Scion of Cyador (54 page)

“Austran traders?” Lorn frowns. “I thought the problem was from the Nordlans.”

“It depends on which problem. Tasjan is associated with the Austrans.”

“He’s the Dyjani Clan head,” Lorn says. “What does he have to do with the Mirror Lancers?”

“Nothing that one can see, save that he believes that the Mirror Lancers and the Magi’i bleed the merchanters. Eileyt told me yesterday that Tasjan has been hiring and training guards, supposedly for his ships, but he has four times the number of armsmen he needs for the ships, and yet he looks for more.”

“Does he believe that, if there is too much unrest in Cyad, the merchanters will demand that a merchanter succeed Toziel in years to come?” asks Lorn.

“A merchanter on the Malachite Throne?” Jerial’s mouth opens for a moment.

Lorn shrugs. “My suspicions are always raised by those who raise arms where there are none. Cyad is held not by the lancers, but by fear of the Magi’i and their firebolts and powers. If the chaos-towers fail, and in years to come, when the Emperor dies and there are no lancers in the city… ?”

Ryalth nods. “Some have suggested that.”

“That would destroy Cyador,” Jerial protests. “The Emperor-”

“-is far older than he looks,” Lorn says. “You might discuss it with Aleyar sometime. That is what she said, and I felt she was telling the truth.”

The dark-haired healer shivers. “No wonder you worry. This will all happen within a few years, will it not?”

“It may,” Lorn says. “That is why I feel confounded. If I act too quickly, I will fail. Too late, and the same will happen.”

“We cannot decide that tonight,” Ryalth says firmly. “And with all of that to be considered, I have done a few things to make matters safer without being so obvious.”

Lorn raises his eyebrows.

“We’re getting several geese. A small flock, almost.”

“Geese?”

“They are very good at warning of intruders, and they do multiply, so that we can occasionally have roast goose. They’re also not as obvious as guards, and they can’t be bribed.”

“I’ve also noticed that there are thornbushes under all the lower-floor windows,” Jerial says.

“Those were planted when I purchased the dwelling.”

“Like the gate, and the bars on the doors to the bedchamber?” Lorn asks.

“I had this feeling…”

Lorn shakes his head. Again, he is reminded that there is more in Ryalth’s background than any outsider might ever guess.

“We’ll also be getting a second set of iron locks on the doors. Just the kind that you lock from the inside, not with keys. I have told the ironworker that while they may not be necessary today, tomorrow you could be sent back to the Grass Hills if they need a field commander.” Ryalth looks at her consort. “I have made inquiries, and we will be taking on as houseman a lancer who recently received his stipend. He’s a cousin of Kysia, and most trustworthy. He also likes to garden. Everyone knows this. His children are grown, and his consort is a seamstress. They will have the lower rear quarters.”

“You anticipate me well, my dear.” Lorn shakes his head.

“Cyad is not like Inividra, where the enemy is known,” the redhead replies. “Everything must be done in the open and yet without people suspecting. Someone I know and hold dear showed me this years ago.”

“And forgot… I’ve been in the field too long,” Lorn says with a snort.

“You can no longer forget,” Jerial says. “Matters are indeed getting serious. I had not understood fully. Something else bears on this. I received a short scroll at the infirmary. It was from Rustyl, begging for permission to call upon me.”

“You are the highest of the healers left without consort.” Lorn winces, then frowns. “But he has as much as asked for Ciesrt’s younger sister Ceyla as consort. You were there…”

“What he wants, I do not know, but I did grant him permission to call. I will let you know what I discover. Or if I discover nothing-that is most likely.”

Ryalth shakes her head. “I could not live that way.”

Both Lorn and Jerial smile and look at her.

The lady trader flushes. “That was a foolish statement. We are living that way, are we not?”

Lorn nods, sadly.

CVI

Lorn glances down the white granite walls of the public corridor that leads from the section of the Quarter of the Magi’i where parents can bring their children to be tested for chaos-order talents, to the adjoining doorway. Beyond the door is a second corridor, one that leads to the building where the older student Magi’i receive their instruction.

