Scion of Cyador (3 page)

“Yet I must not seem to plan nor plot, for those who do are thought cold and calculating, no matter how they care for their peoples, no matter what benefits they bring, no matter how many lives they save.”

Ryenyel nods. “That, too, is why there is an Emperor.”

“Yet all these troubles would come to pass while I am Emperor?”

“The Magi’i have warned of such for many years, that the towers would fail, that what the ancients built would not last forever.” Ryenyel places her hand over his-the one that rests on her right hip-and squeezes her fingers around his hand.

“At such times, I am almost glad we have no heirs,” he muses. “For whoever follows me… whatever scion there may be… if there is one…”

“There will be… we have time,” she reassures him.

“With a gaggle of Magi’i who plot, and a Majer-Commander of Lancers who believes them fools not to see the danger of the barbarians, and a Merchanter Advisor who doubtless abuses his knowledge and position to line his pockets and undermine Cyador, even as he protests that he maintains it?”

After a moment of silence, Ryenyel replies. “Your Majer-Commander, the most honorable Rynst, has come to understand that Bluoyal only wishes the towers and the lancers in order to support the merchanters’ trading ships. Rynst also understands that while he cannot brook Chyenfel, the First Magus can be trusted far more than the Second. Or even Chyenfel’s protege, young Rustyl.”

“Only because Rynst fears Bluoyal more than the Magi’i.” Toziel snorts.

“Bluoyal treads a devious and deadly path. He would ensure that the Mirror Lancers and the Magi’i do not see that their interests are closer to each other’s than to his.”

“Rynst and Chyenfel have always seen such. We have talked of this before. Neither can afford to trust the other allied to Bluoyal. Yet they know that both Magi’i and Mirror Lancers are few indeed outside of the three cities. They cooperate like a pair of giant cats against a pack of night leopards. Most carefully.”

“And when the towers do fail?”

“We will need far more lancers against the barbarians. Bluoyol’s successors will find they still need lancers, but not until many perish, and more than a few vessels are lost.”

“Thus, all will continue as today,” she replies.

“It will not seem so, not to most. The emperors to come will either be powerful Magi’i or inspire loyalty within the Mirror Lancers, because it appears that either lancers or Magi’i can destroy an Emperor.”

“Bluoyal believes that the merchanters will purchase the
Palace
of
Light
in years to come, perhaps sooner. We need to watch him, more closely, far more closely, for a merchanter rising would bring down Cyador more swiftly than the
Accursed
Forest
or the barbarians.”

“So has said the Hand, but he has also advised that we have time, and that Bluoyal will overreach himself before such can occur.”

“Would that I could take comfort in that,” says the Empress, leaning her head against his shoulder.

“Seldom is he wrong… most seldom.”

“If he is…?”

“If he is, if we fail, then blood will stain the sunstone of the Palace so deeply it cannot ever be lifted.” He looks down and studies her drawn face. “I tell you this often, but… You give too much to me.”

“What else would I do, dearest? We know there is no one else.”

“Not yet.”

As he speaks, her fingers lift to rest lightly on his cheek.

The orange glow of twilight floods from the hillside to the west, and the white stone piers of the harbor shimmer gold.

The Emperor and Empress stand on the balcony and watch the gold fade.

IV

Sitting at one end of a long table in the corner of Ryalor House, in gray light of a stormy spring morning, Lorn reads through the stack of papers that Eileyt has set before him. The senior enumerator has assured Lorn that the papers have several examples of shady trading practices.

Outside of several clear errors in addition, Lorn has found nothing. He finally beckons to Eileyt, and when the gray-eyed man nears, says, “I don’t think I’m seeing what I should be seeing.”

Eileyt turns over the first three bills of lading, then points to an entry halfway down the fourth one. “Look at that closely.”

Lorn looks at the entry: Cotton, 20 bales, dun, Hamor. “Hamor grows dun cotton, but all they usually export is the good white. Look at the parchment-and it is parchment, which is another clue.”

“It looks like it’s smoother there, but just around the word dun.”

“There’s more space around the word dun, too.” Eileyt nods. “With parchment, you can use it like a palimpsest, take a sharp knife and scrape off the letters, then write in dun instead of white.”

