Scion of Cyador (58 page)

Muyro’s eyes smolder. He clears his throat. “As I have said for the past two years, no one has been able to rebuild or to operate a chaos-tower that has failed. Never. We have looked through all the ancient archives and found nothing that the Magi’i can employ.”

Lorn holds back a frown, and glances from Muyro to Shykt, and then to Dhynt.

Dhynt nods. Shykt frowns.

“You have some question of that, Commander Shykt?” asks Rynst, his voice almost lazy in its gentleness of tone.

“Nothing that the Magi’i can use-or nothing that they will use?” asks Shykt.

“What do you mean by that?” asks Muyro.

Shykt turns to Rynst. “If I might… Majer Lorn successfully eliminated the threat of Jeranyi raids. He did so, if I read his reports correctly, by first using multicompany patrols to reduce the number of raiders near the Grass Hills. He then combined his forces and raided Jerans, and destroyed the
port
of
Jera
to stop the flow of iron blades to the barbarians. All of these were tactics available to his predecessors. No one else attempted such, because such actions were counter to accepted practices. I do not know the secrets of the Magi’i, but I must question, because I am the sort who does so, whether there are not other means to harness chaos to our benefit. Perhaps these techniques are also counter to Magi’i custom and practice.” Shykt smiles ruefully. “From what little I understand, even the First Magus faced great opposition within the Magi’i for his project to put the
Accursed
Forest
to sleep, and from what little I know, that project employed traditional manipulation of chaos.” The curly-haired commander shrugs.

“It is a fair question,” Rynst acknowledges. “Do you have an answer, Commander Muyro?”

“I am sure that the Magi’i have investigated every possibility.”

“Just as you had looked into the deflection of blades with the new shields?” asks Rynst, his tone of voice between sarcasm and irony.

Muyro flushes, a dark unhealthy color suffusing his swarthy face.

“I trust you will consult with the Mirror Engineers and the Magi’i about this.” Rynst smiles gently. “We must adopt new weapons and doubtless suffer higher casualties. I think it only just that the Magi’i consider that which might do the same for them. If they do not, then the barbarians will pour in, and as the Magi’i should know, the first to go under those iron blades will be those in white.”

“Yes, ser.” Muyro’s voice is level, but his face remains flushed in anger.

“That will do for this meeting.” Rynst rises. “Good day.”

Lorn rises, waits for the commanders to leave, then gathers his papers, and bows to the Majer-Commander before he turns to go. “By your leave, ser?”

“I saw your eyes, Majer. You were of the Magi’i. Know you of any such possible ways to better harness chaos?”

“I do not know how such might be accomplished today, ser. I do know that there were rumors of other ways of using chaos among the Magi’i, but I never became an adept, nor did I ever hear more than rumors as a student.” Every word Lorn says is true.

Rynst nods. “Perhaps Majer Muyro can find something. I have my doubts, but he will raise the question. Over time, even that will help.” The Majer-Commander laughs, once. “One hopes. You may go.”

Lorn is thankful that none of the commanders remain on the fifth-floor open foyer, and he hurries down to his own study, nodding to Fayrken as he passes.

“Another meeting report, ser?”

“Another report, Fayrken. This one will be short.”

“That be good, ser. Majer Hrenk has a long report about the piers at Fyrad.”

Lorn steps into his own study and sets his notes on the desk.

At the low roll of thunder, he turns to the window, where the first fat drops of rain strike the ancient panes-the large droplets hitting almost with the force of hail.

What can he do? It is clear from the indirect signs he sees that the Cyad he has known is changing. The merchanters are having trouble trading against the outlanders and want lower tariffs. The barbarians will threaten again, unless action is taken. The Emperor is failing, perhaps dying. The Magi’i are not changing, nor do the Mirror Lancers-except for perhaps Commander Shykt and the Majer-Commander-wish to offer anything new to the Emperor or the others who advise Toziel.

