Magi'i of Cyador (57 page)

Chyenfel turns toward Rynst once more. "Perhaps I have tailored my previous presentations to your great perception. I will attempt greater simplicity. The chaos towers are beginning to fail. Yet we cannot move the chaos towers without causing them to fail immediately. We now have barely more than the minimum number of chaos towers required to maintain the wards. At times already, the chaos-net on the northwest ward-wall is breached. If... if our effort is not undertaken soon, it cannot be undertaken at all. Then the Forest will breach the wall and surround the remaining towers so that they cannot be used. So... we can contain the Forest, and lose the excess power from the chaos towers, or we can refuse to contain the Forest and lose the excess power from the towers-and turn much or all of eastern Cyador back to the Forest." Chyenfel bows to Rynst.

"You are most clear, O master magus." Rynst pauses. "Yet you and your predecessors have assured us of the power of your magely towers. We have relied on such. Now... you say such powers will vanish within years-or sooner."

"The Firstborn said that the chaos towers would not last forever, only that their power would be uncontested while they endured. Now... one by one, they are failing. We have but one tower more than the minimum we need to create the sleep-ward barrier, and thus restrain the Accursed Forest for generations to come. If we do not act now, we cannot act in the seasons and years ahead."

"I could say, although I will not," Rynst declares, "that if we do not have more firelances, the barbarians will take northern Cyador. Nor will I suggest that a barbarian can lop a poor lancer's head from his body more effectively and more swiftly than can the fastest growing of trees."

"You are most eloquent, my dear Majer-Commander." Chyenfel laughs. "Most eloquent. Not that I would call you verbose. Nor vain. Nor simplistic. No, for you see far beyond what passes in this chamber. You are most wise, and you know that the barbarians remain raiders and bandits. You even know that, even were our northern borders undefended, the barbarians would move but a few dozen kays southward in your lifetime or that of your children or grandchildren. And you know, too, that the Accursed Forest can grow a large tree in two seasons. And that you lose half as many lancers to the Forest as to the barbarians-and that is with the ward-walls." Chyenfel shrugs. "So I do not have to tell you that if the ward-walls fail because we maintain them to charge a few score firelances, you will be fighting both the barbarians and the Forest, and you will indeed lose. You are wise enough to see that and more. Would that others saw as much." Chyenfel bows deeply to the Mirror Lancer Majer-Commander.

"I thank you for your most cogent explanation." Rynst's tone grows more indulgent. "I truly understand that all Magi'i have limitations that we can but dimly grasp. We of the Mirror Lancers also have limitations, for it is difficult to contest with blades alone and far fewer numbers, an endless flow of barbarians, whether they be raiders or not."

Toziel laughs-long and loudly. "I applaud you both. For both of you have outlined the dilemma most eloquently. So eloquently that I must ponder the wisdom you have so masterfully conveyed." He stands. "Until tomorrow."

Ryenyel rises silently, then follows the Emperor from the chamber.

When Toziel and Ryenyel have returned to her salon, he seats himself one side of the white divan, she the other. Toziel studies her face. "You are tired."

"Much occurred."

"Rynst has never been so intemperate. Nor Chyenfel," muses Toziel. "Yet I could sense no anger. Both were acting."

"That is because they were trying to get you to act, my dear. They know that what you decide and how you decide will determine the power to be in Cyador for generations."

"Because we have no heirs."

"Because I would not bear heirs and have them twisted by what must happen in the Palace of Light. You understood that from the first, my love."

"It makes matters more difficult."

"You have time yet," Ryenyel points out.

"Not so much as others think, and those others would replace both Rynst and Chyenfel. That is clear, but beyond that... who might know? A dozen rationales, or more.... Yet Chyenfel cannot live too much longer. He is already almost consumed by chaos."

Ryenyel nods for the Emperor to continue.

"Liataphi? Do you think he wants Kharl'elth to be First Magus to expose his venality and weaknesses?"

"That could be," responds the mahogany-haired Empress-consort, "but what of the plot to place his daughter in control of the Yuryan Clan through her consort Veljan? She advises him on everything."

"As you do me," Toziel reminds her.

"Veljan is forthright and honest and devoted to his consort-mistress. So is an ox."

