, the road turns north at a narrow space between the trees, while a path continues to parallel the cliffs to the east-southeast. Alyiakal can now see the rocky point depicted in his atlas and the map being developed by Overcaptain Shenklyn, but judges that the nearest part of that point has to be more than five kays away, possibly ten.
“Company! Halt!” Alyiakal commands. “Scouts in!” While his orders are to investigate the road, he has the feeling that he also needs to find the path’s extent, because, according to Shenklyn’s map, the Kyphran base sits on the far side of the rocky point.
The road first.
Alyiakal turns his eyes to the road—and the trees on each side, tiny trees compared to those in the Great Forest, but still with tops roughly ten yards tall. Less than a hundred yards after the turn in the road, the space on each side is cleared. A wall, comprised of a stone base a yard high and a timber wall two yards high above that, runs along the northern end of the clearing. Heavy timbered gateposts flank the road.
Alyiakal makes out structures beyond the open gate and senses patterns of order and chaos beyond indicating people and animals.
“Ready firelances,” he says quietly. “Forward.”
He understands that a community so isolated needs defenses, but he’s also been warned that the people have been dangerous.
When he is less than fifty yards from the gate, he calls out, “We’re on a scouting mission. We intend no harm.”
As Sixth Company continues to ride forward, the heavy timber gate swings closed.
“I wouldn’t do that, if I were you!” Alyiakal calls out. “We’re here under the orders of the Emperor of Light.”
“He’s not here,” returns a voice from behind the gate.
“No, but his chaos is,” replies Alyiakal. “If you don’t open the gate, you’ll have to replace it, and people could be hurt.”
“You could be hurt, too,” replies the voice.
“That would be very bad for you,” says Alyiakal, projecting the words with a certain force of order. “You don’t want that.” He can sense only two people behind the gate.
“Please wait a moment,” comes the reply. “I’m summoning someone.”
A bell begins to ring, insistently.
A handful of moments pass before the ringing stops, and Alyiakal senses several other figures approaching the gate. Then the gate opens, slightly.
A man of indeterminate age stands in the narrow opening. His expression is one of annoyance, followed by apprehension that Alyiakal senses clearly as the man takes in the company of Mirror Lancers before asking, “Might I ask your intention?”
“Sixth Company has been tasked with following certain roads and trails,” replies Alyiakal. “Since this is a road that appears on no maps and might lead eventually to the eastern border, we’re following it.” As he speaks, Alyiakal eases the chestnut forward slightly and extends his senses. He can ascertain perhaps a half score of men moving toward the gate.
“The road ends here,” declares the man standing in the gate.
“Then, once we have verified that, we will depart,” returns Alyiakal politely, but firmly.
“The road ends here. That is all you need to know.”
“No,” replies Alyiakal. “We will see if that is so. Because you fear us, ten men will accompany me to assure that. If anything happens to any of us, you will not have anything left standing.”
“That is not acceptable.”
Alyiakal can sense chaos building around the speaker and raises his firelance, willing its chaos to block the chaos bolt aimed at him. Chaos flares just short of the man, who has to be a mage of sorts, and some cascades back around his shields, but those shields collapse under the force of two chaos blasts.
The second chaos bolt from Alyiakal’s firelance turns the semi-mage to ashes and a few pieces of metal.
The gate starts to close, and Alyiakal blasts more chaos at the base of the leading edge of the gate, which sags, grinding to a halt. He can sense no more chaos, but while he can tell that the men behind the gate may hold weapons, he has no idea of what those weapons might be.
“Open the gate and stand aside! Or we’ll burn it and everyone around it to ashes!” Alyiakal adds a certain amount of order to his words. He hopes he doesn’t have to waste chaos on burning the gate down, but he isn’t about to lose men unnecessarily either.
He waits, ready to use the firelance instantly.
Then the gate grinds fully open, revealing a stone-paved way leading between one-story dwellings with separate small barns. Between his sight and senses, Alyiakal discerns at least thirty dwellings, likely more, enclosed by the stone-and-timber palisade. Beyond the rear wall, with a second open gate, the trees look unfamiliar, at least to Alyiakal.
A gray-haired woman appears, wearing a leather jacket and gray trousers. Alyiakal isn’t surprised that she carries an unseen amount of order.
“Spare us, ser,” she says evenly, without a hint of begging.
“I would have done that to begin with,” Alyiakal replies, “if the magus hadn’t been so obstinate. We’re seeking roads, not to take whatever you have.”
“No one has ever bested him. He did not believe it possible.”
“What I said stands. I will bring ten men. You will guide us. You will answer questions. If all is as the magus said, we will depart.” He pauses. “But you will open the gate to Mirror Lancers, should we come again.”
She inclines her head, in agreement, but not in blind obeisance.
Alyiakal turns slightly in the saddle. “Torkaal, the left file of first squad will accompany me. If anything untoward occurs, burn every structure. Spare any who don’t resist.”
Despite the rudimentary shields the woman has, Alyiakal can feel her shock at his words.
“Yes, ser.”
Alyiakal looks to the gray-haired woman. “Lead on.”
“You meant that,” she says in a low voice.
“I did. I made a reasonable and legal request. Mirror Lancers have the right to every road in Cyador. Your mage not only refused, but tried to kill me. At that point, I had the right to destroy your town.” But exercising that right would have been stupid and counterproductive, although Majer Jaavor likely wouldn’t have said a thing.
The woman turns. “This way.” She begins to walk into the town from the open gate, then says to the men standing beyond the gate, “Go back to your houses until the lancers leave. You’ll only get us killed. He has more power than Herrak did, and his lancers have more than that.”
The nine men back away slowly, their eyes still on Alyiakal and the lancers who follow him.
“I’m sorry I had to do that,” adds Alyiakal. “Was he your consort?”
“Does it change anything?”
“No,” he admits.
“At least you’re honest. He was my brother.”
“I am sorry. An officer may have to do his duty, but can still regret the necessity.”
She says nothing more.
Alyiakal takes in the very ordered community. The log-walled dwellings are neat, with slate roofs and rock chimneys. He sees no huts or hovels. Nor does he see any markedly larger dwellings. He notes no one else on the main street, but can sense their presence elsewhere. The center street has six dwellings on one side, seven on the other, and the dwellings extend back about a hundred yards on each side. From what Alyiakal can quickly calculate, the walled area of the community is roughly two hundred and fifty yards on a side.
At the north end of the walled area is another gate—open—and the street or road out of the north gate leads across a timber bridge over a small stream to the edge of the trees, where it splits into dirt lanes. As he reins up short of the trees, Alyiakal can see that they are definitely different, with shiny green leaves with pointed tips and edges. He also sees what look to be horned cattle covered with long hair that almost touches the ground grazing behind a split-rail fence to the north of the strange trees.
Stranger and stranger. “What sort of cattle are those?”
“They’re not cattle. They’re mountain musk oxen,” says the older woman dismissively. Then she looks up to Alyiakal and gestures. “You see? This is where the road ends.”
“There’s no road or path beyond the trees—those kind of trees?” adds Alyiakal.
“No. The land gets rockier and drier as one goes lower.”
Alyiakal can sense the truth of what she says. He glances around. The lead lancer isn’t that close. “Is magery required to grow the tree-root mushrooms, or only to preserve them?”
The surprise on her face confirms part of his suspicions. She gives the smallest of nods. “Both.”
Alyiakal doesn’t intend to press. “Don’t worry. I have no interest in them. I just wondered.” He silently tries to project the truth of his words. “What kind of trees are they?”
“They’re holly oaks. They grow only in a few places, and it takes much work to keep them healthy.”
“Thank you. What do you get from the musk oxen? Meat? Milk?”
“Some meat. For us. No milk. The undercoat wool is the softest and finest in all Candar, or the world.”
Alyiakal nods, then turns and calls out, “We’ve seen enough. We’ll head back now.” He looks to the woman. “You’ll come with us back to the south gate. Do you know where the cliff path leads and how far it goes?”
“It follows the cliffs for as far as I’ve ever walked, more than five kays, less than ten. The farther I went, the narrower it got. There are mountain cats farther east, and they make hunting the red deer dangerous.”
“Don’t the cats hunt the musk oxen?”
“The cats aren’t that stupid.”
As he turns the chestnut back south, Alyiakal understands why individual travelers may not always return from traveling the cliffs.
The woman says nothing on the walk back through the town, but waits beside the gate a yard away from Alyiakal as the lancers return to first squad.
Then she looks up at Alyiakal with a smile both bitter and amused and says quietly, “They saw it all and still do not understand. My condolences, Captain.”
“And mine to you.” Alyiakal inclines his head. “I wish you well.”
While he slowly turns the chestnut, his senses remain focused on her and the area near the gate until Sixth Company re-forms, facing southeast toward the narrow way that follows the cliffs.
Then he addresses Torkaal. “According to her, the path continues for five, possibly ten kays. There are mountain cats in the area as well. We’ll have to follow it as far as we can.”
“I thought as much, ser.”
Left unsaid is the fact that the majer, and possibly the subcommander, will not be pleased until they know no road exists across the rocky point to where the Kyphrans have built and may expand their post.
For the next five kays, Sixth Company rides east-southeast along the cliff path, mostly sand over bare rock, bordered on the ocean side by cracked and fissured stone and on the south by scattered and gnarled evergreens, ranging from little more than bushes to small trees. The rock on which the path lies gradually rises the closer it gets to the rocky point marking the southern end of the Westhorns. Alyiakal can see that the trees farther to the south of the path have become scrubby and twisted evergreens growing farther apart, irregularly spaced in the rocky terrain only passable on foot. At one point, he feels the slightest trace of an order/chaos pattern that might be a red deer or a mountain cat before the creature turns away. At the same time, thinking about the words of the gray-haired woman, who is more mage than healer, he has concentrated on maintaining a stronger inner shield.
When the path narrows even more, to the point where riding two abreast is barely possible, Alyiakal calls a halt to give men and mounts a short break, and to talk things over with Torkaal.
“What do you think about continuing?” Alyiakal asks.
“Did the majer offer any thoughts on that, ser?”
“Only that he wanted to know more about where it ended.” Alyiakal smiles wryly. “I don’t think he’ll be happy with a report that says that the road ends in a small walled town that keeps to itself and raises mountain musk oxen for very costly wool.”
“Strange bunch, ser. How did you know the one who tried to attack you was a mage?”
“He had to be. No one else would have even dared to defy a company of Mirror Lancers.”
“Might I ask how you—”
“Managed not to get turned into ashes? I remembered what an overcaptain once told me. He said that most mages—and he was talking about trained Magi’i—couldn’t muster much more chaos than is contained in a single firelance. So I figured that, if the moment he started to raise chaos to throw, I used my firelance, all that chaos would be caught around him. It didn’t work quite that way, but he was so surprised that he couldn’t block the second blast.”
“Chancy, ser.”
“It was, but striking first against someone like that is usually better.” Alyiakal smiles. “It looks like we need to follow this frigging path for a ways, at least to see if it ends or looks impassable. It might be faster if I took one squad, and you stayed here with the rest. Second or third squad?”
“Third squad, ser. More experience.”
“Have someone summon Vaekyn, then.”
“Yes, ser.”
Vaekyn appears quickly, with a worried expression. “Yes, ser?”
“We need to explore that path ahead,” explains Alyiakal, “but I’m only going to take one squad, and that’s third. It looks like we can go two abreast for a bit, but we’ll have to see how long that’s possible. Two scouts forward, and you’ll ride with me.”
“Yes, ser.”
Much to Alyiakal’s surprise, the path does not narrow, at least not for the next kay or two, but it does level out. Nor are there any tracks of any sort.
He turns to Vaekyn. “Do you see any way we could be easily attacked from the north through those rocks and low trees?”
“No, ser. Not unless there’s another path hidden there.”
While Alyiakal cannot sense anything resembling a path paralleling theirs, anything could be hidden among the tangle of rocks and evergreens, but getting from another path to his through that tangle would be anything but easy.
An ambush is impractical here, if not impossible.
After another half kay, Alyiakal notes that the path seems to end at the edge of the cliff, but when he rides closer, he realizes that the path doesn’t end, but that the line of cliffs turns north. He reins up.
A few yards from where he’s halted, the cliffs drop to a small inlet that seems to have no beaches and no way to reach the water, other than jumping and falling over two hundred yards. On the other side of the inlet, about a kay away, is the rocky point comprising the south end of the Westhorns. The rugged top directly across from Alyiakal rises several hundred yards higher than the cliff edge where he is, and extends a good two or three kays into the sea from the northernmost point of the inlet.
“I didn’t realize we were that close, ser,” says Vaekyn.
“Neither did I,” replies Alyiakal, turning his gaze northward, studying the edge of the cliff on his side of the inlet, and the path, which continues northward for almost a kay before it appears to end at a rocky mass a hundred yards higher than the path.
Alyiakal’s eyes widen as he discerns what seems to be a white line running east along the rocky mass to a spot above the northernmost point of the small inlet. “By the frigging Rational Stars!”
“Ser?”
“We’re on a frigging road. See! It goes to that rocky mass and turns east. It’s cut into the stone about to the middle of the inlet. There must have been a landslide, because there’s a chunk gouged out of the stone. The gap must be a good fifty yards across, but the road continues past the inlet and there’s a depression on the other side. I’d wager that road somehow crosses the point.”
“The Kyphrans did that?”
Alyiakal shakes his head. “They couldn’t have done that, especially not in the last year or so. The only people who could have done that are the First.”
But why? And how?
Except Alyiakal thinks of the Great Canal, which is far longer than the narrow cliff road. Had the First decided against finishing the road when the section of the cliff had given way? Or had that happened later?
“I need to ride to the end of the path on this side, just to get a good idea of where the road on the other side leads. And so do you and two or three lancers.”
“Yes, ser.”
“If it’s lasted since the First, it’s not going to collapse under our weight.” And the majer may want to hear this from others besides his most junior captain. “I’ll lead the way.”
“Yes, ser.”
The closer Alyiakal rides to where the path or road curves into the rocky mass angling westward into the cliff highlands, the more he can see why no one could have seen the old road. It certainly isn’t visible from the water, or except by taking the path all the way from Guarstyad. Why would anyone have ridden or walked that far when there isn’t a town or anything of value in that part of Cyador or Kyphros beyond the rocky point?
He also wonders whether there’s an old stone road under the dirt road that they’ve followed all the way from Guarstyad.
Although the road cut into the cliff is more than wide enough for a wagon and a horse abreast, Alyiakal only rides the chestnut a few hundred yards along the rock-cut section, out of caution and because he needs to ride that far to get a good look at where that road appears on the other side of the inlet.
Even so, he can’t tell how far it extends, only that it appears to pass through the lowest part of the rocky point, and he can see no obvious sign of travelers or of past travel.
He has to admit that he’s relieved once he, Vaekyn, and the two lancers return to their earlier observation point. Turning to Vaekyn, he says wryly, “I think we can tell the majer where the road ends.” For the moment, anyway.
“Yes, ser.” Vaekyn’s tone is subdued.
Alyiakal knows it’s already late afternoon, and that Sixth Company will have to return to where the path narrowed and bivouac there before returning to the post on fourday to report their findings to the majer.
He doubts that the majer will be pleased, to say the least, although Alyiakal can’t see how the Kyphrans could possibly cross the gap in the road anytime soon. It’s far too wide to bridge, and cutting a road out of the stone surrounding the gap could take years.
But that’s something that the majer and subcommander have to worry about. Not you.
At least, Alyiakal hopes so.
Sixth Company rides back to Guarstyad Post on fourday under clouds and snow that begins to fall as they go through the town. Before dismissing the company to duties and quarters, Alyiakal tells the squad leaders to caution their men to say nothing about the road for the next day or so. He doubts that what they found will remain unspoken even that long, but he’d like to have a chance to write a thorough report for Majer Jaavor. Alyiakal leaves the chestnut and the stable slightly before the fourth glass of the afternoon, dropping his gear in his quarters, and heading for the officers’ study to write up his report. He doesn’t even get to the study door before a squad leader intercepts him.
“Ser, Majer Jaavor would like to see you immediately.”
Alyiakal turns and heads for the headquarters building, where he’s ushered into the majer’s study.
“You were gone for almost two days,” says Jaavor, even before Alyiakal is fully seated. “Did you need all that time?”
“We needed every quint, ser. How detailed a report do you want now?”
“Whatever’s so important that it took two days, Captain.”
Alyiakal manages to remain calm, although he would like to point out that the majer was the one who told him to prepare for several days, but such a point would be ill-received. He says pleasantly, “We discovered a fortified community in the woods near the road’s supposed end, and an undiscovered mage attacked the company. After that, we went on to discover that the road didn’t end, or it was built not to end.” Alyiakal then describes in detail what happened at the walled community and what Sixth Company discovered about the road. He confines himself to the facts, and does not include his speculations about the relationship of magery and tree-root mushrooms, but mentions that he had other lancers come with him partway along the road with the missing section.
Jaavor frowns as Alyiakal finishes.
Alyiakal can tell that the majer is disconcerted, and more than a little unhappy at what Alyiakal has discovered. Because someone should have found that out earlier … or because the most junior officer did … or because it means there are other implications? Or simply because the importance of the discovery means that Jaavor will have to go see it to verify the finding for Mirror Lancer headquarters?
Jaavor does not speak for several moments, then clears his throat. “That sounds almost unbelievable, but you’re not the type to spin tales, and the fact that you had a squad leader and rankers come with you to confirm it shows that you understood you might not be believed.” The majer pauses, then asks, “Have you thought about who built it and why?”
“I don’t know that anyone but the First could have built it. The damage to the middle of one section had to come later because whoever built it could have simply cut deeper into the rock where it collapsed had it happened while they built it. When complete, the road would have been much shorter than the way through the east pass and would have been usable most of the year.”
“Still…” muses the majer, “people build roads to travel or transport goods. There’s nothing beyond the point in Kyphros besides what the Kyphrans are presently building.”
Not now. “Ser … does headquarters know if the Kyphrans built that fortification … or if they uncovered it and are rebuilding it?”
Jaavor’s eyes narrow, but he says only, “I wouldn’t have thought that even possible, but what you’re reporting means that’s something to be considered.” He pauses. “I look forward to your full report, Captain. I’ll also be talking to your squad leaders and the lancers who accompanied you. That’s all for now.”
“Yes, ser. By your leave, ser?”
Jaavor nods.
Alyiakal turns and leaves the study. The majer is more than a little unhappy. That’s clear. But, as Alyiakal already knows, sometimes the worse outcome of a patrol is to accomplish the mission successfully.
He takes a deep breath as he walks swiftly from the post headquarters back to the officers’ study to write out his patrol report. He spends the time before evening mess, except for a little time to wash up, working on the detailed patrol report. Immediately after eating, he returns to the officers’ study to continue writing.
A glass later, Fraadn appears beside Alyiakal’s desk. “Obviously, Sixth Company’s patrol wasn’t as uneventful as most of us suspected.”
Alyiakal looks up. “For the moment, let me say that it appears you’re better off not having made the patrol.” That’s absolutely true, Alyiakal thinks, if not in the way in which Fraadn will take it, because none of the other captains would likely have fared as well against even an untrained mage.
“You don’t sound like you want to say more.”
“It’s best I don’t. Not until the majer reads this.”
“He doesn’t know?”
“He knows, but he wants the background and all the details.”
Fraadn winces.
“After he’s read it, I’ll be happy to tell you. But we suffered no injuries and no casualties.”
“You make it sound mysterious.”
“It is, possibly unfortunately. We’ll have to see.”
Fraadn nods. “I’ll let you get on with it. Best of fortune.”
I’ll need that and more. “Thank you.” Alyiakal turns his attention to the paper before him.
Alyiakal finishes the second, and final, draft of his patrol report late on fourday evening, then seals it in an envelope and then walks through the still-falling snow to deliver it to the duty squad leader at post headquarters so that Majer Jaavor receives it first thing in the morning.
Alyiakal is tired enough that he sleeps deeply, but he still wakes early on fiveday. That allows him to unpack the remainder of his gear, get his quarters back in order, and get thoroughly cleaned up before breakfast. The snow seems to have stopped falling sometime earlier, but Alyiakal can hear that the wind has picked up.
When he enters the mess and seats himself, Fraadn looks across the table.
Since neither Majer Jaavor nor Subcommander Laartol has arrived, Alyiakal simply says, “I turned in the patrol report late last night. I don’t know if the majer’s read it.”
“You were checking on how far the cliff road goes, weren’t you?” asks Craavyl.
“That was the assigned patrol,” replies Alyiakal. “There were certain unforeseen developments.”
“Unforeseen developments,” repeats Rynst ironically. “How can anything possibly be unforeseen at a Mirror Lancer post?”
“When someone doesn’t follow orders,” says Kortyl.
“Or when they do,” counters Rynst, “and what happens doesn’t please whoever gave the orders.”
“That’s a bit harsh, Captain,” says Overcaptain Shenklyn evenly, adding in an amused tone, “even if it’s too often true.”
Alyiakal catches Kortyl’s quick frown before it vanishes, as well as Baentyl’s momentary unguarded expression of calculation.
The banter stops as both Majer Jaavor and Subcommander Laartol enter the mess. Jaavor seats himself, while Laartol stands behind his chair, then clears his throat, waiting a moment before speaking.
“Yesterday, Sixth Company returned from what was expected to be a routine patrol to determine where the southeast cliff road ends. Instead Captain Alyiakal discovered that it turns into a road cut through solid rock that appears to have once crossed the rocky point separating Cyador and Kyphros. A landslide or the equivalent ripped away a fifty-yard section of that road on the Cyadoran side of the point. Because of that missing section, Captain Alyiakal was unable to determine whether the remaining section of the road continues across the point and into Kyphran territory. The course of the existing road appears largely impassable to large numbers of troopers, whether mounted or on foot, except by the road cut through the stone.”
Laartol pauses. “This information should not be shared except with other officers. At the moment, especially at this time of year, it is unlikely to change the military situation. A road was discovered, and presently no signs that anyone has used that road beyond where it is believed to end for years. That is essentially all that we know right now.” Without another word, the subcommander seats himself.
Fraadn looks across the table at Alyiakal. “How come no one else found it before?”
“Others probably did years ago,” replies Alyiakal, “but you can’t get to the last part of the road before the rockslide, except by the road, and you can’t get off the road except by jumping into the ocean, and the road leads nowhere except to where you can’t cross and can’t climb. So people forgot about it, I’m guessing.”
“So who built it?” asks Rynst.
“My guess,” Alyiakal emphasizes, “is that the First did, for a reason we don’t know and may never know. The section cut into the rock was originally almost a kay long, wide enough for almost two wagons. I can’t think of any other way it could have been done.” He pours himself some ale and helps himself to a pair of fried eggs, each plastered to a crispy brown potato cake. Then he tries to eat as the other captains speculate on the reasons for building an impossible road in an improbable location.
“… has to be the First…”
“… could be early Magi’i … earth mages…”
“… lots of Kyphran war captives with chisels … they’re a savage bunch…”
After a time, when Alyiakal has finished eating, Fraadn looks across the table and gives a slightly rueful headshake. Alyiakal senses a combination of amusement and sympathy and returns the gesture with a sardonic smile.
Once the subcommander leaves, Alyiakal stands, stepping away from the mess table. Rynst approaches, but before he can speak Overcaptain Shenklyn moves in.
“Alyiakal, I’d appreciate your accompanying me to the study and outlining on the map, to the best of your recollection, the location of this road.”
Rynst steps back and mouths, “Later.”
Alyiakal follows the overcaptain to the wall map in the officers’ study, where he points and describes the path that likely conceals a wider road beneath and the sheltered cliff-cut section of the road.
“How far do you think it goes on the other end?”
“I couldn’t tell, ser. Not for certain. The sun was low enough that there were shadows. At least half a kay up into the rocky point, but I’d guess it goes farther. That’s only a guess.”
“Did you see any chisel marks on the stone section you rode out on?”
“No, ser. The stone was smooth. Smooth, but not polished.”
All in all, Alyiakal spends more than a glass with Shenklyn and the map before he can leave the officers’ study to find Torkaal, whom he locates in the Sixth Company barracks spaces concluding a gear, locker, and bunk inspection. He eases away, raises a concealment unobserved, and returns to hear what the senior squad leader might have to say to first squad.
“… not too bad … except some sloppy oiling of your boots … want them to shed water once we get more snow…”
Alyiakal continues to listen.
“… one other thing: Any captain, except Captain Alyiakal, asks questions, you got two answers. Either ‘I don’t know’ or ‘The squad leader or Captain Alyiakal would know better.’ You say anything else, it won’t be pleasant. Keep anything you say to the senior officers to what you saw or what you know. Nothing else.”
Alyiakal slips away, back inside the barracks door, where he removes the concealment and waits for Torkaal. When the squad leader appears, Alyiakal asks, “How did the inspection go?”
“Better every time, ser.”
“Good. I take it that Majer Jaavor asked you and Vaekyn about the road and the difficulty with the one man at the walled town?”
“Yes, ser. He wasn’t much interested in the town. Said that you handled that right. Asked a whole lot of questions about the road, especially to Vaekyn.”
“I thought he might.”
“Ser, who do you think built it?”
“My guess is the First.”
“But why would they go off and leave it?”
Alyiakal shakes his head. “I have no idea. After all the effort it must have taken, leaving it doesn’t seem to make sense. That might be why the majer and the subcommander have concerns.”
“You think the Kyphran bastards discovered something at the other end of the road?”
“I don’t know, but it’s likely.” Another thought occurs to Alyiakal. “But we couldn’t see any traces of anyone on the road beyond where the cliff collapsed. I wonder if there’s another place where the road is blocked or broken on their side.”
“That’d make sense.”
In one way, but that would mean that the breaks were deliberate. “We’ll have to see. Then, we might never know.”
“That happens, ser. We all know that.” Torkaal pauses, then asks, “Do you know when we’ll be heading out again, ser?”
“There’s nothing posted on the schedule, and what we discovered may change anything the majer has planned. I’ll let you know as soon as I find out. Are there any troubles with any of the mounts?”
“Might have to find a few replacements. Got the ostlers working on it. If there’s a problem, I’ll let you know…”
For the next quint, Alyiakal and Torkaal go over various administrative and logistical details before he returns to the officers’ study, wondering if the majer or the subcommander have more questions, or if he and Sixth Company will even be involved with the mysterious road from this point on.
On sixday afternoon, Fraadn appears beside Alyiakal’s desk in the officers’ study.
Alyiakal looks up, then smiles wryly. “I take it that Majer Jaavor is accompanying you on a follow-up reconnaissance of the cliff road and its extensions.”
“I didn’t say a word.” Fraadn pauses and adds, “But I would have.”
“Leaving early tomorrow morning?”
The older captain nods. “I got the impression that the subcommander wants confirmation by a more senior officer.”
“That’s not surprising. To claim there’s a First-built road where no one thought there was one on the word of a junior captain and two squad leaders? That would likely prompt Mirror Lancer headquarters to order another patrol with a senior officer for confirmation. Along with subtle language suggesting that should have happened before any report to the high command.”
“Anything you’d like to pass along?”
“The folk in that walled community are touchy. I have a suspicion that they’ve got ties to powerful Merchanters out of Fyrad. They sell very expensive wool and possibly other items. Any damage to the town or their herds might not be worth the trouble. I was fortunate to keep the casualties to one poorly trained local mage.”
“I don’t think that’s been mentioned,” says Fraadn dryly.
“I did tell the majer that. He didn’t say I couldn’t mention it.”
“How do you know about the Merchanters?”
“A Merchanter I know mentioned a rumor about them. When I asked the town healer about why they kept mountain musk oxen, she told me about the wool and how fine it was. Put the two together…” Alyiakal makes a vague gesture.
Fraadn shakes his head ruefully. “We need to talk after I get back.”
Alyiakal grins. “I don’t think either of us is going anywhere very far for the next season or so.”
Fraadn chuckles. “You’re definitely right about that. I need to take care of a few things, but I wanted to talk to you first.”
“Best of fortune.”
After Fraadn leaves, Alyiakal considers the situation, not that he can do anything about it. Yet he has to admit that the largely hidden road seems almost inexplicable. Why would anyone, even the First, want to build such a road, and one so close to the ocean?
Except from what he’s seen of the terrain and what the various maps show, the road, when it was functional, covered the shortest possible distance from the Kyphran post to Guarstyad, and likely the one that required removing the least amount of stone.
The Great Canal certainly shows that they could remove stone.
The larger problem with the idea of the First building the road is the fact that there’s no indication of any attempt to link Guarstyad to the rest of Cyador by a more convenient route.
Or was that something planned for later that was abandoned?
Alyiakal shakes his head. He doubts that he, or anyone else living, will ever find out everything behind the mysterious road.
A sudden thought strikes him. The Great Forest conveyed to him its version of why the Forest wall was built. Would it recall anything about Guarstyad? He decides that’s unlikely, given that all the history and stories suggest that the Great Forest never extended farther than the base of the lowest hills bordering the Westhorns.
He takes a deep breath and goes back to adding details to his personal map of Guarstyad.
Late on oneday afternoon, Alyiakal watches as First Company rides back into Guarstyad Post as scattered snowflakes drift from a cloudy sky. Two scouts lead, followed by Majer Jaavor and Captain Fraadn. Alyiakal, carefully looking over the company, sees no indication of missing or wounded lancers, and he breathes more easily as he walks back to the officers’ study.
More than a glass later Fraadn walks into the study, takes a chair from his desk, and sits down beside Alyiakal’s desk. He looks at Alyiakal and says quietly, “You really are a persistent bastard.”
“When you’re the most junior captain among five others who are senior and more experienced, persistence is useful.”
“It’s almost fifteen kays from where the path looks almost impassable to where the road ends at that gap in the cliff. I had to keep pointing out to the majer the tracks Sixth Company left. He said more than once that the patrol had better turn out to be worth it. Then he thought, right before we reached that corner before you head north beside the inlet, that it all ended there.”
“What was his reaction when he did see it?”
“First, he didn’t see the part of the road cut into the cliff … and when he did…” Fraadn chuckles. “It was almost worth it. He just muttered ‘Angel-fired sowshit.’ We spent some time making more accurate distance measurements.”
“That makes sense. It won’t hurt to send those off with his report.”
“He also told me I had to write a report as detailed as yours.” Fraadn shakes his head. “I can do it, but I still hate writing reports.”
“Don’t we all?” asks Alyiakal.
“Sometimes, it’s almost as bad as doing something. Maybe that’s because you get the feeling that no one except the post commander really cares, and he doesn’t usually even need the report.”
Alyiakal nods, then asks, “Did the majer say much about the road itself?”
“He agrees with your feeling that it had to be built by the First, but he doesn’t understand how something that big got forgotten, and with no record of it.”
“That we know of, but there’s not much of a record of how the First built a lot of what they did,” Alyiakal points out, “and even less about how they got here from the Rational Stars. But that isn’t our problem. I worry more about what the Kyphrans might have found at the other end of the road. Even if the road were intact, they couldn’t use it effectively.”
For a moment, Fraadn frowns. Then he nods. “I see what you mean. You could put a few lancers with firelances in a score of places and destroy any force with very few casualties on our part—except—if they took the east pass and Guarstyad, and fixed the road, then they’d be almost impossible to dislodge.”
“That’s three ‘if’s,” Alyiakal points out, “and they’re big ‘if’s.”
“Right now,” agrees Fraadn. “We still don’t know much about what the Kyphrans are doing. Once Mirror Lancer headquarters finds out about the road, they might be more concerned.” Fraadn stands. “Anyway, I need to get to work on that report. The majer wants to have everything ready to send off on the next fireship.”
“Thank you for letting me know.”
“You’re welcome. I also appreciated the cautions about the walled village. The majer took a quick look, more to let the locals know that they need to behave, and then we proceeded.”
“They’re touchy, and there’s not much point in upsetting people in Cyador when you don’t have to.”
“Most officers would agree with that.” Fraadn nods, then picks up his chair and carries it back to his desk. Once there, he seats himself and takes out several sheets of paper.
Alyiakal returns his attention to the end-of-eightday report from Torkaal.
Between that report, other paperwork, and studying the maps, Alyiakal ends up staying in the officers’ study until time for the evening mess. So does Fraadn, and the two captains walk from the study to the mess together.
Rynst and Baentyl are already there, but in moments all the officers are present except for Subcommander Laartol and Majer Jaavor, who soon arrive. Both remain standing behind their chairs once they reach the table.
Then the subcommander says, “Majer Jaavor has a few words.” Then he seats himself at the head of the mess table.
Jaavor clears his throat. “I’m sure everyone knows where First Company and I have been. And yes, there is a road, an incredible road, even if it’s now unusable, but I’d like to offer a toast, and an apology, to Captain Alyiakal. Personally, I couldn’t believe that this tiny path cubits from cliffs hundreds of yards above the ocean could possibly lead anywhere, except to a very long fall. But he and Sixth Company persisted for some fifteen kays to discover an amazing feat of engineering, and he wrote it up absolutely accurately.” Jaavor reaches down and picks up his wineglass. “To Alyiakal.”
After that, Jaavor adds, “Also to Captain Fraadn, who pointed out the faint traces left by Sixth Company and kept assuring me that we’d find something.”
Alyiakal raises his glass to Fraadn, along with the others.
Then Jaavor seats himself.
Rynst immediately says, “I’m glad you two had to do it. Mountains are no problem, but drop-offs into the ocean?” He shakes his head.
Kortyl looks down at his plate.
Craavyl asks almost immediately, “How did anything that big get forgotten?”
“That’s a question for Mirror Lancer headquarters,” interjects Overcaptain Shenklyn. “We have to deal with the strange road and whatever the Kyphrans may be trying to use it for.”
