Scion of Cyador

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “I heard them,” Lorn says. “That he was the Hand of the Emperor. He never told me anything like that, and there wasn’t a thing in his papers or his letters that mentioned it, even indirectly.” He shrugs. “That doesn’t mean he wasn’t, but I’d guess that the Emperor would be the only one who could say, and he’s said nothing. Not that I know, anyway.”

  “He hasn’t named a new Hand, either, from what I’ve overheard,” Tyrsal says.

  “Father says he should, but will not, not until he names a successor,” Aleyar volunteers.

  “A successor?” Ryalth frowns.

  “The Emperor looks young, but he is not. This is something all healers know, though we say little,” Aleyar replies. “The Empress is a healer, and tends him constantly, so that he looks young. They have no children, not even any nieces or nephews, and both have outlived their siblings. There was a nephew, but he was a lancer officer who was killed years ago.”

  A nephew killed years ago-that alone indicates an old Emperor to Lorn. “No one speaks about a successor.”

  “No one will,” says Ryalth. “Not openly. The Magi’i and the lancers do not want to lose their powers, and the merchanters do not want Cyador to be seen as any weaker or as in turmoil, because we will lose golds.”

  “There must be some in Cyad who could turn that to a profit,” suggests Lorn.

  “There are, and they will, and the clans will let them, so long as it is done quietly.”

  “And if not?” questions Tyrsal.

  “Several warehouses burned, and some ships never returned to port before the lancers and the Magi’i agreed on Toziel’s sire. And the Captain-Commander of Mirror Lancers was killed by the old Third Magus, and the Second Magus vanished.”

  “That’s not in the history scrolls,” Tyrsal says dryly.

  Aleyar laughs softly.

  “I know. I know,” replies the redheaded magus. “I am hopeless in my desires for openness and truth.”

  “You never told me that Lorn had suggested you meet me,” Aleyar points out sweetly. “That was not in your personal-history scroll.”

  Tyrsal shakes his head so ruefully that the other three laugh. “Best I talk of some other matters. Quickly. How is Myryan doing?”

  “She says she’s fine.” Lorn shrugs. “I still worry about her. She’s so sweet, but her eyes are sad, like Mother’s were the last time I saw her.”

  “We choose to be healers,” Aleyar says quietly.

  “But your choices are limited,” Ryalth points out. “As the daughter of a magus, you can keep the house of your consort, or become a healer, or do both…”

  “Or leave Cyador,” Aleyar says. “Before I met Tyrsal, I was thinking about that. Healers are welcome elsewhere in Candar, especially in the east. Lydiar, especially.”

  “You would have done that?” asks Tyrsal.

  “Rather than accept someone like Rustyl? Certainly. Father can protect me now… but he is not so young as he thinks.”

  Lorn holds back a frown. The Emperor is old. So are Rynst and Liataphi.

  “Here are the tarts!” Ryalth announces as Kysia appears with a platter.

  Lorn smiles. He can do little else this evening, except enjoy Ryalth and the company of Tyrsal and Aleyar-and he is happy for his friend.

  Besides, the pearapple tarts are good. He has already sampled one in the kitchen earlier.

  C

  His Mightiness Toziel’elth’alt’mer leans forward in the smaller malachite and silver throne of the Lesser Audience Hall. “We now have but four fireships capable of protecting our interests.” His eyes go to Rynst. “How goes the construction of the three sailing warships?”

  “The first will be completed by late fall, the others thereafter.” Rynst nods slightly.

  “And the cannon?”

  “We have tested one. More work will be required.”

  “And how many golds?” asks Vyanat’mer.

  Toziel’s head turns slowly from Rynst to Vyanat. “You question the need for such weapons and vessels?”

  “The need for such vessels? And more armament?” Vyanat’mer shakes his head. “The need, never. I question how we can afford such. Already the Empire of Eternal Light tariffs those of us who are merchanters at nearly ten golds on every hundred we take in.”

  “The tariffs of Hamor are higher than that,” Chyenfel points out.

