Scion of Cyador

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  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.”

  “It’s been quite some time, Rustyl,” Lorn says easily. He gestures. “I see that you are a full first-level adept. That’s quite an honor and accomplishment.”

  “Oh… thank you. I’ve been fortunate in what I’ve been able to do in the Magi’i.”

  “Were you involved in the Accursed Forest ward project? If so, I’d like to thank you,” Lorn goes on. “Its success has made possible the transfer of more lancers to deal with the threat of the barbarians.”

  “That was an effort by the First Magus, and my part was minor,” Rustyl admits. “At the time, I was assisting the Mirror Engineers in Fyrad.”

  Lorn detects the shading of truth in the response, but merely nods. “And now?”

  “I do whatever the First Magus requires.”

  “As do we all,” Liataphi says dryly.

  “Well… whatever you do, I’m sure it is for the good of Cyador, and I know that you will continue that work. It’s good to see you.” Lorn smiles and nods.

  “I’d best be escorting the Majer out of the Quarter, Rustyl, but I thought it would be a shame if I did not bring him by.”

  “Thank
you, ser.” Rustyl inclines his head. “It was good to see you again, Lorn.”

  “And you, too.” Lorn can easily detect the lack of truth in Rustyl’s parting words, and the dislike beneath their pleasant tone.

  Liataphi and Lorn walk back down the corridor.

  “I thought you should see Rustyl, if briefly,” offers the older magus.

  “Your kindness and perception are much appreciated,” Lorn replies.

  “In these times that verge on great change,” Liataphi continues, “it is best to know how those who may affect you feel, and not how they are presented by yet others. For that reason alone, I am most pleased that you followed your father’s suggestions.” The Third Magus walks past his own doorway and toward the foyer. He does not halt until he has passed the desk and the fourth-level adept who sits there. “It has been good to see you, Majer. Convey my best to the Majer-Commander, and assure him that the Magi’i will do their best.”

  “That I will, ser.”

  “And perhaps my consort and I could host you and your consort at a dinner with your friend Tyrsal and Aleyar.”

  “I would like that, and I think Ryalth would as well. I have been out of Cyad so long that I fear she had thought we would never be able to meet people together.”

  “I will send an invitation from my consort to yours. That will make it more social.”

  “Thank you, ser.”

  “You are welcome. I imagine you can find your own way from the Quarter.”

  “That I can, ser.”

  Liataphi smiles, then nods for Lorn to depart.

  Once again conscious of eyes on his back, Lorn turns and walks down the steps. Will his meeting with Liataphi lead to more? That, Lorn cannot say, except that Liataphi has offered as much encouragement as any of the Three Magi’i could, and Lorn senses neither deception nor malice in the man. He wishes he could say the same for Rustyl.

  CVII

  In the full light of a late afternoon in midsummer, Lorn unlocks the iron gate to the dwelling, steps inside, and locks it behind him. Once inside, he pauses to blot his forehead with the back of his hand. Then he steps around the privacy hedge and starts toward the cooling spray of the fountain, already savoring the cooler air inside the walls that surround the garden.

  Sssssssss!!! Two white objects flutter out of the shade to his right. Lorn staggers as a dull blow slams into his right thigh. Something else jabs at his left calf.

  His sabre is in his hand before he realizes the attackers are two large grayish white geese. He steps back, using the flat of the blade to blunt the jabbing beaks, although the cacophony of hisses and squawklike noises continues as he edges around the big birds and toward the veranda, and as the geese pursue him with darting bills and an occasional blow from a cocked wing.

  He laughs as he climbs the steps onto the polished tiles under the veranda roof and turns to see Ryalth emerging from the foyer, also laughing.

  “Dearest! How do you like our guards?” Ryalth straightens up, still laughing as she speaks.

  “I doubt any will enter the house without their presence being well and fully announced.”

  “We will have to pen them, I fear, when we have company for dinner.”

  “That might be wise.” Lorn glances back at the two hissing birds, who remain on the walk, their small eyes fixed on him.

  “I’d like you to meet Pheryk.” The redhead turns to the figure who has followed her.

  A muscular man with iron-gray hair and a short square beard stands just beyond the door to the foyer under the roof of the veranda. Behind him is a slender white-haired woman, who continues to smile.

  “Most would have run or slashed up the geese,” Pheryk observes with a smile on his mouth and in the dark brown eyes.

  “I was surprised,” Lorn admits. “I didn’t expect the geese so soon.”

  “You told me that sooner was better,” Ryalth points out.

  “Indeed I did.” Lorn laughs once more.

  Ryalth turns to the white-haired woman. “This is Ghrety. She’s Pheryk’s consort.”

  “We’re most pleased that we can be of service,” Ghrety says, bowing. “Never thought that little Ryalth would ever be a mighty trader lady.”

  “I take it that you’ve known Ghrety before.” Lorn looks to his consort.