“Still seems strange,” says Craavyl. “If the First built it, that was barely a hundred years ago.”
“Not even that,” declares Kortyl. “It’s like someone wanted it forgotten. That wouldn’t be the first time, either.”
“Don’t most people have things they don’t want remembered?” asks Rynst. “Why would the First be any different? Also, Guarstyad’s out of the way. Not that many people come here.”
“Not all that willingly,” murmurs someone, but whom Alyiakal can’t discern.
Shenklyn laughs and adds, “And once Winter sets in, even fewer will be coming here, willingly or otherwise.”
Alyiakal can’t help but smile at the overcaptain’s cheerfully sardonic words. He takes another sip from his wineglass and waits for his plate.
Over the next few days, Majer Jaavor doesn’t summon Alyiakal for more patrol details, for which Alyiakal is just as happy. On fiveday, when the weather clears and the seas are calm, a fireship ports with supplies.
When he hears that, Alyiakal finishes the letter he’s been writing to Saelora, then rereads it, his eyes going to the sections he’d drafted with particular care.
… this fall, all of our company exercises and duties have been designed to accomplish several objectives, those being to conduct patrols and drills to assure that our companies work well together, to familiarize all our lancers with the roads and trails in the area, and identify and scout all possible ways any Kyphran forces might attempt to enter this part of Cyador …
… Guarstyad is well-laid-out, but does not seem to have grown much in recent years. There are scattered steads north of the town which supply meat, produce, and fodder, but there only seems to be one other hamlet or village besides Guarstyad itself … and, of course, the mine at the north end of the valley …
… are a number of fishing boats, and we have had more dinners featuring fish since I have been here than I’ve had in the entire rest of my life. While I’ve not seen any trading vessels, I’ve heard that Merchanters from Fyrad occasionally travel to Guarstyad and deal in various items, including those that your acquaintance mentioned, and also with a rare fine wool that comes from mountain musk oxen, which I’ve only seen from a distance, and which appear to be quite capable of dealing with the large mountain cats that can stray from the Westhorns …
… Although I’ve mentioned before how much I enjoyed my time with you, your family, and your Merchanter associates, I most relished the dinners where we had a chance to talk, and I look forward to the time when I can again enjoy your company and conversation …
When he finishes rereading the letter, he seals it and carries it to the headquarters building and turns it over to the dispatch clerk, along with the silver it costs to send.
Then he heads back to the officers’ study to go over Torkaal’s latest report.
The fireship is scheduled to leave early on sixday morning, doubtless carrying a full report about the mysterious road that will make its way to the Majer-Commander of the Mirror Lancers. Alyiakal doubts that even the swiftest fireship could reach Cyad in less than ten days in the best of conditions. In turn, there’s no way any directives could reach Guarstyad until the second eightday of Winter or that any Mirror Lancer companies could move against the Kyphrans until Spring, possibly mid-Spring if there are late snows in the southern part of the Westhorns.
Alyiakal has no doubt that, come Spring, there will be some sort of action to deal with the Kyphrans and to determine more about the road. Until then, all he can do is prepare as best he can.
Alyiakal tries to push aside the cold mist that enshrouds him, finally using order-bound chaos to force a rift in the mists. Once through, he finds himself standing on a narrow stone ledge above greenish-gray waters far below and looking at the uneven mass of rock before him, then down at a cupridium tube, with an odd-shaped nozzle, extending from a four-wheeled cart that holds coiled and compressed chaos bound by order.
Without any volition on his part, Alyiakal finds his hands adjusting a disk on the top of the tube where it emerges from the body of the device.
“Fire!”
He presses the disk, and coiled chaos shaped into a knife edge flares from the nozzle. Almost two yards of rock vanish while someone holds an order shield to block the boiling cloud of molten rock, forcing it to cascade into the ocean below, sending up gouts of steam as they strike the surface.
Alyiakal shudders and wakes sweating, but the chill air of his room turns the sweat icy in moments.
Another dream? Or am I really recalling what someone else once experienced in building that road?
He sits up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He tries to focus his eyes, filled with tears, as if he’d actually seen that brilliant whiteness.
Your eyes tell you that you did see it.
He shakes his head.
He can understand, after his encounter with the Great Forest, how he might have other dreams about that powerful First magus, but to perceive it as so real that his eyes act as if they’d been light-seared? And what possible connection could the cliff road have with the magus who made the agreement with the Great Forest? A magus who could draw ordered chaos from the sun. If the images of the Great Forest can be trusted.
He shakes his head, still thinking.
Your dream is your mind trying to work out how they built the road, nothing more.
Alyiakal can still call up the feel of the compressed white chaos, not that he’s about to try to gather and direct that power in his quarters in the middle of the night.
After he dries off and climbs back into his bunk, he finally drifts off to sleep.
When he wakes, he can still recall how real his dream felt, yet until his encounter with the Great Forest he never had dreams that vivid. In fact, he can’t remember ever recalling his dreams before that.
So how—and where—can you try to replicate those feelings and see what you can do without anyone else noticing?
He opens the inner window shutters slightly, enough to see that it’s stopped snowing, then closes them, wondering at the fact that Winter has seemingly come so swiftly, yet knowing that it has already been five eightdays since he discovered the hidden road.
Still thinking about that, he washes up, shaves, and dresses in one of his heavier winter uniforms. Then he makes his way to the mess. He’s early enough that Rynst is the only one there.
“I see someone else couldn’t sleep,” declares the other captain. “Or do you have an early patrol?”
“I don’t,” says Alyiakal as he joins the other captain standing beside the table. “Not that we could get anywhere beyond the main roads. The snow’s not that deep here, but it’s likely waist-deep on the upper part of the east pass. It’d take all day to get as far as the walled village.”
“When do you think the subcommander will get an answer about the road?” asks Rynst.
“It’s been four eightdays since he dispatched his report. Since then we’ve only had one fireship port, and that was two eightdays ago. It’s too soon for a reply. Besides, the Majer-Commander has to know we can’t do anything dealing with the Kyphrans until Spring.”
“Likely late Spring.”
“Even if the Majer-Commander knows what he wants, I don’t think we’ll see another fireship porting for another eightday, and that’s if we get clear weather.”
“I looked out earlier. You can’t see the outer harbor.” Rynst glances toward the door as Kortyl enters the mess.
“The locals say that there’ve been years when they couldn’t see the outer harbor all Winter,” says Kortyl.
“So why did they need us all here by Autumn?” asks Baentyl, who has followed Kortyl into the mess.
“Because it took a season and a half to assemble you all,” says Overcaptain Shenklyn from behind Baentyl. “If headquarters started to move in lancers this coming Spring, by the time we could assemble a force, the Kyphrans would likely already hold Guarstyad.”
Alyiakal has already figured that out, and knows all the other captains have as well, but Baentyl hasn’t, or is playing a different game.
With Fraadn’s arrival, the captains take seats at the table, followed by Craavyl, and then the majer and the subcommander, neither of whom offer any announcements. That’s fine with Alyiakal, who is still considering how and where he might experiment with what he thinks he has dreamed.
After everyone has served themselves, Rynst smiles, then asks, “Does anyone have any idea when we’ll be ordered to advance on the Kyphrans?”
Jaavor stiffens and says, “Isn’t that a bit—”
Laartol says quietly but firmly, touching the majer’s shoulder as a signal to stop, “Captain Rynst is most perceptive. I have no orders from Cyad, but there’s little point in leaving six companies in Guarstyad indefinitely, while barbarians and others actively probe Cyador’s borders elsewhere. Obviously, Captain Alyiakal’s rediscovery of the road that apparently linked Cyador to part of Kyphros will affect any decisions and any orders I receive. Until then, it’s probably best to keep speculations quietly among ourselves.”
Alyiakal keeps his smile to himself, but, as a result of the words spoken in the last quint, he has greater confirmation of which two officers were likely posted to Guarstyad at least partly because of political or personal connections. He also has a very good idea why Laartol was selected as post commander.
“Glad that’s out in the open,” says Rynst.
“As if we all didn’t already know,” murmurs Craavyl.
The remainder of conversation at breakfast is prosaic, but pleasant.
After Alyiakal leaves the mess, he checks his box in the officers’ study, but finds nothing in it, not that he has expected to, then returns to his quarters. There, he dons his winter riding jacket and cap and pulls on his gloves before venturing into the chill, overcast morning.
The calf-deep snow lies somewhere between dry and powdery, and heavy and wet, and the faintest breeze blows from the northwest. The walks between the buildings have already been shoveled clear by the day’s duty company—Third Company, which was likely why Rynst was already in the mess. The main roads to the gate, as well as some fifty yards beyond, and to the stables and the supply warehouse, are also clear.
Alyiakal walks to the officers’ stable, where he visits his chestnut, who immediately nuzzles him.
“No riding today, fellow.” The weather in Guarstyad has been cold, but not intensely so, and Sixth Company has taken moderate patrols on known roads two or three times an eightday, to keep both horses and lancers in shape. “No treats, either. I didn’t realize I was coming here. I know it’s already been a long Winter for you, and it’s barely halfway through.”
After a time, he leaves the chestnut and walks eastward, toward the rear stone wall, along the main thoroughfare dividing the post. He walks past the paddocks behind the buildings and continues on the uncleared road toward the area designated for formation training. So far as Alyiakal has been able to tell, the area is largely unused except for disciplinary exercises. When he reaches the rear wall, he turns north and walks halfway to the corner. This section of the wall remains concealed from the buildings with rear-facing windows because of the placement of the supply warehouse.
Turning to the wall, he strengthens his shields and attempts to concentrate chaos in the coiled fashion he observed and felt in his dreams.
His initial problem is understanding how to coil chaos without the “coiled” sections collapsing into an inchoate mass. He can immediately sense that will lead to a massive chaos blast. Next, he starts to press the chaos into a thin string surrounded by order, but the chaos dribbles out when he removes the order blocking one end of the coil. On the next attempt, he makes the chaos string thicker. The chaos flares away from him and into the gray stone of the wall, but does little besides heat the stone.
Maybe if you made a longer string and compressed it more tightly with order?
He’s halfway through compressing the longer string into a much tighter coil when he begins to feel the increase in the pressure of the chaos trying to escape. He nods to himself and keeps compressing the coil, realizing, as he does, that all the order/chaos machinations are giving him a definite headache, but he feels he needs to complete the effort, and he does.
He worries, in part, about releasing too much chaos at once. Concentrating on opening one end of the coil through a space he visualizes as not much bigger than a pinhole, he releases a tiny amount of the compressed chaos.
Hssst!
Alyiakal staggers back as the thin line of chaos cuts into the stone wall and the dissipated chaos and stone fragments slam into his shields. After a moment, he straightens and looks at the wall.
The stone sheds puffs of hot white vapor from a hole, barely as big as Alyiakal’s finger, cut into the stone. As the vapor dissipates in the cold morning air, he moves forward and examines the hole, which looks to be at least half a cubit deep, so far as he can tell without sticking something into it.
He smiles sardonically. The results of his effort tend to confirm how the road was cut out of the stone. And you have another way to use chaos.
At the same time, his headache blossoms, and he’s definitely light-headed. He doesn’t retrace his steps, because his tracks, should anyone even notice, would call attention to where he stopped. So he continues his walk along the rear wall, knowing that a dark hole in the dark gray stone won’t be noticed, or associated with someone taking a walk. At the next corner, he turns north, making his way back toward the various post buildings. Each step seems more difficult, and his dizziness increases.
He enters the building holding the mess and officers’ study and heads for the mess.
“Are you all right, ser?” asks the mess orderly as Alyiakal ignores the question and forces himself to the side table, where he pours a mug of ale and takes a small swallow, and then another. In a bit, the light-headedness gradually vanishes, and he takes several bites of a hard biscuit. Before he knows it, he has finished the entire mug and eaten three biscuits.
“Ser?” asks the orderly.
“I’m fine now. I guess I didn’t have enough to eat this morning.”
The orderly looks at Alyiakal. “You’re sure, ser.”
“I’m sure.” Alyiakal feels more strength in his voice, but he also knows, at the moment, he’d have a hard time riding a patrol or even running a short distance.
As the orderly turns away, Alyiakal half fills his mug with ale and takes another biscuit.
He can definitely see why the First compacted chaos into their devices instead of relying on personal use of magery. He still wonders how in the world the First magus could receive or gather ordered chaos from the sun.
Much as Alyiakal suspected, the Guarstyad Winter is even more dreary than Pemedra’s, with continually overcast skies, the snow piling up, and little sunlight to relieve the gloom. The depth of the snow anywhere but on the main road and in the town itself restricts company maneuvers to rides north to the ferry and around the town, giving both horses and troopers some relief and exercise.
Only one fireship docks during the last half of Winter, on sixday of the eighth eightday. It carries no dispatches from Mirror Lancer headquarters, or at least nothing that Subcommander Laartol relays to any of the captains. It does bring another letter from Saelora, informing Alyiakal, again, of how glad she is to have her own house to herself, and that she hopes to have it so improved by the time that he next visits that he won’t recognize it.
He rushes through reading her letter, adding a few hasty paragraphs to the reply he has already composed, noting that they are hurried because the fireships never remain in Guarstyad more than a day, and often stay only a few glasses. Almost as soon as the Rylaan departs, the clouds lower, and snow once more begins to fall.
Alyiakal is grateful that he bought heavy winter boots, because he only feels secure improving his control of chaos when he’s out in the snow where no one can see him. At times, he walks, and at times, he takes the chestnut, under the excuse that the gelding gets irritable without exercise. Perhaps because that fits with the ostlers’ prior assessments, no one says anything. Or perhaps no one cares. So far as Alyiakal can tell, Rynst is the only other captain who walks in the snow, if not as frequently as Alyiakal, but none of the other officers mention it.
When oneday of the first eightday of Spring arrives, it snows, and the snow seems little different from what has fallen throughout Winter. Then, on fiveday, a wet snow begins to fall. By late afternoon the snow has turned into a cold rain that continues through the night. On sevenday the sun reappears for two whole days and the temperature hovers above freezing, after which comes another day of rain, warmer rain. Four days later, the ice on the Guar River begins to break up, and the water level begins to rise.
By the end of the second eightday of Spring, the river has swelled its banks and continues to rise. As a result, no maneuvers or exercises outside the walls are scheduled, given that parts of the main road and large sections of land bordering the river are either underwater or a muddy morass.
With the river flowing well over its normal volume, the port is effectively closed, and Alyiakal can see dealing with the Kyphrans will be impossible until at least mid-Spring, possibly later.
Except that the rains stop, and the clouds vanish. By the middle of the third eightday of Spring, the floodwaters of the river begin to subside. Spring flowers rise out of the mud, seemingly everywhere.
Late on eightday afternoon, the ranker aide to the duty squad leader walks into the officers’ study and distributes letters to individual officers.
“What ship?” Alyiakal asks after being handed three letters, presumably two from Saelora and one from Hyrsaal, given the handwriting.
“The Rylaan, ser. She ported a little over a glass ago.”
“Thank you.” That means we’ll find out what plans the Majer-Commander has for us and the Kyphrans.
Within moments, Rynst walks over to Alyiakal’s desk. “By tomorrow, we might have some idea of what’s going on with Kyphros.”
“Or we might find out that the Duke of Kyphros has withdrawn his forces,” replies Alyiakal.
“You don’t really believe that, do you?”
“It’s unlikely,” agrees Alyiakal, “but sometimes the unlikely does happen.”
“Usually only to our disadvantage,” says Rynst cynically. He looks at the three letters Alyiakal holds. “Three letters. Now that’s the good kind of unlikely.”
Alyiakal grins, but doesn’t ask if Rynst received any.
“I only got one,” says Rynst, “but if I had to choose, it’d be this one.”
“Good!”
After Rynst returns to his desk, Alyiakal opens the earliest posted of Saelora’s letters, using his belt knife to avoid breaking Saelora’s blue wax seal. He doesn’t need to open Hyrsaal’s letter immediately. The fact that there is a letter means something in itself. Saelora’s first letter is dated fiveday of the sixth eightday of Winter, some two eightdays before the previous fireship ported, suggesting a delay somewhere. He uses his senses to study the seal, senses the chaos, then nods. He checks the seal on the second letter and finds the same chaos.
He begins to read.
Alyiakal—
I keep telling you how much I enjoy your letters. I hope my repetition of that doesn’t upset you, but it’s true. I do wish they didn’t take quite so long to get here from the time you wrote them, but it’s not as though firewagons can get to Guarstyad …
Alyiakal smiles at her indirect acknowledgment that someone is reading their correspondence. The remainder of the first part of the letter is about her successes and setbacks as a Merchanter, the successes outnumbering the setbacks, while the last part has some more personal touches.
… Karola had a daughter, and she has her mother’s red hair. Faadyr is quite doting, but shows how he feels through his actions rather than his words, like someone else I know. People talk about actions speaking louder than words. No matter what they say, most people pay more attention to words. You speak well, and I love your written words, but what I love most are your actions …
Alyiakal smiles, turns to the second letter, and continues to read.
The weather here is cool and damp. I imagine it is colder in Guarstyad, and snow is still everywhere. As you know, we seldom get snow here, and none fell this Winter at all …
… I still can’t help thinking about your encountering mountain musk oxen. Vassyl had heard of them, but never saw one. I sent a letter to Catriana, asking her if she’d ever seen any garments or blankets made from their wool. She wrote that she’d heard of it, but never saw anything made from the wool. Only the wealthiest women in Fyrad can afford them …
Hyrsaal wrote me recently. Lhaarat is even colder than Guarstyad, but he still has to lead patrols because the mountain people continue to raid the Cyadoran hamlets in the Winter. Catriana worries about him all the time, as I worry about both of you …
Vassyl had a flux a little more than an eightday ago. He was very ill, but he’s better now. He’s still weak, and I’m handling more of the work and trades at the factorage. That’s not a problem, because we really can’t do much with the distillery, except watch and turn the barrels, until the greenberries begin to ripen in late Spring. The good thing is that, properly tended, they keep fruiting until early fall …
Alyiakal frowns. Vassyl’s still weak. That doesn’t sound good.
… I have the feeling you’re busier than you say, but you made it clear that certain Mirror Lancer duties were best not mentioned in letters. Those duties can be dangerous, I know. I want you to know that I do pray to the Rational Stars for your safety and health. Those Stars may not answer or heed my prayers, but that’s the least I can do for all you have given me …
All I’ve given you? You were the one to reach out to me.
He reads Hyrsaal’s letter before he leaves the study, glad to know that Hyrsaal is well, if enduring a colder and drearier Winter than Alyiakal has experienced in Guarstyad. He stops at his room before going to the evening mess, leaving the letters in his personal file.
All of the captains are early to the evening meal.
Not surprisingly, given the arrival of the Rylaan. But Alyiakal waits quietly to hear what the subcommander has to say.
Once Laartol arrives, punctually, as usual, he stands at the head of the table and offers a bemused smile before beginning to speak. “I’ve received a great deal of information from the Majer-Commander. While I know you want to know what’s in store for us, it’s going to take several glasses to go over it, if not longer. I’d like to read and understand it thoroughly before saying anything. So, while you may wish to speculate, there will be no discussion concerning the information or its possible ramifications at dinner this evening.” Then Laartol seats himself.
“There must be a lot of information,” offers Baentyl.
Kortyl tries not to frown and fails.
Alyiakal hopes he has succeeded at not wincing.
At Baentyl’s words, Shenklyn replies, gently sardonic, “I believe that’s exactly what the subcommander said.”
Alyiakal and Rynst exchange glances, and Alyiakal smothers a smile.
Oneday morning, Alyiakal rises early and makes his way to the mess, then smiles when he sees Rynst and Kortyl already there, standing by the table.
“You think the subcommander is going to say anything of import at morning mess?” asks Alyiakal.
“Since some of the information he has to have received applies to every officer here,” replies Rynst, “he might as well provide the overall background.”
It also might assure that everyone hears the same information at the same time, without having to cram everyone into his study. Alyiakal just nods.
In moments, Fraadn, Craavyl, and Baentyl join them, followed by Overcaptain Shenklyn, who motions for the captains to seat themselves. They’ve barely seated themselves before the majer and the subcommander appear. While Jaavor seats himself, the subcommander remains standing.
“You all expect me to have information for you,” begins Laartol. “The situation is largely unchanged from what it was last Autumn. The Kyphrans continue to maintain a garrison near, we think, the old road’s end, and where they could mount an attack on Guarstyad through the east pass. The Rylaan put out shortly to patrol the coast off the natural harbor near a stone pier built to supply the Kyphrans. That harbor is a little less than twenty kays east of their fort. The Rylaan has orders to intercept any vessel attempting to offload there. She’ll also be taking additional supplies and equipment that can be offloaded by boat when conditions allow. Once you have control of the port.”
Alyiakal keeps his attention focused on the subcommander.
“Mirror Lancer headquarters has uncovered certain archival references to ‘brief schism of southeastern dissidents’ in the early period of the second Emperor of Light. Those scattered records of the first days of the Mirror Lancers suggest that the lands the Kyphran forces currently occupy were once considered part of Cyador. This area may harbor objects of interest, which would be best not left in their hands. It has been suggested that the Kyphrans might be rebuilding a former Cyadoran outpost. Should that prove to be the case, we may have to post a force there until Emperor Taezel and the Majer-Commander determine how to handle the matter. The initial objective is to foreclose any possibility of a Kyphran advance through the east pass. Once that is accomplished, the second objective is to take and occupy the Kyphran fort.”
Laartol pauses and clears his throat. “While the Majer-Commander has ordered Guarstyad Post to move expeditiously, given the current conditions in the east pass, the earliest we can feasibly dispatch any companies will be at the end of this eightday. The first companies in will be First and Third. Other companies will follow, based on weather and conditions in the east pass. Various companies will escort supply wagons, since the high grasslands around the fort only offer forage for horses, little local game, and no communities from which to obtain supplies.”
After a short pause, Laartol adds, “I will be briefing company officers individually on the specifics for their companies, and I will post a tentative schedule of each company’s departure over the next few days. That is all for now.” He seats himself at the head of the table and immediately lifts his mug and takes a small swallow of ale.
“Never heard of the southeastern dissidents,” says Baentyl.
“I don’t think anyone I know has,” says the subcommander, surprisingly, since he seldom comments at the table. “It’s clearly a part of Cyadoran history that the First didn’t want known.”
“Or those who came after them didn’t,” suggests Overcaptain Shenklyn.
“That’s also possible,” says Laartol amiably.
Alyiakal wonders when Sixth Company will be sent to Kyphros, and how his vision of using a chaos device fits in. Maybe his mind is just trying to make sense of what he’s learned from the Great Forest, if the Forest is somehow involved.
But how could it be? It never grew here or in Kyphros.
Twoday of the fourth eightday of Spring, just past midmorning, finds Alyiakal sitting in Subcommander Laartol’s study, with Majer Jaavor seated in a chair beside the desk and facing Alyiakal.
“Sixth Company’s situation has not changed since you were all briefed,” Laartol says evenly. “You’ll still be leaving tomorrow morning. However, one aspect of the situation has changed. Earlier this morning, a naval cutter arrived with more information. The Duke of Kyphros is assembling a fleet at Ruzor. The Magi’i believe some of the ships hold a modest number of reinforcements for the Kyphran force. The Rylaan will leave this afternoon to patrol the coast off the small port established by the Kyphrans and to do what it can until another fireship can be recalled and dispatched.”
“Modest reinforcements, ser?” asks Alyiakal as politely as he can.
“They’ll need a small fleet against fireships, even to deliver a thousand troopers or so. A thousand or more Kyphrans aren’t a match for you. They don’t have firelances or discipline.”
Alyiakal only nods and focuses his attention on the subcommander, whose order/chaos fields remain calm, suggesting that he is being direct, although Alyiakal cannot understand how he can be that matter-of-fact. While Majer Jaavor is also calm, Alyiakal senses a hint of annoyance, but there’s no telling what might be the cause.
“In addition to your command of Sixth Company,” continues the subcommander, “you will be responsible for the safe conduct of three supply wagons. As mentioned earlier, while there is adequate forage for your mounts, there is some question about adequate rations until you can take possession of the Kyphran fort. I must reiterate the need to acquire any objects of interest, which should not be left in the hands of other lands.”
Thinking about his visions of a small cart with the power to carve solid rock, Alyiakal represses a shiver. “If such objects still exist, ser, I understand the concern.”
“I’m sure we all can,” says Laartol almost mildly, then adds, “You will carry a dispatch for Captain Fraadn conveying what I have told you, and two more companies will join the three of you over the next eightday or so. Exactly when depends on the weather.”
“Yes, ser.”
“That’s all I have for you, Captain.”
Alyiakal stands. “By your leave?”
Laartol nods. Jaavor’s visage remains pleasantly impassive.
As Alyiakal turns and leaves the study, he wonders why he’s been briefed with Jaavor present. So that there’s no question about emphasizing “objects of interest”? Has headquarters found something of more concern?
Alyiakal makes his way from the headquarters back to find Torkaal, who is likely finishing up his gear inspection for all the rankers in Sixth Company.
Since Alyiakal can sense the senior squad leader is finishing as he reaches the barracks, he waits outside the main door. In less than half a quint, Torkaal appears.
“Ser? Something new?”
“Three supply wagons and some complications.” Alyiakal explains most of what the subcommander has said.
“Sounds like we could be there all Summer. I have to say that I don’t like the idea of a fleet bringing reinforcements.”
“The subcommander was very matter-of-fact.”
“Begging your pardon, ser, but he’s not the one who’ll be facing them.”
“And we’ll have to prove him right,” replies Alyiakal. Just to get through it all.
“How do you think the Kyphrans even knew there was an old post there?” asks Torkaal after a moment.
“Scavengers, I’d guess, and word got back to the Duke. If there was an old post there, someone buried it. It’s been less than a hundred years, and if they had just abandoned it, someone would have found it almost immediately.”
“Maybe they did, and they stripped it,” suggests Torkaal.
“Perhaps, but if that’s what happened, someone had to find something else recently.”
“Think we’ll find out, ser?”
“We’ll find out something. Whether we’ll like it is another question.”
“The subcommander’s sending five companies. We won’t like it.”
Alyiakal chuckles sardonically. “You’re probably right. I’ll let you know if anything else changes, but I doubt it will. Not until we’re in the mountains, anyway.”
Torkaal shakes his head.
Alyiakal heads back toward the officers’ study. He has no more than stepped into the chamber when Baentyl approaches.
“Is there something new about your heading out?”
“We’re still leaving tomorrow morning,” replies Alyiakal. “Nothing new, but we’ll be escorting some supply wagons.”
“Sounds like you’ll be staying longer.”
“That’s for the subcommander and the Majer-Commander to decide,” replies Alyiakal dryly, deciding not to point out that the subcommander mentioned the wagons an eightday earlier.
“Do you know what other companies might be going?”
“You know as much as I do.”
“That’s not much.”
“Is it ever?” asks Alyiakal sardonically, turning and heading for his desk.
Once there, he takes out his letter to Saelora, quickly reading over the part he rewrote twice.
Sixth Company is going on maneuvers, and it’s possible we may be posted somewhere from which I won’t be able to write. So, if you don’t receive anything, it’s not that I’ve been thoughtless or inconsiderate. These unforeseen events and postings are a necessary, but not always welcome, occurrence for the family and, perhaps, those more than friends of Mirror Lancers. I’ll write when I have the opportunity and know you understand that you are always in my thoughts.
He finishes, and immediately posts the letter, returning to the officers’ study and settling at his desk. With his map spread out before him, he considers what he faces in the seasons ahead—possibly raids from grassland nomads, the likely need for attacks on Kyphran forces and positions, and the slight, but real, possibility that the Kyphrans have found some weaponry of the First that could be deadly. Not to mention supply problems and inadequate chaos charges in firelances.
How useful will his improving abilities with order and chaos really be? He can match a firelance in terms of a single blast, possibly even two or three, but a heavier use of chaos quickly exhausts him. At least he can target smaller short blasts more accurately without tiring so quickly and sense farther and even behind obstructions. His shields should be some help, but for sustained fighting, the firelance and his sabre are more reliable.
He can’t help wondering what the Kyphrans may have found.
Or are they building up a force to try to take Guarstyad?
But they have to know about the road, and how could they not speculate about how and why it was built?
Alyiakal wants to shake his head. There’s too much he doesn’t know.
But for junior captains, isn’t it always that way?
By early midmorning of threeday of the fourth eightday of Spring, Alyiakal follows his scouts and leads Sixth Company eastward up the road to the east pass across the lower Westhorns. In addition to his own lancers, he carries the responsibility for three supply wagons and the lancer teamsters who drive them, one of which contains enough chaos-charged replacement firelances for three companies, firelances offloaded from the Rylaan. First and Third Companies left Guarstyad three days earlier, and Alyiakal suspects that Second and Fourth Companies will be the two companies scheduled to follow Sixth Company over the next eightday.
He calls for a brief stop at the watchtower marking the beginning of the steeper climb to the top of the pass. While the sky is a slightly hazy green-blue and the air is pleasantly cool, with only a hint of a breeze, Alyiakal has no doubts it will become colder and windier the farther they climb.
Torkaal reins up beside Alyiakal. “Those wagons will have trouble.”
“Difficulties with wagons are always possible,” replies Alyiakal dryly. That might be why the majer decided to send them with the company commanded by the most junior officer. That way a more senior captain up for promotion won’t be responsible if there’s a problem. And if you handle it competently, then no one will even remark on the difficulties surmounted.
That possibility is also why Alyiakal personally inspected each high-sided wagon, with sight and senses, before Sixth Company set out. He didn’t discover any weaknesses or problems, but that only means that he likely won’t have problems until the wagons struggle over the east pass. He also scanned the unused firelances, comparing the amount of chaos in several of them with the remaining chaos in his own firelance. He discovered that his firelance currently holds less, roughly one part in forty, than the unused firelances.
Alyiakal takes a swallow from one of the three water bottles he’d filled with ale before leaving the post. Once the ale runs out, he’ll have to rely on order-dusted water.
After the brief respite, Alyiakal orders Sixth Company forward, past the log tower, riding gradually uphill and following the road northeast along a narrow stream on the right until the road starts to curve southeast above the streambed.
Over the next two glasses Sixth Company travels perhaps five or six kays before Alyiakal again calls a halt, partly because he worries that the horses pulling the wagons need a break.
By late afternoon, according to the maps and the one scout, who traveled the route before being transferred to Sixth Company, the company remains almost fifteen kays from the pass’s summit. After climbing for another five kays, Alyiakal calls a halt for the night in a semi-sheltered area, which shows signs of having been used by others for the same purpose.
Fourday morning dawns cold and clear, and the wind blows hard enough to make it feel near freezing. By midday, the company—and the three wagons—finally reaches the summit of the pass, a depression with rocky slopes rising several hundred yards higher on each side.
While Alyiakal can see a vague greenness in the distance, that’s to be expected. What does concern him is the steepness of the road winding down through more rocky slopes. He senses the order/chaos patterns of several mountain cats, not close enough for immediate concern, but one is trailing the company, and he turns to Torkaal.
“Send word to the rear guard to watch for mountain cats. If they see a straggler or someone lagging, they’ll attack. The Winters are long up here, and any cats are going to be hungry.” That’s the best Alyiakal can do without revealing more than he can afford to have known.
“Yes, ser.”
The descent into Kyphros, assuming the border runs along the highest ground between Kyphros and Cyador, stops after the company has traveled another three kays downhill, when a wagon wheel breaks. Replacing it takes almost a glass, and Alyiakal knows the remainder of the descent will be slower than the climb from his experience in the Grass Hills. He hadn’t, however, fully realized how much slower it is turning out to be.
By the time Sixth Company stops for the night, Alyiakal fears it will take close to two more days before they reach the grasslands. On top of that, the map that Alyiakal holds indicates a side trail, south, toward the Kyphran encampment branching off somewhere in the lower hills before the pass road reaches the high grasslands that are at least as dry as the Grass Hills.
Alyiakal can certainly follow the tracks left by First and Third Companies, but he only hopes they know where they’re going, because the rocky slopes below look the same from north to south.
When Alyiakal wakes on fiveday morning, the air feels slightly warmer. Even so, the descent continues to be slow, though there are no more incidents with the wagons, possibly because the teamsters have been more careful. Alyiakal is just grateful that the skies remain clear, given that rain would have made progress even more difficult. When the company and wagons stop for the night, Alyiakal suspects another half day before they reach the side trail heading south, to the coast and the Kyphran outpost.
Sixday morning is warmer, no doubt because Sixth Company is farther from the ice and snow still coating the tops of the nearby peaks. By midmorning, the company rides on a slightly wider track through grassy hills that bear scattered bushes, and far fewer rocks. As the company rides farther east and lower, Alyiakal can no longer see the grasslands except by riding up the hillsides, or the Western Ocean to the south, or any signs of roads or trails through the grasslands—which concerns him—even though there have certainly been no side roads or trails they could have taken.
Slightly after midday, the scouts report a trail ahead, splitting from the trail heading east, leading south. The southern trail shows heavy travel, unlike the trail heading due east. While the tracks heading east appear to have been made by Mirror Lancer mounts, they are not as recent.
Alyiakal turns to Torkaal. “I’d say the tracks heading east belong to First Company scouts. What do you think?”
“I don’t see how it could be otherwise, ser.”
At the point where the trails diverge, Alyiakal again climbs the nearest hill. While the right-hand trail continues south, he can see little more than hills and a bit of grassland. The trail to the east winds around another hill, but where it leads after that, Alyiakal can’t see. He shakes his head and returns to the company, where Torkaal sends him a questioning look.
