Scion of Cyador (4 page)

“They’re losing a lot of officers to the barbarians, Lorn.”

“I’d bet I’ll only be there until I get set up to make some mistake… or until I get promoted again and sent to an impossible assignment against the Jeranyi or some such.”

Tyrsal laughs. “Nothing’s impossible for you. You’ll have it figured out before they send you. Didn’t you say you were studying bills of lading and the tariff rules? Did anyone suggest that to you?”

“It’s obvious. If you have to enforce trade rules, best you know something about them. I still won’t know the local situation, and that could be a mess.” Lorn takes a deep breath and holds up his hand. “I know. You’re going to tell me that while it’s obvious to me, it isn’t obvious to other lancers.” He offers a wry expression that is not exactly a smile. “I’m not other lancers.”

“That’s what I keep telling you. You’re always thinking ahead.”

“I try.” He pauses. “But that’s dangerous, too. People think you’re a plotter or a schemer. Or cold and calculating, and they watch you twice as closely.”

Trysal laughs again. “That’s why you never tell anyone anything.”

“Would you?” Lorn glances at the harbor and then stands. “I need to go. Ryalth should be almost done with the exchange-”

“And you don’t want to miss a moment with her!”

The overcaptain grins at the second-level adept magus. “It doesn’t take a chaos-glass to scree that.”

VII

The cool spring rain patters on the roof tiles, collects there, and then flows in streams over the eaves, collecting in the rain gutters that line the structures and the white granite roads and ways of Cyad. Within Ryalth’s rooms, Lorn and his trader lady sit side by side in the bedchamber, propped up on the bed with pillows. On the table beside the bed a single lamp is lit.

Lorn holds a narrow, green-tinted, silver-covered volume in his hands, the one Ryalth had given to him to keep for her, years before, and insisted he read. “I’ve carried it everywhere, and yet there’s still not a mark on it.” He turns the book in his hands. “I still wonder how it came to your mother.”

“She never said. She just said it was special.”

Lorn nods, wondering how special… and whether the book is another subtle indication of how unusual Ryalth is-and why. “You read from it often?” Ryalth asks.

“Not every night. I couldn’t when I was on patrol, and I didn’t want to take it with me.”

“Every eightday?”

“Usually.” He smiles. “Sometimes more often.”

“What do you think about the ancients now?”

“I don’t know about the ancients.” He frowns. “The writer was melancholy. They might not all have been like him.”

“Wouldn’t you have been, if you’d come from the Rational Stars to a wilderness? That’s what Cyador was, back then.”

“I’m not sure it still isn’t.” Lorn laughs.

“We have the prosperity of chaos, and the chaos-towers, and the roads and the harbor, all the things they built,” she points out. “People are still unhappy.”

“Not all of them.”

“Some…” he teases.

“Enough.” She takes the book from his fingers, closes her eyes, and then opens it at random, handing it to Lorn. “Read this one.”

“You haven’t seen it.”

“Read it, please.” Lorn clears his throat.

Chaos, and the promise of light,

Order, beckoning lady of night…

Should I again listen to which song?

We have listened oh so long.

Should I again fly on learning wings?

We have learned what yearning brings.

“That is melancholy,” she says. “Let’s try another one. You pick it.”

“And you read it,” he replies. She nods.

Lorn closes his eyes and lets his fingers riffle through the smooth and heavy pages, finally stopping and handing her the open volume.

“This one always puzzled me,” she says as she looks at the slanted and antique Anglorian characters.

“Read it,” he suggests.

Ryalth’s voice is low, almost husky as she brings forth the words.

Cyad is no home for souls of thought, who doubt the promises they have bought, for the Magi’i offer Chaos as a Step to all.

The lancers back with fire their call, their faces of cupridium’s silver-white reflect each other’s chaotic light.

Should Sampson pick this temple, here too, he would be blind, his eyes untouched, his simple trust lost in the reflections.

She closes the volume. “I always wondered who Sampson was. He had to be blind, but the words suggest he wasn’t always, and yet, that he would be in Cyad, because everything reflects everything else, and gets lost in the reflections.”

