Scion of Cyador (74 page)

“I count three ifs, honored ser.” Rustyl’s voice is polite. “Only two. Vyanat is truly powerless. I have strong reasons to believe that the present Captain-Commander will shortly succeed the Majer-Commander… and if you become First Magus, and I am Second…” Kharl smiles. “You see… it is most simple. Nothing need be said or done, unless Rynst steps aside. And if he does… why then, you can decide whether you will be First Magus, or whether Lorn may be Emperor. The choice is in your hands.”

“My hands? What of yours?”

“All know me as Second Magus, as clever, as scheming. Who indeed would accept me as First Magus?” Kharl offers a self-deprecating smile. “But… it is of no matter, yet. We can only see what may occur.”

“That is true.”

“We should join the others.” The Second Magus starts for the study door, then pauses. “There is also something you should know. Should you lack sufficient chaos to accomplish a task, a first-level adept can indeed draw upon the power of the chaos-towers directly-that is, from their very core. One must do so with care, but I should explain how this may be done, in the event that you find yourself threatened…” Rustyl nods as Kharl continues to explain.

CLI

It is almost midafternoon in Cyad, and Lorn finds himself once more before the Majer-Commander, not knowing exactly what Rynst may have in mind. He bows. “Ser?”

Rynst looks up from his desk, surprisingly less cluttered with papers than is normally the case. “Yes, Majer. There are some things I thought you should know. Several matters.” The Majer-Commander does not smile. “A number of old bills of lading and other papers have appeared at the Traders’ Plaza.”

“Ser?” Lorn does not have to counterfeit puzzlement.

“They appear to be authentic, according to the First Magus. They are records showing that the recently murdered Dyjani clan head was receiving additional golds from cargoes and goods he was selling in Swartheld. There were also shipments of iron shortswords, for which he paid nothing. Shortly thereafter, other documents appeared. The accuracy of these is more in doubt, but they would indicate that the Emperor’s Merchanter Advisor had his brother killed to ensure that his own failings were not made public.”

Lorn nods to hear what he already knows.

“I would trust that you will hold your lancers in readiness, Majer, and that all drills you hold for the next few days be without firelances, so that, should they be needed, full charges will remain in all lances.”

“Yes, ser.”

“And I expect you to be where you can be reached by messenger.”

“I’ll either be here, ser, or at home, or at the harbor barracks or grounds.”

“Good. You should be here early tomorrow, and the morning after.”

“Yes, ser.”

“That will be all, Majer.”

“Yes, ser.”

Before Lorn can turn, Rynst adds, “And I trust you recall your orders and chain of command, Majer.”

“Yes, ser.”

Lorn manages to retain a pleasant smile on his face as he makes his way out of the Majer-Commander’s study and down the stairs to the fourth-floor foyer.

The thin-faced commander Shykt is standing outside his study door. “Fayrken said you would not be long, and he was right.”

Lorn nods. “Yes, ser.”

“I’ve been dispatched to Dellash with Commander Dhynt and Commander Muyro to study the disabled fireships, and we’re to make a firsthand report.” Shykt smiles, if nervously. “I thought you might like to know, in case it applies to any reports you are doing.”

“Thank you, ser. I appreciate the notice.”

“You are most welcome, Majer.” The thin-faced commander pauses. “Did you hear about Commander Sypcal?”

Lorn’s stomach tightens even more. “No, ser.”

“Quite ill, I understand. Some sort of flux. If he recovers, it will be eightdays before he’s himself again.” Shykt offers another strained smile. “I’d guess that would leave you, the Majer-Commander, the Captain-Commander, and Commander Lhary at the next twoday meeting.”

“I suppose it would, ser. I appreciate knowing that, as well.”

“I thought you might.” Shykt nods.

“Have a good trip, ser.”

“I’m sure it will do us good.”

Lorn walks back into his study-but only long enough to gather his personal items, before he walks back out.

He stops by Fayrken’s desk station. “I’ll be down at the harbor barracks. There are some things I need to discuss with the officers and rankers.”

“Yes, ser. Will you be back this afternoon?”

“I don’t know.” Lorn shrugs. “If I can be.”

As he walks down toward the harbor, he can again sense a chaos-glass being focused on him, and whatever magus follows him holds the image until he enters the end of the converted warehouse that holds the studies of the two Mirror Lancer captains.