Toziel laughs gently. "I trust I am not an ox."

"Far from that, my dear." Ryenyel frowns slightly, showing the tiredness on her lightly freckled face. "There is still the missing ordered-death sabre. I fear we have not seen the last of that plotter."

Toziel raises his eyebrows.

"Ten golds... a stolen trade plaque... a dead heir... and a cupridium-plated sabre filled with iron order-death... and silence." Ryenyel smiles. "Each is by itself a trifle. Less than a trifle. Yet your Merchanter Advisor Bluoyal was worried enough about that to ask of Luss and Kharl. Did Shevelt know something? And why is Bluoyal so concerned about a Brystan sabre?"

"It makes one wonder." Toziel's voice is near-expressionless.

"It makes me wonder," she replies. "Shevelt's death is tied to that weapon, and Liataphi would not have dared such. Nor could he have used such a weapon. Someone wants the calmer Veljan to succeed his father, and Bluoyal is most concerned about that." She smiles. "Then there is the silence. Silence is the surest of assurances that an able plotter still lives. All crow when such dies, and they crow sooner and louder when an inept one dies."

"What else troubles you?"

"Bluoyal was telling me-"

"You meet with my advisors without me?" Toziel's eyes twinkle.

"As necessary." She arches her eyebrows. "He was telling me about a clanless trading house that is wealthier and more influential than many of the smaller clan houses."

Toziel waits.

"It is called Ryalor House. He but mentioned it in passing, and Bluoyal never mentions anything without a reason."

"That tie is stretching, my dear," says Toziel, grinning. "It is run by the mistress of a lancer captain who could have been a magus, and the captain is the son of a magus who is a senior lector-" He breaks off and looks at her.

They both laugh, almost joyously.

After a time, Toziel shakes his head. "So why does Bluoyal wish this known? He knows we talk."

"Kien'elth's daughter is consort to Kharl's son... and Bluoyal does not trust Kharl."

Toziel raises his hands helplessly. "So we have an unknown plotter advancing both Liataphi and Kharl. The pair so dislike each other that none will have them in the same chamber save on the most formal of occasions."

"Who lies below them?"

"Any number of senior lectors-Kien, Abram, Hyrist-they're the most senior. Hyrist and Abram are thought arrogant and self-centered. Kien'elth is well-regarded, but he is almost as consumed by chaos as Chyenfel, and so cannot succeed him, for that, as well as for the reason we both know. Kien's younger son is solid, but not brilliant enough for what we have seen. Kharl will not support Liataphi, nor Liataphi Kharl. Luss is Kharl's tool, and for that reason alone, we dare not replace Rynst, arrogant as he has become, for Rynst knows that, and that is why he suffers Luss to remain as his second."

"There is something else," offers Ryenyel.

"Oh?"

"The Lady Trader of Ryalor House-her fortune cannot be reckoned... but she has gained on ventures that only one with knowledge from the Quarter of the Magi'i would have. And she has left on a coaster for Fyrad."

"Most convenient for Bluoyal, I would say."

"What of Bluoyal?" asks the Empress.

"That is the question, is it not? Who does he scheme to put in Chyenfel's place?"

"Someone we do not know-or could not pick." Her lips turn up. "Or we would know already."

"So... my dearest... what should I decide?"

"Agree to Chyenfel's plan. Immediately. That will ensure that Rynst must concentrate on defeating the barbarians without the extra firelances from the Accursed Forest. Also, if Chyenfel is accurate, if Cyador is to survive, then it must be done, and about purely magely things, he is usually accurate."

"And then we wait to see who betrays who and why? And we watch Bluoyal? And Kharl and the heirs of Kien." The Empress nods.

XCVIII

The day is cold but clear as Lorn reins up the gelding before Dustyn's narrow front porch, and it feels warmer than it is because the winds of the previous day have died away. Winter has raced by, or so it seems to Lorn, for it is sixday of the seventh eightday of winter, ten days until Ryalth is supposed to arrive. Already, Juist is muttering about having to take patrols for Second Company's two eightdays of furlough.

Because Lorn will leave on the morrow for another patrol and because he may not be back until just before Ryalth arrives, he needs to talk to Dustyn. He dismounts and ties the gelding to the bronze ring, then mounts the steps and opens the door. For the first time since he has come to Dustyn's establishment, the proprietor is actually standing at the half-door counter.

