“The shimmering canopy that covers the drivers reflects his image, if bulbously. With a wry smile, Lorn passes through the columned portico at Assyadt. While the connecting firewagon from Chulbyn runs but twice an eightday, Lorn was fortunate or unfortunate enough to have had to wait a single day at the changing station. There he had written letters to his parents, Myryan, and another to Ryalth.Under an intense afternoon sun, a hot fall wind gusts around him as he reclaims his two bags and looks... for a carriage or some form of transport to the headquarters compound. There are no carriages, and a single wagon where two men in brown are already loading crates from the firewagon’s freight compartment. Three lancers, one holding the reins to a riderless mount, are waiting on the far side of the firewagon platform.The junior squad leader glances at Lorn, then at the shimmering insignia on his collar. He looks away, then back again. “Ser? Would you be Sub-Majer Lorn’alt?”“I am.” Lorn nods.“Commander Ikynd has requested that we offer you a mount, ser.”“Thank you.”MoreLessRead More Read Less
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