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As he walks back through the darkness he glances at the sabre once more.
Within the shimmering cupridium is a core of ordered iron-and iron that feels
darker, almost black, and far stronger than either the original wrought
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material iron of the blade or of the comparable cupridium lancer sabre that
remains in his scabbard.
A faint glow surrounds the Brystan sabre. Lorn sheathes it carefully and walks
even more silently and circuitously back toward the side gate from whence he
had departed. Overhead, the stars have begun to twinkle once more with the
slight breeze that helps to cool his fevered countenance.
Lorn slides through the shadows, and is walking across the courtyard, almost
to the courtyard door that will lead to his quarters.
 Ser! That you, Captain?
Footsteps cross the stones, and Lorn hears the hiss of a drawn sabre.
 Yes. I just wanted some air. It s all right. Lorn lets the lantern show his
face.
 Ah& yes, ser. The sabre is sheathed.  You see that, ser?
 See what? Lorn temporizes.
 Been so quiet& then there was this flash out by the wall. I thought maybe
another of those big trees falling. But nothing happened. Thought I heard
footsteps, you know, but there was just a glow moving by the wall, and it
vanished.
 You can t ever tell with the Accursed Forest, Lorn points out, truthfully.
 No, ser. Sorry to bother you, ser. The lantern is lowered.
 It s not a problem. I m glad you re watching for us. Lorn inclines his head,
though he doubts the lancer can see the gesture fully.  I m going to turn in.
We still have a long ride tomorrow. And again the day after, and the day
after that-and for who knows how many more days and seasons of trees falling
and creatures escaping.
LXXXII
Under high but thick gray clouds, Lorn watches as Olisenn orders his squad
into the line abreast formation that runs inward from the perimeter road
toward the line already formed by Kusyl s second squad. The heavy squad
leader s voice is firm and carries, yet Lorn finds himself watching the senior
squad leader more and more, trying never turning his back on the man at any
time when firelances are in readiness. Even so, there have been a few times
when Lorn has forgotten, and sooner or later, that will create problems.
Lorn reaches forward and pats the gelding, grateful that his mount has proven
more trustworthy than all too many people in Cyador. Lorn frowns at his
thought. It is not that so many have proven untrustworthy; it is that his
observations, and those of his father, have shown that so many will prove
untrustworthy. The gelding is what the gelding is, unlike people who change in
response to their perceptions of events that may benefit or threaten their
power.
He glances toward the clouds that do not seem to promise rain. Second Company
has but one more day s patrol before reaching the compound at Jakaafra-and the
two full days off they receive after every fourth complete patrol to Eastend
and back.
As he turns the gelding northwest on the wall road, Lorn studies the
white-granite wall to his left. The chaos-flows are once more irregular-the
response to his efforts of two nights before? Or another fallen tree? Or both?
A faint smile crosses his lips.
There will be another tree trunk down. That he knows. And there will be more
wild creatures-and another day on station before the Mirror Engineers arrive.
 Was it worth it? he murmurs.
 Ser, you speaking to me? asks Kusyl from the other side of the wall road to
his right.
 No, Kusyl. I was thinking out loud. How I ll be glad when we finally get back
to Jakaafra.
 You and me, too, ser. Been a long summer, and it s hardly been two eightdays
since it even started.
Lorn nods. Will he ever see the ripening-of pears and praise-or of anything
for which he has silently worked?
LXXXIII
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The four officers sit around the small table in the dining area at the
Jakaafra compound. Only a single lamp on the wall is lit, illuminating the
table but dimly, to Lorn s advantage. Lorn takes a sip of the Fhynyco, then
glances across the table at Gebynet, the Mirror Engineer majer, on his way
through on one of the periodic inspections of the chaos tower that lies just
beyond the compound. To Lorn s left is Captain Ilryk, a tall and blond
officer, with a high forehead and an angular face and pointed chin. After a
moment, Lorn s eyes travel to Undercaptain Juist, sitting to Lorn s left.  How
do you like it?
 Good! The stocky Juist takes a solid swallow.
An enigmatic smile curls onto Ilryk s lips, but he does not offer an opinion.
 It s better than Byrdyn, admits Gebynet, after a more refined sip, and [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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