  The gray-haired Rynst glances from Toziel to the First Magus, then to the blue-eyed Merchanter Advisor.

  In her smaller seat behind Toziel’s shoulder, Ryenyel appears disinterested, her eyes absently ranging from one advisor to another.

  The merchanter laughs ruefully. “The tariffs levied by the Hamorians are high on parchment, but their enumerators are not so well-trained, and can be bribed by those of Hamor. I would even guess that bribery is encouraged. Were I to attempt such, I would lose a ship or a hand or both. So we pay golds there, and those are golds they do not pay, while they but pay ours. That can mean that our traders often pay twice as much in tariffs as do the Hamorians.”

  “Without fireships and a larger fleet…” Rynst says quietly.

  “You wish that we should go to war against Hamor?” asks Toziel. “Or bar our ports to the Hamorians, so that they will bar theirs to us?”

  “No, sire.” Rynst shakes his head. “No, sire, but the Hamorians know we cannot do such.”

  “Why can we not require the Hamorians to pay greater tariffs than do our traders?” asks Chyenfel.

  “Then they will do the same,” counters Vyanat, “and we will find ourselves in an even worse position.”

  “How then, honored Merchanter Advisor, would you counsel me?”

  “I would counsel you to reduce the tariffs on all goods.”

  “And how are we to support the Mirror Lancers and keep the barbarians from pouring across the Grass Hills?” Toziel raises his eyebrows. “With fewer firelances and recharges available, we need more lancers, not fewer.”

  “Lower their stipends,” Vyanat says genially. “By increasing tariffs, you have lowered what we make and can pay our seamen and workers.”

  “They will be risking their lives more,” Rynst says, “and you suggest we pay them less?”

  “You cannot pay what you do not have,” Vyanat counters. “If tariffs are raised, fewer goods will pass through Cyad. We already trade fewer goods than generations earlier. One has but to look at the empty warehouses and piers to see that. Fewer goods provide fewer golds in tariffs. That is true even with higher tariffs.”

  Toziel frowns, then ringers his chin. “Let me say what you all have said: Because we have fewer warships, our traders pay higher tariffs elsewhere in the world. To build more warships will require golds. To get the golds one must raise tariffs on something. Raising tariffs will lower the golds we gather because fewer goods will come to Cyad and fewer will leave. Without more golds we cannot pay for more Mirror Lancers, but we will need more lancers because we have fewer firelances and firewagons.” The Emperor pauses. “If you are all correct, then Cyador is doomed. Yet we are prosperous. So there must be a fault in this reasoning.” He smiles. “I would that each of you reflect on this and bring me your thoughts the day after tomorrow.” He stands.

  The three advisors bow as the Emperor of Cyador, Land of Eternal Light, turns and makes his way from the audience hall, followed by Ryenyel.

  CI

  Lorn leans forward in his study chair, ignoring the warm afternoon breeze of full summer that scarcely cools Mirror Lancer Court at all. He forces himself to read slowly over the summary and conclusion page of his draft plan for dealing with the Jeranyi-the paragraphs that matter the most, in a way, since he doubts anyone but the Majer-Commander will ever see more than the summaries. Perhaps even Rynst will not read more than the summary.

  As he has drafted the plan, Lorn has included everything he can think of, from the costs of carrying blades from Hamor-figures Eileyt and Ryalth had helped him calculate-to distances between the planned stops of a campaign to
take Jera, and even the supplies necessary in the event that the Mirror Lancers were not to raid the storehouses of the Jeranyi.

  He forces his eyes back to the lines that feel so tired, because they are the result of far too many drafts, and far too many revisions.

  …Cliffs form most of the coastline from Biehl to a point roughly one hundred kays west of Rulyarth. Jera is the only port with practical access to the lands of Jerans. Control of the port, therefore, controls the majority of trade… The Jeranyi do not have supplies of iron or metal-working skills. That is true especially for finely-wrought metals and weapons. If Cyador holds Jera, then Cyador can limit the easy flow of blades to the Jeranyi…

  Any campaign to take the port of Jera can be accomplished with tenscore lancers, although a larger force would limit any uncertainty…

  …The geography of Jera is such that a fortified wall can be placed on the highlands west of the port to limit access and to control the trade along the River Jeryna… With the growing possibility of the lack of chaos-powered tools in the future, such a fortification should be started immediately after the port is taken.

