Scion of Cyador

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “I understand we now have but a quarterscore fireships left with full function. How long before we have none?” asks Rynst.

  “As I have told you before, ser, ten years at the longest, more probably five, I would say. The Magi’i and the Mirror Engineers tell me one of the ships might last a score of years. I think not. Each firecannon must be disassembled and cleaned and the arming cells and the cables replaced almost every voyage. The strength of the firebolts varies from discharge to discharge even so, and that variation is increasing with each voyage.”

  Rynst nods evenly and turns to the swarthy commander. “Commander Muyro?”

  “Yes, ser. I am not so eloquent as Dhynt, ser. You asked the Mirror Engineers what new devices we could develop to replace the firelances. As Commander Shykt has already noted, the most feasible replacements for the firelances are cupridium lances, such as those already used by the District Guards. We are also looking into the fabrication of cupridium mirror shields. They have a more advantageous strength to weight proportion, so that a lancer will have greater protection but carry a lighter burden than with either a wooden or iron-sheathed shield. Also, the smooth surface will deflect an iron blade…”

  As he continues to take his notes, Lorn represses a frown. Mere deflection might not always be good, since it could easily send one of the Jeranyi edged bars into a mount, or a lancer’s legs.

  “You might wish to make several of those shields and see how they work,” suggests Rynst. “In actual combat.”

  “We will have a score ready in an eightday, and they could be issued to a squad in one of the companies along the Grass Hills.”

  Rynst glances at Lorn. “Majer, you have had the most recent combat experience. Where would you suggest that the shields be tested?”

  “I would suggest at Isahl or one of the outposts in the northeast out of Syadtar, ser. There are likely to be more raids there this summer.”

  Rynst nods. “Do you have any observations on the lances and the shields?”

  “When I was at Biehl, I did command some District Guards against the barbarians. The cupridium lances worked fairly well, but some of the lancers had trouble knowing when to drop the lances and switch to their sabres. There might need to be some training on that. The shields could be useful, but I don’t know whether the entire surface should be polished. If they are designed to deflect a blade down, lancers could lose their legs or their mounts. Perhaps several designs should be tested.”

  “Those are good thoughts. Have you considered them, Commander?” asks the Majer-Commander.

  “The deflection had been raised, ser.”

  “And? Did anyone determine whether it was a possibility?”

  “No, ser.”

  “Before our next meeting, you are to have someone conduct trials to see if the design you are using will deflect a blade into the lancer and the mount. If this is a possibility, you are to develop alternative designs.”

  “Yes, ser.” Muyro nods, his face impassive.

  “Commander Shykt?”

  “We were tasked with determining whether the defenses of the ports, compounds, and outposts would need to be changed if firelances and firecannon were no longer available to the Mirror Lancers. In simple terms, the answer is no. All the facilities were initially designed so that they could be defended without the use of chaos-powered weapons. We did discover one weakness, but that is not with the defenses. Because horse-drawn supply wagons are both slower and more vulnerable to attack, and with all provisions coming by such teams, it might be prudent to increase food and supply storage areas in some of the more exposed outposts, and to schedule somewhat more frequent reprovisioning.” Shykt nods that he is finished.

  “Do any of you have any questions?” Rynst looks from face to face. “If not, the meeting is over. I will take your reports and read them. Then they will go to Majer Lorn, who will keep them for my use in developing strategic plans.” The Majer-Commander stands.

  Lorn stands with the other officers, stepping back ever so slightly, and waiting until the others leave, each handing the documents he brought to Rynst as each leaves the study.

  When the study is empty, Rynst turns to Lorn. “That is one function of having a junior commander at these meetings. Few of us have recently fought. Thank you.”

  “You are welcome, ser. I tried to ask it as a question.”

  “I noticed that.” Rynst smiles. “Muyro will still be irked, and the Mirror Engineers will doubtless have little good to say of either of us for the next few eightdays. And the lancers whose legs you have considered will never know someone was looking out for them. That is one of the difficulties of being in Mirror Lancer Court. All are angered at your questions, and when you point out defects, but seldom is any credit offered.” He shakes his head. “You have several days for the report of this meeting.” After a pause, he asks, “How is your draft of the plan for dealing with the Jeranyi coming?”