“Since almost all the tracks head south, and since we’re supposed to be heading south,” Alyiakal says dryly, “we’ll take the south trail. It’s likely to be the right one, and even if it’s not we’ll be headed in the right direction.”
From what Alyiakal can tell, the trail runs southeast of the rugged rock spine that comprises the south end of the Westhorns and merges into the rocky point that juts into the Western Ocean.
Four glasses later, and more than ten kays farther south, the trail abruptly widens into nearly a road.
Alyiakal turns to Torkaal. “This must be the road that the Kyphrans were working on.”
“Shame they didn’t get farther,” returns Torkaal sarcastically.
“We’ll take what we can get.”
Less than a quint later, Alyiakal sees one of the scouts riding back with another lancer who, as the two approach, he can tell is definitely not from Sixth Company.
Alyiakal calls a halt and waits as the two join him and Torkaal.
The Sixth Company scout says, “Laarmar here is with First Company.”
“Captain Fraadn posted scouts yesterday and today to watch for you,” says the older lancer. “He thought you might be here earlier.”
“It took us a little longer,” replies Alyiakal. “We’ve got three more supply wagons in the rear.”
“Begging your pardon, ser, but that sounds like we’ll be here awhile.”
“I suspect that’s likely. I also have a dispatch for Captain Fraadn from the subcommander.” Alyiakal gestures toward the south. “How much farther?”
“Another five kays or so. Captain Fraadn has us set up a little northwest of the Kyphrans. They’re holed up in a … well, you’d have to see.”
While Alyiakal wonders what sort of structure the Kyphrans occupy, he’ll find out soon enough without pressing. “Are you our guide?”
“Might be better that way. I’ll send Darst ahead to let Captain Fraadn know you’re coming.”
A little over a glass later, in the deep shadow of twilight, Laarmar says, “Just ahead, past that heap of stones, you go right. We cleared the way, but it’s a little rough. The Kyphran road goes straight to … their place. It’s less than a kay away.” He calls out, loudly, “Laarmar here! Sixth Company coming in.”
Even before Alyiakal reaches the turnoff, he senses two lancers carrying firelances on a low rise to his left.
Once he’s past the sentries, Alyiakal’s eyes widen as he nears the Mirror Lancer encampment. Low hillocks, none more than a yard high, ring the east side, while on the west side he sees and senses a stone wall, fifteen yards long, that appears to be about four yards from the base of a sheer bluff. As he rides closer he observes that the top of the wall looks as though the stone had once been melted like candle wax. The northern end of the wall stretches over two yards high, while the southern end is little over a yard tall.
As though a giant focused chaos knife had sliced through the stone at an angle. Alyiakal can’t help but remember his dream vision of the comparatively small chaos rock cutter. But whatever did this was much more powerful.
“Never seen anything like this,” says Laarmar. “We cleaned out the loose rock and spread the tents across. Took some doing. Barely got it done when a bunch of Kyphrans tried to drive us out. We got behind the low walls and used firelances. They didn’t like that.”
“Did they attack again?” asks Alyiakal.
“No, ser. They’ve stayed in their fort.”
So far.
Laarmar gestures. “Officers’ spaces are at the far end, ser.”
Even before Alyiakal has reined up, Fraadn strides toward him.
“We were getting worried.”
“We brought three more supply wagons,” says Alyiakal. “One of them is filled with spare firelances.”
“They’re welcome, but their inclusion has certain not-so-welcome implications,” replies Fraadn sardonically.
“Where do you want the wagons? And where are we corralling or picketing the horses?”
“The wagons go straight ahead, the horses through a makeshift gate fifty yards back. There’s a sort of short defile or canyon there.”
“I’ve also got a dispatch for you,” says Alyiakal, “and we need to talk.”
“Take your gear up to the end there and leave it, along with your firelance. We can talk after you settle your mount.”
In the end, it takes more than a quint before Alyiakal can sit on his bedroll in the “officers’ spaces” chewing travel biscuits and taking small swallows of order-dusted water while Fraadn reads the orders from Subcommander Laartol by the light of a small travel lantern.
When Fraadn finishes, he looks to Alyiakal. “You suspected what was here from the moment you found the road, didn’t you?”
“I thought it was likely. People don’t usually build good roads to nowhere. Have you found the other end of the road?”
Rynst’s eyes go from Alyiakal to Fraadn and back again, but he says nothing.
“The east end is inside the Kyphran fortification,” says Fraadn. “The road continues about a hundred yards south of here, mostly covered in shallow dirt. It’s blocked about a hundred yards west, like someone sheared off the stone on each side, dropped it into the road, and melted it into a mass five yards high. I climbed it yesterday. It looks to be clear past the blockage as far as I could see. I’d guess it’s that way until it reaches the rockslide area above the inlet.” Fraadn pauses. “Do you know what’s in these orders?”
“Not precisely. I’d guess that we’re supposed to flush out the Kyphrans, discover what they’re guarding, and secure the cove below the cliffs so that the Rylaan can use its boats to offload various supplies.”
“The Kyphrans have also built a solid stone pier in the inlet not quite twenty kays east of here,” Fraadn points out. “And there’s more.”
“About the Duke’s small fleet, you mean?”
“I can’t say I like the idea of a fleet carrying reinforcements, especially since, according to the Magi’i, many of the troopers are equipped with polished metal shields.”
The subcommander glossed over that “small” detail, not bothering to mention it to Alyiakal, or the fact that the Magi’i had discovered it. While Alyiakal hears that some Magi’i can use mirrors to see distant places and events, he hadn’t ever known of that knowledge being used by Mirror Lancers. The Magi’i generally remain aloof from Mirror Lancer activities, except for fireships, firelances, firewagons, and restraining the Great Forest.
Another thought strikes him. “Because the pier at that inlet is solid stone, it would be close to impossible for the Rylaan or another fireship to burn it down. Did the subcommander say how many troopers the Duke plans to send?”
“A significant number, apparently, with enough ships that the Rylaan can’t deal with all of them. No other fireship can get here in less than three eightdays. More problems with the Jeranyi and the Suthyans.”
Alyiakal thinks even a single fireship could pick them off one at a time, but if the Rylaan moves to block the new pier, the Duke’s ships, at least the smaller ones, could flank the fireship and use the cove below the fort. Unless we post lancers there, and that leaves fewer to deal with the Kyphrans here. “This looks messy.” And that’s an understatement.
“Especially if the Kyphrans find something in the building’s ruins they can use as a weapon, or as a defense against firelances. The Magi’i think that’s possible. At least, something’s happening there with order and chaos.”
The second mention of the Magi’i being involved concerns Alyiakal, because it suggests worry, and anything that worries the Magi’i suggests significant problems for the Mirror Lancers’ force.
“Your scout mentioned one quick sally by the Kyphrans. Have they tried anything else?” asks Alyiakal.
“The scouts haven’t seen anyone leaving their fortification. They might have missed an individual or two, but not any large number of troopers. That suggests they’ve got a spring somewhere in there. There’s one up behind here.”
Alyiakal nods. That might explain why the First—or the dissidents—located whatever they’d built where they did.
“Since we haven’t surrounded them, and they’re not leaving the fort, even though we likely outnumber them and have firelances, that suggests they’ve been ordered to stay put. They expect to be supported and relieved.” Fraadn yawns. “Well, we can’t do much tonight, and tomorrow will come early.”
Alyiakal doesn’t find those words reassuring in the slightest.
In the early-morning light of sevenday, Alyiakal steps out from under the canvas-roofed area set aside for officers and looks to the southeast. He looks more intently at the humps he thought were rocks and earth in small hillocks, and on closer inspection he sees that the rocks, earth, and intermittent scattered grasses cover the ruins of a building, or buildings, that had to have been flattened years before.
Almost a century ago.
Rynst joins Alyiakal, and comments, “It’s not like this everywhere. There were a few buildings here, then the one bigger building where the Kyphrans are, and a few others around it, but they all got flattened somehow. Then it was buried, like in front of us, until the Kyphrans came and dug it out. There are heaps and heaps of sand and dirt east of the walls. They must have gathered all the unbroken stones to build the wall around whatever they’re doing or digging out.” Rynst gestures to the top of the short cliff above the improvised quarters. “You have a better view up there. It’s a bitch of a climb. They walled an area less than a quarter the size of Guarstyad Post. Maybe smaller. Fraadn’s guessing they’ve got three to five companies there.”
“Then they outnumbered you. Why didn’t they attack again?” asks Alyiakal.
“They weren’t expecting us. They made one sally, but we hit them with firelances. They must have lost forty men before they even got close. Then they withdrew. Didn’t take them long to get archers on the walls.”
“That doesn’t make sense,” says Alyiakal. “Everyone in Candar knows Mirror Lancers carry firelances. Didn’t the Kyphrans even carry polished metal shields?”
“Fraadn said as much. The only thing that makes sense is that they didn’t expect us this early in the Spring. Didn’t the dispatch from the subcommander say they were loading those ships with men who had those shields?”
“It still doesn’t quite make sense.” Except it does … in a way.
“What are you thinking?” asks Rynst.
“Because of the Westhorns, and the high grasslands here, we’ve never fought the Kyphrans. They’re not on good terms with the Gallosians, either. Cyador hasn’t had lancers in Guarstyad ever before. At least not that we know.” Or did know. “Most likely they didn’t see our scouts last Autumn. Those men and ships the Duke of Kyphros is gathering, they’re likely being sent to invade Guarstyad, not to fight us. The armsmen here may not have even known who you were. At least, at first.”
“That makes a kind of sense,” interjects Fraadn as he nears the other two. “So what do you suggest?”
“I think many of those behind that wall might not even be armsmen,” ventures Alyiakal. “It might be better if we were the ones behind the wall when the rest of the Kyphran forces arrive.”
“We don’t have the equipment to scale or break down those walls,” says Fraadn. “Even if we did, we’d lose too many men.”
We might not have to. Alyiakal then asks, “Would you mind if I took one of my squads and did a little scouting later this morning?”
“So long as it’s only scouting,” says Fraadn warily. “And you aren’t going fifteen kays on a narrow trail.”
“I just want to look at the Kyphran walls and gate.”
“The gate looks like sturdy wood. Even if we used firelances to burn through it, we’d have to fight at close quarters, and we couldn’t use firelances effectively.”
“And we’d lose men we can’t afford to lose,” adds Alyiakal. “We all understand that. I’ve had to fight in a downpour before where we couldn’t use firelances more than once or twice. I don’t advise doing it if there’s a choice.”
“We’re not likely to see many heavy rainstorms here, thankfully,” says Rynst.
“Like you, I’m in no hurry to lose men,” adds Alyiakal. “We have some time. It will take at least four days for the Duke’s ships to reach that stone pier, and it’s almost a two-day march from there. That doesn’t count the time to offload and get organized.” What Alyiakal doesn’t mention is that a fleet could likely transport more than a “mere” thousand troopers.
After a quick breakfast of sorts—trail rations and order-dusted water—Alyiakal sees that his men are dealing with the mounts, then attends to the chestnut gelding, after which he finds Torkaal, then gives him a general briefing on the situation.
“Can’t say any of that’s news,” says the senior squad leader.
“It’s definitely not, but Captain Fraadn has agreed that I can take a squad on a short reconnaissance of the Kyphran fortifications. You’re coming, but what about Maelt and second squad?” Alyiakal grins. “Third squad got the last real recon on patrol.”
“That makes sense. Second squad’s had the lightest load.”
“If you’d tell Maelt.”
“Yes, ser. Might take a bit longer to get the mounts ready.”
“No dawdling, but they also don’t need to hurry. It might take me a little more time to get my mount ready.”
“That makes two of us, ser.”
Almost three quints pass before second squad is mustered, mounted, and ready to ride. The picketing arrangements for the camp, in the small canyon to the north of the ruined buildings, aren’t as organized as Alyiakal expected.
As he, Torkaal, and second squad follow two scouts along a dusty track in the direction of the dirt-covered road leading to the Kyphran position, Alyiakal says quietly, “After we get back, I’m going to talk to Captain Fraadn about reorganizing the picket lines so horses can be found, saddled, and mounted in less than a quint, if not sooner.”
Torkaal only nods, but Alyiakal has already sensed the senior squad leader’s feelings.
Even before the squad reaches the concealed part of the road, Alyiakal senses the residual chaos-locked order of the road’s surface beneath the dirt. The road isn’t blatantly obvious, but revealed by the lack of any low bushes and the gnarled, twisted evergreens common to the area.
Alyiakal turns in the saddle, looking to the west. Less than fifty yards back, he sees the clean-cut edges of the old stone road through the east side of the rocky point. As Fraadn has said, perhaps a hundred yards farther west, stone, appearing to have been melted off the rock on each side, partly fills the cut. That mass of rock stands four to five yards high, with the tallest point of the melted rock still a good five yards lower than the rock on each side.
Alyiakal turns back toward the Kyphran position and takes in the mottled stone wall toward which the road runs. As Rynst has said, once second squad is away from the building remnants being used by the Mirror Lancers, the ground on either side of the buried road doesn’t seem to hold any other ruins, not that Alyiakal can see.
“How do Kyphran archers compare to barbarian archers?” asks Alyiakal as he continues to ride eastward.
“I don’t know, ser. There weren’t that many barbarian archers where I was posted.”
“A good archer—not even a great one—can take down someone at two hundred yards. That’s twice the effective range of a firelance.” Unless that firelance is in the hands of someone trained in magery. Even if Alyiakal can use a firelance to match an archer, he’d still be an easy target for other archers. “I’m thinking about how close we can afford to get to those walls.”
“They’re likely not that good, ser, but there’s no point in trying to find out,” says Torkaal dryly.
Alyiakal barks a short laugh.
Out of caution, he orders second squad to a halt roughly three hundred yards from the wall. Only a handful of troopers man the wall, and none of them take out bows, let alone loose shafts, although he can see that all of them seem to be looking in his direction.
The wall, little more than two and a half yards high, is as effective as twice that height against Mirror Lancers without firecannon. Some of the blocks in the patchwork wall are time-aged and stained sunstone, while others appear to be sandstone and limestone. While a modest catapult could break through the wall, entering such a breach would cost men.
What surprises Alyiakal is the lack of a gate in the wall facing second squad. The unseen road runs to and possibly under the almost makeshift wall. But then, they may not have even climbed over the mass of rock blocking the road. How could they not see that there had to be a road that had been blocked? Perfectly straight canyon walls or defiles don’t occur in nature, not in the southern end of the Westhorns.
Alyiakal extends his senses to see what he can discern while staying out of arrow range. He gains an immediate sense that the Kyphrans have built nothing inside the walls. A fence restricts their horses to the southeast corner, and the gate is in the middle of the east-facing wall, farthest from second squad.
What’s missing are the order/chaos patterns he expects. Where has everyone gone? With as many horses as he senses, the Kyphrans have to be somewhere. Underground chambers carved out of the rock by the “dissidents” of the First?
That’s the most likely answer, but without getting closer, Alyiakal can’t tell, and logical as his conclusion may be, that doesn’t mean it’s accurate. Yet, given the powers of the magus who forced the Great Forest into an agreement, any dissidents would have considered how to defend against those powers.
“Ser?” asks Torkaal.
“Sorry. I’m just thinking. Some of this doesn’t make sense. You and I and Captain Fraadn and Captain Rynst can see where the road goes, but the Kyphrans don’t seem to have paid any attention at all to it.”
“Maybe they thought it was a dead end, or that the First never finished building it. Maybe someone climbed over the blocked part and walked to where the rockslide is and figured there was no reason to unblock this end.”
“They wouldn’t have to cut away the block at this end. The walls are high enough above the cut that they could have built ramps on both sides. But you’re right. There’d be no point in doing that unless you could find a way to bridge the gap where the rockslide was. Still…” Alyiakal shakes his head. “It took us four days to get here, and the way we took isn’t usable for a third of the year, and it’s anything but easy. I’d wager it only took two days when the road was open, maybe only a day and a half, or less, and it could be used anytime except during a storm. You could also carry more goods or supplies in fewer wagons.”
“So why did someone destroy it?” asks Torkaal.
“Supposedly, some of the First didn’t want to be part of Cyador, and they may have been the ones that built all this. If that’s so, I can’t see them destroying the road. I can see the Magi’i, or the Mirror Lancers, destroying it to make it harder, if not close to impossible, for the dissidents to get supplies from Guarstyad.”
“But why didn’t they take over Guarstyad?”
“Maybe they did, and that was the problem,” says Alyiakal musingly. “Maybe they moved out of Cyador and discovered they needed those kinds of supplies.” He makes a vague gesture eastward. “Did we see anything out there that would support anything but nomads?”
“From what we saw,” says Torkaal carefully, “it doesn’t seem likely.”
“I don’t know, but I’d also wager there aren’t many other places where there’s much water.” Alyiakal shakes his head. “Figuring it out can wait. We need to circle around the walls and have a look at the other side.”
“Yes, ser.”
Keeping a good distance from the walls, Alyiakal leads second squad around the south side of the fortification, noting it is a good half kay from the cliff edge, which fits with what he’d been told about the inability of fireships to use firecannon against it. Besides, there’s little enough to burn.
As he’d sensed, a timber gate sits in the east wall, and more than a few heaps of dirt on each side of the rough road stretching eastward, presumably to the limited port and pier. The north wall looks much the same as the other three. The sentries looking over the walls watch, but no archers appear.
As second squad rides back toward the Mirror Lancer camp, Torkaal says, “If their archers are any good at all, taking that fort could be a problem. There’s no cover, and all those irregular hills make it hard to cover the distance to the wall at any speed.”
“We’ll have to find a way, or we’ll be the ones withdrawing once the main Kyphran force arrives.” Alyiakal offers a grim smile. “But then, that might be the best strategy. We could pick them off trooper by trooper on the east pass road.”
“If the charges in the firelances last,” replies Torkaal.
“Which they won’t, especially if we have to use firelances a lot before then,” Alyiakal admits.
Neither man says that much more on the return to the lancer encampment.
Fraadn appears before Alyiakal can lead the chestnut into the picketing area for the horses. “Did you discover anything useful?”
“There’s something odd about that fort, but I need to get closer. I’m going to need to do a night recon to confirm.”
Fraadn frowns.
“It’s too quiet. You think that there are more than a hundred troopers there, but there wasn’t a sound from the place.”
“You think they withdrew most of the troopers and left a handful?”
“I don’t know, but I’d like to find out.”
“If you’re careful.”
“I’ll be very careful.” And then some. After a moment, Alyiakal says evenly, “I’m also a little worried about the horses. It took more than two quints for one squad to get mounted and ready to go.”
Fraadn nods. “You shouldn’t have any trouble tomorrow, or now. I took care of that.”
“Thank you. I appreciate it.”
As Alyiakal leads the chestnut gelding through the makeshift barrier of scrubby evergreen limbs, he keeps thinking about what he sensed—and what he failed to discern within the walls of the Kyphran outpost.
While the white sun drops behind the near-impassable rocky heights immediately to the west of the Mirror Lancer encampment in late afternoon, true darkness doesn’t descend on the area for another three glasses, and Alyiakal waits for another glass and then some before setting out on his “reconnaissance” with Vaekyn and two older rankers from third squad.
“We’ll head south to the road cut’s start and then ride toward the Kyphran wall,” Alyiakal tells Vaekyn and the two rankers. “We’ll stop two hundred yards from the wall. I’ll leave you there and go on foot. You’re to wait until I return.”
“Ser?” questions the squad leader politely.
“I’ve cleared it with Captain Fraadn. You’re here to make sure I’ve got a mount waiting in case I’m spotted and have to leave in a hurry. I need you to be as quiet as possible.” Alyiakal smiles in the darkness and adds, “What I’m looking for is impossible to describe accurately. That’s why I’m not sending anyone else.”
“Yes, ser.”
Though Vaekyn’s tone is respectful, Alyiakal can still sense the squad leader’s unease at the situation. He can also understand it, because he’s never liked it when superiors ordered or said things he’s questioned.
Except you know what you’re doing. At that thought, Alyiakal stifles a smile, knowing that his superiors likely felt exactly the same way. “Let’s see how it goes, Vaekyn.”
“Yes, ser.”
Alyiakal says only, “Forward.”
The ride south to the buried road takes a bit longer in the darkness, as does the ride from there to where Alyiakal quietly says, “Halt.”
He eases off the chestnut and hands the gelding’s reins to Saavacol, the nearest ranker. “It might take me a glass, even a bit longer.” Then he begins to walk down the unseen road. He waits until he is a good ten yards from the three lancers and the mounts before raising a concealment. Even then he senses surprise when he raises the concealment, almost certainly because his cream uniform just vanished.
Knowing there’s no help for it, he shakes his head and continues to walk slowly and carefully toward the walls.
Nearing the western wall, Alyiakal concentrates on sensing the order/chaos patterns of the sentries behind the walls. Given what he’d seen during the day, he suspects the presence of a stone walkway behind the wall placed about two cubits lower than its top. It would offer archers some protection—if they duck—and no protection against firelances—provided that the lancers could get closer than a hundred yards without taking heavy casualties. Which we can’t afford.
As Alyiakal thought likely, and why he walked toward the center of the wall, there is a sentry posted on each corner. Once he stands almost against the wall, he extends his senses. After several moments, he concentrates more intently.
It can’t be, can it?
Except it is. The western half of the fort is a building, or what is left of one. The roof, or what might have been the roof, sits three cubits below the top of the wall. Most likely the wall stones have been placed against the remains of the building’s west side. The buried part doesn’t extend the full length of the wall, leaving a bit more than ten yards between the ends and the wall. From what Alyiakal senses, the building, or its ruins, extends only twenty yards east of the wall. He senses only approximately forty horses in the northeast corner of the fortification. What he can’t sense is more than a handful of order/chaos patterns on the walls or elsewhere in the open area.
Should you try to find out more?
He decides to climb the wall. Even if he doesn’t enter the makeshift fort, he might be able to discover more.
Slowly, he edges up the wall, not that it’s difficult, as rough and uneven as the stones are, until he sits on the top of the wall. An errant thought occurs to him.
You’ve always found out things beyond walls.
Rather than dwell on that, he concentrates again, sensing more order/chaos patterns—scores of them, if barely discernible, beneath the stone surface some three cubits below him.
So what’s left of the building is habitable enough to sleep in, and that’s where they are.
Resisting the temptation to push his luck, he eases back down the wall and slowly walks back toward the waiting lancers. So far as he can hear or sense, his early-night visit has not been noticed by the Kyphrans.
When he nears the waiting lancers, he eases to the north so that he won’t be where they’re looking when he drops the concealment. As he eases closer, he listens to the murmurs.
“… still can’t see him…”
“… disappeared like a big cat…”
“… can’t be a cat … horses like him…”
“… something different about him … don’t know…”
“There’s something different about every officer posted here,” declares Vaekyn quietly, but dryly. “They wouldn’t be here otherwise.”
Almost every officer. When Alyiakal is about three yards to the side of Saavacol, he releases the concealment and says in a low but firm voice, “I’m back.”
Both rankers start slightly.
Alyiakal takes the chestnut’s reins from Saavacol and mounts. “Keep quiet until we’re well away. I’d rather that the Kyphrans didn’t know we were close.”
Once the four near the road cut and turn north, Vaekyn asks, “Did you find out what you needed to know, ser?”
“Their sentries aren’t that alert, and they don’t have many mounts. There are a few other things I need to talk over with Captain Fraadn before I say more. I appreciate your support and patience. Waiting in the darkness for your captain when you don’t know where he is or what he might be doing can be nerve-racking.”
After a moment, Vaekyn says, “Your mount didn’t budge when you appeared.”
“Why would he? I came back upwind of him, and he could smell me farther than we can see at night.”
As with everything in poor light, once the four are back at the encampment, it takes Alyiakal longer than usual to deal with the chestnut, and he is just leaving the picketing area when Fraadn appears.
“What did you find out?”
“Why don’t we go back to the officers’ area,” suggests Alyiakal.
Once there, in the dim light of the travel lantern, with both Fraadn and Rynst watching and listening, Alyiakal describes the layout of the Kyphran outpost, including the half-buried building and the likelihood that most of the Kyphrans slept there, the number of horses, and the ease of climbing the walls.
“Do I want to know how you found this out, Alyiakal?” asks Fraadn.
“I walked up to the walls in the dark, then climbed up the wall in a spot where I couldn’t hear any of their sentries talking or making noise. From there I made what observations I could, and returned as quietly as possible.”
“How come they couldn’t spot you?”
“The walls are mostly sunstone. In the dark, there’s very little difference between a cream uniform and a sunstone wall.”
“I have the feeling no one else would stake his life on something like that.”
“Well, the walls aren’t that high, and it’s almost impossible to hit someone with an arrow if they’re directly under the wall, in the dark, and difficult to hit a running target under faint starlight. Not that either happened, you understand. Since there was no uproar, I’m fairly certain the Kyphrans don’t even know I was there.”
“On that, I think we can agree.”
“From what I saw,” Alyiakal goes on, “we could take the place in a night attack with minimal casualties. Get a handful of lancers over the walls and cover the entrances to the building with firelances…”
“That sounds possible,” says Fraadn cautiously.
“One small problem, however,” says Alyiakal. “If we’re successful, we’ll have almost as many captives as lancers. That’s assuming that some of them haven’t already left, but I’d think you’d have seen signs of that.”
“You’re assuming they’ll surrender,” Rynst says.
“One way or another, it’s a problem.” Fraadn turns to Alyiakal. “Now that you’ve posed the problem, do you have any other ideas?”
“How about letting them escape?”
“They don’t exactly seem inclined to leave,” Fraadn points out.
“We have a little time,” replies Alyiakal.
“What exactly do you have in mind?” asks Fraadn.
Alyiakal explains.
Roughly a glass before dawn on eightday, as Alyiakal leads the chestnut out of the picketing area, Fraadn appears and looks at Alyiakal. “I don’t know why I agreed to this.”
“Because none of us have better ideas. Because doing nothing is likely worse, and because it won’t hurt to try,” replies Alyiakal.
“Unless you or some of your squad get killed by archers.”
“I’m fairly sure they won’t be able to react that quickly.” To begin with, but later? Alyiakal will worry about crossing that bridge when the time comes.
“Let me know as soon as you come back—sooner if it appears they’re going to mount and attack in retaliation.”
“That might make it easier for us, wouldn’t it?”
“Did you have that in mind?”
“You might recall I mentioned the possibility, but after the casualties they took the last time, I doubt they’ll try again. That first attack was why I thought my plan might get them to withdraw. They have to know about the new pier, and that we can’t afford to follow them that far.”
“You’re assuming they’re logical. How logical are the barbarians?”
“Not very,” admits Alyiakal, “but the Cerlynese and the Jeranyi are.”
“Let’s hope the Kyphrans are more like the Cerlynese.”
Alyiakal just nods. He’s seen and heard about the cold-blooded side of the Cerlynese. “We’ll have to see.”
Fraadn steps back, and, in less than a quint, Alyiakal and Torkaal finish mustering first squad, while Maelt and Vaekyn ready their squads to guard the encampment on the off chance that the Kyphrans attempt to attack in retaliation.
Alyiakal doubts the Kyphrans will be foolhardy enough to attempt a counterattack in the darkness before dawn, but he can’t discount the possibility. It’s highly improbable they can ready a large force quickly, and Alyiakal can send word if that appears likely.
Alyiakal and Torkaal take first squad south for their approach to the Kyphran fortification. Alyiakal leads, because sending scouts ahead increases the chances that the Kyphran sentries will discover the lancers before they’re in position.
“Do you think this will work, ser?”
“If it doesn’t, it will only cost us a few firelance charges.”
“Do you think the sentries are archers?”
“I doubt it, but we’ll find out. That’s one reason why we’re making the first attack before dawn.”
In the darkness, Alyiakal sets a moderate pace, and when first squad reaches the buried road and turns toward the Kyphran fortification, he orders, “Silent riding.”
Instead of halting when the squad reaches a point roughly two hundred yards from the walls, he gives a second order. “Ready firelances. Do not fire, except on command.”
A hundred yards from the walls, Alyiakal slows the chestnut and searches for the sentries, using both sight and order/chaos senses. The one at the southwest corner gives the impression of dozing on his feet, while the sentry at the northwest corner looks in Alyiakal’s direction. Alyiakal raises his firelance, aims it, and wills the short chaos bolt into the sentry.
The burst of white chaos jolts the southwest sentry alert, but before he can even call out anything, Alyiakal’s second burst turns him into ashes.
“To the right. On me,” Alyiakal orders quietly but firmly. He’s gambling that the other two sentries, if they even saw the quick bursts of chaos and light, will be somewhat confused.
Alyiakal’s senses tell him that the sentry on the southeast corner does not move, but the sentry on the northeast corner is moving, possibly looking from side to side. Alyiakal and the chestnut are standing almost opposite the middle of the south wall when the sentry on the northeast corner begins to yell. The sentry on the southeast corner straightens and turns, just in time to be hit by Alyiakal’s third bolt.
Since Alyiakal cannot yet discern any movement in the ersatz courtyard inside the fortification, he orders, “Fast walk.”
By the time the troopers stir and rush into the courtyard, Alyiakal is opposite the gate, with an even better shot at the remaining sentry, who hurries toward the gate. Alyiakal doesn’t even have to use much of his personal order and chaos to guide and extend the chaos bolt to take out the last sentry. Then he angles his firelance up and fires a bolt, guiding it slightly so that it drops into a handful of Kyphran troopers heading for the horses.
Alyiakal, even without his order-augmented senses, can hear the yells and screams.
“To the rear, ride!” he orders, easing the chestnut around the squad and leading the way back to the buried road. Once the squad stops on the road, at the edge of archery range, he calls a halt.
“Now we’ll see what they do,” Alyiakal says to Torkaal.
“Do you think that last bolt of yours did any good?” asks Torkaal.
“It had to at least injure some troopers. There wouldn’t have been screams otherwise.”
From what he can sense, the only gate to the fortification remains closed, but he and first squad wait. Then he senses several men moving to replace the previous sentries. The replacements, unlike their predecessors, keep their heads low, quickly peering over the wall, then ducking. While Alyiakal might have been able to direct another chaos bolt, he decides against it.
When light spreads across the eastern horizon, Alyiakal orders first squad to return to the encampment, leaving two scouts to observe and report.
As he rides back, he wonders whether his plan will work, or whether it will be like dealing with the barbarians; a lot of deaths, where nothing really changes, except for the young captains and rankers who do the killing to keep the raiders from killing others.
Fraadn waits as the squad rejoins the other two guarding the eastern side of the encampment. “How did it go?”
“We took out all the sentries on the wall and dropped a chaos bolt into the courtyard. From the screams, there were casualties.”
“You realize we’re going to have to have a company ready all the time now.”
“Yes, ser.” But you knew that. “Since we’re already here, we’ll take the first duty. Our scouts are already in position.”
“Carry on, Captain.”
Alyiakal can sense that Fraadn’s concerned, but his only reply is, “Yes, ser.”
Once Fraadn leaves, Torkaal eases his mount closer to Alyiakal and says, “Ser, you could have done all that without the squad.”
Alyiakal smiles sardonically. “Not if they’d sent a squad against me. And that will happen sooner or later. We just don’t know when.”
“Have you always been that good with a firelance?”
“No. I’ve gotten better with experience.” Which is true, if not the kind of experience Torkaal will think.
“Is that why you came up with this plan?”
“I couldn’t think of anything better that would work and keep our casualties to a minimum.” At least for now. “Apparently, no one else could, either.”
“What happens if they attack?”
“A lot of them will get slaughtered, and we’ll lose a few men and a lot of chaos charges we can’t afford to lose. That’s why I hope this will persuade them to leave.”
“Won’t they run into the Kyphran reinforcements and come back with them?”
“That’s very possible, and I don’t have an answer for that, but I’d rather have us behind walls firing chaos bolts out than the other way around.”
“When you put it that way, ser, it makes sense.”
What makes more sense, Alyiakal feels, is to find out what is in the buried building and, if it isn’t useful, to withdraw to the east pass. But even that can’t be held against a large enemy force without a constant supply of recharged firelances.
Those considerations lead to even more disturbing thoughts.
Under the cloudless but hazy blue-green sky of Spring, the sun hasn’t even reached midmorning when Saavacol comes hurrying back to the encampment. Alyiakal immediately calls out, “All squads! Stand by to mount!” Then he waits for the scout to reach him.
“Ser! The Kyphrans have formed up outside the gate to the fort.”
“How many?”
“Most of them, I’d say. Looks like three foot companies and one mounted. Maybe a third of the foot are archers.”
“Any wagons or are any of the horses carrying gear?”
“No, ser.”
“Which way are they taking? The one on the north side of their outpost or the way we approached this morning and the other night?”
“On the north side, it looks like, ser.”
“All squads mount!” Alyiakal turns to Torkaal. “Get them ready to move out.” One way or another, Sixth Company will be riding somewhere. “I need to tell Captain Fraadn. I’ll be right back.”
“Yes, ser.”
Alyiakal doesn’t have far to go because Fraadn is already moving toward him.
“Four companies forming up,” announces Alyiakal. “No packs or wagons. One mounted. One of archers. Two foot. They’re positioned to take the road on the north side of their outpost.”
“Congratulations,” says Fraadn sardonically.
“You did say you didn’t want to have to attack their fort, ser.”
“The lesser of two evils is only the lesser of necessary evils,” replies Fraadn. “It was a calculated risk. Not that we had or have many decent choices under our orders. With that many foot and archers, we’re better off having most of the companies staying behind the walls and picking them off as they come.”
Since Fraadn implies which company won’t be behind the walls, Alyiakal asks, “What if Sixth Company moves out and then attacks their rear?”
“You’ll be exposed to the archers.”
“We can stay out of range until the right moment. Also, their mounted might decide to engage us.”
