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swirl for what seems an inordinately long time, but they do clear and present
an image.
A red-haired woman walks along Second Harbor Way in the fading light of early
evening. Abruptly, her step hesitates and she turns. For a moment, Lorn looks
full into the face in the glass, then lets the image go. He does not wish to
disturb her-not too much.
His forehead is beaded with sweat from that short effort, and he can tell he
will need practice, much more practice.
What of Maran? He shakes his head.
Then he smiles and concentrates on recalling Dustyn the factor.
When the mists clear, Lorn finds himself blushing, for Dustyn is within a
bedchamber, and not alone. He quickly allows that image to fade.
Does the Forest inhibit a chaos glass?
He concentrates on the last tree trunk that had fallen across the ward-wall,
trying to recall the location near the midpoint chaos tower and even the shape
of the trunk that remained after the engine captain had fired the crown.
The mists take far, far longer to clear, and Lorn can feel the heat pouring
from his brow, but he continues to seek the image.
Finally, he is rewarded with an image. Four wagons flank a trunk that appears
half what it had been. A score of men labor with shimmering long saws. Lorn
tries to shift the image to see beyond the wall, but nothing appears except a
black-silver curtain. He tries again.
His head feels light, and tiny stars flash before his eyes. He sits on the
edge of his narrow bed until the flashing and dizziness subside. Then he
stands and replaces the glass in the wardrobe.
He needs to find something to eat. He reclaims the opened brandy bottle and
steps out into the corridor, turning and locking his door. Then he starts for
the dining area, where he knows he can find bread and cheese, at least.
Perhaps Juist has returned and will like some of the brandy.
Lorn shrugs, smiling. The day has not gone that badly, and he does not have to
think of the morrow s patrol. Not yet.
LXXIX
The spring-like breeze gusts past Lorn as the lancer captain rides along the
perimeter road just north of white granite structure that holds the northwest
midpoint chaos tower-the tower that Lorn is convinced has not operated perhaps
in several years. The gelding s hoofs barely tap on the smooth granite of the
road, and the faint chirping of insects in the fields to his left occasionally
lifts above the sighing of the wind in the meadow grass that is already
knee-high there.
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With the breeze, Lorn feels cooler, and the perspiration he has blotted from
his forehead does not return, not until the breeze dies down. To his right,
the second squad continues riding forward in their line abreast formation,
looking for signs of any Forest incursions, but in the three patrols since the
last fallen tree, there have been no shoots or any additional fallen trees.
Behind Lorn s saddle is fastened a second sabre in a battered sheath. All the
men know it is there, and none remark upon it, not after seeing that their
captain had lost his first sabre battling a stun lizard. Yet that is not why
Lorn carries it. He can sense the dark order within the cupridium
forged-exterior of the blade, and he knows that, in some instances, it will
have greater effect against the order-backed attacks and creatures of the
Accursed Forest, for it has become all too clear that the Forest employs
linked order and chaos, and that such is far more effective than either order
or chaos alone. Where and how-of the exact circumstances-he is less certain.
He readjusts his garrison cap.
Going to be a hot summer, ser, Kusyl says, raising his voice to cross the
stretch of road that separates the two men. All the signs point to it, every
one. Vytly says the grapes are coming in early, and not a late frost to nip
em, either. Melons, too, and even the redberries are fruiting early.
I hope it s not as hot as the Grass Hills, Lorn answers with a laugh. I
could do without that.
No, ser. Nothing that hot. Maybe feels hotter here, though, cause the air s
damper, you know. Kusyl gestures to his left, toward the silent bulk of the
Accursed Forest. Always rains more around the Forest. Be why folk live here,
even worrying bout the creatures. The junior squad leader pauses, then asks,
Heard any more about the big cats?
Every so often, I get a scroll complaining that a bullock or a sheep s been
killed. I try to explain.
They should be out here, looking at one of them trunks after it falls. Give
em a real different look at things. Wager none of them be pensioned lancers.
A murmur rises from the lancer fifty cubits to Kusyl s left, one that Lorn
barely hears, and Kusyl does not. & such a man as a pensioned lancer& not
Paradise likely!
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Dobre pomysły nie mają przeszłości, mają tylko przyszłość. Robert Mallet
De minimis - o najmniejszych rzeczach.
Dobroć jest ważniejsza niż mądrość, a uznanie tej prawdy to pierwszy krok do mądrości. Theodore Isaac Rubin
Dobro to tylko to, co szlachetne, zło to tylko to, co haniebne.
Dla człowieka nie tylko świat otaczający jest zagadką; jest on nią sam dla siebie. I z obu tajemnic bardziej dręczącą wydaje się ta druga. Antoni Kępiński (1918-1972)
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