“And that doesn’t happen?” Lorn laughs. “Think about the big dinner with my parents the other night, and the way Vernt and Ciesrt kept looking at each other. And Mycela, the way she just wanted to be a perfect consort, reflecting Vernt’s every wish.”

“That’s somehow sad, too.” After a moment, she adds, “You have to go the day after tomorrow. Would you read the one about pears now?” She hands him the volume.

He flips through the pages until he finds the words and begins, his voice soft in the dimness of the bedchamber.

Like a dusk without a cloud,

a leaf without a tree…

…to hold the sun-hazed days,

and wait for pears and praise

…and wait for pears and praise.

After he sets the book on the table by the bed, he turns down the lamp wick, and lets darkness fill the room. His arms slip around her, and hers around him.

VIII

The two most senior Mirror Lancer officers sit across a polished table desk from each other in the capacious study on the highest floor of the
Mirror Lancer Court
, two blocks west of the
Palace
of
Eternal Light
. A light drizzle falls outside the antique panes of the windows that date to the ancients, but the day is bright enough that none of the polished cupridium wall-lamps are lit.

His eyebrows lifting slightly, Rynst’alt looks at Luss’alt. “I understand that I as Majer-Commander of Mirror Lancers have transferred young Captain-pardon me, young Overcaptain Lorn-to the port detachment at Biehl, and that he is on his way there, or will be, most shortly.”

“Yes, ser. He was assigned to the northeast ward-wall, and he saw more fallen trees and creatures in little more than a year than most patrol captains do in a full tour.”

“So you decided he should be transferred to a duty with which he has no experience, not by his family, nor by his education?” Rynst smiles brightly at his Captain-Commander, then leans back in the chair upholstered and covered in green shimmercloth.

“The Emperor’s Enumerators are the ones who apply the tariff and port laws, ser, and Overcaptain Lorn need only support them.”

“An officer who has been commanding in combat and against the
Accursed
Forest
will sit back on his mount or behind his table and accept their word? Do you think that likely?”

“Most officers would be pleased with such duty, ser.”

“Pleased or not, is it wise? With Bluoyal’s kin everywhere? How do we know that Bluoyal does not have some relative in Biehl?”

“I thought it wise, ser,” Luss replies stiffly.

“You mean that the Second Magus thought it wise?”

Luss does not quite meet Rynst’s eyes. “Overcaptain Lorn has also been seen walking with a lady merchanter-the head of Ryalor House,” Luss says. “She has suddenly become most powerful. Out of nowhere, one might say, and that seems rather odd, especially for a woman.”

“A woman who comes to power easily can be vanquished easily. Were he walking with the daughter of Liataphi, I would be concerned, Luss, but a merchanter? Even a wealthy merchanter cannot influence the Magi’i, and no merchanter can be more of an influence upon the
Palace
of
Eternal Light
than Bluoyal already is.”

Luss looks impassively through the light rain at the gray water of the harbor, and the darker water of the
Great
Western
Ocean
beyond.

Rynst points at the polished reflector of the lamp on the corner of the desk. “Cyad is like that reflector, Captain-Commander. Or like many reflectors set opposite each other. Each and every action is mirrored in every other. I know that you know what I do and plan, and you know the same of me, and each of us hides in the open behind those reflections.” A cold smile crosses the Majer-Commander’s mouth. “You are a good second-in-command, Luss, so long as you allow me to think for you. You allow Kharl to direct your thoughts… and there will be no one to protect you, for the Magi’i certainly will not. Nor will the merchanters. Especially Bluoyal.”

“He seems most capable, ser.”

“He is too capable for the merchanters, Luss.” Rynst pauses. “Rather, he is seen as too capable. Being seen as such is more dangerous than being so. As for young Overcaptain Lorn, I would watch what Kharl wishes of him. You know that Kharl’s son is the consort of the overcaptain’s younger sister, of whom young Lorn is most fond?”

“I had heard such, ser.”