“That’s a good possibility. Do what you can, Captain.”
In other words, try not to lose many men, but do as much damage as you can. “Yes, ser.” Alyiakal turns and heads back to where a mounted ranker holds the reins to the chestnut gelding. He mounts immediately, then turns to Torkaal. “We’re heading south. We need to flank them or get behind them.”
“Best of a bad situation,” replies the senior squad leader. “Personally, I’d rather be attacking than defending.”
Right now, I’d rather not do either. But Alyiakal says only, “Company! Forward!” Then he eases the chestnut into a trot, heading south.
Sixth Company maintains the same pace and in half a quint nears the Kyphran outpost. Even before Sixth Company is within a fifth of a kay of the Kyphran fortification, Alyiakal senses manned walls, held by archers, and that the main gate is secured.
“To the left, on me!” Alyiakal concentrates on the archers on the west wall, but none of them nock shafts—not surprisingly, given that the company is outside the effective range of the best archers.
He turns his attention to the area north and east of the fort, but detects no Kyphrans there. Nor are there any on the section of the northern road close to the fort, but he can definitely sense horses and riders at the rear of the Kyphran force heading toward the Mirror Lancer encampment. He also doesn’t sense order/chaos patterns flanking the northern road behind the Kyphrans.
You’ll have to keep sensing behind you, just in case.
Sixth Company rides closer to the Kyphran rear guard, comprised entirely of mounted troopers. Although Alyiakal cannot discern their weapons, they don’t carry lances or longbows, impossible to use on horseback. He also doubts that they are slingmen.
From what Alyiakal can tell, the Kyphrans have not sighted Sixth Company, although Sixth Company is less than three hundred yards behind them. Are they trying to lure us closer? He says quietly to Torkaal, “They should have noticed us. They’ve got something in mind, but they’re far enough back from the main body that the archers there, even if they turned immediately, couldn’t get many shafts back even to the rear guard.”
“Then we should pretend we don’t realize that they have something in mind,” suggests the senior squad leader. “We should get as close as possible and then attack at a fast trot. We can spread from that. The ground on each side isn’t that uneven. Not for the first five yards or so.”
“Order first squad four abreast.”
Torkaal turns and orders, “First squad! Four abreast! Lances ready!” He turns back to Alyiakal. “Looks like the Kyphrans are already four abreast.”
“That’s going to make it hard for them to turn and face us, if that’s what they have in mind.”
“They might turn and spread,” Torkaal points out.
“Then we need to hit them before they do and be ready to spread as well, depending on their weapons.” At that moment, Alyiakal senses chaos bolts ahead, and that means the Kyphran foot is attacking the Mirror Lancer encampment. “Sixth Company! Fast trot!”
In less than a twenty-count, Sixth Company has closed to less than two hundred yards, but by the time Alyiakal is within a hundred yards, the Kyphran rear guard begins to turn and spread, lifting shorter horn bows.
“Archers! Company spread!” snaps Alyiakal, immediately targeting one of the mounted archers, then a second, and a third, urging the chestnut forward and belatedly expanding his shields to protect his mount.
Almost instantly, Alyiakal feels the impact of shafts on his shields, but by drawing their fire, he hopes he spares some of his lancers. He can sense the company spreading, and the black mists of death across the ranks of the horse archers.
By the time he reaches the point of the rear guard’s last position, the situation has deteriorated into man-to-man combat. Then, in a fraction of a quint, a scattered handful of the mounted archers have ridden northward, circling back to the Kyphran fort. Alyiakal judges that there might be a score of riderless mounts, although some might be chaos-burned and possibly fatally injured. “Sixth Company. Regroup! Ten abreast! Staggered formation! Forward!” orders Alyiakal.
While he knows there have to be wounded lancers, some possibly seriously, Sixth Company needs to strike the foot archers at the rear before they can react.
In a tenth of a quint, Alyiakal has Sixth Company moving toward the foot archers at the rear of the remaining Kyphran force, although some lancers lag because of the uneven ground on both sides farther away from the northern road.
From where he rides in the middle of the front line, Alyiakal concentrates on the foot archers, who are roughly a hundred and fifty yards from the low walls of the Mirror Lancer encampment and still loosing shafts toward the lancers behind the walls, providing cover to the regular foot charge.
“Lances ready!”
Alyiakal is little over a hundred yards from the rear of the archers when he sees several in the rear rank turn, nock shafts, and release them. He waits for a twenty-count, so that the first line is well within effective range of their firelances, before he commands, “Open fire!”
In moments, the Kyphran archers in the rear line flare into ashes, and before long, the company of foot archers has disintegrated into men fleeing northward, not that the short Spring grass will provide any real cover, but the grass is deep enough that it conceals rodent and snake dens that could cripple horses moving at any speed. At the moment, Alyiakal has far higher priorities—in particular, attacking the rear of the Kyphran foot from enough distance that Sixth Company can avoid inadvertent chaos bolts from the two companies behind the walls.
Alyiakal turns to Torkaal. “Have second squad spread on the right flank, and third squad on the left. Fast walk toward the foot. Short bursts.”
Sixth Company closes on the Kyphran foot, its chaos bolts striking down those in the rear.
“Sixth Company!” bellows Alyiakal, sensing that he is approaching where chaos bolts from the Mirror Lancers to the west could possibly reach him and his lancers. “Halt! Stand fast! Targeted fire! Short bursts!”
Alyiakal aims as precisely as he can, keeping his chaos bursts almost momentary.
By now, the Kyphran foot are trapped, almost half felled by fire from east or west. A few run straight at the Sixth Company lancers, some with spears, others with blade and buckler. None of those Kyphrans survive. In less than a quint, the few remaining troopers of the Kyphran force caught between firelances on both sides flee northward, then to the east. The space between where Alyiakal halted Sixth Company and the Mirror Lancer encampment is littered with bodies and ashes.
As the number of Kyphrans dwindles, Alyiakal feels chaos impact on his shields, almost directly in front of him.
A distance-weakened chaos bolt? A second bolt flares against his shields as well, and he smiles wryly, glad that he has worked so hard on those shields, even if he hadn’t expected their first trial would be by misdirected Mirror Lancer fire.
Then he senses that the entrenched Mirror Lancers have stopped firing, with less than a handful of Kyphrans in range, and he belatedly orders, “Sixth Company! Cease fire! Cease fire!”
“What about the survivors?” asks Torkaal.
“Take them prisoner for now and march them toward the encampment. We need to find out more about their force and the fortification. As you can, find out about our casualties, especially the wounded.”
“Yes, ser.”
As Torkaal moves away, Alyiakal does his best to scan the battle area and beyond, especially toward the Kyphran fortification, but he can see only scattered Kyphran troopers, little more than a score, if that, trying to circle back to their base.
Almost immediately, Torkaal returns. “Two deaths, three wounded, one pretty bad.”
“Frig.” Alyiakal wants to shake his head, but asks, “All from the archers, I take it?”
“Yes, ser. Could have been a lot worse.”
Alyiakal understands that’s as close to approval—or acceptance—as he’ll get from Torkaal, or any senior squad leader. “Let me take a quick look at the most badly wounded man first, then the other two.”
“Captain Fraadn might want you to report.”
“There aren’t any Kyphrans nearby, and men come before procedures, especially when we likely incurred most of the casualties.”
“Yes, ser.”
Alyiakal senses surprise, but not necessarily disapproval, as he turns south, following Torkaal perhaps fifty yards to where a lancer lies on the ground on his back, another lancer kneeling beside him.
“Graanish looks to be the worst hurt, ser. He took a shaft in the chest, and the horse archers got his mount. She went down, and he hit his head on something. He’s breathing, but he’s out.”
Alyiakal dismounts and hands the chestnut’s reins to the nearest mounted lancer, then studies Graanish. For all the gashes and blood, he doesn’t sense more than faint redness in the skull, but the shaft in his chest, close to the right shoulder, is another matter. Blood isn’t spurting, but there’s more than Alyiakal would like to see. He senses that the arrowhead lies perilously close to the large vein returning to the heart.
Can you put a little shield there to protect it before you remove the shaft? Do you have any choice?
“Get me that satchel strapped behind my saddle,” he orders.
Once he has the satchel open and laid out beside the unconscious trooper, Alyiakal inserts the shield, and using both his own strength and order, eases the shaft out, then dusts the area around where the arrowhead had penetrated with order before dressing the wound. He looks to Torkaal. “You can move him now. The gashes on his head aren’t that deep, but he’ll have to be carried flat.”
“We’ll manage that.”
Then Alyiakal turns to the two other wounded troopers—shoulder wounds. In less than a quint he is back in the saddle riding across the battle area toward the Mirror Lancer encampment.
Fraadn stands waiting in front of a section of the wall that is shoulder-high. He looks up to Alyiakal and asks, “What were you doing out there after you finished wiping out the survivors?”
“Doing some quick treatment of wounds. I’ll have to follow up with more later.”
“You took time for that?”
“Why not? There are only a handful or two of the Kyphrans left, and we might need every lancer we have if this mess drags out. My lancers are escorting the survivors here so you can question them.”
Fraadn opens his mouth, then pauses.
Alyiakal can sense the flash of anger and says, “When it doesn’t threaten anyone else, healing can come first.”
“What happened before you attacked the Kyphran rearguard archers?” asks Fraadn.
Alyiakal explains briefly about the horse archers.
“How many of them escaped?”
“Possibly a half score.”
“How many did you lose?”
“Two dead. Three wounded. There’s a chance the three will recover. Did you have any casualties?”
“Not that I’m aware of.”
Alyiakal nods. “Good.”
Fraadn looks levelly at Alyiakal.
Alyiakal looks back evenly, but says nothing.
After a long moment, Fraadn shakes his head. “The subcommander said that you were effective with minimal casualties for what you accomplished.”
“They could have withdrawn or fled. We left them that option.”
“We are on their territory,” Fraadn points out.
“And we have orders,” replies Alyiakal dryly.
“Sowshit situation. Could have been set up by the black angels.” Fraadn pauses. “Maybe the black angels built the road and whatever’s behind the wall the Kyphrans built.”
“We’ll find out by tomorrow,” suggests Alyiakal.
“You think so?”
“They’ve suffered massive casualties despite outnumbering us. Now we outnumber them. In addition, by twoday or threeday we’ll have two more companies here.”
“They won’t know that tomorrow, and they still have walls.”
“We can repeat what we did this morning.” Was that just this morning? Alyiakal then realizes that it’s only slightly past noon. You need to eat something. You’re barely thinking. “After my men turn over the captives, permission to return Sixth Company to quarters? Or what passes for quarters?”
“Permission granted, Captain.” Fraadn turns and calls out, “Captain Rynst! Ready Third Company for immediate scout and picket duty!”
“Third Company, preparing for duty.”
Alyiakal rides toward Torkaal, who leads first squad toward the encampment, with five Kyphrans walking in front of four lancers with firelances. The Kyphrans look fearful and slightly dazed.
As soon as Alyiakal is close enough to the senior squad leader, he says, “Captain Fraadn is waiting for the captives. Also, have third squad remain mounted on watch duty until Third Company finishes relieving us.”
“Yes, ser.”
Then Alyiakal turns the chestnut and takes over escorting the prisoners to Fraadn, wondering how long he and first squad will have to guard them.
He doesn’t have to worry about that for long, because Fraadn has lancers from First Company waiting.
“You and your men can get some rest, Captain,” says Fraadn.
“Thank you, ser,” replies Alyiakal.
Over the next quint, Alyiakal takes the time to check on Graanish, who is stretched out in the makeshift quarters. He adds a touch of order to reduce the dull redness of the head injury and cleans up the gashes, adding more diffuse order strategically to the shoulder wound, then checks on the other two lancers.
Even so, it’s more than a quint before Third Company is mustered and in position and Rynst rides up to Alyiakal.
“Heard you only lost two men and had three wounded. How are they doing?”
“Two look to be all right, but they won’t be fighting any time soon. The third? I’m hopeful, but the next few days will tell.”
“Fraadn said their horse archers tried to lure you in, but it didn’t work.”
“It worked. Torkaal suggested we play dumb and get as close as we could so that we only had to cover minimum distance for the firelances to be effective. The squad leaders spread when I gave the order so all the firelances were available. It worked fairly well.”
“That’s one way of putting it.”
“How would you put it?” asks Alyiakal.
“Murderously efficient.”
Alyiakal doesn’t even have to use his senses to feel the disapproval. “I’d rather not fight at all. But if I have to fight, I don’t like losing men, and I don’t like having to fight the same enemy twice. We gave them two chances to leave. You repulsed them the first time. Sixth Company showed them early this morning they were vulnerable. How many chances do you give someone? Give them too many and you’ll lose men you don’t have to.”
“You have a point,” replies Rynst. “I don’t like it, but it’s valid. But … thinking like that can get you stuffed into poor posts, or continually sent out to kill barbarians.”
“You may be right,” agrees Alyiakal, “but I won’t lose men to further personal ambition.”
Rynst winces. “I’d keep that sentiment to yourself.”
Alyiakal offers a ragged grin. “I shouldn’t wax philosophical when I’m exhausted.”
“Go get some rest,” returns Rynst cheerfully. “I’m not about to say anything. You likely saved some of my men, maybe even me.”
Alyiakal turns the chestnut and rides to the enclosed picketing area. As he dismounts and walks the chestnut to the raised temporary stone pool serving as a makeshift watering trough, he sees two lancers farther down the pool, one of whom looks at him and then quickly looks away. Intrigued, Alyiakal focuses his senses on what they’re saying.
“… swear I saw arrows bounce off that horse … and he talks to his mount … almost like he hears something in return…”
“… if that’s so, I’d talk to him, too.”
“… another thing … he never misses with the lance … even in the dark…”
“I’d be more worried if he missed. Don’t worry about that sowshit. He got us where the Kyphran bastards got killed and we didn’t.”
“Except for Wullyn and Kaastryn. They were good men.”
“… most of us are still here … most of them aren’t. That takes a good captain.”
“… still say there’s something about him…”
“That’s true of all the good young captains … wouldn’t be here otherwise…”
Alyiakal has to agree with the last words of the older lancer before the two lead their mounts away from the watering area. He pats the chestnut on the shoulder. “You did well today.” He wishes he had a carrot or even a pearapple to give to the gelding.
Once Alyiakal returns to the tent-covered area in the walled ruin that comprises officers’ spaces, he eats some trail biscuits, washed down with order-dusted water, then lies down on his bedroll, which only softens the hard ground slightly. Even so, he falls asleep.
He wakes up to Rynst’s voice.
“Are you going to sleep through what passes for dinner?”
Alyiakal bolts awake. “Is it that late?”
“A glass from real sunset, I’d guess.”
“I take it nothing alarming has happened?”
“Not so far, anyway. We’ve been watching the Kyphran fort all afternoon. Another score of their troopers straggled back. From all he can hear, Fraadn thinks there’s something going on behind the walls.”
“Preparing for another attack? I’d be surprised. They might be withdrawing to that half port and pier they built.”
“You think they’d leave the safety of the walls?”
“It’s possible.” Alyiakal isn’t about to point out that he’s already proved that hiding behind the walls isn’t all that safe. Not for the Kyphrans, and possibly not for us, either. “We can’t afford to follow them very far, and they have to know that. So, if they can slip away under the cover of darkness and get to that pier, they may think they have a better chance.”
Rynst nods. “That makes sense, since they likely don’t know about the fireship.”
“Even if they did, the Rylaan’s not about to waste firecannon chaos flaming a few troopers on a pier when there’s a small Kyphran fleet headed her way.”
“So when will we see this Kyphran force, assuming that some of them get past the fireship?”
“It was likely six days ago when the subcommander got word about the Kyphran fleet. From what I know, it will take the Kyphran ships at least six days—and that’s with favorable winds—to sail from Ruzor to that pier.” Alyiakal shrugs. “But we don’t know how long it took them to embark men and supplies or for that information to get to the subcommander.”
“I’d guess we have a few days,” adds Fraadn, as he joins them. “I’ve stationed some lookouts on the bluff south of us. They can’t see to the pier, but they can watch the cove and see anyone trying to offload from a ship. Or if the Rylaan destroys anyone who tries. I don’t see that happening. The trail up here from the cove ends half a kay east of the Kyphran fort. It’s barely wide enough for a single horse. So, we might as well let anyone who lands there climb the trail and pick them off as they near the top. That tells me that the Rylaan will concentrate on the pier area.”
“If some of the Kyphran ships have catapults,” says Rynst, “they could engage the Rylaan. That might allow the others to offload at the pier.”
Alyiakal nods. If it comes to that, the Rylaan will have to engage any ship that attacks, simply because the fireships are too valuable to take preventable damage. The Duke of Kyphros has to know that.
“The Kyphrans here don’t know exactly when to expect reinforcements,” says Alyiakal. “So whether they stay or withdraw won’t tell us much.”
“We’ll have to watch the fort carefully and see,” declares Fraadn.
Nothing happens over the next glass, while the three officers eat trail rations, and the slight headache that Alyiakal almost hadn’t noticed vanishes. None of the three speculates on what the Kyphrans might do.
Fraadn assigns Third Company as the duty company for the night, with one squad at a time ready to ride at a moment’s notice.
Alyiakal wonders if he’ll be able to sleep, but has no difficulty.
Sometime later, Alyiakal wakes in the darkness to voices.
“Ser,” says Rynst quietly to Fraadn, “the Kyphrans are pulling out. They’re heading east, wagons and all, via the rough road they built. There are still fires and some smoke from the fort.”
“They could have set fire to anything they didn’t take. Or they might have left fires burning to give the impression that they’ve left troopers behind. Keep the duty squad ready—and let me know immediately if anything changes.” After a pause, Fraadn adds, “We’re not attacking in the dark in territory we don’t know.”
Rynst slips away in the darkness, and Alyiakal follows him with his senses, but he can’t discern any order/chaos patterns east of the Mirror Lancer encampment or west of the Kyphran fort.
That should mean that they’re really withdrawing.
Even so, for a time Alyiakal lies there, sensing as far as he can, before he finally drops into a restless sleep.
Oneday morning, Alyiakal awakes before dawn, and immediately senses for order/chaos patterns outside the Mirror Lancer encampment. He finds none except for rodents, possibly a grass snake, and the scouts posted to observe the Kyphran fortification. He gets ready for the day quietly, including checking on Graanish and easing a little order into his wounds and seeing to the other two wounded lancers as well.
Fraadn and Rynst aren’t far behind him, and none of the three says much as they eat hard oatcakes for breakfast. Alyiakal finishes first, then asks Fraadn, “Why don’t I take a squad and investigate the Kyphran post? My men are the most rested.”
“You’re really interested in it, aren’t you?”
“It’s where the old road ends. I have to wonder what’s there. There might be nothing left, but if there’s nothing, why didn’t the Kyphrans fortify this area instead?”
“You can also take over as duty company and relieve Third Company’s sentries and scouts.”
“Yes, ser.”
Over two quints later, Alyiakal leads second squad along the northern approach to the Kyphran base. With the sun still low in the eastern sky, he uses senses as well as sight as they near the silent walls, but he discerns no signs of life. He keeps the squad well away from the walls until they’re far enough east to see the gate, barely wide enough for a single wagon. The narrow gate is closed, as he suspected.
All that means is that there’s no one on the walls or in the courtyard, and there aren’t any horses, either.
“Real quiet, ser,” says Maelt. “The gate’s closed.”
“If they’ve all left, they’d have closed it, if only to make us cautious and delay any possibility of going after them. We’ll move closer, slowly.”
When the squad is less than fifty yards from the gate, Alyiakal says, “Send two men to open the gate. There’s no one in the courtyard. If there were, there’d be signs, and we’d hear horses.”
Maelt looks at Alyiakal.
Alyiakal can sense the doubt, but simply says, “Do it, Squad Leader. Just tell them to be careful. The Kyphrans might have left some sort of trap, or maybe a concealed pit in front of or behind the gate.”
As the two rankers ride forward, warily, Alyiakal concentrates on the gate, trying to discern anything out of place. If there is, he’s fairly certain it’s not something infused or moved by free order or chaos.
The two rankers stop short of the gate, clearly studying the ground, then slowly near the right side.
Then one calls out, “It’s not even barred!”
The second adds, “There aren’t any pits, either.”
Still mounted, the two slowly open the gate, which scrapes across a sand-covered stone surface until it grinds to a halt, suggesting to Alyiakal that the Kyphrans had to lift the gate to open it wide. But then, even getting the timber for a gate would have been difficult.
Which suggests that there’s something of interest in there.
“Do you see anyone in the courtyard?” calls Alyiakal.
“No, ser.”
Alyiakal turns to Maelt. “We’re going in. Detach two men as sentries to warn us if Kyphrans return.” Not that Alyiakal expects such, but it is theoretically possible. “And have them keep an eye on where the trail up from the cove ends.”
“Yes, ser.”
Having positioned the sentries, Alyiakal leads the way, at a deliberate pace so he has time to sense for anything untoward or dangerous.
When he nears the gate, he sees where the ground ends and a smooth stone surface lies just under a thin layer of sand. Alyiakal senses the same stone under the entire courtyard ahead, except for the western half, where stand chest-high, roofless sunstone walls, the tops of which look smooth-melted.
Once inside the walls, Alyiakal glances around, still sensing no one but his own men and mounts. The dung heaped in the northeast corner confirms that section has held horses. His eyes go back to the smooth white walls, whose mortar lines are barely visible. “There was a taller building here, and someone … or something removed its top. Let’s see where the stairs to the lower levels are.”
“Lower levels, ser?” asks Maelt.
“There’s no sign that all those Kyphrans slept or ate or whatever up here in the courtyard. Or am I missing something?” He pauses, then adds, “Unless some slept in the roofless part of the building, but I never heard them when I scouted the walls.”
Alyiakal rides to where the walls begin, reining up at an open space in the walls that might once have been an archway or entry. He dismounts and hands the chestnut’s reins to the ranker riding behind him. He unstraps the travel lantern from behind the saddle.
“Kaarlyt, you’re with me.”
After the ranker joins him, Alyiakal walks through the entry and down what once had been the main corridor. He can’t tell if a floor had covered the sunstone, and doubts it, before realizing, when the road to Guarstyad had been intact, obtaining woods and goods would have been much easier.
Alyiakal sees square shafts spaced at intervals and walks over to the nearest and peers down. While he can see only a few cubits, he senses that it goes down farther.
In the center of the building, truncated walls surround what used to be a courtyard below, where he sees a makeshift stove and oven of sorts. The center of the courtyard holds a fountain with a basin, from which water somehow drains. Some eight cubits down lie pieces of discarded, or broken, gear on the courtyard’s stone floor. Off the main corridor Alyiakal finds not the staircase he suspected, but a long, gradual, and rather wide ramp.
Why a ramp? It takes up more space.
“Let me go first, ser,” says Kaarlyt, “just in case.”
Although Alyiakal cannot sense anyone beneath them, he steps back and lets the veteran lancer lead the way down the black stone ramp of the sunstone staircase. Following Kaarlyt, he discovers that the ramp is wide enough that his fingers barely touch the walls when he extends his arms. At the bottom is a hallway, too dark to see much, but clearly leading to the courtyard in the other direction. Alyiakal walks to the courtyard, where he finds that the floor of the upper level extends almost two yards from the courtyard walls.
The fountain has significant flow, and no chaos in the water he can sense. He also discovers that it’s difficult to sense beyond those walls except through openings. That being the case, he lifts the travel lantern, and removes the striker from its slot. Although he holds the striker, he actually uses a bit of chaos to light the lantern. “We’re going to take a quick look at the side chambers.”
“Yes, ser.”
Only the courtyard chambers on the lower level appear to have been used by the Kyphrans, possibly because of poor to nonexistent ventilation. Several rooms farther from the courtyard, along side halls, look like storage, judging from traces of spilled maize meal and flour. Broken stones and other rubble, in a chest-high pile, fill five of the chambers well back from the courtyard, while another holds discarded equipment, including two broken blades. One other chamber’s use is also obvious, from the slight odor emanating from the stone seats. Beneath the open seats, several cubits down, Alyiakal hears running water, and he sees likely drain openings in the floor. But to where? The building sits several hundred yards from the cliffs.
From there Alyiakal heads back to the first dark hallway, but it seems to lead nowhere. One opening on the left, however, looks different from the other doorways on the right side of the corridor. As he gets closer he can see why: The doorway’s edges are marked—not smooth like the others.
“The Kyphrans did this,” says Alyiakal, holding the lantern close to the right edge of the opening, a space roughly as wide as the other existing doorways, “using picks or chisels, sometime recently.” Enough of the wall has been removed, and the rubble removed, that he cannot tell if there had been a sealed doorway or the Kyphrans had just cut through the wall.
Holding the lantern high, he walks into the empty chamber.
“They took whatever was in here when they left,” says Kaarlyt.
“I think they took it all earlier, as well as anything in the other chambers, most likely last Summer or early Harvest. That may be why they built the pier.” Alyiakal steps out of the chamber and begins to examine the wall farther away from the building’s center, since the chamber broken into by the Kyphrans is only halfway to the end of the corridor.
The wall section looks smooth, with no masonry joins. As if the stone had been melted. He can also sense that order reinforces the surface, but only slightly. Why? Wouldn’t the stone take any more? Or had the order been added quickly and much of it has dissipated over the years?
Alyiakal moves to the end of the hallway, examining the wall using both sight and senses, and from what he can tell the unbroken sunstone wall is definitely a construction of the First or the Mirror Engineers. Alyiakal has doubts about the engineers’ involvement.
He walks back to where he feels there should be a doorway but there isn’t. He senses nothing beyond the wall’s surface. Finally, he turns and heads back toward the base of the ramp, shaking his head.
“Ser?” asks Kaarlyt.
“Just thinking about what was in that concealed chamber.” He shakes his head again. “We’ll have to worry about that later. We need to report back to Captain Fraadn.”
At the top of the ramp, Alyiakal takes a quick look at the ruined upper level above the dark hallway, but he can’t discern another staircase or ramp anywhere.
That will have to wait.
He returns to the rest of the squad and mounts. Little more than half a quint later, he reins up next to the officers’ area and dismounts.
Fraadn is there almost as soon as Alyiakal’s boots hit the ground. “They’ve really left, then?”
“They have, and inside those walls is a ruined building with an old flowing fountain and usable stone jakes.”
Fraadn raises his eyebrows.
“You can see for yourself.” Alyiakal provides Fraadn with a full description, including the wall the Kyphrans had broken through, and noting in passing that the gate won’t stand up for long against any catapult, nor will the walls hold against any sustained assault.
“With what you’ve said, we may have to split our forces. We’ll need to keep a duty company posted here, maybe two, once Second and Fourth Companies arrive. I don’t like having all the mounts in that fort. They’ll be far too cramped. We’ll have to change that when the Kyphrans get close, but there’s some forage in that small canyon, and easier access to the plains grass.”
Alyiakal nods as Fraadn continues, but half his thoughts remain on the ruined building, as he wonders who built it and for what—and why it had been destroyed.
Except it wasn’t thoroughly destroyed—just partly destroyed and rendered effectively isolated and impractical to keep using.
The three Mirror Lancer companies spend much of oneday and twoday morning relocating some supplies and wagons to the fortification, as well as cleaning up the living and storage spaces, and disposing of all too many bodies by the only practical method—dropping them off the cliff into the waters below. Where possible, the fallen Kyphran mounts have been butchered and cooked, and some of the meat sun-dried.
The dull redness in Graanish’s skull has almost vanished, and none of the three wounded lancers in Sixth Company show any signs of reddish-white chaos, but Alyiakal knows he’ll have to keep close watch over the three for some time.
Early twoday morning Rynst and his second squad make the arduous trip down the trail to the cove, occasionally used by the Kyphrans, to determine its usefulness and assure that no Kyphrans lurk there. The green-blue sky remains cloudless, as it has since they arrived, but slightly hazy, and the night chill is gone within two glasses after sunrise. Alyiakal suspects the Summer will be brutal, and is not looking forward to it, since he has the feeling at least some of the Mirror Lancers will remain.
Just before noon Alyiakal and third squad ride out east along the rough road that the Kyphrans used to withdraw. As squad leader, Vaekyn rides beside Alyiakal, but neither speaks until the squad is well away from the makeshift fort.
“What do you think we’ll find, ser?”
“Very little of use, either in terms of any Kyphran discards or anything in the way of information. Possibly a broken wagon wheel, or a cracked or broken bow. Anything much beyond that would surprise me.” Alyiakal smiles wryly and adds, “I’d be happy to be proven wrong.”
The road slowly angles toward the cliffs, then roughly parallels them, running over sandy ground south of the wiry plains grass, already knee-high in places. South of the road and extending to the cliffs’ edge, some thirty yards or so, the sparse ground cover consists of low-growing plants resembling thin stringy vines, and occasional low evergreen bushes. Alyiakal wonders how they survive. He senses something in the grass ahead and to the north, probably a rodent or a coney. So far, he hasn’t seen anything resembling the grass cats he observed at his posting in Pemedra, but that might be because they avoid people when the grass doesn’t provide enough cover.
Scarcely two kays from the fort, on the north side of the road, Alyiakal sees a section of a leather strap, judging from its width, part of a harness. He suspects it got tossed into a wagon earlier and either fell out of the wagon or was discarded in the hurry to get away from the fort.
From Alyiakal’s observations of the sandy road, the rear guard was small in numbers, given that hoofprints only occasionally mark the wheel traces.
Or does that reflect how few Kyphrans remained, or both?
Over the next ten kays the only other object third squad finds is a wooden bucket with a rope handle, worn through in the middle, that likely fell off a wagon in the darkness.
Alyiakal reins up in early midafternoon at a point where the ground begins a long, gradual slope to the Western Ocean, which he suspects continues to the Kyphran pier. He rides closer to the cliff edge and studies the ocean, but doesn’t see the Rylaan or any other ships. He rejoins third squad.
Alyiakal can’t see any sign of the Kyphrans, and sees no indications that any rider or wagon left the road that third squad has followed. There are also no signs of any hamlets or people anywhere. That scarcely surprises Alyiakal, since the grasslands look even less habitable than the Grass Hills of Pemedra.
“Do you see any signs of anything, Vaekyn?”
“No, ser. The Kyphrans must be more than five kays ahead of us, maybe farther.”
“They’re likely near or at their pier. We’re not going to find anything more unless we go all the way to the pier, and that would take us farther than Captain Fraadn specified. It’s time to head back.”
“Yes, ser.”
On the return ride, Alyiakal continues to scan the surrounding area, but the only order/chaos patterns, besides those of his men and their mounts, are those of small animals.
Once they near the gate to the stone fort, Alyiakal, dismissing Vaekyn and third squad to the picket area to care for their mounts, rides through the open gate and hitches the chestnut at a rail in the northeast corner of the courtyard. He walks to the ruined building, where Fraadn waits under an awning created by a tent stretched across a corner.
The senior captain raises his voice to Alyiakal, still several yards away. “What did you discover?”
“We traveled a bit over ten kays. The road’s mostly level to that point. From there, especially to the southeast, there’s a gradual slope. The Kyphrans stayed on the road, and the only thing discarded was a wooden bucket with a worn rope handle. The squad brought it back because they thought it might be useful for the pickets. From the tracks, I’d guess less than a company remains.”
Fraadn nods. “Not surprising, after your accomplishments with Sixth Company.”
“Have you heard anything about Second and Fourth Companies?”
“One of the First Company scouts rode back a while ago. They met up with Second and Fourth Companies, and the other scout is leading them back.”
“Well,” replies Alyiakal, “they’ll be here before the Kyphran force arrives.”
“Possibly quite a bit before the Kyphrans, if the Rylaan is effective.”
“Do you think the Rylaan can stop them from landing troopers?”
Fraadn shrugs. “I don’t know. I’m not counting on it. Especially if the Kyphrans are willing to lose a few ships. Now that Second and Fourth Companies are here, we might be able to do something about that.”
“Send two companies to hold the pier?”
“That, or inflict as many casualties as possible while the Kyphrans are vulnerable. There’s no point in letting them get established if we can stop them. We’ll send out scouts tomorrow to look for signs of the Kyphran ships, and to see if they can find any streams or water sources. Then at the first indication of a Kyphran approach, we’ll dispatch the companies. If there’s any significant water, I’ll send them sooner.”
“In the meantime, what about billeting?”
“Right now, First Company and its mounts will be here. The other four will be where we’re already set up.”
Alyiakal nods. The fort really can’t hold more than the horses of a single company, and separating lancers from their mounts makes no sense. “Is there anything else you need from Sixth Company?”
“For now, stick to the duty roster. That will change tomorrow, but I’ll let you all know then.”
“Yes, ser.” Alyiakal turns and walks back to the chestnut.
In a bit more than a quint, he finishes settling the gelding, washes up at a makeshift water trough made from the diverted spring, and makes his way to the officers’ tents.
Rynst immediately asks, “Did you find anything?”
“Only that the Kyphrans stayed on that road for the first ten kays and that not much lives around here in the Spring. What about you?”
“That trail down to the cove is brutal. They can’t have gotten that much in the way of supplies. We saw bones below the trail. Horse bones. We didn’t see signs of any ships.”
“I only looked when we stopped, before we turned back, but I didn’t see any, either.”
“We’ll be waiting, then,” suggests Rynst.
“Two days, anyway.”
Alyiakal sits on his bedroll, and leans back against the stone wall, his thoughts going back to his suspicion that there may be another hidden chamber in the ruined building. While each of the wagons carries a pick, getting through the wall with just a pick would be a chore.
Still …
He’ll have to see how matters develop.