He finds both Cheryk and Esfayl in the slightly larger space-Cheryk’s study.

“Ser!” Both officers stand.

“Matters here in Cyad are getting… shall we say… unsettled.”

Cheryk and Esfayl exchange glances.

“I can see you have heard something along those lines,” Lorn says with a faint smile. “What, might I ask?”

“Well… there’s word that the merchanters are gathering together the greensuit guards,” Cheryk ventures. “Some are saying the Palace had that Tasjan fellow killed.”

“And others say that the Emperor is ailing,” adds Esfayl. “I don’t know that the Emperor is any more ill than he has been,” Lorn says, “but the guards of Dyjani House could be a real problem. You are to restrict tomorrow’s maneuvers to light one-on-one drills with padded blades. You are to keep all firelances ready, but under your personal control, and no one is to leave the area without my orders or those of Majer-Commander Rynst-and the only Majer-Commander to whom you answer is Rynst. Otherwise, you answer to the Emperor. If none of those can offer you orders, you are to protect the Palace of Eternal Light.”

“Those are grim orders, ser.”

“I doubt it will come to that, but those are the orders I received.”

“Ser… ?” offers Esfayl. “Yes.” Lorn’s voice is level.

“Majer Brevyl said one other thing. He said never to wager against you, and never to ignore your orders.” Esfayl smiles ruefully. “Tell us what to do, and we’ll do it.” Cheryk nods.

“What we want to do is hold Cyad together,” Lorn admits. “I can’t tell you how, for sure, but it’s likely we’ll have to take on the greensuits, and even with firelances, it won’t be easy. They’ve been trained by a renegade lancer officer, and I’d wager they have mirror shields somewhere. You might think about how to attack a squad with a mirror shield wall on foot in the streets where they can’t easily be flanked.”

“Too bad we can’t use the firecannon,” mutters Cheryk. “That’d do it.” Lorn smiles. “Why don’t you find out who can operate it? Let me know by messenger. I’ll see if the Majer-Commander will put them under my command for a while.”

Cheryk smiles. “That… that we’ll do.”

“Now… I’m headed back to the Mirror Lancer Court…”

“Ser… best you take your mount, and take him to your dwelling,” suggests Cheryk.

Lorn nods. He may indeed need speed.

CLII

His Mightiness Toziel’elth’alt’mer looks up from the high bed. His head does not move as he murmurs. “Ryenyel… my dearest… you can do no more. There are so few shreds of order left in this frail form, that any strength you give me… it will destroy me yet sooner. I would… have liked… to have spent… another spring…”

“So… so would I.” The redhead whose hair whitens even as she holds his hand, kneels on the chair beside the bed, her head almost beside his.

“I would… not… have left Cyador… so.” He takes several wheezing shallow breaths before he speaks again. “We tried so hard to find one who could hold… our Land of Eternal Light…”

“We did as we could, dear one.” She squeezes his hand, offering the slightest hint of order.

“Your touch… good… as always.”

“I am here, dearest.”

“You must… write out the documents-one for each, naming him as heir-hold as you can… and choose as you must.” He forces a smile that lapses as he struggles for another breath. “How… Which… ?”

“Lorn-he may yet surmount what faces him. I would have him over Kharl or any merchanter, but either Kharl or Lorn will keep Cyador strong.”

“Cyador… Cyad… there is no other… no other.”

Once she has completed her task, and he his, as the night darkens, the Empress-Consort continues to hold Toziel’s hand, long past that time when she can offer strength or warmth.

CLIII

In the darkness just after dusk, Lorn sits at the small study desk in his dwelling. He looks into the chaos-glass as the silver mists slip away. Ryalth stands behind him, holding Kerial. The image in the glass is clear enough. Five men sit around a table. Lorn recognizes but one of the five, and that is Sasyk.

“Daaa!” Kerial tries to lurch from Ryalth’s arms toward the chaos-glass. “Gaaa…”

“Kerial! Hold still!”

At the sharpness of Ryalth’s tone, tears begin to form at the corners of the boy’s eyes.

“Hush… be quiet, dearest.” Ryalth cuddles him even as she strains to make out the faces in the lamplit glass. “Sasyk is the one in the middle… I don’t know the two others in green… that’s Kernys on the right, and Denys on the left.”

