“I had heard such, ser.”
“That other ambitious young magus to watch-Rustyl-he is pressing a suit for Kharl’s daughter. Watch the honorable Second Magus far more than the overcaptain. Keep such in your thoughts when you meet with the Second Magus. Also keep in mind that the First Magus cares little for the Second, and that all the Magi’i respect the fourth magus far more than the three with titles. There is a reason why they call Kien’elth ‘the Fourth Magus.’ He is most capable-and also young Lorn’s father. We are fortunate that he has no ambition to become First Magus.” Rynst pauses. “Then, given the first three Magi’i, perhaps we are unfortunate.”
“Yes, ser.” Luss’s brows lift ever so slightly.
Rynst gestures toward the door, suggesting that the meeting is at an end. “For all that, I could not have planned it better. I suggest that you consider why that is so before your next clandestine meeting with the Second Magus.”
“As you suggest, ser.” Luss’s face is impassive as he stands and offers a perfunctory bow.
“I do look out for you, Luss, even though you do not see it as such. You might also ask whether my actions and advice have benefited you. Then ask the same of what others offer.” Rynst returns Luss’s bow with a curt nod.
IX
Lorn stands on the uppermost level of his parents’ dwelling, looking to the south and out across the harbor of Cyad. The rains of the previous days have cleared, and the late-afternoon sky is a brilliant green-blue. The breeze is crisp, but not strong, and only scattered whitecaps dot the harbor to the south.
“I’ll be leaving on the early firewagon tomorrow,” Lorn tells his mother.
“I’m glad you came by this afternoon.” Nyryah smiles warmly. “And so is your consort, I am sure.”
Lorn flushes slightly.
“ The study door opens, and Kien stands there on the edge of the portico, blinking as if the light has momentarily blinded him. Still, his words are incisive. ”Lorn, I would like a few words with you.“
“You usually do, dear,” observes Nyryah.
“Yes, I do.” The magus smiles. “These days, I am given less and less time in which to deliver them.”
Lorn grins and follows his father into the study. Kien closes the door, firmly, and gestures to the chairs before his table desk. Lorn settles into the chair on the left and waits as his father seats himself. For a time, Kien does not speak, but steeples his fingers together, and purses his lips.
“Lorn… you will be leaving tomorrow, I understand.” The older man looks across the broad polished study desk. “For port duty in Biehl.”
“Yes, ser.”
“There are several matters we should discuss.” Kien blinks, then nods. “First, I did wish you to know, as if I have not already made my feelings obvious, that you have picked most wisely in your choice of consort, far more wisely than many will understand until you are much older.”
“Thank you. I was fortunate in finding her.”
“You were fortunate in finding her, but wise to hold to her.” Kien pauses. “There is far more to your consort than meets the eye. I would be most surprised if there is not a significant Magi’i heritage.”
Lorn nods. “Nor I, although there is little overt evidence.” He wonders about the silver volume of verse. Is that evidence? Or serendipity?
“Second,” Kien continues, “I am going to request that you relinquish the claim of the firstborn to Vernt. I do not ask this for Vernt, but for Jerial.”
Lorn nods. “I understand. You have a document?”
Kien points to the parchment on the front of the table desk. “You do not question that?”
“Ser… I will either be successful as a Mirror Lancer officer-and will not need the claim-or I will not, in which case, neither I nor Ryalth would need it.”
The older man nods slowly. “You understand fully that you will have claim to but a quarter?”
“Yes, ser. But that will be many years from now.”
“I certainly hope so,” Kien says with an ironic twist to the words, “but one must make provisions.”
Lorn notes the words, and wonders. But he stands and takes the pen, reading and then signing the document.
“I will register that in the Quarter tomorrow. And I do appreciate your thoughtfulness and consideration.”
“Yes, ser.”
Kien leans back and purses his lips. “Finally, I have one observation and a few questions I would like to pose to you. The observation is that while Cyad is indeed a marvelous city, its people are like those anywhere else. I ask you to consider that. The questions… well… I would prefer that you not answer them, but think upon them during your firewagon trip to Biehl-beyond that, if you feel the need.”
Lorn finds his eyebrows lifting. Questions?
“There are but three questions. These are: ” ‘What is it that allows Cyad to exist?’
“ ‘Could all the might of the Mirror Lancers here in Cyad, or all the might of the Iron Legions in Hamor, prevail against the will of those who live in such lands?’ ” ‘Are those who direct power or chaos the source of either?’ “
Lorn concentrates on the questions, trying to hold them in mind.
Kien extends a single sheet of paper. “I have held this for a time, but you are old enough to ponder these.”
Lorn takes the sheet, and sees that it holds the questions his father has just asked.
“My son… these are not idle questions. Nor are they the overly philosophical musings of an aging magus. They are not mine, by the way, and you may, in time, discover the source. That source is not important, but pondering the questions is most important for a Mirror Lancer who aspires to command beyond a patrol company. You are leaving for what may be your most dangerous duty.”
Lorn frowns.
