Scion of Cyador (66 page)

“Was it Tasjan?”

The truth-reading tells him that the man doesn’t know.

“Bluyet House?… Hyshrah House… ?”

“…don’t know… frig you… chaoser…”

“Assassins?”

In the end, Lorn leans forward and cuts the man’s throat. He stands and turns to Pheryk.

“No one else around, ser. Did you learn anything?”

“He doesn’t know who sent him. He was probably hired by someone acting for yet someone else.”

“That’s oft the way they work. So I’ve been told.”

Lorn looks at Pheryk. “I’d like four of these five to be found-but in the street away from here.”

“That be easy, ser. And the one who looked to have stuck his head in a stove?”

Lorn pauses. While he could use more chaos, that does not feel right. He pauses as the chill of a chaos-glass sweeps across him, then he looks at Pheryk. “He needs to vanish.”

“The harbor’s not that far, ser.” Pheryk smiles grimly. “I have my cart. I often carry refuse down there.”

“Can you manage it?”

“If I wait till just before dawn, no one will think odd of it. The others… you and I…”

Pheryk glances at Lorn. “Best you wear a cloak.”

Lorn laughs softly. “And boots and trousers.”

“A mite easier that way.”

“I’ll be back in a few moments.” Lorn walks back through the foyer door, sliding the iron latch in place behind him, then makes his way through the darkness up the stairs. The sense of a chaos-glass fades, but Lorn knows the watcher could return again at any moment.

He taps on the door. “It’s me,” he says loudly. “The fellow who went off with a blade in his smallclothes.”

“Do I know you?” comes the answer.

“Far better than a fellow by the name of Halthor,” Lorn replies.

The door slides open, and Lorn slips inside. With a nod, he notes that Ryalth has a sharp dagger poised. “You’re a careful lady.” He slides the bolt-latch into place.

“I shouldn’t be? What happened?” She smiles. “How did you remember Halthor’s name?”

“I just did.” Lorn moistens his lips. “Someone hired some bravos. There were five. They’re dead. Pheryk got one. We need to move the bodies. It would be better that they just turned up dead in the street.” Lorn sets the Brystan blade against the wall and pulls on a pair of trousers, an undertunic, and his boots.

“Do you know who sent them?”

“I tried to get answers from one of them. He didn’t know. Hired in the darkness, I’d guess. Probably through someone else.”

“Tasjan,” Ryalth says.

“Why?”

“The Magi’i don’t work that way,” she points out in a low voice. “The Mirror Lancers don’t, either. They were after all of us. Otherwise you would have been attacked alone somewhere. Vyanat needs me. I don’t think Veljan would do this, and Bluyet House, much as they hate you, wouldn’t dare, because it could mean they would lose clan status.”

Lorn stands and takes up the blade again. “I can’t imagine Tasjan risking that directly.”

“He didn’t. It was done by someone who owes him or someone he can force to act. There’s no way to prove it, but I know it as surely as I’m standing here.”

Lorn nods briskly. “We’ll talk more after we deal with the refuse. It’s probably better if you stay here until I get back. It won’t be long.”

“Be careful. They could have others beyond the wall.”

“I will… but I can tell if they’re there.”

“Make sure of it.”

That… that, Lorn will certainly do. He slips from the bedchamber, listens to make sure Ryalth slides the iron latch shut, and heads down the steps to rejoin Pheryk. Even if the dead man with the burned face is found, so long as he is not found near Lorn, people can surmise that he was struck with a lantern or attacked a magus. But… with whoever was watching through a chaos-glass, Lorn does not wish to reveal how much chaos he can muster until he must.

CXXXII

In the early-morning light, Lorn stands in the door to the bedchamber, his eyes going to his consort and son. “Pheryk and I are walking with you to Ryalor House. You were right about last night, but if Tasjan is behind this, he may not be quite so indirect the next time. And you aren’t exactly in the best position to defend yourself or run if you’re holding Kerial. I’ll either come by and walk back with you, or you hire a pair of guards to accompany you and Pheryk.”