Second Company, of the remaining companies, is the first to arrive at the picketing area, followed shortly by Kortyl. He walks to where Alyiakal and Rynst wait under their makeshift awning.
“So these are the officers’ tents.”
“For now,” replies Rynst.
“I have to say I’d rather be here than buried in that strange ruin.”
“How was the ride from Guarstyad?” asks Alyiakal.
“Not too bad, except for the wagons.”
“Did you bring any spare firelances?” asks Rynst.
“All that there were left, roughly fifty. I heard that you made hash out of the Kyphrans and took over this place.” Kortyl glances around. “Not a bad location to fight off an attack.”
“Alyiakal inflicted most of the casualties,” says Rynst. “He got behind them, wiped out their rear guard and archers. After that, the foot were easy targets. The survivors moved out in the night.”
“That so-called fort won’t stand up to much,” observes Kortyl.
“Not without archers or an unlimited supply of firelances,” says Alyiakal agreeably.
“Did you find out anything about who built the ruins?” asks Kortyl. “It looks like they used a massive firelance and melted the top off everything.”
“It had to be the First or people with the same abilities,” replies Alyiakal, “but so far we’ve found nothing other than the building, the road, and the mess left by the Kyphrans.”
“What about the cove?” Kortyl asks Rynst. “Fraadn said you were down there. Could we get supplies there?”
Rynst laughs harshly. “You’d have to offload to a boat, row ashore, then pack them up a trail barely wide enough for a single horse at a time. It would take about as long as to use the Kyphran pier east of here and put the supplies on wagons.”
“Which is likely why the Kyphrans built the pier where they did,” adds Alyiakal.
Kortyl snorts. “Think I’d rather defend the east pass. Defending here, with no easy way to get supplies or to hunt, seems shortsighted.”
“Except the Kyphrans broke into a concealed room and possibly removed something that the Mirror Engineers and the Magi’i would like to see,” adds Rynst.
Clearly Fraadn or Rynst looked at that dark hallway and talked it over. “So they think there might be something else hidden somewhere?” asks Alyiakal.
“That’s a guess on Fraadn’s part,” replies Rynst, “but why else would we be here? It’d be easier to protect the silver mine by holding the east pass.”
“So we risk men because there might be something dating back to the First buried in these ruins?” asks Kortyl.
“Inside the fort, but yes,” replies Rynst.
“If it’s so frigging important,” says Kortyl, “why did it take them a year to get us here?”
“Because there aren’t enough Mirror Lancers to do everything that needs to be done,” Alyiakal answers. “And because Guarstyad didn’t have an existing post.”
“And because the Magi’i didn’t know about the road until Alyiakal found it,” adds Rynst. “That probably made them reconsider their findings.”
“So why haven’t they sent a magus or two?” says Kortyl disgustedly.
“They won’t risk a magus until the Kyphrans aren’t a problem,” suggests Alyiakal. “Then you’ll have more Mirror Engineers and Magi’i here than you’d ever want to see.”
“I just wish that the Majer-Commander didn’t have to bow and scrape to the First Magus.” Kortyl shakes his head. “We’re always the ones paying for their high-sounding ideas.”
“And sometimes for those of the Merchanters in Cyad,” adds Alyiakal.
Kortyl snorts. “They all ought to spend a season with us.”
“They should,” agrees Rynst, “but they won’t.”
Certainly not any time soon.
All three officers turn at the sound of Fourth Company’s approaching mounts.
“… can’t wait to see Craavyl’s reaction…”
Alyiakal barely hears Kortyl’s muttered words, but Rynst hears them as well. They exchange amused glances, but neither says more.
When Craavyl arrives, Kortyl goes out to meet him, and the two walk away, talking, and neither looks exactly happy.
After what passes for dinner, Fraadn gathers the captains together in the officers’ area at the original encampment, explaining why only First Company will be quartered inside the fort. Then he continues, “None of our scouts and lookouts have seen any sign of the Rylaan. That suggests that the Kyphran fleet has either taken longer to gather and sail or that the fireship has successfully delayed or destroyed Kyphran ships. While there is the possibility that the Rylaan might have been damaged, if that has happened, we’d already be seeing Kyphran ships. We’ll send scouts tomorrow to see if mounting an attack at the pier is feasible, while the Kyphrans are trying to land.”
“You think they can get past the Rylaan,” asks Craavyl.
“If they have enough ships and are willing to lose some,” replies Fraadn. “The problem is that the Rylaan is only one ship. If we had two available…”
“Why don’t we?” asks Kortyl.
“More problems with the Jeranyi and with the Duke of Lydiar restricting access to the Great North Bay. The emperor sent two fireships to Lydiar, and the only way to recall them is to send a courier, which takes time.”
As Fraadn speaks, Alyiakal is again struck by how thin the Empire’s forces are spread. Is Cyador so impoverished that we cannot raise more Mirror Lancers?
Alyiakal understands that the number of fireships is fixed, because their chaos/order power systems cannot be duplicated, but more firelances could be created. Then again, firelances need to have their chaos replenished, and that requires a chaos tower. But does it? Could you replenish the chaos in your firelance, possibly bit by bit?
He smiles wryly, thinking that even if that is possible, he cannot replenish the chaos of even a sizable fraction of the firelances of Sixth Company. Still …
“Because we have no idea where the Kyphran forces are or when they may arrive,” Fraadn continues, “we’ll see what the scouts report. If there’s no water source, we’ll have to send two companies at the first signs of a possible landing. If there is, we’ll dispatch two companies earlier.” When Fraadn finishes the briefing, he asks pleasantly, “Any questions or anything where you’d like more explanation?”
“How long do you think we’ll be posted here?” asks Craavyl.
“As long as it takes to resolve the situation.”
“Resolve?” presses Craavyl.
“Defeat, drive off, or destroy the Kyphran force, or learn that the Rylaan and any war sloops deployed have destroyed the Kyphran fleet. Even so, it’s possible that a company will be posted here, on a rotating basis, a season at a time, for years to come.”
“No one mentioned that,” says Kortyl bluntly.
“No one mentioned it to me, either,” replies Fraadn, “but I don’t see how we can control access to Guarstyad without maintaining a presence here. That would require building a real post. Not based on the ruin, of course. That is, if it were up to any of us.”
“I can agree to that,” says Kortyl, almost in a growl, “but will they listen to us?”
“I wouldn’t wager on it,” declares Craavyl.
“Would any of us?” asks Alyiakal in a cheerfully cynical voice.
Rynst laughs heartily, and even Craavyl and Kortyl show traces of amused smiles as they shake their heads.
“I think we’re agreed on that,” says Fraadn. “Remember, this is just my opinion, and senior officers seldom listen to strategies offered by even the most senior captains.” After a moment he adds, “That’s all I have for now. The duty company tomorrow will be First Company, and the scouts will come from the duty company. On fourday, the duty company will be Second Company. After that, depending on what the scouts report, we’ll see.”
As Fraadn leaves, Alyiakal slips away and joins him.
“You have something in mind, Alyiakal?”
“With your permission, tomorrow I’d like to try something, since Sixth Company is not on the duty roster.”
“Oh?”
“When I was investigating the lower levels of the building, I made rough measurements on the dark end of the corridor.”
“You think there’s another chamber?”
“It’s possible. It would be good to find out before we have to deal with the Kyphrans, and since it will be at least a day, if not longer…”
“Go ahead. I’d thought about it. As a field healer, you’re the closest we have to a magus.”
“I’m just—”
Fraadn holds up a hand. “The subcommander told me about the survival rate of men you treated. That doesn’t happen if you don’t have both good training and at least a touch of ability with order. Let’s leave it at that.”
“Yes, ser. We will need to borrow two picks from the wagons.”
“I’ll have them waiting.”
“Thank you, ser.”
“Thank you. You’re the best for that, especially if you find something. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Yes, ser.” Alyiakal can’t help but wonder how much more Fraadn knows or suspects, but it’s far better not to confirm or deny anything involving magery, especially given Alyiakal’s suspicion. He watches as the senior captain unties his horse, mounts, and rides toward the fort, accompanied by two lancers.
Rynst joins Alyiakal. “Can I ask?”
“I asked for permission to investigate a part of the ruined building. He agreed, so long as it doesn’t get in the way of duties.”
“You think there’s something there?”
“I don’t know. Maybe, but I think it’s a good idea to find out, one way or another, before the Kyphrans return. I think Fraadn feels the same way, but if it goes wrong, it’s my head and not his.”
Rynst grins. “Remind me never to roll bones with you.”
Alyiakal declares seriously and sonorously, “Officers never roll bones.” Then he grins back.
Rynst shakes his head.
Later, once it is full dark, Alyiakal returns to where he has laid out his gear and studies his firelance with his senses, observing how much chaos remains. From what he can discern, it now holds slightly less than half of the original amount of chaos. But was the original amount of chaos what the weapon’s reservoir could hold? Or the amount it could safely hold, given the conditions under which the firelances are used?
He doesn’t have an answer to those questions, but there is another he can see if he can answer. Slowly he begins to gather and coil free chaos within order. When he has enough for his purposes, he needs to figure out how to get it into the firelance reservoir. If he triggers the firelance, that will open the valve to release chaos—definitely not what he needs.
Could the order around the coiled chaos be formed into a funnel with a one-way flap from the side of the coiled chaos? Alyiakal smiles grimly, knowing that the coiled chaos should have enough power as it hits the flap to force its way into the reservoir. He also knows that “should” and “does” can be very different things.
As he forms and moves the order funnel into position, he hopes his speculations are correct, but the coiled chaos performs as he has theorized. Just to be safe, he stops funneling chaos into the firelance before it reaches what he remembers as the full level. He wants as much chaos as possible, and he knows there has to be some margin of safety. Otherwise, there would be casualties among the Mirror Engineers who routinely replenish the firelances.
Then he leaves the firelance with his gear and walks in the direction of the picketing area, gradually releasing the remaining chaos in a tiny stream, so diffuse there’s no hint of a chaos bolt or flare.
When he finishes, he, strangely, has only a slight headache. Otherwise, he feels simultaneously stronger and more tired. He eases the headache by eating a few trail biscuits, softened with order-dusted water. He suspects that, before long, he will sleep soundly.
On threeday morning, Alyiakal checks on his wounded lancers and attends them first. He adds a slight amount of order again to reduce the small area of dull red chaos between Graanish’s skull and brain, as well as treating the wound chaos of the other injured lancers under the guise of checking their dressings. Then he eats a breakfast of warm oat porridge prepared on a crude stone stove topped by an iron plate, after which he wraps a few fragments of charcoaled evergreen wood from the base of the makeshift stove in a rag to take with him.
After readying and saddling their horses, Alyiakal and three lancers from second squad ride toward the fort.
“We’re going to do some digging,” he says. “There’s a place that should have a doorway and doesn’t, and we’re going to see if there’s a hidden chamber in the lower level of the ruin. The Kyphrans already found one.”
“Ser?” asks Fhaquar politely.
“Why Sixth Company? Because when I pointed out what the Kyphrans had done, Captain Fraadn agreed there might be another chamber and suggested that I should take charge of finding out.” He smiles ironically. “Junior captains with ideas often are allowed to carry them out.”
“That because you found the old road, ser?” asks Naalyn from where he rides behind Alyiakal and beside Escalyn.
“Maybe.” Alyiakal laughs softly. “If anything goes wrong, or we’ve wasted time and effort, there’s only one officer to blame.”
When the four reach the fort, they ride through the narrow gate to the single hitching rail adjoining the new fence confining First Company’s mounts. After dismounting and tying their horses, they walk across the courtyard toward the awning, but Alyiakal doesn’t see Fraadn.
The senior captain’s voice reaches him from the far side near two of the six wagons. “I’ll be there in a moment.”
Fraadn appears, carrying two pickaxes and something else. When he reaches the four, he hands the picks to Fhaquar and Naalyn. “There are the picks you asked for. I’ve also got a wagon lantern for you. It should provide better light.” He extends the lantern to Alyiakal.
“Thank you.” Alyiakal’s response is heartfelt because the three lancers will need that additional light far more than he will, especially since they’ll be the ones wielding the pickaxes. He hands the lantern to Escalyn. “We’ll see if there’s anything to find.”
“If there’s anything to find, you’ll find it,” replies Fraadn. “One way or another, we’ll need to know.”
Alyiakal leads the way to the ramp, struck again by its width, and says to Escalyn, “You might want to light the lantern now. The corridor is dark.”
Once Escalyn has the lantern lit, Alyiakal heads down the ramp, followed by Escalyn. When they reach the bottom, he waits for the others, then says, “Toward the dark end. You can lead the way, Escalyn. Stop at the first opening on the left.”
“Yes, ser.”
As he follows the lancer, Alyiakal concentrates on the patterns of order and chaos in the wall, at least as well as he can, given the slight overlay of order he sensed previously. Abruptly, he realizes not only that the order was most likely placed there to make the wall more resistant to a breach, but that such order, especially after its immediate application, would have made sensing beyond the wall difficult, if not impossible.
But a strong magus, especially one centered in chaos, likely wouldn’t have noticed that kind of concealment. Nor would a magus in a hurry.
When Escalyn stops, Alyiakal says, “Hold the lantern close to the edges of the opening. You can see the marks. None of the other doorways have marks.”
“There aren’t any doors, either, ser,” says Naalyn.
“There’s no wood left anywhere, not even the chambers where the Kyphrans put rubble and refuse. I’m guessing that over the first years after it was leveled, nomads removed all the wood. There aren’t any sizable trees. Then the wind and weather covered most of the ruins until the Kyphrans came along. That’s a guess, of course, but it fits.” Alyiakal pauses. “Move the lantern along the wall slowly, so I can see if there are any signs of another hidden doorway.”
That way, Alyiakal can also sense the wall’s surface, and hopefully beyond, without drawing suspicion—or more suspicion—to himself. The first six or seven cubits reveal nothing, nor does he expect them to. Then he senses slightly more order beyond the wall, probably the wall between the empty chamber and whatever adjoins it. The next part of the wall feels like the one fronting the empty chamber, but after perhaps another five cubits, Alyiakal senses a difference, a minuscule increase of the underlying order. He still, however, cannot determine what lies beyond the wall.
“Stop,” he says quietly to Escalyn. “Bring the lantern closer to the wall. Here.” He points. While he can see no difference, he runs his fingertips up and down along what might be the edge of a sealed doorway. Taking out a piece of his makeshift charcoal, he traces along that line. “Now, move the lantern slowly away from that mark.”
“Yes, ser.”
As Alyiakal has suspected, there is another area where the underlying order feels different, and he marks that and steps back. The distance between the two marks is definitely wider than the other doorways, even wider than the opening created by the Kyphrans.
Alyiakal studies the wall all the way to the wall that abuts it at the end of the corridor. The only places where the order levels vary in the slightest are the places he has marked. He straightens up and takes a deep breath. “Now, we’ll see if you can use the picks to remove some of that part of the wall—or doorway. It could be that there’s nothing there, but we have to start somewhere.” Alyiakal looks to Fhaquar, then Naalyn. “We’ll start in between these two marks. Which of you wants to take the first try?”
Fhaquar grins sheepishly. “I’ll try.”
“Be careful,” Alyiakal warns. “That stone is hard. Close to being as hard as iron, I’d guess. The pick might bounce back at you.”
Fhaquar frowns, but swings the pick easily, if keeping control. The blunt point of the pick hits the wall and clearly sends a shiver through Fhaquar’s arms.
“Whoa! You weren’t jesting, ser.” Fhaquar lowers the pick.
Alyiakal inspects the wall. The pick has chipped a fragment of stone perhaps the size of his thumbnail, but that allows him to sense that the ordered stone isn’t that deep, perhaps only half a digit. But getting through that half digit is going to be brutal. He steps back from the wall and says, “Try to hit several blows as close as you can to the first.”
“Yes, ser.”
Alyiakal spreads a thin layer of chaos around the first point of impact, hoping that the pick will drive some of that chaos against and into the order.
Fhaquar’s second blow is several digits from the first but within the circle of chaos. As Alyiakal has hoped, a larger sliver of stone flakes off, perhaps half thumb-sized, but not much thicker than a fingernail.
Less than half a quint later, Alyiakal motions for Fhaquar, sweating heavily, to step back, revealing an irregular oval not quite half a cubit across, with several barely visible nicks in the stone outside the area that Alyiakal has been covering with chaos. Alyiakal surreptitiously blots his own forehead.
Fhaquar looks at the tip of his pick. “Frig! That stone is hard. Part of the end here is gone.”
Alyiakal manages not to shake his head. You idiot! The chaos weakens the pick as well.
“You can pound at it for a while,” says Alyiakal, doing his best to bind order around the tip of Naalyn’s pickax.
Naalyn’s reaction to his first blow is similar to what Fhaquar’s had been. “Stone’s frigging hard. Can’t believe it’s like that.”
“I’m fairly certain that a magus strengthened the stone,” Alyiakal says.
“Now he tells us,” murmurs Escalyn.
Alyiakal simply says, “I did say it might be as hard as iron.”
After Naalyn delivers several blows, it’s clear to Alyiakal that the order-tipping of the pickax helps—more and larger stone flakes fly off the wall.
After motioning for Naalyn to take a break, Alyiakal inspects the enlarged oval and nods. In a few places, he can sense stone that isn’t order-infused. “You’re getting closer to the stone that isn’t strengthened.”
“How can you tell, ser?” asks Fhaquar.
“In the parts of the wall where you’ve gone deeper, you’re getting larger pieces of stone. Stone isn’t like that naturally.”
“Frigging right,” mutters Escalyn.
Alyiakal steps back and motions for Naalyn to continue.
When it appears that Naalyn’s efforts are waning, Alyiakal says, “Time for you to take a break, Naalyn. Escalyn, give the lantern to Fhaquar and take Naalyn’s pickax.”
“Yes, ser.” Escalyn exhales with polite resignation.
By early midmorning, the three lancers, with Alyiakal’s hidden assistance, create a patch roughly a yard wide, a cubit high, and a little over two digits deep, the bottom of which is all natural stone.
“Why don’t you want us to go deeper, ser?” asks Fhaquar.
“Because we need to get rid of more of the strengthened stone. That will make the rest of it much, much easier.”
Alyiakal also wants to control the access to whatever might be in the chamber.
By late midmorning, the three lancers have doubled the area of order-strengthened stone they’ve removed, and Alyiakal steps forward, examines the wall, and motions the three closer.
“You can see the mortar lines now. They must have chaos-melted stone over the entire wall.”
“They can do that?” asks Naalyn.
“I don’t know if the Magi’i or the Mirror Engineers can do that now,” replies Alyiakal, “but that’s what someone did here.” This had to have been done before the building was rendered unusable. He turns to Fhaquar and says, “Now you can deepen the area you’ve marked out.”
“How will we know if there’s anything there?” asks Escalyn.
“You might break through this course of stone and run into dirt or rocks,” replies Alyiakal. “I don’t think that’s likely, though, not after a magus went to all the trouble and effort to hide an entry and then seal it off.”
“You think there’s gold and jewels back there?” asks Escalyn.
“I doubt it. If there’s anything here, it will be more valuable than that.” Alyiakal steps back and nods to Fhaquar. “We won’t find out if we don’t get through that stone.”
“Yes, ser.”
As Fhaquar chops away at the underlying stone with the order-tipped pickax, which Alyiakal has to replenish periodically, Alyiakal tries to infuse the underlying stone with chaos. That doesn’t change the situation much, because the chaos stays on the surface of the unstrengthened stone, as it did with the order-reinforced stone.
Alyiakal wonders how the mages in the time of the First managed to get that additional order into the stone. Maybe adding order when the stone was briefly molten?
Still, by slightly after midday, after a break necessitated by the need to replenish the oil in the lantern, the point of Naalyn’s pick goes through the stone, leaving a finger-sized hole.
“I’m through!”
“Keep working on widening the hole,” orders Alyiakal. “We won’t be able to see anything until it’s wide enough to get the lantern through.” Much as he knows he could likely sense what might be there with a smaller opening, there’s no point in even trying, because others will have to see what’s there. Or what’s not.
More than three quints pass before Alyiakal says, “That looks large enough to get an idea of what’s there. If you’d hand me the lantern, Escalyn.”
“Yes, ser.”
Alyiakal eases the lantern up to the hole, which is roughly a cubit on a side, then peers inside. He is stunned by what he sees and senses, but not surprised. Against the wall directly opposite him, there is a waist-high, oblong object with four wheels. A cupridium tube curves out of the device from its smooth cupridium top, and at the end of the tube a nozzle, similar to the one in his dreams, projects roughly half a cubit from the body of the device. He cannot sense or see a disk on or behind the tube. The entire device also seems larger than and slightly different from the one in his dream. If it was a dream. He shivers slightly, trying not to show it.
In a wooden rack against the left wall are what look like firelances, although they’re shorter than those carried by Sixth Company. Another rack, against the right wall, stands mostly empty, but oval shields fill several spaces. Alyiakal would wager that the shields are mirror shields, designed to reflect and deflect chaos bolts.
“Fhaquar, you look first,” says Alyiakal, stepping back, but holding the lantern so that it still shines into the chamber.
“Black frigging angels.”
When Naalyn looks, he just whistles and shakes his head.
Escalyn snorts. “Old firelances, shields, and a thing that no one today knows about and can’t use.”
“Ser, what is that thing in the middle?” asks Fhaquar.
“I don’t know,” replies Alyiakal truthfully, because he doesn’t know, only suspects what it may be. “It’s most likely something the Magi’i and Mirror Engineers would like to get their hands on.” He turns to Naalyn. “Go tell Captain Fraadn that I’d appreciate his presence down here. If he asks why, tell him that we have something he should see.”
“Yes, ser.” Naalyn immediately heads for the ramp.
Alyiakal hands the lantern to Fhaquar and lifts the fully intact pickax from the floor. “Now that you three have done all the hard work, I’ll take a few swings.” As he swings the pick into the stone on one side of the opening, he adds an order spike to the end of the pick.
The impact on the stone runs from the pickax up his arms almost like a burn. The small chunk of rock that drops might be twice as big as the largest ripped out by Fhaquar, but given the effort, both in sheer muscle and in focusing order, even if he helps with the pick, it’s still going to be a slow process to gain access to the chamber.
“Pretty good there, Captain,” says Fhaquar.
Before Fraadn appears, carrying another wagon lantern, Alyiakal widens the opening by a few digits, then hands the pick to Fhaquar.
Fraadn looks at the ragged opening in the wall. “A half day’s work by three strong lancers?”
“And the captain,” adds Fhaquar.
“The stones appear to have been strengthened by a mage,” declares Alyiakal blandly, “possibly in a way similar to how the original road was cut. Why don’t you take a look in the chamber?”
Fraadn takes his lantern and peers into the chamber for a time. Then he looks at Alyiakal. “How long before you can widen this enough to enter?”
Alyiakal understands that Fraadn isn’t about to talk about what he’s seen until the two are alone. “I’d guess the rest of today and most of tomorrow. There’s really only room for one lancer at a time and someone to hold the lantern.”
“Couldn’t someone else start somewhere else?”
“They wouldn’t make much progress, ser. The entire wall appears to have been strengthened by a magus. It’s a little softer where the entry was. Once we can get it wide enough for someone to squeeze in with a pick, that man can work on the softer stone from the inside, while someone else works on the outside.”
“I can’t believe…”
“Fhaquar, if you’d hand the captain your pick.”
“Yes, ser.” Fhaquar grins and extends the pickax.
Alyiakal turns to Fraadn. “Just try and scratch the stone away from the entry area.”
Fraadn smiles. He doesn’t take the pickax. “Let me know when we can get in. Keep up the good work.” He pauses and adds, “Sixth Company is relieved of patrol duty. You’re to post guards on this hallway until the contents can be safely removed.”
“Yes, ser.” Alyiakal can tell that Fraadn is amused, and not in the slightest angered, and that concerns him as much as if the senior captain had been angry. “Have we heard from the scouts yet? About the Kyphrans?”
“Not yet, and that likely means they haven’t landed yet and aren’t in sight of the pier.”
“That would be helpful.”
“Whether it is remains to be seen.” Fraadn offers an enigmatic smile before turning and heading toward the ramp.
“Guards, ser?” asks Escalyn once Fraadn is well away. “For stuff like that?”
“It might turn out to be totally useless,” says Alyiakal dryly, “but, if you were Captain Fraadn, and engineering devices from the time of the First went missing or were damaged, would you want to answer to the Majer-Commander or the First Magus?”
“Ah … no, ser.”
“The next officer they’d be after would be me,” adds Alyiakal. “So, we’ll post guards. Escalyn, since I need to stay, ride back to the encampment and tell Senior Squad Leader Torkaal that I need him here.”
“Yes, ser.”
After Escalyn hurries off, Alyiakal takes the pickax from Fhaquar.
“Ser?”
“I don’t want it said that the captain only stood and watched.” Alyiakal grins and adds, “Even if I don’t take as many swings as you do.” Besides, his using a pickax will reduce the time it takes, and he wants a good look at a device that is far too similar to what he dreamed for his own comfort.
Even with Alyiakal’s surreptitious use of order and chaos, it is well after sunset on fourday evening before he and Sixth Company hack a narrow entry to the chamber, wide enough and flat enough at the base for lancers to remove the strange device. The firelances either lacked any chaos when stored or have long since lost any chaos they might have had. Alyiakal has noticed that the chaos reservoirs seem larger than those in the current firelances. In addition to Alyiakal’s initial assessment, the front left corner holds a small but sturdy four-wheeled cart of cupridium, apparently powered by an order/chaos mechanism and designed to carry something, while the front right corner holds a case containing small firelances designed to be held one-handed. These also have no chaos in their small reservoirs.
Once Fraadn inspects everything in the chamber, and makes certain every officer has been in the once-concealed chamber and seen the contents, he and Alyiakal stand alone. Fraadn turns to the junior captain. “What do you think of the device with the tube?”
“All the workings appear to be cupridium, suggesting it dealt with chaos. If I had to guess, I’d say it’s what they used to cut the road out of the cliffs. What do you think?”
“I have to agree. Do you think there was another one in the other chamber?”
“That or something similar,” says Alyiakal. “Again, I’m guessing.”
“Then, if it’s in working condition…”
“If the Kyphrans can find a mage who can fill it with chaos, it could be used as a weapon.”
“If they have a mage, why use the device at all?”
“Because even a modestly strong mage—one we could destroy with a firelance—could add chaos to the reservoir over time, storing a huge amount. That’s if he knew, or could discover, how. Stored chaos powers firelances, except I imagine it only takes moments to replenish a firelance from a chaos tower.”
“But if they used it like a giant knife—the way these buildings were destroyed.”
“I suppose that’s possible. I just don’t know how they might do it.”
Fraadn nods. “That bears some thought on how we should deal with the Kyphrans.”
“Have you heard more from the scouts? Besides the existence of a small brook?”
“They’ve sighted sails to the southeast, and Second and Third Companies left about a glass ago.”
“Surprise attacks from spread formations and then a quick withdrawal?”
“Only if they’re forced to withdraw. Then we’ll have to see.” Fraadn clears his throat and adds, “For now Sixth Company’s duties are to guard and keep these devices secure.”
“Yes, ser.” Alyiakal suspects that Fraadn assigned the security to Sixth Company not only because of Alyiakal’s background, but also because Sixth Company has had the most open combat and suffered the only losses.
When Alyiakal returns to the officers’ tents under the bluff late on fourday, Craavyl is waiting to talk to him.
“How did you know where the entry would be?” asks Craavyl.
“I didn’t. I looked for slight imperfections in the melted stone about where I thought a door should be—if there was a doorway—and we started chipping away at the middle.”
“You actually used a pick?”
“To give them a break. We’re expected to use firelances, I figured it didn’t hurt to show I could wield a pickax.” Alyiakal manages a momentary grin. “I also thought it would keep them from thinking I didn’t understand how hard it was.”
“I heard that sometimes the pick wouldn’t scratch the wall,” offers Craavyl, not quite questioningly.
“Usually it would scratch the stone,” replies Alyiakal, “but we never got more than tiny flakes of stone at first. You can see the pile of chips.”
“What do you think that thing is?”
“The tube has a nozzle at the end,” replies Alyiakal. “My guess is that once charged with chaos, it could cut stone. The nozzle has a slit. That would narrow the chaos, possibly into an edge like a knife.” He shrugs. “That’s just a guess.”
“Are there any Magi’i in your family?” asks Craavyl. “You seem to know a lot about this.”
Alyiakal shakes his head. “Not that I know. Just Mirror Lancer officers. I did hear a bit about magery from a Magi’i healer when I trained in healing at Syadtar. She seemed to know a lot.”
“You ever meet up with any important Magi’i?” presses Craavyl.
“Once.” Alyiakal laughs and tells an edited version of his encounter with the Third Magus, ending with, “After that, I have no interest in meeting with any high Magi’i.”
Craavyl smiles faintly, then asks, “You ever find out why?”
“To my knowledge, none of the post officers or those in transit were ever told why he wanted to meet every officer.”
“He had to be looking for someone, or something. I wouldn’t want to be that officer.”
“We might see him or another high magus,” says Alyiakal. “After we deal with the Kyphrans, that is. They’re going to want to see and take control of what’s in that chamber. And if the Kyphrans get their hands on it, none of us will ever make overcaptain.” Most likely because they’d have to kill all of us to get it. “Why else do you think Fraadn insists on additional lancers guarding it?”
“Why didn’t the Kyphrans try to break down the wall the way you did?” asks Craavyl.
“Maybe they only finished breaking into the other chamber a little while ago. Maybe they had orders to wait. Maybe they have a mage that they’re sending with the force they’re assembling. Maybe they thought there was only one sealed chamber. The marks around the chamber they broke into look like it already had an entry.”
Craavyl fingers his chin. “That would make sense. Leave an obviously sealed door and hide the possibility of a second chamber.”
Alyiakal nods. That has not occurred to him, but it makes a certain kind of sense, particularly if the original builders thought they might have a chance to return. “I wonder who they were and whether the First attacked them or whether someone else did.”
“It had to be the First,” declares Craavyl. “If anyone else had that kind of power, we’d know about it.”
“The old records did mention,” says Alyiakal, “dissidents in the southeast, and that was obviously kept quiet. But you’re right. If there happened to be a third group with that kind of power, there wouldn’t likely have been any way to keep that secret.”
“That still doesn’t explain why the First kept it quiet,” says Craavyl.
“They didn’t want any sign of successful rebels,” replies Alyiakal. “The First wanted to create a unified Cyador. If these dissidents—and maybe a few others—vanish before they can use their power against Cyad, then it keeps people from getting ideas.”
Alyiakal knows he’s missing something important, something flitting around the back of his mind, but he’s just too tired to recall what that might be. Two days of quietly and continually using order has taken a toll. “We may never know. Or maybe if the Magi’i send a magus, he can tell us.”
Craavyl laughs. “Good fortune with that. You think that the Magi’i, or even the Mirror Engineers, will share anything like that with mere lancer officers?”
“You have a point,” says Alyiakal.
Later, as Alyiakal lies on his bedroll, wondering why he can’t fall asleep if he’s so tired, he almost bolts upright as he realizes what had eluded him earlier.
The number of chaos towers is fixed. There’s no way to create more, and any prolonged struggle would have made it harder for the First to forge a united Cyador.
He can’t help shivering as he considers what sort of man—or emperor—it took to destroy the dissidents and remove all traces of them. At least, for almost a century.
Alyiakal sleeps soundly enough that he wakes slightly stiff on fiveday morning, most likely because he didn’t move all night. He can sense farther, or at least he thinks so, but it’s hard to tell. There’s nothing distinctive except lancers and their mounts, either close to him or in the Kyphran-built fort.
He’s still pondering that when Fraadn arrives to meet with him and Craavyl immediately after they finish breakfast. Fraadn announces, “I haven’t heard anything from Kortyl yet, but I wouldn’t expect to until later this morning.”
“Won’t be any fighting today,” says Craavyl. “Kyphrans might not even be able to land.”
“If there were mirror shields in that other chamber, and they have them,” Alyiakal points out, “they might be able to hold off Second and Third Companies.”
“I’d be surprised if the Kyphrans attempt to land their forces, outriders, or scouts before late tomorrow, even if they’re offshore of the pier now,” Fraadn says. “Dark, low clouds are massing in the southwest, and the wind has shifted as well.”
“Just our luck,” observes Craavyl. “It almost never rains here, but it’ll rain on us.”
“The fog will be heavier at sea,” says Fraadn. “That will make a landing harder.”
“If you’re wrong, and it really rains,” says Craavyl, “firelances won’t be worth sowshit. That ruin could flood, too.”
“That’s unlikely,” says Alyiakal. “The lower level has drains, and the fountain basin has emptied into them all along with no backup.”
Fraadn looks quizzically at Alyiakal but doesn’t say anything.
“Does anyone know how the Kyphrans found out about this place?” asks Craavyl. “There were ruins. Nothing else. No one living here.”
“Most likely the fountain,” replies Alyiakal. “Water probably pooled in the ruins of the courtyard. Any nomads grazing their flocks here would know that, and maybe they investigated, or mentioned the ruins and the water. If the Duke of Kyphros was already thinking about invading Guarstyad for the silver mine and the harbor, he’d want to know about the routes to the east pass and any water. It could be that in trying to find more, or better, water, some officer or squad leader looked farther. That’s just a guess.”
“It’s as good as any,” says Fraadn. “How they found out doesn’t much matter now.”
What matters now is how we deal with the Kyphrans. Alyiakal sees no point in saying so because they all know that.
After Fraadn returns to the fort, Alyiakal and Craavyl muster their companies and deal with the necessities and routine.
That afternoon, the clouds move in over the area, but with almost no rain, only a foggy mist obscuring everything without dampening the ground.