“Dangerous, because you will have time to think, because you will be flattered, and because you will discover, if you have not already, that the world is both far simpler than you have ever imagined, and far more complex.” His father laughs. “Call the last my question. ‘How can the world be more simple and yet more complex?’ I leave that to you, for now.”
The overcaptain nods slowly.
“I do not need to tell you to be most careful, and to listen more than you speak. You have learned that already. Remember that silence can be either a truth or a lie. Make certain your silence is taken as you mean it.” Kien stands. “I could prattle on into the night, and your consort would be upset with me. So I will not, but know that I wish you well, and that no matter who you may have believed, I always have.” He steps around the desk, awkwardly.
Lorn understands, and he hugs his father for the first time in years. “Thank you.”
Kien nods, not speaking, and his eyes are bright. Finally, he says, “Best you go to Ryalth, and enjoy what time you have left.”
As Lorn steps away from the study door, he can sense the cold chill of a screeing glass, and that chill is not that manifested by his father.
Keeping an pleasant expression, he hugs his mother a last time before he starts down the steps to the front door.
Again, Jerial is the one who stands by the door. “Be good to Ryalth tonight.”
“I will.”
“I know.” Her smile is softer, not the professional expression of a healer.
He gives her a hug. “Thank you for being so good to her.”
“She is good for you. Far better than any could imagine. She and I understand each other, and that is good.” Jerial squeezes Lorn tightly. “You be most careful.”
“I will.”
Lorn finally releases his older sister and steps around the privacy screen and down the steps to the Road of Perpetual Light.
How is the world simpler and yet more complex? His father’s last question rolls through his mind.
X
Honored ser, you summoned me.“ The tall man is slender, and his blond hair is both thick and fine, and shimmers as the light from the study window strikes it. His green e
yes are pale, intent, as he straightens from his bow to the First Magus.
“Please be seated, Rustyl.” Chyenfel’s sun-gold eyes do not waver as he watches the handsome younger magus settle into the golden oak armchair across the table from him. “Being a discerning young magus,” the First Magus finally adds with a deliberate emphasis on each word, “you have noticed that all is not as it once was in Cyador. I would have your thoughts on such.”
“Honored ser, it would be presumptuous to assume that you have not already noted all I might say. So I will but touch on each matter. First, the chaos-towers are failing, yet all of Cyador depends on the energies of those towers. Few feel that the towers are failing, because they cannot imagine that. Instead, they feel as though the Magi’i are using the chaos-towers as a weapon to gain more influence over the Mirror Lancers and the Malachite Throne. Second, the outlanders have noticed that there are fewer fireships. We see more Hamorian traders and greater numbers of raids by the barbarians of the north. Third, the older merchanter houses and clans, those who have supported and understood Cyador, are being supplanted by newer houses, and, for the first time in memory, a trading house of note has been founded and operated by a lady trader.” Rustyl smiles. “I have little against her, for she embodies the spirit of what once all merchanters in Cyad embodied, but it is disturbing that one of the newer and stronger houses must be created by a woman, when there are so many young men among the merchanters.”
“Go on.” The voice of the First Magus remains calm. “What else?”
“The Emperor is aging, rapidly, yet hides such, and has taken no steps to name a successor, perhaps for fear that such will disturb all of Cyad. He relies ever more on his consort, and turns from the main advisors-you, the honorable Majer-Commander of Mirror Lancers, and even from his once-favored Merchanter Advisor.” Rustyl offers a far fainter smile. “Then there are those who have the skills to serve the Magi’i, but have placed themselves ahead of the calling of chaos.” Rustyl shrugs. “I doubt not that there are many other manifestations that all is not well, and those may be beyond my knowledge and experience, but these are among those that I see.”
“You see much of what others see and of which they will not speak.” Chyenfel steeples his fingers before him, purses his lips, and pauses for a long moment, which stretches into silence before he finally speaks again. “There are also other cities in Cyador where your observations would be valuable. And where your presence would be noted, most quietly.”
A pleasant smile remains on Rustyl’s face as he waits. “On threeday,” Chyenfel says, “you will go to Fyrad to work with the Mirror Engineers.”
Rustyl nods, if slightly. “I stand ready to carry out your wishes.”
“You will be most helpful and most deferential, as you have been here.
You will attempt to grant others any credit for what you accomplish. When you cannot do such, you will share such credit. If aught goes wrong, you will take the blame and find yet another solution, for which someone else will share the credit.“
“Yes, ser.”
“You will not proceed to the Accursed Forest, and you will disavow any knowledge of the sleep wards. You may note politely that such is the project and the work of the First Magus. Do you understand why?”
“Would that be because the chaos-towers surrounding the Forest will no longer be able to charge the firelances of the lancers and the entire project will be regarded less than favorably?”
“It would appear so.” Chyenfel nods. “After several seasons, when it appears appropriate, you will be dispatched to Summerdock, where you will employ your skills and powers to assist the Mirror Engineers in improving the port facilities there. Throughout Cyador, over the few coming years, all must know of you, but only in passing, only as one who is experienced and trustworthy, as one who is young enough not to be totally bound to the old ways, but one who can use and help others with those ways in meeting the needs of the present.”