Ryalth nods as she wraps a small woolen cloak around Kerial, who is trying to crawl away from his mother so that he can plunge off the bed. Ryalth scoops him up. “No.” She turns to Lorn. “I would have suggested that, had you not. I think this morning might be safe, but from this afternoon on, it will not be.” She frowns. “Yet… if you escort me, and all know that…”

“Pheryk was out early this morning, and heard the news about the dead bravos,” Lorn says. “You’ve heard word that certain merchanter rivals have made threats. If merchanters are beginning to kill merchanters, a little care is warranted.” Lorn smiles. “After all, it is not as though you have a halfscore of guards-merely your consort and a pensioned old lancer.”

“The two of you are worth a halfscore,” Ryalth snorts.

“Perhaps a quarter-score,” Lorn concedes, “but none need to know that. An escort of two for a lady trader and her heir are scarcely excessive.”

“True.” Ryalth nods.

“There is one other thing, once you reach Ryalor House,” Lorn says. “Besides finding out everything that Tasjan is doing, and if he is hiring more guards, or building ships with cannon?” asks Ryalth. Lorn shrugs sheepishly. “You’re ahead of me.”

“I will know more by this evening-and even more by tomorrow evening.” Ryalth hoists Kerial to her shoulder. “We need to go. If we do not, you will be late, and that will raise questions. And one of the senior Austran traders will be coming by. He has suggested by his request to meet me, that all is less than desirable with his current merchanting house in Cyad.”

“Tasjan’s, I imagine,” Lorn says lightly.

“Tasjan’s or one of the smaller houses like Ryalor.” She starts for the bedchamber door, and Lorn follows.

Pheryk is waiting downstairs, and he nods to Ryalth. “A sunny morn, but chill, Lady. Saw but few when I was dumping refuse this morning.”

“The others?” asks Lorn.

Pheryk shrugs. “I saw nothing. Perhaps none will.”

The three and Kerial make their way through the dwelling, across the veranda, now without bloodstains, Lorn notes, and along the dew-slicked marble walk past the fountain that has been turned off for the winter.

Lorn lets his senses range beyond the gate, but the narrow way is empty, and he unlocks the iron gate. Pheryk steps out first, then Ryalth, and Lorn follows and locks the gate.

The walk to the Traders’ Plaza and up to Ryalor House is uneventful. Ryalth exchanges greetings with a handful of others as she crosses the Plaza to the stairs.

Eileyt is waiting inside the door of Ryalor House, holding several sheets of parchment. “Once you are ready… Lady…”

Lorn smiles and bows to Ryalth. “Until this evening. Should I come by here?”

“I would guess you should. It will be a long day.” Ryalth returns his smile warmly.

Lorn and Pheryk turn and walk down the steps.

Halfway down, Lorn says in a low voice, “I think we should have goose tonight.”

“Ah… a good idea, ser, and I will tell Kysia and Ghrety. My consort has a wonderful way of fixing it…”

Lorn laughs. “That would be fine. Perhaps you should also inquire about some more geese or goslings.”

“I had thought to do so, ser.” Pheryk inclines his head.

At the edge of the Traders’ Plaza, the two men part. While Lorn is more cautious than usual, he notes nothing strange on the rest of the walk to
Mirror Lancer Court
.

He has no more than entered his study when Senior Squad Leader Tygyl is knocking at his door.

“Ser?”

“Yes, Tygyl?”

“The Majer-Commander would like to see you for a moment.”

“I’ll be right there.” Lorn turns and follows Tygyl up the last flight of stairs to the fifth floor and waits for the senior squad leader to announce him, then steps into the long study as Tygyl motions for him to enter.

Lorn closes the door and steps forward, seating himself at Rynst’s behest.

The gray-haired Majer-Commander studies Lorn. Finally, he speaks. “I will be announcing your appointment as maneuvers coordinator for the two squads of Mirror Lancers that will be arriving in the next few days. You will be their commander, and the company officers will be told such, but there is little need to state directly that we are assigning two fully armed companies under the command of a field commander. Especially one with a record such as yours.”

Lorn nods.

“You do not seem surprised, Majer. Why not?”

“Because, ser, as you know, a number of officers have already approached me indirectly. If they know, many in power know. They will have contacted you, or others who contacted you, and none will be pleased, except the Emperor. The Emperor will care little for titles, and if you can employ a name to placate others, then it is for the best.”

“You don’t sound as though you think much of the idea.” Rynst’s eyes are cold as he studies Lorn.

