Magi'i of Cyador (61 page)

"...three golds now... so you may begin... and two more-Dustyn will deliver them-when you bring the lamps to him to be shipped to me. I will send four more golds when I receive the lamps."

"They say you have been most fair...." Ghylset nods slowly.

Ryalth looks to Eileyt, who produces three golds from the Ryalor House wallet he carries for her.

"I look forward to your lamps, master crafter." Ryalth's smile is professional, yet with the suggestion of warmth.

"They be the best."

Lorn nods to himself as he follows her from the shop. Because she can assess both worth and character, Ryalth has a definite advantage, and she offers enough warmth so that she does not have to haggle endlessly.

"Which crafter do you wish to see next?" Lorn asks as they step out onto the windswept porch.

"No crafter-an oilseed grower." Ryalth adjusts her cloak.

"The one with the perfumed oils?"

"There's always a market for good oils, and if they're different..." She shrugs, then mounts her chestnut.

"Dustyn says his place is a solid four kays out the west road," Lorn says as he quickly mounts. "I hope this works out better than the pearapple grower."

"Most don't," Ryalth cautions him, turning her mount toward the recording hall. "You should know that by now. That's why I visit so many."

"I know." Lorn guides the gelding alongside her chestnut.

Behind them, Eileyt nods as he and Usylt ride after them toward the west road from the square.

CIV

In the clear gray light preceding dawn, Lorn and Ryalth ride side by side on the perimeter road to the southwest, toward Fyrad and Cyad, and away from Jakaafra. Behind them ride Eileyt and the Usylt, the guard.

The air is still, and frost has settled on the deadland, and on the winter-gray trees to their right, well out beyond the deadland. Lorn wears his winter jacket over his duty uniform, as well as the winter garrison cap. Ryalth wears her vest under the heavy blue woolen cloak. Faint puffs of steam indicate their breathing.

Lorn glances to his left, at the glow of the sun about to rise from behind the ward-wall and the Accursed Forest. Somehow, the days of Lorn's furlough have raced by until none are left, and he and Ryalth must return to their duties.

"You have the scrolls?" he looks at Ryalth, taking in the red hair, the light freckles and the deep blue eyes he will miss more than he had ever thought. "And you will send them by private messenger?"

"We agreed on that." Her lips curl into a smile that is both ironic and resigned, yet warm and accepting.

He laughs once, gently. "You will take care on the ride to the Great Canal?"

"We will, and I will send you a scroll when I reach Cyad." She smiles softly. "You need to get back. I would not have you fail to be where you must be."

Lorn reaches out and takes her gloved hand in his as they ride side by side. "I dislike parting, especially now."

"I will visit as I can," she promises. "But you need to go." Lorn nods. "Take care." He gives her hand a last squeeze, then releases it.

"I will." Her smile is sad.

Lorn eases the gelding to the edge of the road, where he watches as the three ride southwest. Ryalth looks back several times. Finally, he turns the gelding and starts back toward the compound. He has not ridden two hundred cubits when he looks back over his shoulder. Ryalth is looking at him, as well, and he raises his arm. After a time, they both look away.

Lorn continues slowly back along the perimeter road, and the orangish light of dawn floods up from behind the ward-wall and the green canopy of the Accursed Forest. He studies the unseen darkness that is all too real, and wonders how the coming Patrol will fare.

Shortly, he eases the white gelding past the duty guards and through the compound gates, his eyes checking the courtyard, noting that both Kusyl and Shynt have begun to muster their squads outside the quarters building.

He dismounts outside the stable and leads the gelding inside. Suforis hurries up. "Ser, you'd not be going on Patrol today?"

"Tomorrow. That's soon enough." Lorn extends his mount's reins to the blond ostler, then unfastens his gear from behind the saddle.

"She be a lovely lady, ser," Suforis observes, as he takes the gelding's reins from Lorn. "Though I was surprised that Dustyn asked me 'n Lesyna to the festivities."

"We were glad you were there." Lorn laughs, almost ruefully. "You two and Dustyn were the only people I really knew." He shifts his grip on his gear, then nods to Suforis. "I'd best be getting where I should be."

"Yes, ser."