Rustyl bows his head. “I understand and appreciate your foresight and wisdom.”
Chyenfel laughs. “May you always do so, but old as I am, I do not see that you will. Remember that, should you reach my exalted age. The young always demur to power, even as they scheme to obtain it and consider how they could employ it in far better or more effective ways than their elders.” A second laugh follows. “If we are successful, both in your work and your consorting, your turn will come, Rustyl. But mine is not over yet.” The First Magus gestures. “You may go.”
As the blond magus closes the study door, the smile fades from Chyenfel’s lips.
XI
Lorn places the bronze key in the lock of the upper-floor quarters that had been Ryalth’s and are now theirs, but the door has already been unlocked. He steps inside. Ryalth stands just behind the privacy screen.
“You surprised me. You made your way here from Ryalor House earlier than I had thought,” he admits.
“This is our last night together. I thought you would be awaiting me.” Her smile is nervous, tentative. “I hastened from the Plaza.”
“I am sorry. I was saying good-bye to my parents and Jerial, and before that, Myryan. She wasn’t at their dwelling, and I had to find her at the infirmary. I returned as quickly as I could.” He steps forward and hugs her, brushing her cheek with his lips and murmuring in her ear, “I’m glad you’re here.”
After a moment, she returns the embrace, and they remain pressed to each other for yet a time. Then she eases back, her hands holding his, his fingers cool around hers, her fine eyebrows lifting. “You took a while.”
“My father had more than a few words of advice.” He forces a wry smile. “And some questions. He gave me a sheet of them.” Lorn raises the parchment. “He told me to consider them, to ponder them on the firewagon trip to Biehl.”
“He accepts you for what you are, yet can offer but little assistance- unlike your brother, for whom he can do much,” suggests the redhead.
“That may be.” Lorn frowns. “He also offered an observation, almost as if I were a child, that while Cyad is a marvelous city, the people are as others. Why would they be otherwise?”
“Because, dearest, you still believe that a great city must come from great people.” She offers a sad smile. “A great city can come from but a handful of great people, and the acceptance of the rest, who are grateful and pleased to benefit from the labors of the few. You have said as much yourself, yet I am not sure you believe it.” Ryalth slips her hands from his and crosses the main chamber to the cooler, where she bends and searches, before lifting out an amber bottle of Alafraan. “I did save a few bottles for us here.”
“ ‘Save’?”
“You will need some in Biehl.” She grins. “Someone has to take care of those details.” The grin fades. “You are worried.”
“My father. He does not look strong… and he insisted on having a private talk with me.” Lorn shakes his head. “Some of it, I don’t understand. He practically threatened me years ago to stay away from you. He told me I must break off the relation with you, that it was not appropriate, and now he says I could not have picked a better consort anywhere, and my truthreading shows that he means such.”
“For that, for us, I am most glad.” Ryalth uncorks the Alafraan and half fills two goblets, then recorks the bottle. “Perhaps the warning was to assure that you followed your heart and beliefs, and not custom.”
“It has to be… but… that would mean…” Lorn shakes his head once more. “It would mean that he doubted from the first that I would be a magus. Yet he pressed me to excel in those studies and kept telling me how a magus must love the study and use of chaos above all.”
“Is all that not true? Would you be what you are had you not done so well in those studies?”
“No,” Lorn admits. “But that would mean he expected… all that from the beginning.”
“He is your father. How could he not know?” Ryalth laughs gently. “We never expect the perception from our parents that
we do from others who are wise.”
“He has given me hints, but I seldom felt his use of the chaos-glass in following me.”
“He knows you well enough that he needs no glass.”
Lorn’s smile is rueful. “And all these years, I thought I directed my own course.”
“We never direct our courses solely, dearest of lancers.” Ryalth extends a goblet to her consort. “Not even the highest do.”
“We like to think so.” He takes the goblet. “We like to think that the man-or the woman-makes the times, not that the times make them.”
Ryalth’s smile is gentle. “Thank you for including women. The original saying does not.” She raises her goblet, then sips. “Much of what we think is illusion, dear consort, grasped for comfort.”
Lorn lifts his goblet as she does, then sips the Alafraan. “I’m glad I didn’t have to wait another year to see you. Or have you travel all the way to the Accursed Forest.”
“As am I, but… An eightday is scarce enough to greet, let alone part.”
“Better an eightday than no time together at all.”
She nods slowly, then looks at Lorn for a long time. “I can travel to Biehl more easily… than to Jakaafra… or someplace like Syadtar or Assyadt.”
“Because it’s a port city?”
“I can make a trading run. I know Fyrad, for I grew up there, but Biehl I do not know, and it would be best for Ryalor House that I do.”
“Why Biehl?” he asks in spite of himself.
“Jera is the closest barbarian port, and many of the coasters run between the two. I would see what they trade that we know little of.” She takes another swallow of the Alafraan, far larger than is her custom. Her deep blue eyes are large and near-luminous as she looks once more at Lorn. “I will write you of trade, for I can ensure my scrolls go but to you while you are in Biehl. I would not talk more of trade this evening. Nor of duty.”
Scion of Cyador Page 4