“I doubt it will change anything, ser. Those with something to gain will not be deceived. Those who do not understand how dangerous the times are will not understand, whatever title is used, and few of the senior commanders will be happy with my being in charge, for whatever reason you give.”

“You are most cynical, Majer.” Rynst offers a dry laugh. “You have few illusions about your fellow officers, perhaps too few illusions for a majer.”

“Perhaps.”

“What if I made you a commander?”

“They would be even more angry, and I would advise against that, ser.”

“So would I, and I am glad you see that.” Rynst shakes his head. “In truth, Majer, all you have said, I understand, yet there is a reason why I will do what I told you. Can you suggest why I might?”

“It implies a weakness in your position, which will allow others the luxury of thinking they have time to plot, when you but wish to ensure that the Mirror Lancer companies arrive and are firmly in my command.” Lorn does not say more, although there is much he could say.

“You could say more, Majer.”

“Anything beyond what I have said would be a wager based upon a guess, ser.” Again, Lorn forces himself not to volunteer more.

“I wished you to know.” Rynst nods. “You may go.”

After Lorn has risen, bowed, and turned, and has taken several steps toward the door, Rynst says, “Majer…”

Lorn turns.

“I would not travel Cyad without your sabre and great care.”

“Yes, ser.”

As he heads back down to his study, Lorn questions how much Rynst knows and how much of what the Majer-Commander has implied is based on his understanding of human nature.

“Does it matter?” Lorn murmurs to himself as he stands and looks out the ancient windows of his study.

The only things that are clear are that the times are about to change, and are dangerous, and that Lorn must be ready to act when the time comes-if he can even recognize when that will be.

CXXXIII

Lorn looks across the dining table at Ryalth, over the large sections of goose they have not touched. The nearly a third of a goose remaining does not include more than half the bird which was already eaten by the other four in the household. Ryalth eats one-handed, occasionally feeding small morsels to the active boy in her lap.

“What else have you discovered about Tasjan?” asks Lorn.

Ryalth takes a sip of the ale, then answers. “He has been careful. So far as any know, he has met with no one except those of his own house in the past eightday or so. He continues to seek more guards with experience as armsmen or lancers. You remember Sasyk, his head of guards?”

Lorn nods.

“Sasyk is also a cousin of one of your schoolmates, I think. Allyrn’alt is the cousin.”

“Anything else about Tasjan? What about your Austran trader? Did he have anything to add?”

“The trader was hoping I had still had grain.”

“I thought you did,” Lorn says, breaking off a small morsel of bread. “You talked about it earlier because of the poor harvests in Hydlen.”

“I do, but not at the prices he was willing to pay. He would pay but a tenth-part above what was asked last eightday in the exchange, and but a fraction over the day’s bid. Prices will be half again what they are now by midwinter.” The redhead sips her ale before continuing. “So I told him that it appeared I might have some grain by midwinter, if my shipments came in as paid for, and that he should see me then if he still needed such.”

“Will he?”

Ryalth nods, easing Kerial’s hand away from the goblet. “The goblet is for Mother, not for Kerial.”

“Did he have anything to say about Tasjan?”

“He was forthright. I must doubt his accuracy, but he said that Tasjan had whole granaries, and would sell to none.”

“Tasjan’s doing what you are.”

Ryalth shakes her head. “No. It might seem so, but it is not. I have perchance a hundredscore measures. Tasjan has that a hundredfold. Had I what he does, some I would sell, for one needs goodwill as much as golds.”

“Why would he hold so much-” Lorn purses his lips for a moment before he speaks. “We need to watch him closely.”

“My thought, as well… If grain prices and that of flour rise in the winter, then many in Cyador will grow hungry.”

“And Tasjan will make golds, and use the discontent to blame Vyanat and the Emperor. How many merchanters will support him?” asks Lorn.

“The Yuryan will not, nor the Hyshrah, not so long as Vyanat is clan head.”

“Who would become clan head if something were to happen to Vyanat?”

“His younger brother Vyel is next in line.” Ryalth frowns. “He has cost Vyanat much, and there are rumors that Vyanat has had to pay the Emperor’s Enumerators for tariffs Vyel lied about more than once.”

“So Tasjan will try to remove Vyanat.”

“That is why Vyanat cannot take clan status from Bluyet House,” Ryalth points out. “He needs their support, and why Tasjan spread rumors about Vyanat stripping their status.”