Craavyl and Alyiakal sit under the tent awning over the officers’ area speculating on the Kyphran force and what tactics might be appropriate against such a force when Craavyl says, seemingly from nowhere, “Where’d you come up with the drains? No one thinks about drains.”
“I don’t know,” admits Alyiakal, “except I like to see how things fit together, or why they don’t.”
“You really think the Duke of Kyphros only wants a silver mine?”
“I think it started that way. When his forces discovered what was hidden here, he got the idea that he could take and hold Guarstyad as well, which would give him another good harbor.”
“How could he hold it?”
“That device with the nozzle probably projects chaos in a thin line. If … if that’s what his people found, and if they’ve figured out how to use it, it’s effectively a mobile firecannon. The fact he’s assembled a fleet suggests that he believes that he can prevail against Cyador, especially if we aren’t expecting it.”
“You think he’s figured out how to use it?”
“It’s easy enough to see how it should work,” says Alyiakal. “Making it work is another matter.”
“But why else would he attack here or in Guarstyad?”
Alyiakal shakes his head. “Right now, we don’t know.” And finding out is going to cost lives, on both sides.
They look up at Fraadn riding through the mist toward them. After the senior captain dismounts and hands the reins to a ranker, he joins Craavyl and Alyiakal. “I just got a message from Kortyl. This morning, before the fog moved in, their scouts reported seeing flashes of light on the oceans near the horizon. There weren’t any clouds to the east. That means that the Rylaan engaged the Kyphran fleet. When the fog closed in, the flashes stopped. One way or another, that’s going to slow the Kyphrans.”
“How long?” asks Craavyl.
“Ask the fog,” replies Fraadn.
Craavyl snorts.
“I’ll let you know when things change. If anything comes up, you know where to find me.”
“Thank you,” replies Alyiakal, while Craavyl merely nods.
Craavyl and Alyiakal watch as Fraadn departs.
Craavyl grunts slightly as he stands. “Need to let the squad leaders know.” He turns and leaves.
After a moment, Alyiakal heads into the mist to find Torkaal, who is talking with Maelt and Vaekyn.
“Ser?” asks the senior squad leader.
“The fireship engaged the Kyphran ships before the fog moved in.” Alyiakal then relays the rest of Fraadn’s update.
“So all we can do is wait for the fog to lift and find out what happened?” asks Torkaal.
“For the moment,” replies Alyiakal. “Unless anyone comes up with a better idea to present to Captain Fraadn.”
“Not right now, ser,” replies Torkaal.
“I’ll let you know when I know more.”
“Yes, ser.”
Alyiakal turns and walks back through the thin, impalpable fog to his own tent, such as it is. Then he glances at his firelance, thinking. The smaller and older firelances in the hidden chamber have larger reservoirs. Was the change to smaller reservoirs because more chaos put too much strain on the cupridium in the firelances? Or so that not as much chaos would be required at a time?
Another question nags at him. If the buildings near the encampment had been built by dissidents from the First, how had they powered the devices and the firelances in the hidden room?
If there had been a chaos tower in the building or nearby, there should have been some sign or record of it. And why would there have been one so far from Fyrad, Cyad, or the Great Forest?
The only thing Alyiakal can conclude is that some of the dissidents had been Magi’i, and that they had to have laboriously gathered chaos to power the devices.
You were exhausted from half charging a single firelance, and there had to be at least ten times that amount, if not more, in the device that cut the road into the cliffs—and in whatever device destroyed the buildings. There couldn’t have been a chaos tower here, not without some evidence or record. So how did they gather all that chaos? And, if the Kyphrans have such a device, how can they fill it with chaos? By exhausting what mages they have for eightday after eightday?
As with some of the other questions facing him, he has no answer, and he has the feeling he’ll still be trying to make sense of it all, even after whatever occurs with the Kyphrans is long finished.
Unless matters go badly.
When Alyiakal wakes on sixday morning, he recalls something he thought was a dream, but wasn’t, not exactly. Rather it was among the images conveyed by the Great Forest—the image of chaos flowing in ordered streams from the sun and building around the shimmering figure of the great First magus.
Could it be possible? Or was that just the way the Great Forest interpreted events? Still, when he stands in the sun, at least not in Winter, he feels the warmth, and since order doesn’t generate heat, except when it’s used to concentrate chaos, there must be some tiny bit of chaos coming from the sun.
Alyiakal looks around, smiling ruefully. Of course, the foggy mist still hangs over the Mirror Lancer encampment, and trying to determine any relationship between chaos and the sun will have to wait. He stretches, stands up, and gets ready to face the day ahead.
He and Craavyl finish eating, mustering their respective companies, and dealing with other duties and necessities by the time Fraadn arrives.
“What have you heard?” asks Craavyl as soon as Fraadn is within speaking distance.
The senior captain replies, “Let me get close enough so I don’t have to shout, Craavyl. With this fog, we don’t exactly need to hurry. It’s not going anywhere quickly, it appears.”
“That could change in a glass,” counters Craavyl.
“Right now, according to Kortyl’s latest report,” declares Fraadn, “the fog is heavier at sea. The lookouts can’t even tell whether the Rylaan is continuing to engage the Kyphran ships.”
“What about troopers landing?” presses Craavyl.
“As of first light this morning, the fog remains heavy near the pier, and there have been no Kyphran ships in sight, and no sounds of approaching vessels. That’s hardly surprising. No ship captain is about to approach a largely unknown harbor through a heavy fog. Both companies are at the pier, ready to repulse any attempted landing should the fog lift or disperse quickly.”
“Good.” Craavyl nods.
“Then what?” asks Fraadn. “What happens when the Kyphrans do attempt a landing?”
“Kortyl and Rynst turn them into ashes.”
“What if they empty their firelances before the Kyphrans run out of troopers? Or if it rains or archers prevent the lancers from holding the pier? Or some other defense? What then?” Fraadn turns and asks, “What do you think, Alyiakal?”
“There are two possibilities. The first is that, between the Rylaan and Second and Third Companies, the Kyphrans cannot make a successful landing right now. Keeping them from trying again might require posting a company to hold the pier, rotating the company every few days, until it’s clear that the Kyphrans have abandoned the idea of attacking. That only works as long as we have chaos in our firelances.
“The second possibility is that they succeed in getting a substantial force ashore. That requires a significant number of archers, possibly mages, and conceivably a device such as the one we discovered. Any form of standard attack against such a force will involve ruinous casualties for us. The best tactics I can see are fast attacks by small numbers of lancers, spread far enough apart that the Kyphran archers would have to waste shafts for an occasional hit. We could pick off their troopers before they can react, and then withdraw momentarily. The more troopers we wound or kill before they reach the fort, the better our chances for defeating them and forcing them back.”
“Neither of those suggestions would find favor with Mirror Lancer headquarters, I fear,” replies Fraadn.
“We’re on Kyphran land,” replies Alyiakal. “Our position here is indefensible over time without more lancers and more supplies. Cyador can’t presently provide either, without problems on other borders. We don’t live in a perfect world with continual replacements and timely resupply.”
“Then, in a perfect world,” says Fraadn, with heavy sarcasm, “how would you handle the matter?”
“Use the Mirror Engineers to rebuild the original road and make the east pass more impassable. Then put a real fort and gate on Guarstyad’s side of the cliffs, before the section of destroyed road. A squad with firelances could hold that position indefinitely. Traders would favor it because it offers another way to trade, and the Imperial tariff enumerators could collect tariffs due. Kyphros might even build a small trading hamlet or post at the stone pier for times when the seas are too rough to enter the Guarstyad harbor.” Alyiakal grins. “You did say ‘in a perfect world.’”
“You’ll never see anything that perfect.” Fraadn shakes his head, then adds, “I’ll let you know when things change.”
When Fraadn is mounted and almost out of sight, Craavyl turns to Alyiakal. “You’re right. They’ll keep fighting until we leave their land.”
“Unless we build a post here and reclaim a small bit of land that would be ruinous for Kyphros to fight over, or fight a war and successfully take over Kyphros.” Which will take more Mirror Lancers than we could ever raise.
“Who in his right mind would want the place?”
“The Prefect of Gallos apparently does,” says Alyiakal.
“That says he’s not in his right mind.”
“I think it’s more that the Prefect wants access to another port, and he’s willing to pay a high price.”
“Ruzor’s not that great a port,” Craavyl points out.
“It’s better than no port at all.”
“Not much. From what I know, Guarstyad has a better harbor.”
Alyiakal laughs softly. “You have a point there.” Then he frowns. “Two actually. I hadn’t thought of it that way. About the dissidents, I mean. If the First had left them alone, they would have taken over Guarstyad. Then they could have expanded east, at least as far as the stone pier, and they would have had two harbors and enough chaos power to become independent of Cyador. At least, they would have had enough to make it very costly for Cyador to conquer them. I’d wager that the First acted before that could happen.”
Craavyl shakes his head. “I won’t take that wager. From what’s in that one storeroom, it looks like they had already built an armory. Do you think they sealed off those chambers thinking they could lay low, then come back later and try again?”
“That might have been their thinking. They obviously didn’t understand how brutally efficient the First could be.” Especially the magus who faced the Great Forest.
“Why show mercy if that allows someone to strike back later?” asks Craavyl. “Something to think about. We can talk more later. You reminded me. I need to check on how much chaos most of the company firelances have.”
Alyiakal has already checked the Sixth Company firelances. Most are less than half full; another thing to worry over, especially if dealing with the Kyphrans turns into a drawn-out series of skirmishes or battles. He can’t help wondering if lasting times of peace follow brutal conquests because few are left to object, and those who are fear another wave of efficient brutality.
But what’s the alternative?
Immediately after dawn on sevenday morning, the foggy mist begins to dissipate, and after little more than a glass, it’s obvious to Alyiakal the day will be sunny and bright, with some lingering haze in the late morning. Once he’s dealt with the chestnut gelding and the other necessities, such as checking on his three improving wounded, and the morning muster of Sixth Company, he walks away from the officers’ tents and finds a niche in the rocky slope between the ruins and the blocked road, a niche where he cannot be observed.
Closing his eyes, he concentrates his senses on the white sun, incredibly distant, and unreachable.
But something flows from it, something akin to chaos, or we would not feel warmth.
At first, he senses nothing. Then, after a short time, he feels the tiniest impacts, almost like a chaos mist, on his outer shield, impacts so small he cannot discern them, and barely feels them.
How can you gather them, let alone funnel them into a firelance or the device in the sealed chamber?
He smiles at the thought and begins to create a large but thin funnel of order that ends in a pinhole, with a flap similar to the one he used to replenish his firelance, beyond which is a container of order. In moments, increments of chaos begin to form in the funnel, presumably from tiny chaos bits too small for him to sense joining together, and then to flow down to the flap. In half a quint, he has enough chaos to fill a quarter of a firelance reservoir. But what he finds most interesting is that holding the order funnel takes almost no effort, unlike gathering free chaos.
That could be very, very useful.
He expands the order funnel and immediately senses an increase in the discernible chaos. Then he nods and collapses the funnel. While he can easily hold the chaos he has gathered, holding more would be difficult and possibly painful.
If you funnel the chaos into something else, like the device you found, and if …
Alyiakal shakes his head, knowing that’s likely a series of improbable “if”s. Then he walks back to the officers’ spaces, gathers his gear, and makes his way to the picketing area, where he readies the chestnut.
Less than a quint later, Alyiakal rides to the fort with the third squad rankers who will take over the duty guarding the items in the chamber. After he tethers his horse inside the fort and unstraps his travel lantern, he and the four rankers walk toward the ruined building.
Fraadn meets Alyiakal before he reaches the ramp.
“Has something happened?” asks Alyiakal, gesturing for the rankers to head down the ramp and relieve the lancers guarding the chamber.
“Not yet. Kortyl sent a ranker to let me know that, after dawn, a number of ships gathered offshore, several with catapults, and attempted to engage the Rylaan. A glass ago, our lookouts on the rise above the pier reported chaos flashes.”
“Then the Kyphrans have already begun to attack.”
“That’s my feeling.” Fraadn pauses, then asks, “Why are you here?”
What the senior captain is really asking, Alyiakal knows, is what Alyiakal has in mind, since there’s no need for him to accompany a change in guards. “Craavyl and I were talking last night, and he asked some questions that got me thinking. I wanted to take a look at that device again.”
“What sort of questions?”
“Since there’s no sign the dissidents had a chaos tower, how did they power that device? Nothing except something like chaos could have cut through the rock and melted the rock.”
Fraadn laughs harshly. “I don’t think studying the device will tell you much, but it can’t hurt for you to try.”
“It’s a sowshit-poor wager,” agrees Alyiakal, “but why not at least look? We have the time now.”
“Not for much longer, but go ahead and look.”
“I’ll let you know if I discover anything.” Then Alyiakal turns and waits until the four rankers who have been relieved come up the ramp.
“Ser,” says Saavacol, as does Puall.
“Head back and get some sleep,” replies Alyiakal. “You’ll regret it later if you don’t get some rest.”
“Yes, ser.”
Alyiakal heads down the ramp, worrying about Fraadn’s grudging approval. He hopes he’ll be able to find a way to make the device work and worries about what to do if he does.
Nearing the chamber, he lights the travel lantern. “I need to inspect the device in the middle.”
“What is it?” asks Vuurnyn, one of the junior rankers.
“We don’t know, except it used chaos, since the entire device seems to be cupridium.” Alyiakal steps into the dry confines of the chamber, and stops short of the device, studying it. He begins with the tube leading to the nozzle, where he finds a cupridium lever where the tube emerges, not a circular disk.
To control the chaos flow?
Then he discovers a small circular opening at the rear of the device. While he cannot see, he can sense that the base of the opening has a cupridium flap of sorts, below which is a cupridium cylinder that has to be the chaos reservoir. The cupridium on one side of the opening is faintly rough. He brings the lantern closer and smiles. Etched into the metal, by chaos, is a circle, with short lines radiating from it. The symbol might be what the First or the dissidents used to represent chaos.
Or it might represent the sun. Either way, that makes matters more interesting—if you can figure out how to get chaos into the device.
He walks to the rack of older firelances, studying the one at the top. It has a replenishment port similar to the one in his own firelance, but there is no symbol beneath the port. He returns to the device, and takes a slow, deep breath before attempting to funnel some of the chaos he has gathered through the flap into the chaos reservoir. The flap doesn’t move.
You need more force. But isn’t chaos chaos?
He smiles crookedly and begins to coil and compress the chaos.
The second attempt works, at least so far as his ability to store chaos in the reservoir of the device. When he completes the transfer of chaos, he places an order block in the circular depression leading to the flap and steps back, reinforcing his shields.
Nothing happens. Then he removes the order block, but the chaos remains in the reservoir. To his senses, the amount of chaos in the reservoir is only a fraction of what the reservoir can hold, and likely of what it needs to operate.
He attempts to push the device. It moves slightly, and the wheels creak.
In for a copper, in for a gold.
Alyiakal clears his throat, then says, “We’re going to wheel this up the ramp into the sun.”
“Ser?” asks Yurval, the senior ranker.
“We need to get it up into the sunlight.”
The wheels move and the creaking dies away as Vuurnyn and Chaavar push it down the hallway and up the ramp. While Alyiakal sees a set of brackets on the rear, suggesting the device was to be pulled or towed backward, presumably in order not to damage the protruding tube and nozzle, he cannot find any sign of whatever connected to the brackets, and he has no rope handy.
The four rankers, Alyiakal, and the device have barely emerged into the morning sunlight when Fraadn appears.
“What are you doing with that up here?” demands the senior captain.
“Seeing if there’s a chance to get it to work,” replies Alyiakal.
“And how are you going to manage that?”
“At the moment, I don’t know, except it’s got an image of the sun etched into the cupridium. It’s not going to do us any good down in that chamber. If the Kyphrans have managed to make one work, it’s possible we could. If we can’t, and they can, there’s a good chance they’ll get this one as well, whether it’s down in the chamber or up here. If they can’t, we’ll still have this one.”
“Majer Jaavor would be giving you a dressing-down by now,” says Fraadn.
“That’s why he’ll never be a subcommander, let alone a commander,” replies Alyiakal evenly.
Fraadn raises his eyebrows, then shakes his head. “It’s your neck.” He turns and walks back under the tent awning.
Alyiakal has the rankers position the device in full sun. Then he creates the largest order funnel he can manage. While it isn’t visible, within moments he feels the heat radiating from the flap above the opening as the chaos begins to build.
“Feels like that thing is getting hot, ser,” declares Vuurnyn.
“You can step back a bit.” Alyiakal inspects the device closely until enough chaos has built up for him to compress and force it into the reservoir. He has hoped that the chaos from the funnel would build and provide enough pressure to open the flap and feed into the reservoir, but it appears that he needs to compress the chaos and force it into the reservoir.
He continues to funnel sun-chaos bits, then coil, compress, and insert them into the device as he carefully studies the lever and the nozzle.
Less than a glass later, Fraadn returns. “Have you discovered anything useful?”
“It seems to gather heat in the sunlight,” replies Alyiakal.
“All metals do,” says Fraadn dryly.
“More than that.” Alyiakal points to the symbol behind the small circular opening. “That has to mean something.”
“Probably chaos,” suggests Fraadn.
“Most likely,” says Alyiakal agreeably, “except I didn’t see that symbol on the replenishment ports on the firelances in the chamber. The lever here likely controls the chaos flow, while the nozzle can be twisted to shape how the chaos emerges.”
“So what are you going to do? Let it sit in the sun and hope somehow it gathers chaos? How can you tell if it will?”
“By turning the lever and seeing if anything happens.”
Fraadn winces. “Just don’t point it at anyone or any mount in case you’re right.” Then he adds, “You stay with it until you take it back down below.”
“Yes, ser.”
Alyiakal understands all too well. If anything goes wrong, Fraadn wants to make certain that the blame lands squarely on Alyiakal.
After Fraadn heads across the courtyard to the southeast corner of the fort and the lookout posted there, Alyiakal expands his thin order funnel wider, not enough to strain himself, and considers how to use the device. If it works, and it might not, whatever chaos it throws won’t last long. His gut reaction is that it ought to be used first to take out any chaos-thrower or chaos-cutter that the Kyphrans have and then to strike at the center of the Kyphran force.
He laughs softly to himself. You’re planning to use a device you can’t be certain will work against a force you haven’t even seen.
“Ser?” asks Yurval.
“I was thinking about the situations in which we get involved. We’re going to fight a battle against a force that didn’t even exist a season ago, with five Mirror Lancer companies that have only been in Guarstyad two seasons or so, over artifacts built a century ago, for reasons we don’t know, to stop a threat to a part of Cyador most of us had barely heard of before being posted there. But then, that’s a good part of being a Mirror Lancer.”
“Do you think you can get this thing to work, ser?”
“It did once. Whether we can figure out how is another question.” So is whether you can replenish the device’s chaos reservoir enough to get a blast of chaos strong enough to have any effect.
The massive firecannon on the fireships have an effective range of only a few hundred yards. The device is far smaller and, even fully charged, wouldn’t likely reach that far.
So why are you even bothering?
Alyiakal realizes that he really doesn’t know. He only has a feeling that he should, and usually his feelings are at least as accurate as his reasoned decisions.
After Alyiakal spends another glass or so secretly funneling coiled and compressed chaos into the device, Fraadn again approaches. “You still hoping the sun will replenish that device?”
“That. And thinking,” replies Alyiakal. “If the Kyphrans have one that works, how could they use it? It probably doesn’t have the range of a firecannon, and that’s not that much greater than archers can loose a shaft. It would only be effective against a massed charge of lancers, or for burning through the gate. It has to have a limited amount of chaos, and the more chaos it uses, the less time it can be effective.”
Fraadn frowns, then nods. “So it’s likely, if they have such a device, that they won’t use it against Second and Third Companies?”
“Unless lancers attack in close formation. Didn’t you suggest that they keep their men spread if the Kyphrans got a large force ashore?”
“I did.”
Left unsaid is the fact that Fraadn suggested, but did not order, and Kortyl is definitely an officer of strong opinions.
By early midafternoon, Alyiakal discovers that the device’s chaos reservoir is perhaps half full, and he’s debating how long he should keep up the replenishment efforts when a lancer rides from the east through the partly open gate and heads straight for Fraadn.
Alyiakal waits until the ranker messenger finishes with Fraadn and leaves to deal with his mount before approaching the senior captain.
Fraadn immediately says, “Kortyl and Rynst engaged the Kyphrans as soon as the first ship neared the pier. The Kyphran marines had large polished brass shields as well as a handful of larger oblong cupridium shields that looked to be identical to the few in that chamber you opened. They poured onto the pier. The Kyphrans lost possibly fifty to a hundred men, but more marines followed and picked up the shields. There were so many that they finally held the pier. Then two more ships came in. One stood off filled with archers who lofted shafts that came down like hail. The other one unloaded foot—all with polished brass bucklers.”
“The Kyphrans thought the landing out well,” says Alyiakal.
“Too well. Kortyl thinks that Second and Third Companies have killed or wounded over two hundred Kyphrans, possibly more, but there are close to a thousand who’ve survived. That includes at least a company of archers. More troopers were landing every glass when he dispatched the messenger.”
“What about Mirror Lancer casualties?”
“The messenger didn’t know, except that there were lancers wounded, and at least three deaths that he saw.”
“Is the Rylaan still fighting?”
“Kortyl thinks so. There were still chaos flashes out offshore, but he and Rynst are pulling back to re-form. They intend to attack from spread formations as long as their firelances hold out.”
“How many spare firelances do they have?” asks Alyiakal.
“Sixty, but those won’t last much more than today. Some lancers are already on their second lance.”
“The Kyphrans will push as quickly as they can,” says Alyiakal. “They won’t have that many supplies, not for more than a thousand troopers. There’s also not much water available.”
“I’d thought that as well. They can’t afford a slow and measured approach, not when the nearest supply port is a four-to-five-day sail one way under the best of winds. The problem is,” adds Fraadn dryly, “we’re in not much better shape, except for water.”
“If the Rylaan survives the near-suicidal attacks on her,” Alyiakal points out, “she’ll eventually destroy more of the Kyphran ships, and they won’t be able to get supplies.”
“That won’t help much right now.”
“Have Kortyl and Rynst do what they can today, then withdraw. Send out Sixth Company before dawn. We’ll do the same thing tomorrow. If they’re not close by tomorrow night, send out Fifth Company on oneday.”
“What about that device?”
“If it works, and there’s no way of knowing that yet, it won’t be much good until the Kyphrans mount an attack on the fort—just like the firecannon on the Rylaan.” Alyiakal pauses, then says, “Whatever you decide on, I would put the order to Kortyl in writing.”
Fraadn’s smile is both wry and wintry. “I’d already decided on that. Unless the situation changes drastically in the next few glasses, what you suggested makes the most sense. We need to bleed them dry—as much as we can.” He steps back and adds, “I’ll let you know.”
“Yes, ser.”
Alyiakal turns and heads toward the device, with the determination to expand his order funnel and see how much chaos he can pack into the reservoir before the sun gets low enough in the sky that the stone walls cut off its rays.
For the remainder of sevenday, Alyiakal crams as much concentrated chaos as he can into the device, while talking to the rankers, and occasionally to Fraadn. His efforts to find out more about the device are futile. As far as he can tell, it is simply a chaos reservoir with a tube and a nozzle, and a lever to control the flow of chaos.
Once shadows fall across the ruined building, he senses how much chaos is in the reservoir. Sensing through cupridium is difficult, even as close as he is, but he thinks that the reservoir is about half full.
Just half full—after almost a full day of funneling chaos.
Then he turns to the four rankers on guard duty and says, “Go down the ramp until I can’t see you. Then stop.”
Once they’re out of sight, Alyiakal adjusts the nozzle at the end of the tube to its smallest aperture and aims the tube at the top of the south wall. Next he strengthens his shields. Finally, he moves the lever.
Hsssst! A thin line of chaos issues from the nozzle, and, as soon as it does, Alyiakal uses the lever to close off the flow of chaos, then tries to determine how much of the chaos that momentary burst took. He can’t tell precisely, but it seems as though the quick burst dropped the chaos level somewhat, possibly a tenth of the amount in the reservoir.
Alyiakal is about to inspect the section of the wall he targeted when he hears Fraadn’s boots on the sandy stone.
“Was that thin chaos blast from the device?” demands the senior captain.
“It was. Let’s go see what it did, if anything. I aimed it at the top of the south wall, away from anyone.”
The two officers walk to the wall, where they stop. Both look up at the cut in the topmost stones, almost a cubit deep and half a cubit wide and tall, the stone melted smooth on all sides of the cut.
After a moment, Fraadn says, “It might be better if you stayed here and worked with the device.”
“The Kyphrans won’t attack here tomorrow. It might not even be until twoday, or later. You need every company to make attacks on them. If Sixth Company goes out tomorrow, I’ll have time. Besides, from what we just saw, the device will be helpful, but it doesn’t look like it will make a difference. Not by itself.” Alyiakal points to the melted cut in the wall. “That may have been a good part of the chaos it absorbed. The device doesn’t show how much chaos it has left. That quick blast didn’t quite cut through a cubit of stone. The nozzle can be adjusted to be wider, but if it is, it will spread more the farther it goes, and it likely doesn’t have an effective range much greater than a firelance. Even if it does, you wouldn’t want to use it until the Kyphrans are close enough that you can sweep through larger numbers, because the chaos has to be limited.”
Fraadn frowns.
Alyiakal waits.
Finally, Fraadn says, “I don’t like it, but you’re making sense. Just don’t get yourself killed tomorrow.” Then he turns and walks slowly back toward the ruined building and the tent awning he has made his space.
After a time, Alyiakal follows, well aware that Fraadn had hoped for something more powerful than what he has seen.
Second and Third Companies return to the Mirror Lancer encampment well after dark on sevenday. Casualties for both companies total four dead and ten wounded, a casualty level that, on the surface, looks surprisingly low, compared to the Kyphran dead and wounded, estimated as a minimum of two hundred by Kortyl and Rynst. But then, as Alyiakal realizes, that’s because the Kyphran archers loosed shafts at where they thought the lancers were or would be, not at specific targets. Given the spread formations Kortyl and Rynst used, there weren’t many lancers in any given area.
Even so, the loss of fourteen lancers is as significant for the Mirror Lancers as two hundred or more casualties are for the Kyphrans, whose landed force looks to have been roughly fifteen hundred, with the possibility of reinforcements, unless the Rylaan has been able to close off access to the stone pier.
Once the companies return, Fraadn dispatches Alyiakal to check and treat the wounded.
Six of the ten wounded look likely to recover, particularly since Alyiakal sees them soon enough to deal with their wound chaos before it can spread far. Two are in serious condition, but Alyiakal is hopeful. One dies before Alyiakal can even look at him, and the last one is problematic, but Alyiakal does what he can and hopes it will be enough.
By dawn on eightday morning, Sixth Company is more than ten kays from the lancer encampment and on the downslope leading to the stone pier and the Kyphran force. Neither Alyiakal nor his scouts sees any chaos flashes on the Great Western Ocean, but what that means remains to be seen.
Another glass passes before one of the scouts rides back and reports to Alyiakal. “Ser, the Kyphrans are moving out. They’re about eight kays east from here. The lead company is foot with metal shields. There are archers behind the shield company.”
“Are there companies following those two?”
“Yes, ser, along with wagons farther back.”
“Were there any ships at the pier or offshore?”
“There was a ship at the pier. We didn’t see any others.”
“Thank you. Return to your scouting. Let me know if anything changes besides the Kyphrans continuing to advance along the road.”
Once the scout rides off to resume his duties, Alyiakal summons the third squad leader.
In a fraction of a quint, Vaekyn rides forward and eases his mount up beside Alyiakal’s chestnut. “Yes, ser?”
“Vaekyn, take third squad to the northeast. You’re to make a flank attack on a foot company, but only if you can without taking an attack by archers. Keep your men spread. If they have large numbers of archers, withdraw and rejoin the company. Even if you attack briefly, that will disconcert them. The aim is to make them lose men, without losing lancers. Understood?”
“Yes, ser.”
“The rest of the company will work to slow their progress so that their force gets jammed together. There’s a slight rise about a kay or so ahead. We’ll be somewhere around there. Time is on our side. You can afford to be a bit cautious. Pick off troopers as you can, but try not to risk men.”
“Yes, ser.” The squad leader nods and returns to his men.
Alyiakal turns to Torkaal, riding on his right. “I’d thought about using that rise that’s about a kay ahead for cover, but once the Kyphrans get close enough to loose shafts, they could blanket the road beyond the rise.”
“What about using it the other way, ser?” asks the senior squad leader. “Move the rest of the company north, then wait until archers come over the rise and attack the column behind them from the north side. The archers won’t be able to see where we are, and the closer we get to any foot company, the less they’ll be able to loose shafts without taking out more of their own men.”
Alyiakal laughs wryly. “Much better than my original idea.” He studies the rise again. “The rise continues for a ways to the north, then angles east. We could follow it a half kay. What if we had a lancer or two ride down the road, stop behind the rise, and then ride slowly off the road some thirty yards? From there, they could pick off any scouts. That might encourage the archers to blanket the area.”
“That might waste more than a few shafts,” adds Torkaal. “It can’t hurt. I doubt they have a full company of archers behind the shieldmen—more likely a squad. They can’t have carried enough arrows to supply more than a company or two.”
“They had to have lost a few in defending the pier,” says Alyiakal, “even if they recovered most of the shafts that didn’t hit anyone.”
“They’d be fortunate to be able to recover and use more than a third of what they loosed against Second and Third Companies,” Torkaal points out.
Alyiakal nods, then says, “Choose the two men who’ll do the best at picking off scouts, and then we’ll move into the grass to set up the attack.”
A quint later, the first two squads of Sixth Company ride slowly east-northeast through the spring grasses that, depending on the ground, range from one to two cubits high. Alyiakal senses, but does not see, a few coneys moving to avoid the oncoming horses.
The two squads cover close to a kay through the grass before Alyiakal spots Vaekyn and third squad headed west on the north side of the road. In turn, Vaekyn sights the other two squads and turns toward them. As third squad nears, Alyiakal counts the riders. Vaekyn started out with seventeen men besides himself, and sixteen men are coming back.
“Company! Halt!”
When Vaekyn reins up next to Alyiakal, he immediately reports. “There’s a squad of archers at the rear of the large company of foot. They didn’t start to loose shafts until we were within fifty yards. We lost Puall and his mount.” Vaekyn pauses. “We made ’em pay for that. Took out most of the archers and half the foot, close to sixty I’d judge. We withdrew before the archers at the back of the next foot company could target us individually. Their captain was moving the archers to the north side of the road when we left. Likely they’ll pass the word back.”
“Did you see how many more companies they have?”
“Couldn’t tell you, ser, but they stretch back almost a kay, including a bunch of wagons back there as well.”
“Anyone at the pier? Any ships?”
“Couldn’t tell about troopers around the pier, not for sure. There weren’t any ships, and we could sight chaos flashes farther out on the ocean.”
Suggesting that the Rylaan is slowly destroying or driving off the Kyphran ships … for the moment.
Once Sixth Company settles behind the grass-topped rise, Alyiakal beckons to Torkaal, and the two ride far enough up the rise for Alyiakal to see the road. While Alyiakal can see the Kyphran force, roughly two kays away, several quints pass before he can clearly distinguish the formations and advance scouts reach the top of the rise—where both fall to firelances, as does a third scout.
While perhaps a score of bowmen march behind the advancing shielded foot, even after the two lancers kill three scouts, none of the archers nock shafts, let alone release them.
Saving their arrows for more targeted use.
The Kyphrans have clearly consolidated what remains of the foot company attacked by Vaekyn with the foot company following, and moved archers to the north side of the road. Alyiakal quickly studies the formation.
He turns to the senior squad leader. “This isn’t going to work out according to plan. Withdraw with first and third squads. Make yourselves seen so that the Kyphrans think everyone is withdrawing. Pull back to where the land levels out. I’m taking second squad to pick off a few more archers and troopers, then we’ll rejoin you.”
“Are you sure, ser?”
Meaning “Are you mad?” “It’s necessary, and we have a better chance now than later. You need to get moving, and make some noise.”
“Yes, ser.” Torkaal heads down the west side of the rise. “Second squad! Hold with the captain. First and third squads! Withdraw on me!”
Alyiakal rides down to join Maelt. “Squad Leader, we’ll angle southwest along the back of this rise to get as close as we can to the Kyphrans without alerting the archers. Then we’ll charge toward the road and target the archers first. After that, the lead lancers and I will clear a path through the leading foot company and turn up the road. Once we’re clear, we’ll go five abreast over the rise and take out the archers behind the shieldmen. After that, move to the open ground south of the road and put some distance between the shieldmen and any remaining archers.”
“You’re trying to take out as many archers as we can, ser?”
“And as many foot as we can after that.” We just need to make it work.
“Second squad! On me! Forward!” Alyiakal eases the chestnut parallel to the crest of the rise, sensing the positions of the archers and the main body of the foot company. As he turns the chestnut slightly left and comes over the top of the rise, he widens his shields slightly to offer some protection to the two lancers who flank him, then sees that second squad is slightly behind where he’d thought they should be.
There’s no help for that. “Target the archers on the edge of the road! Charge!” As he gives the order, Alyiakal uses three short bursts to take out three archers, then keeps targeting them as the chestnut nears the road.
Belatedly, he realizes the Kyphran troopers wear light green uniforms, but that thought vanishes as he feels impacts on his shields. Some of those blows are painful, but not so painful that he cannot use his control of order, turning chaos bursts from his firelance into a thin, cutting beam. Carving a space from the middle of the foot through the front ranks, he turns the chestnut into the space he’s created. In moments, he punches through the footmen, and on through the few yards of open road, before reaching the top of the rise. Turning, he begins to pick off the archers behind the shieldmen leading the Kyphran force.