  “Slower than I had thought, ser. I have developed a list of options, and I am working out the costs and the advantages of each.”

  Rynst laughs. “Just remember that costs mean nothing if we lose too many lancers or the Jeranyi take our lands.”

  “Yes, ser. I understand.”

  “You do, but some of my commanders do not.” Rynst looks down at the stack of documents he holds. “You can take these in the morning.” With a smile, he adds, “I must go to the Palace of Eternal Light for the afternoon audience with His Mightiness. Have you ever been in the Palace?”

  “No, ser.”

  “In a season or so, once people start to think of you as merely my tool, I’ll take you.” The Majer-Commander nods. “Until tomorrow.”

  “Yes, ser.” Lorn bows, then gathers his notes, and slips from the study.

  Outside, he sees Commander Shykt, standing beyond the table desk, and Senior Squad Leader Tygyl. Shykt beckons, and Lorn walks toward the curly-haired and thin-faced commander.

  “Ser?”

  “Interesting point you made about the shape and design of the shields, Majer. You’ve had a great deal of combat experience, have you not?”

  “Yes, ser.”

  “How would you compare your experience in actual skirmishes or battles to that of most majers?”

  Lorn frowns, then replies carefully. “I have probably had less combat experience than some majers because I was promoted more rapidly than many, but I have had more combat experience than perhaps half, and more recent combat experience than almost any.”

  “A fair and accurate answer.” Shykt nods. “I would suggest that you write a short note to Commander Muyro, apologizing-very indirectly- for the suggestion about the shields, but noting that the Majer-Commander knew of your recent combat experience and that you had no choice.”

  “Thank you, ser.”

  “Muyro’s an idiot, Majer, but he’s also a cousin of both Rustyl and the Second Magus. He is one of those officers who forgets nothing, but learns little.”

  “I think I understand, ser.”

  “You don’t, not yet. My son’s an undercaptain at Pemedra. I’d like to see him live to become a majer someday.” Shykt nods. “Good day, Majer.”

  “Good day, ser.”

  Lorn walks slowly back down to his study. Shykt scarcely looks old enough to have a son old enough to be a Mirror Lancer officer, but every word the commander had said had been the truth, without equivocation and without evasion, and that bothered Lorn as much as if there had been some deception in Shykt’s words.

  Then… truth can also be deception.

  Lorn shakes his head.

  XCVII

  Lorn and Ryalth sit across from each other at one end of the long table that can hold nearly a score. Their meal is simple, a fowl casserole, with early peaches, and fresh dark bread.

  Lorn looks up from his platter. “This is good.”

  “Ayleha is a good cook. So is Kysia. At times, the combinations are strange.” Ryalth laughs, holding Kerial in her left arm as she eats right-ha
nded. “You will see.”

  “Anything would be better than outpost fare,” he replies. “I hadn’t realized how much I missed good food.”

  “I have. I just watch you eat.”

  “I’ve missed a lot. Mostly you.”

  The red-haired trader smiles. “I know, and I’m glad of that. I had hoped it would turn this way, but I never counted on it.”

  Lorn returns the smile, but his expression fades quickly.

  “Something’s bothering you,” Ryalth says slowly. “You keep sighing and hesitating, as if you want to talk about it, and you don’t. You’ve been like that for several days.”

  Lorn tilts his head. “I can’t keep much from you.”

  “I can’t keep anything from you,” she points out. “Is it something from the Mirror Lancer Court?”

  “In a way.” He frowns. “It’s stupid, and I didn’t realize that it was bothering me.” Lorn offers a lopsided grin.

  As she chews a mouthful of the casserole, she nods her head for him to continue, and bounces Kerial on her knee in an effort to keep their son content.