“But why? Why don’t they just rewrite the bill of lading?”

“It’s sealed below. A trader gets caught counterfeiting a seal, and he loses a hand. An ‘error’ in a bill of lading merely costs some golds in fines, but most of such ‘errors’ are never found. The tariff on white cotton is a gold a bale. It’s a silver on dun cotton, and you can get that from Kyphros or Valmurl or even out of Worrak in Hydlen.”

“But they all come from beyond Cyador,” Lorn says. “That is right,” Eileyt says patiently. “But… if the Imperial tariff were a gold on Kyphran dun cotton, then people would use carts and smuggle it along the beaches below the lower Westhorns, and some dishonest merchanter in Fyrad would mix it with his real Kyphran stock and it would be hard to tell without counting every bale, and the Imperial Enumerators don’t have the bodies or the days to do that. At a silver a bale, and the tariff is the same for a bolt of the finished cloth, it’s cheaper and faster to ship the dun cotton, or any cotton from Kyphros, than smuggle it. Hamorian white cotton goes for five golds a bale these days… and dun for one. So… on this shipment, the trader could pocket nearly eighteen golds, just by changing one word on the lading bill. And he can claim, if he gets caught, that it was a mistake. If the Hamorian seal’s intact, and a magus can see that, then all he’ll get is a three-gold fine, maybe ten-. But most won’t catch something like this.”

“But the finished cotton… that’s more like ten a bolt, and they’re easier to carry,” Lorn says, recalling his early trading adventures with Ryalth.

“Why would anyone import the bales all the way from Hamor? They’re bulky.”

Eileyt nods. “Good. That’s another reason to suspect this. Anyone can look at a bolt of finished cotton and see the difference between Hamorian white and Kyphran dun, but raw cotton-that’s another story. Might even be something hidden in the bales, as well.”

Lorn shakes his head, but he has asked Ryalth and her people to show him what they can about forbidden trading practices, even though it is unlikely he will be directly involved, except when called in by the Emperor’s tariff enumerators, if he ever is. The more he learns, the more small references tell him how intertwined everything is-such as Bluoyal’s involvement in the consorting between Syreal and Veljan that, because of Lorn’s killing of Veljan’s older brother Shevelt, has led to a greater possible influence by the Magi’i in the affairs of one of the leading merchanter houses. That underscores why he would like to know enough to be able to ask his own questions should such arise. His experience with patrol tactics and the
Accursed
Forest
was enough of an example of not knowing enough, to confirm his decision to learn what he can in the few days he has in Cyad. He is also coming to realize that it is far better-and less costly to all involved-to act before others act… rather than when it is obvious to all that one must act.

So he might as well learn what he can, since Ryalth cannot give up work, especially since spring is far busier for Ryalor House than Lorn ever would have imagined.

He looks back through the bills of lading again, looking for odd spacing, improbable goods, anything.

On the next to last, he finds something-or thinks he does.

“A hundred stone of zinc tools?” he asks. “Is this a cover for iron blades? It’s a metal and almost the same number of letters.”

“That’s more dangerous, because iron-bladed weapons carry high tariffs, and selling them in Cyad or failing to declare them for shipment elsewhere can send a trader to prison,” Eileyt says. “But some traders like to buy Hamorian blades and sell them elsewhere in Candar.” The enumerator hands Lorn another set of lading bills.

It is nearly midday when Lorn walks into Ryalth’s inner study. She looks up from a ledger.

“You have a nice study here,” he observes.

“Merchanters call them ‘offices,’ dearest… remember?” She smiles. “But if you want traders to think you know less than you do, just call them ‘studies.’ ”

“Thank you. That might be wiser. I can see why you’re the trader, and I’m not.” He shakes his head again.

“We work better together,” she says.

“Do you have to work all day?”

“Zerlynk is coming in midafternoon. He had made an offer on cordage. I picked up some raw hemp from a Sligan trader last year, and got some peasants near Desahlya to turn it into rope. It’s not top-line, and I’ll not try to sell it as such, but we should make some silvers on it. After he goes, I can leave.”