He sees a single mounted individual and targets him with the firelance before returning to taking out archers. Although he feels the cool black mists of death everywhere, he has no idea whether the deaths are lancers or Kyphrans. There’s little else he can do but target archers and anyone else while leading second squad to the open ground on the south side of the road and away from the Kyphran force.
Once the squad is well away, he eases the lancers onto the road, but he doesn’t slow the chestnut to a walk until he is more than half a kay from the shieldmen leading the Kyphran force. Maelt moves up beside him. “How many did we lose?”
“We didn’t, ser. Escalyn took a shaft in the thigh, but it’s not deep.”
“Not one?” Alyiakal finds that hard to believe.
“Ser, we caught them by surprise. You took out six archers before they could lift their bows. The rest of the squad finished off most of the remaining archers and at least half of the foot, beyond the ones you took out. There might be a fifth of that company remaining. From what I saw, only one of the archers behind the lead shieldmen escaped. We were far enough away from the next archer line that they only got off a few shafts before we were out of range. One of those shafts hit Escalyn.”
“How is he?”
“It’s not that deep. It can wait until we rejoin the company.”
Alyiakal eases the chestnut to the side of the road and glances back. From what he can discern, the Kyphran force has come to a halt. Then he uses his senses to check his firelance. It’s almost empty.
That doesn’t exactly surprise him.
Since using the order funnel hadn’t tired him before, he silently creates another and lets the tiny chaos bits flow down. This time he can sense a little strain, but he turns the gelding west and continues up the slight gradual slope.
Half a glass later, Alyiakal and second squad reach the rest of the company. Once there, Alyiakal checks his firelance, now roughly a third replenished, and then dismounts, checks and cleans Escalyn’s wound as well as possible, dusts it with order, and dresses it. The order-dusting gives him a slight headache, suggesting that he needs to be careful, so he eats a trail biscuit, partly washed down with water.
Glancing in the general direction of the sun, he is stunned to realize that it’s still before midday. He remounts and joins Torkaal.
“Have they resumed marching?”
“The scouts just reported that they have. They’ve been taking care of bodies and re-forming companies. Maelt said second squad took out almost a company, maybe more. That so?”
“Somewhere around that, I’d guess. Since I was leading and he was farther back, he’d have a better idea.”
“He also said he’s never seen anyone as accurate with a firelance. Neither have I.”
“We all have talents. Your comments kept me from making a bad decision about how to attack. We work well together.”
Torkaal offers an amused smile, but only nods, then asks, “What do we do now?”
“We see if the scouts can tell if and how they’ve changed their marching order. Whatever we do next will depend on how much chaos is left in each squad’s firelances.”
“That means first squad will have to lead,” replies Torkaal. “Some of the lancers in second squad don’t have any chaos left. Third squad’s a little better.”
“It looks to me,” says Alyiakal, “like they’re willing to sacrifice troopers to run us out of chaos.”
“What other choice do they have? We’ve likely destroyed half their archers, if not more. Without firelances, we’d have to go hand-to-hand. Even after all the Kyphrans we’ve already taken out, they still outnumber us three to one. That’s if they don’t get reinforcements.”
Torkaal pauses. “I still don’t see why they want this place.”
Alyiakal has pondered that more than a little, until he realized another possibility. “They don’t. They want Guarstyad.” He goes on. “I think we can count on their having a device like the one we found. We can also count on their having figured out how to use it. What if part of their plan is to rebuild the old road and fortify both ends and to use the device to guard the western pass? They could build another port where the stone pier is.”
“And pay for it all with the golds from the silver mine?” asks Torkaal.
“I don’t know if that’s what the Duke of Kyphros has in mind, but it makes more sense than anything else I’ve heard. And if they get ahold of two devices instead of one…” Alyiakal pauses, then adds, “But something like that may have been what the dissidents had in mind, except they wanted to be independent of Cyador.”
Torkaal laughs. “Maybe they wanted to take over part or all of Kyphros.”
“You might be right.”
After a moment, Alyiakal asks, “How strong are the firelances? Back in training, one officer said that they could be used as regular lances.”
“What exactly do you have in mind, ser?”
“Something that the Kyphrans would never expect—a direct charge through their shield front. From what I saw, they’re not carrying spears or pikes, just blades of some sort. We break the formation, and they’re open to firelances.”
“You’re asking a lot from whoever leads that attack.”
“That’s why I’ll be the one.”
“Ser … is that wise?”
“Is it wise to let them use those shields to stop firelance bolts when we’re running out of chaos? And when all the shieldmen are concentrated at the head of the column?”
“When you put it that way, ser…” Torkaal pauses. “You realize that Majer—”
“Jaavor would deny such a request,” Alyiakal finishes, then adds, “If we don’t find a way to win, none of us will have much of a future.” Assuming we survive.
“Which squad?” asks Torkaal.
“The entire company, but I’ll lead second squad. We’ll attack head-on, and as soon as we break the front shield wall, we’ll turn east. The two other squads need to move in close enough to use firelances.”
“What if there are more archers?”
“Withdraw immediately.”
“That might be hard on second squad.”
“It might be, but we don’t want to give the archers all three squads as targets.” Alyiakal turns the chestnut. “I need to brief Maelt on what second squad needs to do.”
When Alyiakal reins up beside the second squad leader, Maelt merely says, “Ser.”
“I need two or three lancers who don’t have any chaos in their firelances.”
“Who don’t have any chaos in their lances, ser?”
“That’s right. I need them to flank me when we charge the Kyphran shield wall.”
“Ser…?”
“The shieldmen don’t carry spears or pikes, and we need to get rid of those shields. Firelances can be used as regular lances, as a last resort. We need to remove those shieldmen.” Alyiakal goes on to explain the plan of attack.
Maelt says little, except an occasional “Yes, ser,” and Alyiakal can sense his skepticism. He finishes with, “If I didn’t think this would work, I wouldn’t try it, let alone lead the charge.” Alyiakal hopes his personal shields prove strong enough to wedge apart the shieldmen, not that he can afford to let anyone know that.
Another two quints pass before the Kyphran shield company reaches a point on the road some three hundred yards east of second squad.
“Second squad! At a walk, forward!” Alyiakal looks to his left, where Fhaquar rides, and says, “Stay as close to me as you can.”
“Yes, ser.”
Alyiakal repeats the same words to Sharkal, on his right.
As second squad moves closer, the Kyphrans raise their shields to block any chaos bolts from the oncoming lancers.
He pats the chestnut on the shoulder. “Here we go, fellow.” Then he orders, “Second squad! Charge!” The chestnut sprints forward. Both Fhaquar on his left and Sharkal on his right keep pace.
At fifty yards, Alyiakal fires a chaos bolt over the heads of the first line, which glances off the shields held overhead by the interior shieldmen. With less than twenty yards to contact, he lowers the firelance and directs the chaos bolt under the lower edge of the shieldman in the center of the first line, who topples forward, and a second bolt into the largely unprotected trooper behind him holding a shield overhead.
Within mere yards of the first line of shieldmen, he extends his personal shields into a wedge while linking himself and the gelding together.
The impact of his shields with the oblong cupridium shields of the Kyphrans shivers through Alyiakal and fractionally slows the gelding, as Kyphran troopers either are violently propelled from the horse or fall to targeted firelance bolts. “Second squad, on me! Right!”
More Kyphrans go down, but the gelding slows to a fast trot by the time he and Alyiakal reach the open ground to the south of the road. Alyiakal’s whole body aches, and his head throbs as he swings his lance to the left and pulses chaos at the rear ranks of the shield company, as well as at the foot company immediately behind. Then he slows the gelding, ordering, “Second squad, to the rear! Ride!”
As he heads back south, he mercilessly targets shieldmen, and he can see that both Sharkal and Fhaquar are still with him when he brings second squad to a halt a good two hundred yards west of where the front line of the Kyphran shieldmen had been.
Perhaps fifteen shieldmen remain, but they’re moving back downhill to provide cover for what remains of the foot company behind them.
Alyiakal sees two downed mounts, but no more as first and third squads break off and ride back up the last few yards of the gentle slope to where second squad waits.
“Who did we lose?” Alyiakal asks Maelt when the squad leader rides up.
“Kaarlyt. Four others have slashes, not too deep, it looks like.”
Alyiakal feels light-headed, and his entire body aches. He fumbles out a trail biscuit and manages to chew and wash it down with water. That doesn’t help much.
“Are you all right, ser?” asks Torkaal when he rides up.
“Been better,” Alyiakal manages, having to force every word. “You … need … get Sixth … Company back to … the encampment … done what we could…”
“Sixth Company! Form up!” orders Torkaal. “Back to the encampment! Fast trot!”
Alyiakal isn’t certain how he even manages to stay in the saddle over what has to be more than a glass, but that is about all he can do by the time Torkaal guides the company to the encampment.
Words flow around him as others help him out of the saddle.
“Captain’s hurt…”
“Black angel … he’s got bruises on his face…”
Bruises on my face … but he cannot even finish the thought as hot darkness sweeps over him.
Chaos bolts flare out of the night, then out of the sun, each one slamming into Alyiakal and the chestnut, going through his shields, no matter how much he strengthens them. Then the hot darkness claims them both, until he feels a cool damp cloth on his forehead and face.
He slowly opens his eyes, to see a tent awning above him. He finds he is lying on his back, likely on his own blanket.
Within moments after Alyiakal opens his eyes, Fraadn looks down at him in the dim light that might be twilight or predawn.
“Thank the Rational Stars you’re still here. What in the name of the black angels were you thinking?”
Alyiakal tries to speak, but his throat is so dry that no sound comes out. The ranker kneeling beside him helps him into a sitting position and hands him a water bottle. Alyiakal takes several small sips. Then he slowly asks, “Did it work?”
“Except for almost losing a captain.” Fraadn shakes his head. “I never heard of such a sowshit idea. Somehow you made it work. With almost no casualties. Sixth Company destroyed most of the shieldmen and shields, at least their ability to deflect firelance bolts. You also took out most of the foot company following. Close to two hundred Kyphrans.”
“What day?”
“It’s still eightday, what’s left of it.”
“What about my chestnut?”
“He’s sore in places, too. Torkaal felt he was straining carrying you back here. You both took a beating breaking that shield wall.”
Breaking that shield wall? Then the memories sweep over him. “You’re sure about the chestnut?”
“He’s in better shape than you are.”
“What about the Kyphrans?”
“They made camp west of the skirmish. Right where the land levels out. The scouts are keeping close watch. They’ve got three wagons. We also sent scouts around them to check out the pier.” Fraadn shakes his head. “There’s nothing much there besides blackened ground. The Rylaan must have finished off or driven out the rest of the Kyphran ships, coming in close enough to wipe out whoever and whatever remained at the piers.”
“They have a working device,” says Alyiakal.
“Torkaal told me you’d said that. How do you know that?”
“I don’t.” Alyiakal takes a larger swallow of water. “I need something to eat. Trail biscuits, something I can swallow.”
“If you don’t know—”
“The Duke of Kyphros wants Guarstyad, the silver mine, and the second device. That’s the only thing that makes sense. He’s got mages who can somehow get chaos into the device they have.” Alyiakal blinks as a wave of dizziness assaults him. “Trail biscuits. Need to eat.”
This time the ranker hands him one, and Alyiakal slowly eats it, interspersed with water, followed by a second one. The dizziness recedes, but does not vanish.
“That may be,” says Fraadn, “but we don’t know that.”
“Don’t attack with lancers close together,” says Alyiakal, wincing as he shifts his weight.
“We may not have a choice if they reach us and attack in force. Tomorrow, Fourth Company will work on reducing their numbers. Now that they don’t have many shields or archers left, more traditional tactics might be more effective.”
Alyiakal is too tired and dizzy to object, especially since Fraadn might be right. He takes another trail biscuit and slowly begins to eat it.
“You need to rest,” Fraadn says. “I’ll be back later.”
Alyiakal just nods, adjusting himself to lean against the ruined half wall, his thoughts returning to the skirmish. He’d anchored his shields around the chestnut so that any impact wouldn’t rip him out of the saddle. That part worked, but the shields had transmitted some of that impact to him and the gelding.
Next time, anchor them to something solid. Except that wouldn’t work if he or the chestnut was moving. Then, as he is discovering, using order to control chaos has ramifications he hasn’t considered.
“You’re bruised all over, you know, ser,” says the ranker—Naalyn, from second squad, Alyiakal realizes.
“I can feel that,” Alyiakal replies.
“How did you do that, ser? Break through those shields, I mean?”
“Rather unwisely, apparently. Some of the shields must have hit me and my mount. I didn’t feel the impacts at the time, though.”
“Some of those Kyphrans ran away yelling. Until we got ’em with the firelances, anyway.”
“Next time, I’ll have to figure out a better way,” says Alyiakal wryly. If there is a next time.
On oneday, Alyiakal wakes sore all over, after a restless night, not that he expected otherwise. The dizziness is gone, and he has a healthy appetite, even for the porridge that passes for breakfast.
“You look better than yesterday,” says Rynst.
“Much better,” adds Kortyl. “How did your face get bruised? I could see arms, legs, shoulders—but your face?”
“I don’t know,” answers Alyiakal, because while he suspects, he doesn’t really know. “I think it happened when we broke the shield wall, but I didn’t feel it until later.” He quickly says, “I take it that Craavyl and Fourth Company are doing what they can against the Kyphrans?”
“They left before dawn,” replies Rynst. “Craavyl said he wasn’t about to try anything like your crazy charge, and Fraadn told him he couldn’t because you wiped out almost all of the shieldmen. Fourth Company’s supposed to probe their flanks and take out as many as possible without losing lancers.” He pauses, then says, “I heard you didn’t lose many.”
“Two dead, four wounded, this time.”
Rynst shakes his head.
Before anyone can comment on casualties or the Kyphrans, Kortyl says, “Here comes Fraadn. He has something on his mind.”
“Doesn’t he always?” asks Rynst.
“You would, too, in his position,” replies Kortyl. “Having command under these conditions is a sowshit stew.”
Crude as the image is, Alyiakal agrees. The companies are outnumbered, undersupplied, likely facing a device of the First, with no possibility of immediate resupply. Add to that the possibility of losing an irreplaceable device and other artifacts to a duke willing to do anything to regain the ruins that he believes are legally his. The ultimate prize being control of Guarstyad as well, to which he has no legal claim at all.
Not that legality matters that much in war.
The junior captains stand as Fraadn approaches, stepping into the officers’ area, though Alyiakal rises more slowly than the others.
“Alyiakal, how are you feeling this morning?”
“Sore and stiff, but much better.”
Fraadn nods. “That’s good to hear. I’m going to make a change. You and Sixth Company will man the fort. We’ll switch over this morning. The way the Kyphrans are moving, I’d guess they’ll come up within a few kays today, and then attack tomorrow. They can’t afford to wait. Sixth Company will guard the fort, the ruined building, and the devices there, and be the reserve company when the Kyphrans attack. The attack may be gradual and take several days, or it might be an all-out brutal assault. If it takes several days, having Sixth Company hold the fort will be more effective. The longer you and your men recover, the better for all of us,” Fraadn concludes.
Rynst nods, as does Kortyl, which surprises Alyiakal.
Alyiakal has his suspicions about that decision, but says only, “Yes, ser.”
“Excellent. You might as well start now. I’ll have First Company ready to change over as soon as Sixth Company arrives.” Fraadn offers a smile, part perfunctory and part enigmatic, then turns and walks back to his mount.
“Aren’t you the fortunate one,” declares Rynst sardonically.
“It could be worse,” replies Alyiakal cheerfully, adding cynically, “It can always get worse.”
Kortyl nods to that as well.
Knowing the morning muster of Sixth Company is approaching, Alyiakal makes his way to the open area east of the company area.
Torkaal joins him immediately. “Good morning, ser. How are you feeling?”
“Sore, but much better. Captain Fraadn just briefed us.” Alyiakal goes on to explain the situation to the senior squad leader.
Torkaal tries not to frown, but does not totally succeed. “That so-called fort could be a death trap. Be hard to strategize our way out of that.”
“It has some advantages and some disadvantages, but orders are orders.” Even from someone of the same rank, if with greater seniority. “We’ll have to see what we can do. When they get closer, we should have all the horses ready to go.” Alyiakal adds in an overly polite tone, “After all, what use is a reserve company if the reserve company is not immediately ready to take the field?”
Torkaal smothers an amused smile. “We’ll be ready for any necessary action, ser. You just give the word.”
“Once we get settled in the fort, you and I need to go over a few things.” More than a few. “I’ll announce the shift in orders at muster.”
Torkaal nods.
After muster and his brief announcement, Alyiakal gathers his gear and saddles the chestnut gelding, carefully and taking his time, while using small amounts of order to lessen the faint reddish gray of the gelding’s worst bruises. Then he leads Sixth Company to the fort, from which Fraadn and First Company immediately leave. After securing the chestnut, he carries his gear to the ruined building, under the tent awning Fraadn used. He details two of the four rankers who are the duty guards of the lower chamber to wheel the device up into the sunlight close to the tent, where he immediately creates an order funnel to gather chaos from the white sun.
Over the course of the next few glasses, sitting propped against a half wall, he begins to replenish the chaos in his firelance as he builds up the chaos in the reservoir chamber of the device.
Fraadn returns at late midmorning. As he nears the awning and Alyiakal, he sees the device of the First in full sunlight. A brief smile crosses his lips, which immediately vanishes before he reaches Alyiakal, motioning for him to remain seated. “I see you brought the device up into the sun again. Do you think you might be able to use it against the Kyphrans?”
“We can use it,” replies Alyiakal. “Whether we can use it effectively is another question.”
“I haven’t told anyone that you got it to work.”
“I managed to get a single small chaos burst out of it. It was stronger than a single firelance, but nothing like a firecannon. It’s likely better that no one knows until it’s absolutely necessary.” For a number of reasons.
“I have to agree with you,” says Fraadn. “Even if you get some use, it won’t decide the outcome.” He clears his throat. “The Kyphrans are moving forward, slowly and carefully. They have a handful of archers left, and they’re targeting individual lancers. Craavyl’s managed to take out around a score of their foot and an archer or two, but he’s already lost two men and has three wounded. I sent back word to keep at it, and to try to attack where the archers couldn’t see his men until the last moment.”
“You’re thinking that they’ll have a harder time against four companies?” asks Alyiakal.
“With a limited number of archers who have to be running short on shafts, that’s more than likely, but we’ll still lose men. We need to get closer to hit large numbers of foot. I’m guessing that they’ll stop for the day three or four kays from here, then reorganize for an all-out attack tomorrow.”
“What about harassing them with a squad tonight, when they can’t be seen? A good lancer ought to be able to take out scouts and troopers on the perimeter.”
“The flash of a chaos bolt would provide a target for archers.”
“Not if the lancer used a short burst and kept moving.”
Fraadn shakes his head slowly. “From what I’ve seen, you’re about the only lancer in all five companies who could do that reliably, and I’m not going to risk you for something like that. You’re more valuable with that device and as a reserve force.”
While Alyiakal doubts he’s the only lancer who could make an effective night attack, he knows there’s no point in disputing Fraadn, and he needs time to recover and gather chaos for both his firelance and the device.
“I’m sending twenty-five full firelances over for Sixth Company. That’s all I can spare.”
“Since we’re in reserve, I understand.” But I don’t have to like it. “If anything changes, you’ll let us know?”
“I doubt it will, or not significantly. If it does, you’ll know. Just take it easy. We’ll need you tomorrow.” Fraadn smiles, then turns and walks back to his mount.
Alyiakal watches Fraadn ride through the gate, open wide enough for a single rider, then returns his attention to collecting more chaos. Based on what he can do so far, he might be able to concentrate enough chaos to almost fill the reservoir of the device by late afternoon and fully replenish his firelance.
But will that be sufficient to make a difference?
That’s a question he cannot answer. All he can do is power both weapons and hope he can use them effectively.
He finds Torkaal to tell him about the firelances.
“Twenty-five?” asks the senior squad leader.
“We’re not engaging the Kyphrans tomorrow. Or not as soon as the other companies.”
“What are your thoughts on distribution, ser?”
“Half to first squad, and half to second. I’ll leave it to you.” Alyiakal pauses, then adds, “Unless you think there’s a better way.”
“No, ser. That’s about what I’d do. Is there anything else?”
“Not yet. I’ll let you know when there is.” Alyiakal heads back to the device.
After sunset, Fraadn summons Alyiakal to join the other captains at the encampment. On Alyiakal’s arrival, he notices that Craavyl is also there, suggesting that Fraadn has no plans for a night attack.
Fraadn begins his briefing. “The Kyphrans still have almost a thousand foot and roughly a squad of archers stopped a little more than three kays east of the fort. They have a double line of sentries, the first half a kay from their camp, the second at around two hundred yards. They have three wagons, one with armored panels on three sides.”
Alyiakal nods. That has to be the wagon carrying the device. He also wonders how many mages may be accompanying the wagon.
“They only have a score or so of mounts, most likely for scouts and officers. It’s possible that the Rylaan destroyed or drove off any ships carrying more horses.”
When Fraadn finishes giving the details reported by the scouts, Kortyl asks, “What’s the plan of attack?”
“Attack the encampment at or just before dawn from different directions,” says Fraadn. “We need to keep them off-balance, especially if they have a working device such as the one we discovered. The armored wagon suggests that they do.”
“So we’re supposed to attack, in the open, against something like a firecannon?” asks Craavyl, his tone of voice verging on petulant contempt.
“If they have a device,” says Alyiakal smoothly, “they’ll be unlikely to have it ready quickly. If they don’t, we should be able to remove more of their foot. Keep a squad or two in sight out of bowshot. The other possibility is to place lancers on foot behind solid cover in the line of their foot advance and use their firelances. If they’re spread somewhat and withdraw after firing, they’ll be far harder for archers to target.”
“We’re lancers, not foot,” declares Kortyl.
“Better to act like foot and destroy them than act like lancers and be wiped out,” says Rynst.
“Then what?” Fraadn asks Alyiakal.
“When they get within half a kay of the fort, attack in spread formations from both sides. If they have a device, they’ll want to use it on the fort. It won’t be effective from that distance. If it’s like the one we have, it can’t be moved quickly, and the chaos bursts can’t be that wide.” Alyiakal smiles wryly. “And if they don’t have a device, four lancer companies should be able to wipe out that many foot, even if they have a squad of archers left. The archers can’t blanket the entire area at the same time.”
What Alyiakal isn’t saying, and what all the other captains know, is that the archers can blanket one area, and whatever lancers in that area will take disproportionate casualties.
“That’s probably the best plan for a sowshit situation,” says Kortyl.
“First and Third Companies will make the early attack,” Fraadn declares. “Then we’ll see how matters develop.” He pauses. “Any questions?”
“Don’t know enough for questions,” grumbles Craavyl.
Rynst rolls his eyes, but says nothing.
Fraadn looks to Alyiakal. “Keep the fort gate closed.”
“Yes, ser.” Not that it will do much good against a device, if it comes to that.
As he rides back to the fort in the deepening twilight, Alyiakal can’t help but wonder exactly how the Kyphrans intend to use their device and how quickly they can replenish the device’s chaos. It’s taken him more than a full day to not quite fill the reservoir.
You’ll find out sooner than you’d like.
Alyiakal sleeps moderately well, until about a glass before dawn when he suddenly wakes. He quickly rises from where he has been sleeping under the awning. The fort remains silent, but extending his senses, he discerns lancers riding eastward, past the fort, and toward the Kyphran encampment.
Since he doubts he’ll sleep, he begins to get ready for the day. The first thing he needs to do is move the device into a position from which he can take aim on the Kyphrans, something he should have considered earlier, and hadn’t.
He takes a deep breath and goes to find Torkaal. Not surprisingly, the senior squad leader is already checking the wall sentries, and Alyiakal meets him beside the gate.
“Good morning, ser. Are we headed out?”
“Not yet. We need to build a stone platform for the device somewhere on the east wall, south of the gate, but not too close. It should be about two yards high, so the nozzle of the device sits above the wall. Stack stone on the wall so no one can see it or anyone around it. I’d judge we have less than two glasses to get it done. The men can take loose stones from any wall but the eastern one.”
“Does that device really work, ser?”
“I managed to get it to work once. Let’s hope we can do it again. Now, let’s take a look at the wall south of the gate.”
In less than a quint, Sixth Company lancers are lugging stones to the location Torkaal and Alyiakal chose some ten yards from the gate.
“What if you can’t get it to work again?” asks Torkaal.
“I can get it to work. The question is whether it will work well enough. I’m fairly certain that the Kyphrans have mages to replenish their firecannon. The armored wagon may be to shield them as well as the firecannon.”
“A real firecannon?”
Alyiakal shrugs. “I think it’s a device to cut stone, but something like that can cut through anything, and it’ll be used as a firecannon.”
“Why didn’t they work to get into the other chamber?”
“I don’t know,” says Alyiakal, which is true enough. He’s fairly sure that it didn’t take the Kyphrans seasons to break through the wall, nor did they lack the time to work on the second chamber after they learned what was in the first. Still, it definitely had to have taken them more time than the lancers, given what Alyiakal has sensed. He’s not about to volunteer information because the follow-up question would be how the lancers broke into the second chamber so quickly.
“How soon before we’ll be called into action, do you think?”
“That depends on how much damage First and Third Companies inflict on the Kyphrans.” And how many casualties the Kyphrans inflict on them.
“When do you think the Kyphrans will start using their firecannon?”
“Sometime today, when they realize they can’t retake the area without using it. All firecannon have limited ranges and need replenishment. I’m guessing, but I think that’s why they haven’t used it yet.”
“That why you haven’t tried to use the one here?”
“Partly. We also don’t have an easy way to transport and aim it. It wasn’t meant for use as a firecannon.” And you’re hoping that you can use order to compensate for that.
“Just our luck,” says Torkaal dourly.
Even with forty-some lancers carrying and placing the large stones from ruined walls and other sources, almost two glasses pass before they complete the rough platform. Alyiakal uses the time to saddle and ready the gelding and to funnel more coiled and compressed chaos into the device’s reservoir. Once the platform is complete, the lancers carry the device there, and Alyiakal climbs up beside it. Alternating between standing and sitting on the platform next to the device, as well as looking to the east, he cannot see the Kyphrans.
Another quint goes by, and Alyiakal notices a lancer galloping up the fort road. The lancer rides toward the gate, not the encampment, and Alyiakal hurries off the platform, leaving Fhaquar to guard the device.
The lancers at the gate open it enough for a single rider. He walks his horse straight to Alyiakal, but does not dismount.
“Captain, ser. From Captain Fraadn. First and Third Companies are disengaging and withdrawing. Captain Fraadn said to tell you that they have a firecannon in the armored wagon. They open a panel, and a thin chaos bolt comes out, turning anything in its path to ashes. They’ve also found more archers. Between the firecannon and the archers, neither company can effectively attack any longer. The plan is to pull back and use firelances from locations secure from the firecannon and out of arrow range. You’re to use your discretion in defending the fort. That’s all, ser.”
“How fast are the Kyphrans moving?”
“At a walk, ser. The armored wagon is slow.”
“Can’t they attack the horses pulling the wagon?” asks Alyiakal.
“No, ser. The horses are hitched behind it and the armor.” Before Alyiakal can say or ask more, the ranker says, “Ser, I have orders to convey to Captain Kortyl.”
“To get the mounts back and away from the front part of the picketing area and to choose the best positions to use firelances on foot?”
“Yes, ser. If you’ll—”
“Go!” returns Alyiakal, gesturing to the lancers working the gate to open it for the lancer.
“Thank you, ser.”
Even before the lancer is through the gate, Torkaal is at Alyiakal’s side.
“Things aren’t going well for First and Third Companies,” Alyiakal says before relaying the lancer’s report. “When the Kyphrans get nearer, we’ll need to make quick decisions. If they lead with their foot, we need lancers with firelances all along the east wall, but not close to either side of the gate. They’ll be sparing with the firecannon, but they’ll certainly use it to destroy the gate.”
“So we just sit tight and wait?”
“One way or another, Sixth Company is going to see plenty of action before this is over,” replies Alyiakal.
“Be happier if we were attacking, ser.”
“Not against a firecannon. Let them come to us.”
“Stone isn’t any protection. Look at what they did to the walls in that old building.”
Alyiakal shakes his head. “The dissidents had devices like the ones we have and the Kyphrans have. The First had something stronger. Stone should protect us unless they keep aiming at the same spot. The idea is to make them use up all their chaos while not losing many men.” You just hope that’s a workable tactic.
“Never thought about the First that way,” says Torkaal, not quite grudgingly.
“They were far more brutal than the stories and records reveal. Now, pass the word to the other squad leaders and the men. We’ll likely have a glass before the armored wagon is close enough to attack.”
“Yes, ser.”
Alyiakal climbs back up to the stone platform and looks at the several courses of stone that the lancers laid on the top of the wall around the device to shield it from view of the road, stones that can still be pushed out of the way when the time comes, another reason why Fhaquar is on the platform with Alyiakal.
More than a quint passes before Alyiakal catches sight of the withdrawing lancers. First Company nears the fort and continues along the road, toward the Mirror Lancer encampment, followed by Third Company, while Fraadn turns his mount toward the gate.
Alyiakal hurries down, gesturing for the lancers at the gate to admit the senior captain. Fraadn reins up inside the gate and Alyiakal reaches his mount in moments.
“They definitively have something like a firecannon. It may have a range of around three hundred yards if they keep the chaos narrow. Maybe two hundred fifty yards when it’s wider. At that range, it’s a little stronger than a firelance. They’re trying not to use it except when they can target multiple lancers. Rynst tried to outmaneuver them with an oblique attack. They wiped out him and an entire squad.”
Alyiakal winces.
“I told him to keep his men spread out. They weren’t wide enough. I’ve lost eight men, and three more are wounded. Can you hold them off and make them use all their chaos? If they didn’t have it and the extra archers…”
“They kept more archers in reserve?”
“It looks that way.”
“We’ll do all we can to whittle them down and run through their chaos.”
“Good. You’re on your own.” With that, Fraadn turns his mount and rides out through the gate.
After two men close and bar the gate, Alyiakal addresses the lancers. “To the walls with your firelances. Stay at least five yards from the sides of the gate.” Then he walks to Torkaal and relays what Fraadn has told him.
The senior squad leader nods. “Hope these walls are stronger than I think.”
“They’re not,” replies Alyiakal, “but they don’t have to be. They’ll hold up against chaos better than against a catapult, and the Kyphrans don’t have a catapult.”
“That’s some comfort,” says Torkaal, “but not much.”
“I need to see what I can do from the platform. Have everyone ready to use firelances. If I order ‘Down!’ get every man off the walls. They’ll need to be ready to take the wall again as quickly as possible. I’m wagering that they’ll use the firecannon to destroy the gate, then charge.”
“Yes, ser.”
Alyiakal returns to his perch on the stone platform, looking eastward. He already sees a faint haze of dust from the road. In less than a quint, he can make out a foot vanguard with two riders near the head of the column, followed by the awkward-looking armored wagon that looks as though it is rolling forward without horses.
He studies the wagon, noting the armored wheel guards on the front and sides and the slight gap between the armor’s edge and the ground. The wheel is doubtless completely iron-bound, rather than just iron-banded, which would block the chaos from a firelance. All that explains the slow pace.
How can they possibly guide such an unwieldy monster?
After a moment, Alyiakal decides that the wagon has been pulled traditionally until that morning, when much of the armor was fastened in place. The road from the stone pier is far too rough, and the wagon would have hung up on something every hundred yards or so.
Almost four quints pass before the armored wagon reaches a point roughly three hundred yards east of the gate. From there it leaves the road and creeps across the uneven ground toward the fort.
Then at little more than two hundred yards, the monster wagon halts, and the vanguard splits, falling back, half to one side of the wagon, half to the other. Alyiakal can see archers, perhaps two squads’ worth, one squad behind each vanguard, along with two foot companies behind the archers, and another, possibly two, farther back.
Two iron-armored panels part, but with little more than a cubit between them, and, as they part, Alyiakal can sense chaos behind them, but not how much.
Hssst! A momentary flickering line of chaos flares from between the armored panels of the wagon and strikes the stone on the north side of the gate, where a hot mist rises from the stone and a few molten droplets of liquid stone drop onto the sandy ground at the base of the outer wall.
Several moments pass before a second quick line of chaos strikes the wall just north of the side of the gate. Alyiakal senses the chaos, but it strikes and vanishes before he can even attempt a shield.
Which wouldn’t be the wisest course, anyway.
Knowing what has to come next, Alyiakal says to Fhaquar, “When I yell ‘Now!’ push away those stones in front of the device. Make sure that they go off the wall away from us, or we both could end up ashes.”
“Yes, ser.”
The third flicker of chaos strikes the middle of the gate, etching a line of fire that subsides into smoke, Alyiakal knows, only because the chaos blast is so brief. He also knows that the next one will likely obliterate the gate.
The moment Alyiakal senses the concentration of chaos building in the armored wagon, he snaps, “Now!”
In moments, the stacked stones are gone and Alyiakal’s fingers are on the lever, as he concentrates on sending his own chaos knife through the narrow opening between the armored panels.
The chaos blast from the armored wagon strikes the gate, and the yard-wide wave turns the wood to ashes, flame, and steam, and a line of blistering heat sears across the courtyard until it strikes the half walls of the ruined building and jets upward.
Alyiakal’s return blast knifes through the armored panels, and he senses one death mist—as well as the shield of a strong mage. That mage somehow aims the Kyphran device toward Alyiakal, and chaos flares off Alyiakal’s shields.