Lorn steps through the doorway with confidence, and into the corridor that is usually empty in midmorning. A good hundred cubits farther, he steps through a side door, whose chaos-lock he slides aside. He smiles, briefly, noting to himself that sliding a chaos-lock is far easier than sliding a bronze or cupridium bolt. He hopes his order-chaos abilities have been long since disregarded by the Magi’i, or at least undervalued, as he closes the door behind him and walks along another, far less public way to a narrow set of white granite steps.

Lorn takes the side stairs, the ones he has scouted with his chaos-glass, and the ones that are used only by the Magi’i-not that there is any overt prohibition on use by others, since it requires the skills of a first- or second-level adept, or a renegade lancer magus, to unlock the doors.

At the top of the steps is a foyer, far smaller than those in
Mirror Lancer Court
, with a single table desk set on the shimmering polished-sunstone floor.

The fourth-level adept, painfully young-faced, glances up from his table, then looks again as he takes in the formal cream-and-green Mirror Lancer uniform and the insignia of a majer. His mouth works, then finally offers a question. “Ser?”

“Majer Lorn of the Mirror Lancers, son of Kien’elth. I am here to see the Third Magus.” Lorn smiles pleasantly.

“I… I’m not sure…”

“Spare me the lie,” Lorn says gently. “He is in. He may choose to see me; he may not; but let us keep that part honest. Just ask him if he will spare me a few moments.”

“Ah, yes, ser. I’ll see.” The very junior magus scurries down the corridor his desk blocks, knocking at the second door on the left, and then stepping inside.

Lorn waits, a half-amused smile on his face.

Almost immediately, the fourth-level adept returns, trying not to shake his head. He looks at Lorn, the surprise evident on his young face. “He… he said he would see you, ser.”

“Thank you.” Lorn inclines his head slightly. “I appreciate your assistance.”

“It’s the second door, ser.”

Conscious of the wondering gaze of the junior adept on his back, Lorn walks to the indicated door, which had been left ajar, and steps inside.

Liataphi stands as Lorn closes the door behind him. Lorn bows and straightens, waiting.

The fourth-floor study, like that of the Majer-Commander, has a view of the Palace of Eternal Light, save that the Palace is to the northwest, rather than to the east. The study is also smaller even than that of the Captain-Commander, and not all that much larger than the study Lorn had used as commander in Biehl. The furnishings are simple, ancient, but polished and unmarred, consisting of a wide table desk, four golden-oak bookcases set against the granite of the inner wall, and three wooden armchairs set before the desk and one behind it.

Liataphi himself looks at Lorn with dark circles under pale gray eyes that are nearly colorless, except for the hint of sun-gold that seems to come and go. His blond hair is thin, short and wispy, yet he is broad-shouldered and muscular, and half a head taller than Lorn. After a moment, he smiles, faintly, yet not coldly. “I must say that your appearance here does not totally surprise me. You are your father’s son.” He gestures to the chairs and reseats himself.

“Thank you for seeing me.” Lorn takes the chair closest to the door. “I must remind you, Majer, that for a junior member of the Majer-Commander’s personal staff to seek out the Third Magus would be considered… unusual.”

“Possibly, I should have done so earlier. My father left me a letter which suggested that I should pay my respects to you. I was transferred back to Cyad, as you may know, rather quickly, and I have not done this kind of work before…” Lorn lets the words drag out slightly.

“All that you say is true. As was all that your father said. But I suspect that there is far more there, or you would not be here.”

Lorn smiles and nods. “My father also suggested that I would need to make contacts outside the
Mirror Lancer Court
, and he felt that you are and have always been trustworthy.”

“That does not mean that I will agree with you-or with the Mirror Lancers,” the Third Magus points out. “No, ser, it does not.”

“Might I ask why you would not seek out the father of your sister’s consort?” A smile lightens Liataphi’s eyes, but does not move his mouth.

“You could, ser, and I would respond that most times it has been unwise to go against my father’s advice.”

Liataphi laughs, a booming sound that fills the study. “Would that my daughters felt that way.”

“Your third daughter respects and accepts your advice. I have never met the others, except Syreal, and that was but in passing.”

“You and your consort have impressed Aleyar. Her judgment is usually sound, I have found, like that of her mother.” Liataphi nods. “I am not unaware that you are a friend of young Tyrsal. Most times I would not pry, but… this time I will. Is he a good match for my daughter?”