Lorn walks briskly to the quarters building, stopping but long enough to drop his gear bag in his duty quarters, and then returns to the courtyard to see Kusyl, waiting before the formed up second squad.

"Ser." Kusyl bows as Lorn approaches.

"Squad leader."

"Halfscore and four, ser. One missing, ser."

"Very good, Kusyl. You may dismiss them to their duties. We will inspect all blades and gear before the noon meal. Once they are working on their gear, I'd like to meet in the outer study."

"Yes, ser."

Lorn nods and heads to the first squad.

"Ser, halfscore and five, ser. All present," Shynt announces.

"Very good, squad leader. You may dismiss them to their duties. We will inspect all blades and gear before the noon meal. Kusyl and you and I will meet in the outer study once they're working on their blades and gear."

"Yes, ser."

Lorn turns and heads for the study, hoping that there are no scrolls or messages bearing ill news. There, the door has been unlocked, doubtless by Kusyl, but the outer desk is bare. He opens the door to the inner study, but his desk is equally bare.

For some reason, that disturbs him more, he feels, than would have scathing scrolls from either Majer Maran or Commander Meylyd. Slowly, he takes off his garrison cap and hangs it on one of the wall pegs, then doffs the winter jacket.

Tomorrow, Second Company will resume its patrols, and Lorn has few doubts that the struggles with the Accursed Forest will continue.

CV

The Emperor leans forward in the malachite and silver chair that dominates the smaller audience hall. His eyes are hard as he fixes them upon the First Magus. "If you would, most honored of Magi'i, explain just how you plan to make this barrier work, and how long the process will take."

Chyenfel bows. "But, of course, Your Mightiness. All know that there are chaos towers that confine the Accursed Forest. As you have been informed, of the dozen towers that once enfolded the Forest, three have failed. Two of those were at the cardinal points of the wall. Where once every tower station at the cardinal points had two functioning towers, now only the south and west stations have two towers. The other failed chaos tower is the northeast midpoint tower, and that has meant forcing more chaos energy through the cupridium cables on the northeast ward-wall. That requires more chaos energies precisely from the cardinal point tower stations most burdened. Thus..." the First Magus shrugs, "...the barrier on that wall is not so strong as on the other walls, and there have been more attempts by the Accursed Forest to break through the wards there."

In the far more modest malachite chair behind the Emperor's shoulder, Ryenyel sits, her eyes not upon the First Magus nor upon the Majer-Commander of Mirror Lancers, but, once again, upon Bluoyal, the Merchanter Advisor to the Emperor of Light.

"We will use the remaining power in the towers to create a barrier," Chyenfel continues, "a barrier like that which separates the inner part of a tower from the outer, and that barrier will also place a slumber-ward, if you will, over all of the Accursed Forest. We think re-setting the chaos fields to do this will take a good two-score mages. It will take a season to assemble all that is necessary, and but an afternoon to accomplish it."

"If it can be done," suggests the Emperor.

"So you should be able to move the towers by the fall if His Mightiness agrees to this now?" asks Bluoyal quietly.

All faces turn to the merchanter advisor at his interruption. To Bluoyal's right, Rynst nods slightly, almost as if urging the merchanter to go on.

"We are seeing more pirate attacks upon our trading vessels," the heavy trader continues. "Yet we understand that we can expect less support from the fireships and fewer Mirror Foot on our ships with firelances. For generations, those chaos towers have sat around a forest that hasn't caused a shade of the trouble that the barbarians or the pirates have, all because the ancients thought there was something there. So a few wild creatures escape, and a few cattle and sheep are killed. It would be far cheaper to pay for the lost livestock, and move the lancers and the towers to where they can do real good."

"If you may recall," offers Chyenfel, "no chaos tower can be moved, unless it was placed in something that contains it and can be moved, such as a fireship. The records and history are quite clear on that. They are also quite clear on the dangers of the Forest."

"Has anyone tried to move them in, say, the past five generations?" counters Bluoyal.

"Which one would you like to lose, honored merchanter? If we try to move one surrounding the Forest, we cannot contain the wild order, even under the new barrier. Why would we wish to move any of the others?"

"I was not thinking of the others, most honored First Magus."