  The harbor waters are shallow. Deeper draft vessels must be moored at the end of long piers necessary to reach deeper water. To build piers closer to the port’s seawall will require extensive dredging. In either case, once the port is taken by land, it would be difficult, if not impossible, for any enemy to land armsmen or lancers by ship inside the fortifications…

  This plan may well have defects, and is not without its costs. It will not eliminate all future losses by the Mirror Lancers to Jeranyi and Cerlynyi barbarians in the Grass Hills. Any other plan is highly unlikely to prove either effective or workable, as detailed above.

  Lorn takes a deep breath. The last sentence is the dangerous one, because it is impossible to prove another plan will not work without implementing it-and failing.

  Finally, he stands and carries the plan out to Fayrken for the senior squad leader to copy before Lorn takes it upstairs to Tygyl for delivery to the Majer-Commander.

  “Ser?” inquires the squad leader as Lorn approaches his table.

  Lorn hands the report to Fayrken. “This is the report that the Majer-Commander requested. I need just one copy.”

  Fayrken takes the sheets, and studies them. “Lot of writing here, ser. Late tomorrow, I’d say.”

  “When you can.” Lorn smiles faintly.

  “Be starting it now, ser. With the firewagons running less often, I’d guess, Commander Hrenk is still in Fyrad.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Yes, ser.” Fayrken nods.

  After Lorn walks back into his study, closing the door behind him, he looks down at the polished surface of the desk, then out through the open window at the clouds to the north that promise a late-afternoon thundershower. He has already spent almost half a season in Cyad, going to meetings, taking notes, and writing reports, and he feels as though he has accomplished almost nothing, except learning how-in his sparring with Tyrsal-to handle a sabre in either hand without using his eyes at all.

  The best thing about his assignment in Cyad is that he and Ryalth have had much more time together, and that he has had a chance to get to know his son. Yet that happiness is tinged with the certainty that times are changing in Cyador-emphasized by the fact that he is being followed by more than one magus in more than one chaos-glass-and that such change is likely to become more and more swift as the seasons pass.

  The chaos-tower in yet another fireship has failed. There is no word on the appointment of a new Hand of the Emperor. The number and frequency of firewagons traveling the Great Eastern and Great North Highways has been reduced twice. The number of recharges for firelances has been reduced to an average of one per season per lancer, and the cupritors are beginning to fashion cupridium lances destined for not just District Guards, but for the Mirror Lancers as well, though none have said such openly.

  In the shipyards at Fyrad, the keels have been laid on two new warships-sailing warships. And although Lorn has the plans for better vessels, he dares not bring them forth, not when every gold spent by the lancers is grudged by the merchanters and questioned by the Magi’i, and not when the basis of such plans comes from hidden Magi’i sources.

  CII

  Lorn sits in the armless chair at the conference table to the left of the Majer-Commander, as Captain-Commander Luss seats himself at the far end of the table. The redheaded Commander Sypcal, the Eastern Regional Commander, sits on the left side. Across from him is the tall and blond Commander Lhary, the Western Regional Commander.

  Rynst lifts the thin stack of papers and then sets them on the conference table before him. “I have read your report, Commanders, but I would like your views on what is most important.” The Majer-Commander’s eyes focus on the red-haired Sypcal. “First, your thoughts, Sypcal.”

  “Yes, ser.” Sypcal glances down at the report before him, then squares his shoulders slightly. “As you know, ser, firelances have been the most important tactical weapon of the Mirror Lancers against the barbarians of the north since the beginning of Cyad. Our tactics have been based on their use, and replacement with cupridium lances will require extensive retraining of both officers and lancers. New tactics will need to be developed and implemented, and casualties will certainly be higher initially, and perhaps always.” Sypcal pauses. “I could offer more details, but those are the considerations I see.”

  Rynst nods. Luss does not.