  “In my campaigns in Biehl and in Jerans, we came across more than fiftyscore well-forged iron blades and probably threescore cupridium sabres. I have no doubts that the traders of Hamor will be back with scores more. Possibly they are already. There seems to be no scarcity of blades in Jerans, and Jerans is a far poorer land than Cyador.” He takes a sip of the amber ale before continuing. “Yet… there is great concern that the Mirror Lancers will not have weapons, and the Majer-Commander is trying to plan for matters that will not come to pass for years.” Lorn shrugs. “That, I would ask you keep to yourself.”

  “Gaaaa… waa… dah…” Kerial windmills both arms.

  “I will, my dear.” Ryalth shifts the increasingly restless Kerial to her other leg before continuing. “Traders supply what folk want. The barbarians dislike Cyador, and will pay for blades to attack us. To allow such trade is to Hamor’s advantage, and to the traders’ advantage.”

  Lorn purses his lips. “I can see the advantage to the traders.”

  “Dearest… how does the Emperor raise the golds to support the Mirror Lancers and fight the barbarians?”

  Lorn wants to strike his forehead, for the answer is so obvious. “By tariffs, mostly on trade, but he cannot tariff goods coming in as heavily as goods going out because, if the import tariffs are too high, no outsiders will trade.”

  “He cannot tariff outgoing goods heavily, either, or we cannot sell as cheaply as others can, and if that is so, we will not send goods out from Cyador, and there will be fewer tariffs,” Ryalth says. “The lands across the Eastern Ocean have more traders, and the profits are great. They do not protect their traders, but simply let those who trade well, prosper.”

  “So does the Empire of Eternal Light,” Lorn points out.

  “But those across the Eastern Ocean don’t have any lands adjoining them. We do. So they need fewer lancers, and only ships to protect their ports.”

  Lorn reflects. All of the continent of Hamor is under the Hamorian emperor, and no one can attack any of Hamor except by sea. The same is true of both Austra and Nordla, although it is but a short voyage across the Gulf of Austra that separates the two island continents.

  “And Cyador is richer than Jerans or Cerlyn or Gallos or Spidlar,” Ryalth adds. “So the barbarians to our north can see a reason to raid us, if and when they can.”

  “They hate us as well, and will pay for blades to exercise that hatred,” Lorn muses, “while we do not hate them, but merely wish to hold what we have.”

  “They will continue to purchase blades, and Hamor will allow the trade in blades to continue.” Ryalth lifts Kerial. “Now… don’t hit your mother,” she admonishes her son, taking a chubby fist and redirecting it.

  “And,” Lorn continues, “because lands of the Eastern Ocean must support only a few warships, the tariffs on traders are low.”

  Ryalth nods. “But the fireships are less costly to operate because they have smaller crews and can travel faster, and against the wind.”

  “Now that will not be true,” Lorn points out. “Matters will get worse. Sailing warships are more costly.” He frowns. “That is why-”

  “Gaaa!” Kerial interjects.

  “The papers your father provided?” Ryalth guesses.

  “He wrote that the chaos of coal-burning could be harnessed to create steam. There are even plans…”

  “Has anyone suggested such?”

  “No.”

  “There must be a reason. I would not bring that idea forth until you know why.” She lifts Kerial to her shoulder. “Yet I cannot see why. Traders need protection, but Ryalor House cannot afford a single warship. I can provide arms so that pirates will think again, but no trading clan can afford to outfit a ship that will not turn a profit, and warships do not turn profits. Perhaps Vyanat’mer fears that tariffs will go up-and Bluoyal did worry about such, as you know.”

  “The plans are from the Archives of the Quarter-I think that is what my father wrote. Vyanat might not even know,” Lorn says slowly. “Such engines would require much chaos-force to create and would need to be forged by an ironworker and a mage together.”

  “But they would continue the power of the Magi’i,” Ryalth says.

  “Then why has Chyenfel not brought forth such a plan?”

  “Perhaps he has, or perhaps he would wait to offer such until he feels others would support the effort. Would not the chaos-fired steam vessels cost much more to build and require larger crews?”

  Lorn nods. “But they would be faster than sailing ships and could go against the wind.”

  “Whhaaa… gaaa… whaaa!” Kerial flails in his mother’s arms.