"As we have told the Emperor before, although you may have missed such, honored advisor on trade and commerce, the towers will still be there, although none will be able to see or sense them."

"Not sense them?" Bluoyal raises his bushy eyebrows.

"They and the wards will be twisted so that they will not quite be as they are... or that they do not appear as such, more precisely."

The Emperor of Light frowns. "If the towers... vanish... will this not alarm the people? You had not mentioned this aspect of your barrier. What of the lancers?"

"We would see no need of the present numbers of lancers," answers Chyenfel cautiously.

"So that they could be moved northward, or placed on the new sail-powered warships?" interjects Bluoyal.

"That would be the decision of His Mightiness, in consultation with the honored Majer-Commander," replies the First Magus.

"A moment." Toziel lifts his hand. "Let me make this most clear. You are telling me that unless I agree to your plan, I will have no choice?"

"Sire..." Chyenfel offers patiently. "You have no choice. If you try to move the towers, they will fail, and the Accursed Forest will reclaim much of eastern Cyador. If you do nothing, the towers will fail within years, if not sooner, and the Forest will do the same."

Toziel looks at the perspiring magus. "I cannot say that I am pleased with the performance of the Magi'i."

"Sire... this day has been foretold from the very first. You have read the original writings of the Firstborn...."

"And I would be the man to be Emperor when it may occur?" Toziel's words are like cold cupridium. "So... for how many more years will your plan confine the Accursed Forest, so that Cyador may continue to prosper?"

"Sire... as you know, we would use all the power in the Towers to create a barrier, the slenderest barrier of time passing, and by doing so, we would layer order and chaos about the Forest, and place the Forest in a type of sleep, so that it would come to resemble a normal forest...."

"You have told me that. How long?"

"Twenty-five to thirty score years, we would judge-if... if, no one brings a focused order or chaos of that same magnitude to the ward-walls."

"How could that occur, if there is no other source of focused chaos or order besides the chaos towers-which are failing-and the Forest which you will lull into an enchanted sleep?"

"We know of no such way, sire." Chyenfel bows.

"As you say... I have no choice. Let it be done." Toziel stands. "We will not visit this issue again." He turns and moves toward the exit from the chamber.

A smile flits across Bluoyal's face, a smile noted by Ryenyel alone before she turns to follow her consort.

Rynst's cold eyes scan first Bluoyal and then the First Magus. The three advisors remain standing in place until the chamber is vacant of imperial presence.

As is their custom after the audience with the advisors, the Emperor and his consort return to the Empress's salon, where she seats herself on the white divan.

Toziel studies his consort. "I do believe we have finally had enough meetings on the barrier for the Accursed Forest so that Chyenfel can create it without interference."

"You could have ordered him to proceed a year ago," Ryenyel points out, "were it not for other considerations."

"Folk-even high advisors-must talk and talk and repeat themselves until they are confortable with an idea, for if they are not..."

"The delay is greater," Ryenyel finishes drily.

"And I must appear almost dense, as if forced into acceding to the plan." Toziel shakes his head.

Faint smiles appear on both their faces.

"And all the Magi'i had to understand that the towers there will fail."

"You mean Kharl and Liataphi... perhaps Kien," she suggests.

"Kien understands. He always has. He prefers to advise, and stand in the shadows. That is why he will never seek to be First Magus. Or even Third."

"Many would not agree."

Toziel grins at her. "But you do, and I trust your judgment." The grin fades, and he paces to the window. There he looks out at the heavy spring rain for a time before he turns and speaks again. "Each eightday we delay, we risk failure of another tower, and the chance that the Accursed Forest will leap the wards beyond our ability to contain it."

After a silence, the Empress-consort speaks. "Rynst now understands that Bluoyal only wishes the towers and the lancers in order to support the merchanters' trading ships. He also understands that while he cannot brook Chyenfel, the First Magus can be trusted far more than the Second. Or the Third."

"Only now?" Toziel snorts. "Or is it that he fears Bluoyal more than the Magi'i?"

"Bluoyal walks a narrow and dangerous path, trying to ensure that the lancers and the Magi'i do not see that their interests are closer to each other's than to his." She reaches for the goblet of spring water on the table, nearly draining it in a single swallow.