  “Commander Lhary?” asks Rynst, his voice level. “Can you add anything?”

  “Yes, ser.” The blond commander looks directly at Rynst. “You requested that we address what would happen if the long cupridium lances replaced the firelances. The first impact would be on tactics. We would lose the ability to kill barbarians at a distance. While a firelance is not accurate beyond thirty to forty cubits for the average lancer, that distance accounts for roughly one-quarter of barbarian deaths in a battle. We have been killing three to four barbarians for every lancer killed. If the cupridium lances and the sabres remain as effective as the firelances and the sabres in close combat, the loss of stand-away killing power will mean that we will lose almost one lancer for every two barbarians killed. In the first assault, when forces actually meet, the cupridium lances, because of their length, will be slightly more effective, but become almost useless in a melee, whereas firelances retain some effectiveness.” Lhary smiles politely and clears his throat gently before continuing. “We have studied the battle reports of the past two years. We estimate that we will lose another three to four lancers in each melee involving a full lancer company.

  “…In effect, to compensate for the total loss of firelances, each outpost which had five companies before this year, and which now has six as a result of the transfers from the companies that were patrolling the Accursed Forest, will require at least one additional company.”

  Luss nods, ever so slightly.

  “I see,” Rynst says. “Together you are suggesting that we will need more training and more lancers, and that our casualties will be higher. This will cost more golds, and those costs do not include the golds required to pay for obtaining the cupridium lances.” Rynst leans forward.

  Sypcal nods.

  “That is true, Majer-Commander,” Lhary replies smoothly. “We felt that you should know fully what the costs would be before you supported or opposed any changes in the placement and numbers of Mirror Lancer companies in the north.”

  Lorn tries to keep taking notes as quietly as possible, while still studying the faces of the officers and trying to truth-read them.

  “What do you think, Luss?” asks Rynst.

  “I would suggest that you study the report most carefully and become most familiar with the calculations before you discuss matters in any meeting with the Merchanter Advisor. Commander Lhary can be asked about the calculations, Commander Sypcal about the tactical questions.”

  Rynst offers a faint smile. “It appears as though none of our cho
ices are to our favor. To control the barbarians we cannot use the tactics and weapons we have favored. Nor is it likely that the Emperor will favor spending the golds necessary to maintain the northern outposts in the way suggested by your report, Commanders.” He looks at Luss. “Do you think so, Captain-Commander?”

  “At present, it would seem unlikely, ser.” Luss’s voice is cautious.

  “I would have all of you consider what other approaches to dealing with the barbarians might be possible, and at what costs.” Rynst looks first at Lhary, then at Sypcal. He does not actually look at Luss.

  “Yes, ser,” replies the redheaded commander.

  “Ser,” adds Lhary.

  “We will meet again in an eightday.” Rynst stands. “Until next twoday.”

  Lorn stands with the other officers, waiting until Luss and the two commanders depart before gathering his notes.

  “I would like your report on this meeting by midday tomorrow, Majer.”

  “Yes, ser.”

  “It will be interesting to see what happens at the next meeting on this matter.” Rynst offers a broad smile.

  “Ser.” Lorn bows.

  “You may go, Majer.”

  Lorn bows again, and makes his way from the long study out into the fifth-floor foyer, nodding to Tygyl as he passes the desk where the senior squad leader sits.

  “Majer?”

  Lorn looks to the top of the open stone staircase where the Captain-Commander waits. “Yes, ser?”

  “Have you finished your report to the Majer-Commander, Majer?” Luss offers an ingratiating smile.

  “I have submitted a draft, ser.” Lorn shrugs apologetically. “I do not know if the Majer-Commander has read it. He has not spoken about it. He has not asked for changes or revisions.”

  “I am most certain he will, in his own time, Majer. The Majer-Commander always acts when he wishes.”

  Lorn nods.

  “And he uses what will benefit him and the Mirror Lancers, in whatever fashion may best serve both,” Luss adds. “Serving in Mirror Lancer Court is not the place for those who wish to be known in Cyad or Cyador.”