He has to do something, but what he can do is little enough… for now. He stands in his small study, a floor below the Majer-Commander, feeling that he could do more. Yet his father advised against approaching the Emperor. Even if he goes against his father’s wishes, he has no way to gain access to the
Palace
of
Eternal
Light-except as an intruder, and that is not exactly to his benefit.

Equally dangerous is the implication that there are reasons why the Magi’i have not offered another way to use chaos to replace the fireships and firewagons. Now it is clear that he must study his father’s papers once more, even more carefully, to see how he might advance the plans and suggestions contained therein. The papers offer solutions, yet his father could not advance them, even as Hand of the Emperor. Is there any way Lorn can?

He looks at the stack of notes and takes a deep breath, then pulls out the chair and seats himself. First, he must write the report of the meeting.

CXIV

Once in his dwelling study, Lorn sets the box from his father on his desk and leafs through the stack of papers, his fingers fumbling as he scans the sheets, looking for a section he has read several times, hoping that the section says what he has recalled.

“What are you doing?” asks Ryalth from the doorway, juggling Kerial on her shoulder. “You didn’t even try to find me. I was bathing Kerial. He’d spit up and made a mess.”

Lorn lowers the papers. “I’m sorry. I’ve been thinking about this all afternoon. We had a meeting today. Maybe I have an answer. These papers. You remember we talked about the engines-the iron chaos-heat-transfer steam engines-they talked about it…” Lorn finds his words trying to tumble out faster than he can think about them.

Ryalth laughs. “Wait… the papers will be there in a moment. I’ve never seen you trying to talk so fast.”

Lorn takes a deep breath. “You remember we talked about why no one had tried to build the chaos-fired steamships? Why no one ever talked about them? At the meeting today, Commander Shykt asked a strange question. The others thought it was strange. He asked whether the Magi’i could use chaos to build a better warship or weapons. He wasn’t that direct, but that was what he was hinting at…”

“Do you think he knows?”

“No. He knows something else. What he understands is that the Magi’i don’t want to do things that might limit their power.”

“That’s hardly strange. No one does. Traders don’t do trades that will cost them more than they make.”

“There’s a difference,” Lorn points out. “Cyador will become far poorer, perhaps even fall to the barbarians, if the Magi’i do not use their powers. Shykt was suggesting that they would rather see Cyador fall than use their powers in a new way.”

Ryalth laughs, still patting Kerial on the back, but the sound is ironic. “You are remarkable. You were thrown out of the Magi’i because you would not put their ways above everything. You are surprised that they will not change?”

Lorn shakes his head. “I had hoped for better.”

“Your father tried to make things better in his own way, and he was powerful. He could not even keep you in the Magi’i.”

“Not safely,” Lorn admits. “When you put it that way… Still, it is hard to believe that they would let the land die.” He crooks his lips. “I should know better. It took the First Magus years, from all accounts, to get the Magi’i to agree to his plan for the
Accursed
Forest
, and they only agreed to that when it was clear that nothing else would work and that they would lose those towers anyway.”

“What did your father say?”

“That was what I was looking for.”

“You look, and I’ll tell Kysia to ready dinner. Then you can tell me. I think Kerial is going to go to sleep.”

“I hope so.” Lorn smiles.

The redhead shakes her head again, ruefully and lovingly.

As Ryalth leaves the small upstairs study, Lorn returns to paging through the sheets in the old carved wooden box, slowly and more methodically, forcing himself to read at least enough of each page to ensure that it does not deal with the material he seeks.

Roughly a third of the way through the material he stops.

As it is described on the pages which follow, once the chaos-towers fail, all is not lost. Those senior in the Magi’i will claim that no other devices, such as chaos-steam transfer engines, can be constructed, because iron and chaos are not compatible. Too great a closeness between iron, order, and Magi’i is not desirable, but it is not necessary…

…to fabricate such a device requires the extraction of order from the natural world, and its infusion into the iron as it is being forged. When I was young, I worked with a smith. He is long since dead, and he knew little beyond what his forebears had taught him, and yet we did indeed forge a blade out of iron-darker than most, and of inordinate strength.