"Captain, I been wondering when you might be arriving to let me know about this mysterious consorting."

"I'm here," Lorn grins. "I do have a question about it. The lady is traveling here, and while she is expected by firstday of the ninth eightday of winter." Lorn shrugs, "Traveling does not always lend itself to exact days."

"That be no problem. The Emperor's rules say that the recorder must know at least an eightday before. Wasyk'll bend that to two, knowing how hard it be for some folk to come up with the silver, but there's folk tell him a season in advance."

Lorn nods. "That is good."

"And who be these folk, Captain?" Dustyn asks.

"I am one of them," Lorn says quietly, "although it would be better if it were not widely known until afterwards."

"I thought maybe it might be you, Captain," Dustyn says slowly. "But when I asked some merchanters I know about you... no offense, you understand... they said best they say little." The factor frowns. "Seems like you have powerful friends and as many of power that may not be such, especially..."

"For a mere lancer captain, you mean?" Lorn offers a sardonic smile.

"Captain... none'd be calling you mere. Even old Kylynzar been mumbling about how he didn't like much what you wrote him, but he couldn't complain none about how you'd stopped the wild creatures. For him... well... he complains about aught any time."

"I told him we did our best, and that I couldn't guarantee killing every wild creature that escaped."

"You been killing most of 'em, isn't it so?"

"So far," Lorn admits, quickly changing the subject. "I haven't been consorted before, and I was in Isahl when my sister was. So what do I do?"

"Consorting be simple enough. It be after the consorting that it be no longer simple." Dustyn laughs hoarsely, then clears his throat. "Wasyk be the recorder of consorts and the tax farmer for the Emperor here in Jakaafra. Be easier 'n I'd thought, 'cause your havin' a place of dwelling means no winking at whether you be proper in consorting here. Doesn't say which dwelling, but a man's supposed to be consorted where he has one. Anyway... you and your lady..." Dustyn frowns. "Don't recall your saying her name, and I'll be needing that to give to Wasyk." He waits.

"Ryalth... she's an independent trader, and the head of Ryalor House."

Dustyn shakes his head, even as he smiles. "Now... some matters be making more sense. A lancer captain from a Magi'i family-I did find that out, not much more-consorting to one of the powerful rising trading houses... more 'n a few not be pleased to see that kind of alliance...."

"Why... because they worry about mage blood in merchanter offspring? The children can only claim either merage or altage heritage. So what do we have to do?"

"Plain forgot to finish... you sign the register in front of Wasyk and seal it there with a silver. That be it, so far as the Emperor's concerned."

Lorn somehow doubts that.

"And then your troubles are your own."

"They're always our own." Lorn pauses, then adds, "I have to be on patrol starting tomorrow. If the lady should arrive... well, she has the welcome of the dwelling... if you understand and would assist in that?"

"That I can do with great pleasure." Dustyn frowns. "She be truly the house leader of Ryalor House?"

"Absolutely."

"Ryalth... Captain Lorn... Ryalor..." Dustyn shakes his head. "Should a' figured... I should."

Lorn forces a laugh. "Leave the figuring to others, Dustyn, and Ryalor House will continue to help you prosper."

"Oh, that I will, ser. That I will. Owe you two far too much to be flapping my chin, outside a' my own place, you see, that is...."

"And to make sure you prosper..." Lorn slips a silver into Dustyn's hand.

"Ser... you needn't..."

"I need not, but times have not been easy for you."

"Thank you, ser, and I will be taking the best care when the lady trader should arrive."

"I know you will." Lorn glances toward the door. "And I have to ready a company for another patrol."

"You do that, ser, and I'll be watching out for you."

Lorn nods as he steps toward the door, and the cold ride back to the compound.

XCIX

Fat and wet snowflakes swirl past Lorn, so heavily that he cannot see the ward-wall from the perimeter road from where he rides with Kusyl and the second squad, so thickly that he is continually brushing slush and water from his forehead. He ignores the headache that accompanies the snow.

After briefly considering stopping the patrol, he decides against it, at least for a time. The biggest danger is fallen tree trunks, and even the snow won't hide anything that large.