“That is Denys?” For some reason Lorn has pictured Denys like his predecessor, large and bulky, but Bluoyal’s successor as the head of Bluyet House is a handsome man of modest proportion.

“For all his looks, dearest, he is less trustworthy than Bluoyal was.”

Lorn lets the image lapse. He closes his eyes and massages his forehead for a moment before turning and looking at his consort. “I do not see others from Dyjani Clan. You had said that the clan would most likely support others.”

“Nor do I see those who should be there.” Ryalth sighs. “That bodes ill for Husdryt and Torvyl.”

“Could Sasyk be plotting with Kernys and Denys? To hold Dyjani House?”

“It would appear that he already does. So Sasyk has the Dyjani, Bluyet House, and Kysan House behind him? Most merchanters do not trust Vyanat that much because of the death of his brother.”

“What about Yuryan House?” Lorn asks.

“Veljan will not support Sasyk, but the strength of Yuryan House lies in its vessels and outland warehouses and factors.” As she stands beside Lorn, Ryalth rocks Kerial back and forth in the dimness of the study, lit by the single lamp on corner of the desk. “Sasyk is telling all that the Magi’i killed Tasjan, for only a magus could enter a locked and guarded dwelling and vanish so. He says that is because they wish to take more of the merchanters’ golds for themselves.”

Lorn gestures at the blank glass. “Some believe him.”

“They are the ones who wish to believe.”

“Were you the one who had the old bills of lading and other papers showing Tasjan’s treachery appear in the Plaza?” Lorn raises his eyebrows. “Rynst told me this had happened.”

“I did not do such.” Ryalth smiles. “But it would not have happened had I not requested a favor.”

“It may help. I hope that it does.” Lorn frowns. “Rynst ordered Shykt, Dhynt, and Muyro to Dellash. They’re all his supporters, after a fashion. Why would he order them away from Cyad right now? Sypcal’s been poisoned, or something, and he’s the only tactical commander besides me who supports Rynst. That leaves the Captain-Commander and Commander Lhary and they oppose Rynst.”

“The Majer-Commander left you in Cyad,” Ryalth points out. “And, you command the only Mirror Lancers around. Could the others do anything-except have their loyalty tried and risk being killed?”

“Rynst truly expects bloodshed.”

“He expects you to shed it.”

“How soon?”

“Sasyk does not have all the guards yet in Cyad, but he will have what he needs in the days ahead, perhaps less than half an eightday.”

“Will some come by ship?”

“I would think so.”

“Good.” Lorn pauses. “I do not favor what we see.” He shakes his head. “Once I had hoped…”

“Like Alyiakal? It still might happen.”

“I think not, for to preserve Cyad, I will have to shed blood, far too much blood, it would appear from what the glass shows.”

“One can hope otherwise,” Ryalth suggests.

“I will hope, but we must plan for what will come.” Lorn looks back at the glass to call forth another image.

CLIV

The two figures in shimmering white stand at opposite sides of the corridor that adjoins the Quarter chaos-tower of the Magi’i.

“You requested I join you here for a demonstration, Rustyl,” Chyenfel says slowly. “Have you found some way in which to prolong the life of the failing chaos-tower?”

“Were you ever interested in such? Really?” asks the younger adept. “If you were so interested, why did you bury so many chaos-towers within the mists of time, so that now we must struggle to charge firewagons and firelances but from a pair of chaos-towers beyond this one?”

Chyenfel frowns. “I thought you understood. What use would a handful of chaos-towers be, surrounded by a resurgent Accursed Forest? How would one even reach them?”

“What does the safety of a handful of peasants matter, when Cyador struggles to defend herself because you gave away the greatest of the chaos-towers?”

“You are mistaken, Rustyl. Gravely mistaken. That is not the case-”

“It is the case. You do not wish me to succeed you as First Magus. Or even Kharl.”

Chyenfel’s mouth opens. “Dear Rustyl. I had never, ever expected that. I had thought more of you-both in ability, and in common sense. Why did I expose you to all of the facets of Magi’i operations? Yet why do few outside the Magi’i know of you? Surely you can understand that now?”

“You only wished to use me a counter to Kharl… nothing more.” Chaos flares around the younger mage as his shield forms.

“That is not so… but were it such, is that not an honorable duty-to counter one who would destroy all for which the Magi’i stand?” A paler, deeper shield forms around the slightly bent form of the First Magus.