I could not touch the blade, not without suffering ferric poisoning, but there was no need to do so…

Lorn continues to read, nodding as he does.

The First Magus-the one two before Chyenfel-did not wish to consider such a means of finding an alternative to the chaos-towers, for none of the chaos-towers had failed, and there was seen no need to do such. He was also concerned about use of such a method when it could be used to forge blades and shields that might well prove a useful shield against chaos-bolts. Once the method was used, he said, all the barbarians would learn, and then Cyador would have defenses far less effective against the northerners.

Now… the towers are failing, and so am I. Perhaps worse, because I once looked into the matter, the reference material was removed from the archives of the Quarter and burned. Most of it I had copied previously, and that is what follows this explanation…

The Mirror Lancer majer shakes his head. “The idiots…”

…do not attempt to bring this to light directly, but find one among the Magi’i who will see it for the salvation of the Magi’i, and not as a threat. For, if the Magi’i retain this as a secret, then they will retain a manner of power that they would not otherwise do…

A voice calls from below. “Lorn… dinner is almost ready.”

“I’ll be down.” Lorn looks at the notes, half smiling.

He has some copying to do… a great deal… because he cannot let the originals into anyone else’s hands. Not when they are all that remain.

Copying his father’s “memoirs” will be time-consuming, but certainly less risky than using a chaos-glass, for anyone who uses a glass to observe him will but see him writing, and that is certainly expected of a junior majer.

He shakes his head once more as he thinks of Muyro and the First Magus his father had confronted. Then he closes the box and stands.

CXV

Lorn glances at the polished blond wood of Vernt’s table desk, the same desk that had been their father’s. Vernt has even left it in the same place in the study, and most of the books are the same. The chaos-glass is Vernt’s, larger and more prominently displayed on the left side of the desk. On one of the side tables, there is also a frame that contains a drawing of Vernt wearing the whites of a first-level adept. Where Vernt found an artist, Lorn has to wonder, unless perhaps that is one of Mycela’s hidden talents. Lorn feels the woman must have some.

“I hear you are doing well over in
Mirror Lancer Court
,” Vernt says conversationally.

“I’m very quiet.” Lorn laughs. “How are things going for you?”

“As expected, I suppose.” Vernt frowns.

“In short, everyone’s worried about the chaos-towers failing, especially the one in the Quarter, and no one has an answer.”

Vernt shakes his head. “You know I shouldn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t. I did, and it’s true. We have meeting after meeting. All too many deal with how we will handle the barbarians without firelances and firewagons, and what kind of ships can replace the fireships. I can’t imagine all those meetings with the Majer-Commander, the Captain-Commander, and all the senior commanders, not unless things are getting serious.”

“Should you be saying that?”

Lorn shrugs. “It’s a problem that concerns both the lancers and the Magi’i. I’m a lancer; you’re of the Magi’i. I’m not telling you anything those above you don’t know, and you’re not about to tell anyone else.”

“I know,” Vernt replies. “Still…” He frowns.

Lorn takes out the pouch with the papers inside, those it has taken him more than an eightday to copy-although he has taken the precaution of making two extra sets. “Here’s something that you’ll need.”

“That I’ll need?” The taller man’s eyebrows rise.

“A long time ago, at Father’s suggestion, I went through the Archives,” Lorn lies, offering a chuckle. “Except I didn’t tell him, because… well… you know… I didn’t want to admit he might be right.” The smile fades. “Then, of course, I couldn’t tell him.”

“There’s always something I remember that I would have liked to tell him,” Vernt agrees.

“I copied these.” That is absolute truth, a truth even Vernt can sense. “I think now is the time, or it will be shortly, for them to reappear.”

“ ‘Reappear’?” asks Vernt.

“I asked Tyrsal to see if these were still in the Archives. He says they’re not.”