“That other ambitious young magus to watch-Rustyl-he is pressing a suit for Kharl’s daughter. Watch the honorable Second Magus far more than the overcaptain. Keep such in your thoughts when you meet with the Second Magus. Also keep in mind that the First Magus cares little for the Second, and that all the Magi’i respect the fourth magus far more than the three with titles. There is a reason why they call Kien’elth ‘the Fourth Magus.’ He is most capable-and also young Lorn’s father. We are fortunate that he has no ambition to become First Magus.” Rynst pauses. “Then, given the first three Magi’i, perhaps we are unfortunate.”

“Yes, ser.” Luss’s brows lift ever so slightly.

Rynst gestures toward the door, suggesting that the meeting is at an end. “For all that, I could not have planned it better. I suggest that you consider why that is so before your next clandestine meeting with the Second Magus.”

“As you suggest, ser.” Luss’s face is impassive as he stands and offers a perfunctory bow.

“I do look out for you, Luss, even though you do not see it as such. You might also ask whether my actions and advice have benefited you. Then ask the same of what others offer.” Rynst returns Luss’s bow with a curt nod.

IX

Lorn stands on the uppermost level of his parents’ dwelling, looking to the south and out across the
harbor
of
Cyad
. The rains of the previous days have cleared, and the late-afternoon sky is a brilliant green-blue. The breeze is crisp, but not strong, and only scattered whitecaps dot the harbor to the south.

“I’ll be leaving on the early firewagon tomorrow,” Lorn tells his mother.

“I’m glad you came by this afternoon.” Nyryah smiles warmly. “And so is your consort, I am sure.”

Lorn flushes slightly.

“ The study door opens, and Kien stands there on the edge of the portico, blinking as if the light has momentarily blinded him. Still, his words are incisive. ”Lorn, I would like a few words with you.“

“You usually do, dear,” observes Nyryah.

“Yes, I do.” The magus smiles. “These days, I am given less and less time in which to deliver them.”

Lorn grins and follows his father into the study. Kien closes the door, firmly, and gestures to the chairs before his table desk. Lorn settles into the chair on the left and waits as his father seats himself. For a time, Kien does not speak, but steeples his fingers together, and purses his lips.

“Lorn… you will be leaving tomorrow, I understand.” The older man looks across the broad polished study desk. “For port duty in Biehl.”

“Yes, ser.”

“There are several matters we should discuss.” Kien blinks, then nods. “First, I did wish you to know, as if I have not already made my feelings obvious, that you have picked most wisely in your choice of consort, far more wisely than many will understand until you are much older.”

“Thank you. I was fortunate in finding her.”

“You were fortunate in finding her, but wise to hold to her.” Kien pauses. “There is far more to your consort than meets the eye. I would be most surprised if there is not a significant Magi’i heritage.”

Lorn nods. “Nor I, although there is little overt evidence.” He wonders about the silver volume of verse. Is that evidence? Or serendipity?

“Second,” Kien continues, “I am going to request that you relinquish the claim of the firstborn to Vernt. I do not ask this for Vernt, but for Jerial.”

Lorn nods. “I understand. You have a document?”

Kien points to the parchment on the front of the table desk. “You do not question that?”

“Ser… I will either be successful as a Mirror Lancer officer-and will not need the claim-or I will not, in which case, neither I nor Ryalth would need it.”

The older man nods slowly. “You understand fully that you will have claim to but a quarter?”

“Yes, ser. But that will be many years from now.”

“I certainly hope so,” Kien says with an ironic twist to the words, “but one must make provisions.”

Lorn notes the words, and wonders. But he stands and takes the pen, reading and then signing the document.

“I will register that in the Quarter tomorrow. And I do appreciate your thoughtfulness and consideration.”

“Yes, ser.”

Kien leans back and purses his lips. “Finally, I have one observation and a few questions I would like to pose to you. The observation is that while Cyad is indeed a marvelous city, its people are like those anywhere else. I ask you to consider that. The questions… well… I would prefer that you not answer them, but think upon them during your firewagon trip to Biehl-beyond that, if you feel the need.”