  “How could the Empire raise the golds for them? And how could the merchanters pay such tariffs?” Ryalth stands, struggling with Kerial. “Our friend is ready for bed, and I cannot delay or he will be restless for all too long. Best you think about this while I put him down. I will be back when he sleeps.”

  “Go.” Lorn laughs softly.

  As Ryalth carries Kerial from the dining area and up the stairs, Lorn stands and picks up the platters. He considers the questions his father had posed, what seems so long ago, as he carries the platters to the kitchen. Are those who direct power the source of either? That had been the third question, and he is beginning to understand the reasoning behind the question. The First Magus can direct the power of chaos, but is not its source; the chaos-towers and the world itself are. The Majer-Commander controls the Mirror Lancers, but their weapons come from the skills of the cupritors and the Magi’i and their pay from the tariffs on the merchanters. While the fireships effectively are controlled by the Magi’i, once their towers fail, the Magi’i, too, will become more dependent upon the merchanters.

  “I’ll take those, ser,” Kysia offers as Lorn enters the kitchen.

  “Oh, thank you, Kysia. I’ll bring in the other dishes.”

  “You don’t have to, ser.”

  “It’s no problem. Ryalth is putting Kerial to bed.” Lorn turns, his thoughts still churning, turning to the last question posed by his father. How can the world be more simple, and yet more complex?

  He laughs as he picks up the casserole dish, the dish that had held the peaches, and the empty basket that had held bread. The world is governed by power. It may be the power of golds, of chaos, of weapons in the hands of trained men, even of love, or of words well-spoken. The simplicity is that power governs. The complexity is that no man, no group of men, can possibly track all the sources of power and their impacts. Power is like chaos- while it can be used for good or evil at the moment, it is essentially unpredictable over time.

  With a headshake, Lorn hands the dish and basket to Kysia. “Strange thoughts,” is all he says as he walks back through the house and out onto the veranda, where he stands at the edge of the stone, looking up at the night sky. Somewhere out there are the Rational Stars. He smiles at the contradiction of
the two terms. For a star is concentrated chaos, which cannot be rational and predictable, not over time, even as it is, for were the flow of chaos from each star not relatively stable, life would not exist.

  His father was indeed right, not that Lorn has yet figured out any way to turn those observations into use. Lorn has yet to determine how to accomplish the far more simple task of reducing the raids from Jerans with fewer golds and less Mirror Lancer casualties.

  XCVIII

  Lorn steps from his study and out to the table desk in the wide fourth-floor corridor of Mirror Lancer Court. There he hands the three sheets which summarize the meeting dealing with the failure of the chaos-towers and the impact on the Mirror Lancers, to Fayrken. “I’ll need two copies.”

  “I can copy these immediately, ser,” answers the sandy-haired senior squad leader. “Majer Hrenk is still in Fyrad.”

  “Thank you.” Lorn smiles. After nearly two eightdays at the Mirror Lancer Court, he has yet to meet or even see Hrenk, the Mirror Lancer majer who is an aide to Commander Muyro. “Do you know when he’ll be back?”

  “No, ser. He’s inspecting the spring flood damage to the Great Canal. There were more giant stun lizards and more runoff. A message to Commander Muyro about that came yesterday.” Fayrken smiles. “Glad he’s not back yet. If it is like last spring he’ll have a huge report for me to copy.”

  Lorn nods.

  “Majer Lorn.”

  Lorn turns to see the Captain-Commander standing in the fourth-floor foyer. Lorn bows. “Yes, ser?”

  The bushy-browed Luss approaches and halts perhaps three cubits from Lorn. “I was reading your latest report. You write clearly and well, Majer.”

  “Thank you, ser.”

  “I do not think I understood how clearly and well. And you understand much.”

  “I do my best to listen, ser. There’s much I need to learn.”

  “I have noticed that. You also hear what is not said. That, too, is a most valuable talent, particularly when allied with prudence and caution.” Luss smiles with his mouth, but not his eyes. “How are you finding Mirror Lancer Court?”