Grimly intent, Alyiakal sends a second knife-edged blast, and a third. With the third, the other mage’s shields collapse, and Alyiakal senses the death mist. Alyiakal also senses that the Kyphran device also still holds chaos. So, the next chaos knife slams into the small section of the right iron-bound wheel.
Nothing obvious happens. Alyiakal tries a second blast, then a third, and a fourth.
The armored wagon explodes, strewing shreds and chunks of armor and wagon in all directions, cutting through the vanguard like hundreds of knives and taking out most of the archers.
Alyiakal tries sending another blast of chaos at the Kyphrans, only to realize that there’s no chaos left in the device.
“What happened?” asks Fhaquar.
Alyiakal immediately recognizes that, with all the chaos bursts, Fhaquar has no real understanding of who has done what with the chaos. “The device sent a blast of chaos at the Kyphran armored wagon. Then everything exploded.” As he finishes those words, another realization strikes him. Sixth Company is the reserve!
He immediately orders, “Sixth Company! Mount up! Now!” Scrambling down from the stone platform, followed by Fhaquar, Alyiakal sprints through the lingering wall of heat from the Kyphran blast and mounts the chestnut.
Despite his best efforts, almost half a quint passes before he and Torkaal lead Sixth Company—or most of it—out through where the gate had been.
By then First Company, with Fraadn in the first rank, is a good hundred yards east of Sixth Company and charging toward the Kyphran foot companies.
“Sixth Company! Forward!” orders Alyiakal, knowing that the Kyphrans’ disorganization won’t last and that, even with firelances, First Company will be in trouble without rapid reinforcement.
The foot troopers turn to face First Company, whose firelances begin to decimate their ranks.
Abruptly, a majority of the first two ranks of First Company vanish in a wave of flame. Alyiakal blinks, then sees, slightly to the east, ten or so Kyphran troopers on foot, bearing short lances that throw chaos.
Just like the old firelances in the chamber. Before Alyiakal can yell a warning, the ten continue to fire near-continuous blasts at the oncoming lancers.
Alyiakal concentrates, then triggers his lance and forces a thin line of chaos across the Kyphran troopers with the firelances.
Instantly, he feels as though his head splits, but he concentrates on leading Sixth Company through the remnants of the leading foot company, using quick blasts from his firelance to hit anything in pale green that moves, and then on to the next company, ignoring impacts on his shield.
“Ser! Ser!”
Torkaal’s penetrating voice forces Alyiakal to turn and look.
“There aren’t any more Kyphrans, except the wounded, those who surrendered, and those who ran. Second and Fourth Companies took care of the rear foot.”
“Then we need to head back.” Alyiakal knows he’s not thinking as well as he should be; his head is pounding. He’s angry that he didn’t consider that a mage who could charge an old stonecutter with chaos and turn it into a firecannon could also charge the old firelances. “How many more did we lose?”
“One, ser. Fraelt, third squad. One of the last archers got him. Saavacol and third squad took out all the others. The other lancer companies … they didn’t do as well.”
After hearing about Rynst and seeing what happened to Fraadn and First Company, Alyiakal isn’t surprised, yet what Torkaal says doesn’t seem quite real, even as Alyiakal understands that the Mirror Lancer deaths are a very real fact.
When Alyiakal nears the remnants where the armored wagon had been, he looks twice, because all that remains is a blackened circle surrounded by scattered metal.
“What happened to their wagon and device?” Torkaal asks, his voice puzzled. “I heard the explosion, but there should be more left.”
“Maybe something went wrong.” That’s about all that Alyiakal can think of to say. “We might as well go back to the fort.” Alyiakal tries not to sway in the saddle.
“Before you go anywhere, you need some water, ser. And something to eat.”
Alyiakal starts to object, then fumbles for his water bottle, trying to control the shaking in his hands. He barely manages to hold on to it and take a bite of trail biscuit. His hands aren’t shaking when he finishes the second biscuit, but he’s still light-headed as he and Torkaal lead Sixth Company back toward the fort.
“Only one casualty? Is that right?” asks Alyiakal.
“From the fighting, ser. We lost Escalyn to the chaos blast that took out the gate. He was looking over one of the half walls opposite.”
“That’s more than thirty yards.”
“Heat and splinters hit him in the face, ser. Hit him hard.”
Alyiakal starts to shake his head, then stops as he feels the light-headedness increase.
Torkaal looks to his left and says quietly, “Here comes Captain Kortyl, ser.”
Alyiakal keeps riding toward the opening that had once held the gate. “He can come to us.”
Alyiakal’s head feels different, besides the light-headedness, and he reaches up to straighten his visor cap, then realizes that he’s no longer wearing it. His fingers feel damp. He looks at them and sees blood, then drops his hand as Kortyl calls out, “Where are you going?”
“Company! Halt!” Alyiakal orders, then reins up the chestnut and waits for Kortyl to join him. When Kortyl reins up, Alyiakal replies, “Back to the fort.”
The senior captain looks from Alyiakal to Torkaal and back to Alyiakal, then asks, “Why are you headed back now?”
“Because the fight’s over, and the fort’s still the responsibility of Sixth Company. We held the fort, and we were the first company to support First Company’s attack on the Kyphrans.”
For a moment, Kortyl does not reply. Then he says, his voice edged, “Some of the lancers from First Company said that the Kyphrans used firelances against them. How did that happen?”
“They had firelances like those in the chamber we opened,” replies Alyiakal. “You can probably find them among the bodies. We couldn’t get close enough, fast enough, to stop them from hitting First Company, but we made sure they didn’t hit anyone else.”
Kortyl looks at Alyiakal. “There weren’t any survivors from the vanguard, the archers, and the first two companies. Was that necessary?”
Alyiakal looks back. “There wouldn’t have been any Mirror Lancer survivors if their firecannon hadn’t exploded. Even so, it was close. I don’t want to fight the Kyphrans again. Ever. Make the survivors from the last Kyphran companies throw the bodies over the cliffs.” Alyiakal adds, quietly, “I’d recommend that, ser.”
Kortyl looks away for a moment, then returns his eyes to Alyiakal. “Get something to eat. You look like sowshit, Captain. We’ll talk later.”
“We will,” replies Alyiakal evenly, “when I feel less like sowshit.”
Kortyl turns his mount and heads northeast, presumably back toward his company.
Alyiakal gestures, then orders, “Sixth Company! Forward!”
After returning to the fort and making sure there are no new wounded Sixth Company lancers, Alyiakal takes time to eat, not particularly well, since what he consumes is mutton jerky, trail biscuits, and a fair amount of order-dusted water. Then he washes the blood out of his hair and off his face, realizing that it’s only a glass or so past midday.
He’s barely finished checking with Maelt and Vaekyn about the condition of lancers in second and third squad, and, belatedly, ordering the device returned to its original chamber, when Kortyl rides into the fort, leading a second horse, saddled but riderless. He dismounts and hands the reins of both horses to the nearest lancer before walking across the courtyard, visor cap in hand, to where Alyiakal stands waiting. He extends the visor cap. “I believe this might be yours.”
“Thank you. You didn’t have to make a special trip for that.”
“Since Fraadn is no longer the senior captain,” says Kortyl politely, “I need to send a report to Majer Jaavor detailing what occurred here.”
“I’d suggest sending the report to Subcommander Laartol,” replies Alyiakal.
“Jaavor will insist on seeing it first, and it should go up the chain of command.”
“That’s your decision,” says Alyiakal.
“You don’t like Jaavor, do you?”
“It’s not whether I like him. It’s whether you trust him. Personally, I’d prefer sending it with a lancer ordered to give it to the subcommander.”
“Jaavor would countermand that order.”
“I’m sure he would, but Subcommander Laartol might ask why if Jaavor presents him with a report from the surviving senior captain addressed to the subcommander. That is, of course, your decision as the senior captain.” Alyiakal hesitates slightly, then asks, “How can I help you with the report?”
“Just tell me what happened here at the fort and in the field with Sixth Company.”
Alyiakal begins with hearing First and Third Companies leaving to engage the Kyphrans, reporting the facts up to the point where the Kyphran mage began to range and target the gate.
“How do you know he was a mage?” asks Kortyl.
“I don’t know, but I don’t know anyone else, except maybe a Mirror Engineer, who would be able to replenish chaos in such a device or in firelances.”
“Weren’t you working on that?” asks Kortyl.
Kortyl’s response confirms what Alyiakal has suspected—that Fraadn had indeed kept Alyiakal’s small initial success with the device to himself. “I was. I got one blast of chaos out of the device, but that made the Kyphran mage, or whomever, more determined. He sent more chaos our way, and … and then the armored wagon exploded. Since Sixth Company was the reserve company and since the device was useless, we immediately mounted up and rode after First Company.” From that point, what Alyiakal relates is precisely as he recalls it. When he finishes, he says, “That’s about it,” and looks to Kortyl.
“How did you manage to get all the Kyphrans with the firelances?”
“We rode toward them, and kept targeting them until there weren’t any more.”
“The second squad leader in First Company said you wiped them out in moments from more than a hundred yards away.”
“I don’t know how long it took.” Not precisely. “I was angel-fired mad at the bastards.”
“Apparently,” says Kortyl dryly. “From the way you look and likely feel, that’s understandable. Still, are you up to doing some field healing?”
“I can do that.”
“Good. I brought a spare mount. After everything, I thought it might be best. I can ask a few more questions while we ride back. That way, I can get matters clearer in my head.”
“Let me get my satchel, and I’ll be right with you.” Alyiakal hopes his head is clear enough that he doesn’t make any mistakes in treating the wounded from the other companies. He also worries a bit about Kortyl’s “few more questions.”
The additional questions are an effort to get Alyiakal to provide more details about matters that occurred so quickly that he’s already told Kortyl what he knows, but the older officer doesn’t appear upset or irritated at Alyiakal’s repetitions and restatements.
Once at the encampment, Alyiakal starts with the First Company wounded. The first several lancers he examines will likely survive, but he re-dresses the wounds, adding small bits of order and removing tiny points of whitish red that might have grown larger and more dangerous.
The third lancer, Gaarlynt, has a chest wound from an arrow, which has been dressed, but he has trouble breathing, with a trace of blue in his lips. Alyiakal looks for a moment, trying to recall what to do. He remembers Healer Vayidra talking about it, about the need to seal the chest so that the lung doesn’t collapse further. Then he recalls. While he doesn’t have any way to remove fluids, not without equipment, he can use order to create a temporary seal that will last for a short while, and if he keeps doing it …
He re-dresses the wound in a way to allow what he needs to do next before slowly positioning the bits of order to create the seal, then adds a few more tiny bits of order to deal with the deeper wound chaos.
He turns to Kortyl. “I’ll need to see him several times a day.”
The lancer whose wound he has just dressed and sealed looks at him and says, barely gasping out the words, “Begging your pardon … ser … but you look … like you … use a healer yourself.”
Alyiakal manages a smile. “We’ll get to that later, Gaarlynt.”
“The Second and Third Company wounded are over there,” says Kortyl, gesturing.
Once they’re well away from the first group, Kortyl says quietly, “The last one won’t make it, will he?”
“He has a chance,” replies Alyiakal. “I did what I could to seal the wound, but I’ll need to check him often.”
The next lancer is unconscious, barely breathing, with severe gut wounds and chaos running through his body. Alyiakal turns to Kortyl, shakes his head, and moves on to the next man.
Almost two glasses later, Alyiakal returns to the fort, light-headed, after dealing with another chest wound worse than the first, and a range of other injuries, including a broken arm and a broken leg. His head throbs, and the dizziness has returned. He lies down on his pallet and lets the darkness sweep over him, a darkness that alternates heat and chill, and words he struggles to hear, but cannot comprehend even when he does finally hear them.
Then there is silence, and twilight, before, somewhere in the twilight, Alyiakal hears noises.
Rain? Vulcrows gloating over carrion?
Then the noises resolve into whispers.
“… you wake him … frigging scary … never misses with the firelance … Captain Kortyl practically shit in the saddle when the captain looked at him…”
“… not that scary … takes care of us…”
“Here comes the senior squad leader.”
Rather than say anything immediately, Alyiakal coughs, then slowly sits up, realizing that it is indeed twilight and that he hadn’t dreamed it. Or you dreamed it, and it’s twilight anyway.
While no longer light-headed, he’s definitely sore and stiff in more places than he can count, but he slowly gets to his feet.
On the other side of the half wall, beside Torkaal, stands a ranker Alyiakal doesn’t recognize.
“Ser,” says Torkaal. “Captain Kortyl requests that you take a look at some of the wounded.”
Frig, frig, frig! You slept too long. “I’ll be right there.”
After taking care of a few necessities, Alyiakal heads for the northeast corner of the fort, but finds Fhaquar and Saavacol mounted and leading the chestnut, already saddled, toward him.
“The senior squad leader thought this would make it quicker, ser,” says Fhaquar.
Saavacol nods, but says nothing.
“Thank you. I was a little tired.”
“One way of putting it, ser,” replies Fhaquar in a genially dry tone of voice. After Alyiakal mounts, Fhaquar hands him a leather pouch. “Some dried fruit, ser. And your water bottle is full.”
“I appreciate it.” Alyiakal tucks the pouch inside his riding jacket and takes out the water bottle, opens it, and infuses it with a bit of order before taking a swallow. Then he replaces the bottle in its holder and urges the chestnut toward the gateless opening. As he rides out, he smells the odor of charred men and mounts—and ashes. Even so, he forces himself to eat morsels of the dried fruit, chewing and swallowing, thinking about all the death and destruction, much of which he created. Not that you had much choice. Not if he wanted to keep the Mirror Lancer force from being destroyed and, more than incidentally, survive the fight.
While he understands the need for Cyador to keep Kyphros from taking Guarstyad, he doesn’t understand why the First destroyed the dissidents and their outpost rather than maintaining the buildings and the old road. Or were they so short of Mirror Lancers and equipment they felt they couldn’t maintain it—and counted on the arid high plains as a barrier to Kyphran incursion?
Whatever the reason, the First only passed down the cost a few generations, and Alyiakal finds himself angered by their shortsightedness. He says nothing, but continues to chew and swallow the dried fruit, interspersed with swallows of water on the short ride to the encampment.
Once there, he hurries toward Gaarlynt, the first lancer with a chest wound.
As he suspected, the order-based seal is beginning to give way. He partly re-dresses the wound and strengthens the seal, enough, he hopes, to at least last through the night, and infuses it with a bit more order. Then he moves to the other lancer with a chest wound, whose breathing is labored, doing much the same as with Gaarlynt. He steps back and watches. He thinks that the lancer is breathing a little easier.
After that, since he is already at the encampment, he checks the other wounded, and learns that the lancer with the gut wounds has died.
When he finishes, he turns to walk back to where Fhaquar and Saavacol wait with his mount.
At that moment, Kortyl arrives. “Oh, you are here.”
“I’ve seen to the wounded. The two with chest wounds are breathing a little easier. There’s nothing more I can do right now.”
“Why weren’t you here earlier?”
“First, no one told me I was needed. Second, I was exhausted from everything else I did over the last few days, and I collapsed.” Like saving your arrogant ass.
“We all fought.”
“Except First, Third, and Sixth Companies fought more and longer, and that might have a bit to do with the exhaustion.”
Kortyl says nothing.
Alyiakal looks hard at the older officer and adds, quietly, but firmly, “You might want to think about that, ser.”
Then he turns and walks away, wondering if he should have put a chaos bolt through Kortyl just before the battle ended. Except you were too tired and confused to think of that. Besides, that would have left Craavyl in command, which might be even worse.
He shakes his head, thinking about how the entire campaign has caused the death of the two more competent officers and hasn’t touched the two least competent.
They are competent. They’re just too arrogant to be much more than merely competent.
He’s still thinking about the matter when he reaches the fort.
For the next few days, Alyiakal manages to avoid Kortyl without seeming to do so, although he uses a concealment once, partly because he’s still angry and partly because he worries that he’ll say worse than he already has.
He continues to monitor and quietly heal the various wounded. But, despite all he has tried, the lancer with the deeper chest wound, whose name he never learned, succumbs to widespread wound chaos, while the other—Gaarlynt—appears to be on the way to recovery, albeit a lengthy recovery, Alyiakal suspects.
By eightday, the smaller bruises on Alyiakal’s face have largely healed, but two have only faded to a yellowish purple, and he’s discovered that the scalp wound that had bled so profusely actually extended to the side of his forehead, and will likely leave at least a slight scar.
On oneday, Alyiakal has just finished dealing with Gaarlynt when Kortyl appears.
“Ser,” offers Alyiakal politely.
“You’re a hard man to find,” says Kortyl genially, a geniality that Alyiakal can tell is only superficial.
“Subcommander Laartol ordered me to keep my interactions with the lancers in other companies brief and to deal with them in strictly healing terms and to avoid unnecessary contact with either other lancers or officers in such companies. I’ve found that following his recommendations is a good idea.”
“Following the recommendations of knowledgeable senior officers is always prudent,” replies Kortyl.
Alyiakal keeps a pleasant expression and waits for Kortyl to say more.
“You know, it’s rather amazing,” says Kortyl after a moment. “You’re supposedly only a field healer, but only three lancers you’ve treated have died. Are you sure there aren’t any healers in your family?”
“I know of none. Both my parents were only children, and the only other relative that I ever knew was my great-aunt, and she wasn’t a healer. I did have the good fortune to work for and get instruction from a Magi’i healer at Syadtar while waiting for lancer replacements. She was much older and very experienced, and I learned a great deal in a short time.”
“We’re all fortunate for that.” Kortyl’s words are not quite perfunctory. “Especially the wounded.”
“I did my best,” says Alyiakal, trying not to sound wary, although he definitely feels that way.
“You certainly did.” Kortyl pauses only briefly before continuing. “After all that we’ve been through here, it seems almost a shame for us to return to Guarstyad and then wait for the Kyphrans to make another attack. Any ruler willing to lose so many ships and men isn’t going to give up easily.”
Alyiakal has an idea of what Kortyl has in mind. “I’d have to agree with you.”
“We lost over a hundred lancers, as well as two captains, and had more than fifty wounded. That’s the most lancers lost in a single campaign in decades.”
“It cost them well over twelve hundred men,” Alyiakal replies. “That doesn’t include deaths, casualties, and damage from whatever the fireships inflicted.”
“Does that suggest something to you?”
Besides the fact that you have something in mind? “It shows that the Duke of Kyphros should be wary of the Mirror Lancers.”
“That’s if the Mirror Lancers are based where they can act effectively.”
“You’re suggesting that we should have a base here?” asks Alyiakal, knowing that is exactly what Kortyl wants him to say.
“What else is likely to stop them?”
Alyiakal frowns. “There’s the question of supplying such a base.”
“There is,” agrees Kortyl, “but even if you couldn’t get that device to work the way the Kyphrans got theirs to work, I’m certain that the Mirror Engineers could. If they can’t, they have similar devices, and they could remove the gaps in the original road. That would resolve the supply problem.”
“I imagine it would,” says Alyiakal.
“Of course, such a base would need a captain familiar with the Kyphrans and one with a reputation for the efficient use of lancers with minimal losses. One with healing experience would be even better, though.”
“You’re not suggesting…? What about you? You’re more senior.”
“Guarstyad will need a new senior captain, and you’re far more suited to be in command here. In fact, I recommended that in the report and dispatch to Subcommander Laartol. He’d already mentioned to me the possibility that the Mirror Engineers might wish to repair the old road, and that would require at least a lancer company to remain while those repairs were in progress. Building a small fortified base before the blocked point of the old road wouldn’t take that much longer.”
Alyiakal manages to look disconcerted, which isn’t difficult, because he can’t believe that Kortyl is suggesting that Alyiakal remain, even though he understands Kortyl’s scheme. “I wouldn’t want you to lose—”
“You’re definitely the best one to be here. Craavyl, now, he’s a good officer, but he’s not decisive enough yet.”
Meaning that you don’t think he’s as good at killing Kyphrans and that he won’t give you trouble in Guarstyad. Alyiakal frowns again, then asks, “What about Overcaptain Shenklyn? He knows logistics.”
“He’s on his last tour, and he’ll be more effective in handling logistics from Guarstyad.” Kortyl shrugs. “I made the recommendation. It’s up to the subcommander—and Mirror Lancer headquarters—to decide how to handle the Kyphrans. It seems clear to me, and it will to the subcommander as well, that not having a force in position to deal with the Kyphrans would be a mistake. A very large mistake.”
“That seems obvious to us,” agrees Alyiakal, “but will it to Mirror Lancer headquarters?”
“I’d say so, but the Majer-Commander will be the one to decide. I did want you to know that I recommended you for command here.”
“That was very thoughtful,” says Alyiakal. Thoughtfully designed to consign me to a long and boring tour watching the plains grass grow, given that it will be a while before the Kyphrans recover from this campaign.
“I do hope so,” replies Kortyl, smiling pleasantly. “I won’t keep you longer.”
“I appreciate your letting me know.”
“You’ll have time to think about it. I imagine we’ll see Mirror Engineers here well before we know what the Majer-Commander decides.”
Alyiakal has no doubt that at least one of the Magi’i and a few Mirror Engineers will arrive, if only to inspect the remaining devices and the original road. Whether they’ll do more than that is another question.
“Until later,” says Kortyl with a smile before turning away.
“Until then,” replies Alyiakal.
Late on threeday afternoon, more than two eightdays after the fighting ended, an afternoon warm enough that Alyiakal has the feeling the Summer on the high plains of west Kyphros will be even hotter than Summers at Pemedra, Kortyl appears at the fort, looking as genial as ever. Alyiakal walks from where he has been brushing the chestnut to meet the senior captain, motioning for the nearest ranker, who happens to be Vuurnyn, to accompany him.
Kortyl dismounts, hands the reins of his mount to Vuurnyn, and extends a sealed envelope to Alyiakal. He says in a pleasant voice, “We need to talk.”
Alyiakal senses neither malice nor arrogance, which surprises him. He gestures. “It’s a little cooler under the awning.”
The two officers cross the courtyard, which now shows almost no traces of the recent battle, except for the continued absence of a gate.
Once in the limited shade, Kortyl says, “The Majer-Commander has decided to accept our recommendation to establish a post. An eightday from now, we, or rather you, will ensure that the stone pier is secure and that all available wagons are there to offload food and other supplies necessary for the Mirror Engineers to begin construction of the post and repairs to the old road to Guarstyad. Once those supplies and Mirror Engineers are safely established, Second and Fourth Companies will withdraw and return to Guarstyad. I imagine that envelope contains your orders as the officer in charge of Oldroad Post, which will take effect immediately upon the departure of Second and Fourth Companies.” Kortyl offers an amused smile.
“What about First and Third Companies?” asks Alyiakal.
“As I understand it, from my instructions from the subcommander, the lancers remaining from First and Third Companies will be added to your contingent, in order to form a second company. I suggest you open the envelope. It might clarify matters.”
Alyiakal does. Inside are a note and two other documents.
The note reads:
Rarely does the son of an exceptional officer exceed his sire’s accomplishments. You have that potential. Do not waste it.
The signature is simply “Laartol.”
Alyiakal swallows, then begins to read the next document, which appoints him as officer in charge of establishing and maintaining a Mirror Lancer post, to be known as Oldroad Post, upon or near the east end of the road dating back to the founding of Cyador, with two companies under his command. As officer in charge of Oldroad Post, he will report directly to the subcommander of Guarstyad Post. He is also directed to appoint Senior Squad Leader Torkaal as a provisional undercaptain in command of the Second Company at Oldroad Post.
The third document is the longest, detailing the requirements for receiving and transporting supplies, Mirror Engineers, supporting Magi’i, and engineer rankers.
Alyiakal lowers the documents and looks to Kortyl. “You set this up very well. Congratulations … and thank you.”
Kortyl looks back evenly. “I don’t like you personally. I likely never will. But you give everything you have to do what’s necessary. I’d trust my life and any men I command to you. That’s more important than what I feel.”
Alyiakal smiles wryly. “Isn’t that what being a lancer officer is all about?”
Kortyl actually smiles back. “For those who are truly lancer officers.”
Dealing with the incoming supplies takes longer than planned, but not that much longer, and on fiveday of the tenth eightday of Spring, Alyiakal and all the able-bodied lancers of Sixth Company, soon to become First Company of Oldroad Post, hold the stone pier slightly less than twenty kays from the Kyphran fort. With the company are all seven wagons and four spare mounts.
As the fireship slowly approaches, its side firecannon trained on the pier where Alyiakal stands with the lancers of third squad, Alyiakal catches sight of the nameplate—KIEF—and he smiles.
“Ser?” asks Vaekyn, the new senior squad leader, since recently appointed Undercaptain Torkaal remains at the fort working to combine the surviving lancers from First and Third Companies into the new Second Company.
“It’s the same fireship that brought me to Guarstyad. I knew the Rylaan and the Kief will be alternating supply runs for some time, but I didn’t know which one would arrive first.”
Before that long, Alyiakal walks to where the crew positions a gangway and waits, holding his strongest shields behind the camouflage shield recommended so many years before by Healer Vayidra. Once the gangway is in place, Alyiakal walks up to the edge of the quarterdeck. He remembers the older undercaptain—or sublieutenant—and asks, “Permission to come aboard, Sublieutenant Naartyn?”
For a moment, Naartyn appears nonplussed. “I’m afraid—”
“Alyiakal. The Kief took me to Guarstyad.”
“You’re the lancer captain in charge of the new post the engineers will be building?”
“For better or worse. We brought every wagon we have. That’s seven.”
“Oh, permission granted. The Mirror Engineers and the Magi’i are waiting for you in the wardroom.”
Alyiakal follows Naartyn from the quarterdeck.
While there are four men waiting in the wardroom—two Mirror Engineers, one a sub-majer and one an undercaptain, and two Magi’i—the two white-clad Magi’i step forward, each roughly ten years older than Alyiakal.
Naartyn immediately says, “This is Magus Thiaphyl, and Magus Ataphi. And this is Captain Alyiakal. When you’re ready to begin offloading, please let me know.” With that, Naartyn quickly slips from the wardroom.
Alyiakal can sense the probing of his camouflage shield, but says nothing, as if he were totally unaware.
“Amazing,” says Ataphi. “Natural shield, elevated levels of order, but not excessive.”
“Agreed,” adds Thiaphyl. “Certain sense of healing.”
“What might be amazing that you both agree upon,” asks Alyiakal politely, “besides the fact that I have a slight talent for healing? If I might ask?”
“We wondered, since you were the one who discovered the old road and found a device, if you had … other abilities.”
“I was screened at Kynstaar and later by the Third Magus when he interviewed all the officers at Geliendra.” Alyiakal smiles wryly. “I wanted to be a magus when I was a boy, but I was told that I didn’t have the right abilities. Apparently, I still don’t.”
“The device,” says Ataphi quickly, “was it destroyed?”
Alyiakal shakes his head. “The Kyphran device—I think it had to be a device because it instantly turned the solid-wood gate of the fort to ashes—it somehow exploded. I’d hoped to discover how the device we found works or worked, but…” He shrugs, keeping his feelings well behind his inner shield.
“You still have it?” asks Ataphi.
“The one we found? Oh, yes, with another device that might be a cart and possibly a half score old firelances. Did you know that the Kyphrans had a half score as well? They killed more than an entire squad before we took them out.”
“Do you have those?” asks Thiaphyl.
“They’re not all intact, but I believe we have them all. They’re all under guard.”
“Excellent, excellent. At the very least, it will be interesting to see the differences in design.”
The Mirror Engineer sub-majer clears his throat and says quietly, “We have a long ride, honored Magi’i, on which you can certainly interrogate the captain.”
“We apologize,” declares Thiaphyl, in a tone that has no trace of apology. “We would not wish to delay matters.”
Alyiakal turns. “Sub-Majer, we brought seven wagons. That’s all we have, along with four spare mounts. We have most of a company for protection as well.”
“Most?”
“We lost over a hundred lancers, and there are almost fifty wounded.” Alyiakal offers a polite smile. “The Kyphrans landed over fifteen hundred archers and troopers along with what amounted to a working firecannon. I doubt a handful of Kyphran troopers are still alive.”
The undercaptain Mirror Engineer stiffens.
“We’re ready to help with the offloading and loading the wagons. I have a squad standing by on the pier.” Alyiakal pauses, then adds, “I understand that after we have offloaded everything, the Kief will transport a squad of engineer rankers to the cove below where the base will be established and will use boats to ferry them ashore. Is that correct?”
“It is.”
“It’s a long hike up the cliffs, but will be somewhat easier, and take far less time, than walking or riding nearly twenty kays.”
The two Magi’i exchange glances.
The Mirror Engineer sub-majer turns back to them. “If you’re willing to entrust your equipment…?”
Ataphi immediately shakes his head. “The orders of the Third Magus were most explicit.”
Having met the Third Magus, if briefly, Alyiakal can believe that. He also can see that escorting cargoes and Mirror Engineers, and their equipment, is going to be a long and tedious process.
And that’s even before the new base is built.
But it is an independent—mostly—command.
On sixday of the fifth eightday of Summer, Alyiakal stands looking westward from the east end of the old road, watching as the Mirror Engineers continue to remove the melted rock barrier, the first step in rebuilding and reopening the more secure and safer route between Guarstyad and Kyphros. Behind him, and to his right, is the stone building partly cut into the rock but largely built of local stone cut by the engineers, a building with barracks for two companies and quarters for three officers, a kitchen, a lancers’ mess, and a small officers’ mess. An empty square building for supplies adjoins the larger structure.
The furnishings have started to arrive, and the Winter stables for the horses will be built last, after the restoration of the old road. The Majer-Commander has insisted the post buildings be finished first so that the lancers can be supported properly to protect the engineers as they build and the traders who may come. The score of Kyphran prisoners have been used to widen and straighten the trail to the cove, where a pier will be built for fair-weather use.
A small separate building will be constructed at the entrance to the old road on the south side across from the post building, to house a tariff enumerator, once one is deemed necessary.
Alyiakal smiles, partly in amusement and partly in rue, then turns and heads back to the post building, holding a large double-sealed envelope that arrived with the latest wagonloads from the pier, escorted by Undercaptain Torkaal and second squad of Second Company. He makes his way into the small study of the officer in charge, containing three file cases of lancers’ records and other documents, a small writing table, and a wooden straight-backed chair. The barracks section and officers’ quarters contain pallet mattresses and little else, but after a season of sleeping on the ground and uneven dried grass, the pallets feel like luxury.
Alyiakal sits at the writing table and looks at the official envelope, wondering about its contents, and suspecting another lengthy list of duties and cautions. Rather than open it immediately, he takes out the letter from Saelora he received along with the sealed envelope. He has already skimmed it, but this time he reads more slowly, his eyes lingering on certain passages.
… so glad to get your letter after not hearing from you for so long … told me to expect that … still, I worried … so happy that you are healthy … pleased that you are in charge of the new post east of Guarstyad … you’ve worked hard and you deserve some recognition …
… Hyrsaal wrote me eightdays ago that there was fighting east of Guarstyad. I knew you had to be involved. I felt you would be all right, but it was so hard to hold on to that feeling.
When I finally got your letter, I felt that all the stones in the Great Canal had been lifted off me. I know it may be a long time before you can come to Vaeyal … or before you’re posted somewhere that I can visit. Whatever is meant for us will be, but I cannot imagine us not always being close, even when we are separated by great distances.
Since you asked, the distillery is doing well and so is my trading. If matters continue, I might be able to buy out Vassyl in the next year or so. That was his idea, not mine … I never would have even brought it up …
Alyiakal shakes his head. If she’s doing that well … He pushes away those thoughts, because there’s nothing he can do. Not at the moment, anyway. He folds her letter and slips it back into his uniform.
After several moments, he opens the larger envelope, which contains a note card attached to a longer document and a slightly smaller sealed envelope. The note card, signed “Laartol,” simply reads:
Alyiakal—
Please read this before you open the next envelope.
Since there’s no reason not to follow the subcommander’s request, Alyiakal turns his attention to the document, which is clearly a summary of something much larger and likely more formally worded.
TERMS TO WHICH KYPHROS AGREED
The additional and less-onerous provisions take up another page.
After reading through all the provisions, Alyiakal finally opens the inner sealed envelope, which contains more than just a document. Inside is a letter on the letterhead of the Majer-Commander of the Mirror Lancers.
Alyiakal swallows, knowing what the letter must mean, but almost not daring to read it. After a moment, he does, his eyes taking in the key words.
… based on your accomplishments in the Kyphran campaign and commensurate with your selection as officer in charge of Oldroad Post, ratified and confirmed by the Majer-Commander on Threeday, Seventh Eightday of Spring, 99 A.F., in the reacquired lands of eastern Cyador, you, Alyiakal’alt, are hereby promoted to Overcaptain, effective Oneday, First Eightday, Summer, 99 A.F.…
Alyiakal has to smile at the words “commensurate with your selection as officer in charge,” because what that means is that his appointment required the promotion. He wonders if Kortyl realized that. Alyiakal has no doubts that Subcommander Laartol knew.
The other items in the envelope are the insignia of an overcaptain, but they are inside another sheet of paper, with several handwritten but unsigned lines.
Congratulations on becoming one of the youngest overcaptains. That means more will always be expected of you. You cannot afford to forget that. Ever. Especially since the Kyphrans were informed that the field officer who created most of their casualties would continue as the post commander. You are already known in Kyphros as the Lance of Fire.
Alyiakal winces. Talk about more being expected.
Also, you might like to know that Kortyl was promoted to overcaptain as well, with the same effective date of rank.
Although the lines are unsigned, the handwriting is that of Subcommander Laartol.