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the window. We are here, sers.
Good. The commander winks once more at Lorn.
The firewagon slows under a large covered sunstone portico.
After a moment, one of the green-uniformed drivers opens the door of the front
compartment. Syadtar, officers, kind sers.
Lorn glances to the District Commander.
Go ahead, Undercaptain. Let a stiff commander take his time. You have much
farther to go than do I.
Thank you, ser. With that, Lorn reaches under the curved and lightly padded
bench seat and pulls out his kit, then steps out into the sunlight, for it is
far too early for the tile roof above to shade passengers or the firewagon
itself. After slipping the white garrison cap from his belt and donning it, he
glances at the firewagon driver, or one of the two, standing beside the open
glass cupola. Do you know which way to the Lancer headquarters?
Go one block east, to the Avenue of the Square, then head toward the hills.
It s about a kay north.
Thank you.
Carrying his kit in his left hand, Lorn begins to walk eastward, feeling a
hint of dampness on his forehead where the front of the garrison cap rests.
Poor bastard&
Lorn holds in a wince at the pity in the driver s voice. He thinks he knows
what he is facing, but more than a few people seem to think his assignment is
a death sentence.
Two youths in faded blue undertunics and trousers careen down the street,
then, seeing Lorn, abruptly dash down a side alley. An older man in a brown
tunic so faded it is closer to tan leans on a walking stick and shuffles down
the other side of the white-paved street, his eyes fixed on the paving stones.
The creaking of a cart echoes from somewhere up the alley Lorn passed, but he
sees neither cart nor whatever pulls it.
One block east, as the driver had said, is a small square. In the center is a
statue, the figure purportedly of Keif elth alt, the first Emperor of Light.
Lorn doubts that the original emperor had possessed such heroic proportions.
On the south side of the square is an inn, its side porch shaded by a green
and white awning. The scent of roasted fowl drifts toward Lorn, and he stops,
then shakes his head, before turning northward. He does take the shaded
eastern side of the street.
He passes a coppersmith s shop, then a cooper s, but both doors are closed.
The door to the chandlery a block later is open. Lorn pauses, then steps
inside. After his eyes adjust to the dimness, he moves toward the side
counter, trying to keep both his kit and his scabbarded sabre from banging
into the table that holds various leather goods. He pauses to study the travel
foods on the counter, looking over the differing shapes, all covered in wax.
Those not be what you d be wanting, ser, I d wager, offers a cheerful voice.
A woman stands behind another counter, to Lorn s left. She points at a tray
before her. Fresh honey-rolls& well& not that fresh& baked late yesterday.
Lorn takes in her smiling face, and the short-cut but tight-curled black hair
and the clear but dark skin. They look better than the travel fare.
For eating now, they are. With her words, surprisingly, comes the hint of
erhenflower scent, a fragrance Lorn would have thought too dear for most in
Syadtar. How much?
A copper each for the small ones. Three coppers for two of the large. Three
coppers find their way from Lorn s belt wallet to the woman. Thank you. He
takes two of the larger honey rolls. Before he is fully aware of it, he is
licking the crumbs of the second off his fingers. She extends a wooden cup of
water. You ll need this.
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Thank you. Lorn forces himself to drink the water more slowly than he had
gulped down the honey rolls. Thank you very much.
You re most welcome. If you would wait a moment& She slips away from the
counter, only to reappear with a bucket and a small towel. You could use
this, ser.
Ah& I wouldn t wish to impose.
My brother was a lancer. Her smile is strained. I m sorry.
That s all right.
Lorn takes the towel and bucket, and washes his face and hands. He has to
admit that he feels less grimy, and probably looks bit more like an officer.
Thank you, lady. He hands back the bucket and the towel.
You know, I ve seen a score of young officers walk by here in the last year
or so, and not a one has stopped. Why did you& if I might ask? She drops her
eyes.
I was hungry. Lorn grins. I don t think well when I m hungry, and& I
stopped. He pauses. I don t mean I stopped because I wasn t thinking&
The woman grins back. You sound like Cailynt. Lorn shrugs helplessly.
I m glad you stopped, she says, but you d best be on your way. After the
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