Lorn nods. “You’re busy. I’ll see what else I can learn.”

“You might talk to Kutyr. He knows more than he’ll tell me.” Ryalth smiles again.

“He might not tell me, either.”

“If you flatter him…”

Lorn shakes his head ruefully, then smiles, and turns.

V

Because the core of a fully-functioning tower maintains an isochronic/isotemporal barrier of approximately 1,000 nanoseconds, this temporal “dislocation” effectively provides not only the points of energy polarity which generate the raw power, as described above, and an insulation from the local temporality, but what can also be loosely described as a recharge impact on local spatio-temporal random-amplitude “chaotic” energy events…

Observation indicates that proximity to the tower engenders a sensitivity to and an ability to impact and/or manipulate local spatio-temporal random amplitude events… Such sensitivity, if not disciplined and trained, could adversely impact the continued operation of the towers.

…Oversensitization and disciplined training must be rigorously monitored in view of the macular cellular degeneration already observed among personnel with high exposure within the operating confines of the basic tower system. This is, as noted previously, in contravention of previously established principles and tolerances…

In addition to degenerative effects caused by excessive proximity to the towers, similar effects have been observed in those individuals among the non-technical cadre with an aptitude for manipulating such local spatio-temporal random-amplitude events. It is recommended that such individuals be placed so that they also can be monitored, and, if necessary, disciplined, in order to assure maximum operating continuity for the remaining tower cores.

Establishment of a hierarchial social structure may prove necessary, should these effects persist, since the conditions and infrastructure for continued technical education and understanding may be limited…

Recommendations

Personnel Manual [Revised]

Cyad, 15 A.F.

VI

Tyrsal and Lorn are seated in the garden at the rear of the sprawling and massive two-storied dwelling that overlooks the harbor from the western bluffs of Cyad. The air is cooler than in Cyad itself.

“You have a good view of the harbor here,” Lorn says.

“Not so good as that of your parents,” answers the redheaded mage. “And it was a long walk to the academy. Mother was not sympathetic to my riding or using the carriage. That’s why I stay with my sister and her consort most nights these days-out of habit, I suppose.” He shakes his head. “I dislike mornings.”

“The house is yours, isn’t it?” Lorn asks.

“I suppose so, but it’s really Mother’s, and it wouldn’t be right to take it from her.” Tyrsal smiles. “Besides, I can just claim I’m a poor junior magus, and that way, none of the Lectors will push me into consorting with someone I don’t like.”

“Like Aleyar or Syreal?” asks Lorn, with a grin.

“Syreal’s sweet. What she sees in that block Veljan, I don’t know. I don’t know Aleyar.”

“So you’d still consider her?” Lorn pursues. “They say she’s sweet and pretty, too.”

“Are you trying to complicate my life? Or just end it?” asks Tyrsal. “I don’t think it would be good for my health to deal with Liataphi all the time.”

“What about Ciesrt’s younger sister?” Lorn’s eyes twinkle.

“You want Ciesrt as…” Tyrsal shakes his head. “I’m sorry. It’s hard to believe. Myryan is so nice. Ciesrt doesn’t deserve her.” He pauses. “Anyway, Rustyl has asked Ciesrt’s sister, and she’ll say yes to him. He’s ambitious and a favorite of Chyenfel. So while she’ll put him off for a time, in the end, she’ll agree.”

“Kharl’elth will give her no choice,” Lorn suggests.

“You were so smart not to consort into a Magi’i family,” Tyrsal says.

“As if I had much choice,” Lorn points out.

“You could have had your pick of the lancer girls.” Tyrsal grins. “But you did much better. Ryalth is beautiful, and she’s smart.”

“You’ve scarcely talked to her, except at dinner the other night, and I don’t think you said a dozen words.”

Tyrsal draws himself up in offended dignity. “I listened. You learn when you listen.” His eyes smile, and then he laughs. “You haven’t said much about your new duty. You don’t like going to Biehl?”

“It’s not the assignment. It’s what’s behind it. I’m too young to be an overcaptain, and I’ve too little service. Zandrey had almost eight years before they made him one, and I’ve had four, five if you count officer training.”