Lorn considers for a moment. “I would think so. He is a good person. He is the most honest and the most thoughtful of all those I knew as a student mage. I do not know your daughter well, for I have had dinner with her and Tyrsal but several times, and that is why I could not venture more. I would that my sisters had shown interest in him.”

“You believe that.” Liataphi nods.

“Yes, ser. But I would not suggest that Tyrsal be considered a likely candidate for one of the Three Magi’i.”

“You feel he is somehow deficient?” Liataphi’s eyebrows lift.

“No. He is perceptive, intelligent, and trustworthy. He can discern plots and schemes from the slightest hint. I do not believe he is devious enough.”

“Another fourth magus-like your sire?”

“He is much like my father in those ways,” Lorn admits.

Liataphi laughs. “When I listen to you, Lorn, I almost wish I had had a son.”

“You can talk to Tyrsal. He will listen and consider.”

“From you… from your family, those are high words.” Liataphi pauses. “Why did your sisters not choose him?”

“Jerial will choose none. Myryan cares too much to deceive Tyrsal about what she does not feel.” Lorn feels that he must be honest and direct, but the revelations are dangerous. Still, he can no longer wait and react. He may have waited too long already.

Liataphi nods slowly. “You risk much in seeing me. Especially so directly.”

“I risk less in coming directly. Often the Majer-Commander has members of his staff discuss matters with Magi’i, and I am very junior.”

“Not so junior as you think. Still…” Liataphi’s sad, pale eyes focus directly on Lorn. “What do you seek from me?”

“Your advice, and, if you feel so inclined, your support in the future.”

Another of the booming laughs fills the study. When the sound dies away, Liataphi shakes his head. “In that… In that, you are most unlike your sire.”

“I lack his ability to convince indirectly, ser. I can but ask.”

“That you have. That you have.” There is a pause. “I will do what I can, but I will not act against the spirit of the Magi’i. I will not oppose your efforts unless they threaten the Magi’i.”

“I can ask for no more.”

“You could, but you know I could not give it.” Liataphi smiles. “And what of Tyrsal?”

“He understands, and… he is like my sire.”

“I thought as much.” Liataphi stands. “I think we should take a brief walk, if you do not mind. I would like to have you see an old acquaintance of yours. He is an assistant to the First Magus, and a cousin through consortship to the Second Magus, and he may be yet related through his own consortship of the Second Magus’s daughter. I suppose that would make him a relative of yours as well, in more than one way.” The Third Magus shrugs. “Then, most of us are related somehow.”

“That must be Rustyl,” Lorn says as he rises.

“He has risen quickly within the hidden side of the Quarter, and some say that Chyenfel is grooming him to be one of the Three.” Liataphi walks to the door and opens it, turning down the corridor and away from the foyer.

“The hidden side? Would there not be more support for him were he more visible?” asks Lorn openly as he hurries to stay with the taller and long-legged Second Magus.

“I do not question the First Magus about some matters,” Liataphi says lightly. “Neither does the Second Magus, although it is likely our reasons are somewhat different.”

“The Second Magus… it’s strange, but I’ve never actually met him,” Lorn says.

“I am sure you will in time, especially with your sister as his son’s consort.”

“That may be. I’m told that Ciesrt has become more and more capable as a magus, and that he applies himself with great diligence.”

“His diligence would be a credit to any magus, and his devotion to chaos, I would judge, even outstrips that of his sire.” Liataphi slows as he takes another corridor that branches off to the left. He stops at a half-open door and knocks on the heavy golden-oak door itself, then pushes it open and steps into the small study that holds little more than a table desk, several bookcases, and three chairs, one behind the desk. A light warm breeze blows from the single narrow window.

“Ser!” Rustyl stands, his deep-set eyes flicking from Liataphi to Lorn, his narrow features impassive.

“Majer Lorn, I believe, was once a student with you.” Liataphi offers a pleasant and superficial smile. “He is now on the staff of the Majer-Commander, and I found him quite unexpectedly, and thought I would bring him by to see you before he returns to
Mirror Lancer Court
.”