  “Of course, dear. She was my nursemaid’s sister, and I knew she’d consorted with a Mirror Lancer. Actually, that was how I found Kysia to begin with, because Ghrety recommended her. Kysia’s Pheryk’s cousin.”

  Lorn nods. Ryalth will not bring anyone into the household whom she cannot trust. “I’m am glad you are both here. I am sure Ryalth has already told you of my concerns.”

  “Yes, ser.” Pheryk smiles. “Be good for us, as well. For now, young Phelyt and his consort can have our place without the old folk to worry about, and we’ll have the pleasure of a young one about-and folk who need what we do.”

  “Young Kerial-he’ll be needing clothes, too,” adds Ghrety.

  “All the time,” Ryalth says. “He’s growing so fast.”

  There is a moment of silence.

  “Not that I’d be meaning to put sweetsap in your mouth, ser,” offers Pheryk, “but when word got round about what you did to the barbarians, many were the plain lancers who cheered under their breath. More of that been done years back, never would we have had the troubles of the past years.”

  “That’s what I thought,” Lorn says. “I was fortunate enough to be where I could do something about it.”

  Pheryk smiles. “Once, ser, that be a happy accident. Twice be not.”

  Lorn shrugs. “Best I still claim fortune and such in Cyad.”

  “Aye.” The gray-bearded man nods. “That I understand.”

  Lorn glances back at the geese, who have reduced their clamor to an occasional hiss, and half smiles, before turning to his consort. “Have you all any more surprises for me?”

  “Well… we now have iron bolts, and Pheryk has put them in place on most of the doors.”

  “My da-he was a journeyman cabinet-maker, and I learned a thing or two before I joined the lancers,” explains the gray-haired veteran. “Be a shame to scar the doors more than you must.”

  Lorn nods. Once more, Ryalth has done far better than he could have.

  CVIII

  In the fading light of a late-summer afternoon, the first-level adept steps into the study of the High Lector and First Magus of Cyador. He bows. “Thank you for allowing me to intrude, ser.”

  “You seldom intrude, Rustyl. Or not without reason. You may sit.” Chyenfel brushes back his silvering black hair. “What did you wish?”

  The tall and blond Rustyl looks at the First Magus for several moments, as if deciding how to begin. “Did you know that Majer Lorn was in the Quarter the other day? He was meeting with the Third Magus.”

  “That is not surprising. The Third Magus often meets with the officers serving the Majer-Commander to advise them on matters such as the availability of firewagons and the services we provide them. Those are part of his duties.”

  “A mere majer?” Rustyl sneers, his deep-set eyes cold in his narrow face.

  “Majer Lorn is perhaps the most effective field commander the Mirror Lancers have had in generations. The Majer-Commander knows that the lancers will soon have to do without firelances. Why would he not have such a commander talk to Liataphi?” Chyenfel smiles coolly. “The Majer-Commander is not unaware of the majer’s background as a student magus. Do you think he would not employ such?”

  “I had thought of that, ser. Yet…” Rustyl leaves the words hanging.

  “ ‘Yet’? You believe there is more?” Chyenfel’s voice offers a tone of mild curiosity. “What might that be?”

  “That… I thought you might know, ser. The Third Magus did make a point of bringing Lorn to see me.” Rustyl looks directly at the First Magus.

  “To upset you, Rustyl. And he has clearly done that.”

  Rustyl smooths away the momentary frown on his
face. “Yes, ser. Yet I do not see what purpose that served.”

  “Liataphi knows that I have given you duties to prepare you for greater responsibilities. Perhaps he wished to show you that there are others in Cyad to whom equivalent responsibilities have also been given. While Majer Lorn was not suitable for the Magi’i, that does not mean he lacks ability, and the Majer-Commander has recognized that ability.”

  Rustyl nods.

  “And I have no doubts whatsoever that Liataphi wanted to reintroduce you to Lorn not only to suggest that you are not so special as you believe yourself, but to use you to deliver the same message to me.” Chyenfel smiles coldly. “And you have done so.”

  “I beg your pardon and indulgence, ser.”

  “That is acceptable, Rustyl. Liataphi has suggested that he does not wish to be First Magus. He has even hinted that he may not wish even to be Second Magus. He does not wish, however, that whoever may follow me be excessively arrogant, and this little stratagem was designed to call my attention to your stratagems.” The First Magus steeples his fingers together above the polished golden-oak surface of his desk table. “You dislike Majer Lorn. The Third Magus knows this. Lorn is perceptive enough to sense this dislike. Now… Liataphi has been able to convey to the Majer-Commander, with little beyond a polite greeting, that you are arrogant and to be watched with care. You are one of my proteges. Therefore, I must be watched as well.”

  Rustyl is silent for a long time.

  “You have a question, yet you have concerns about voicing it,” Chyenfel finally says.

  “Yes, ser. I honestly do not understand what the Third Magus would gain from this.”

  “I should not have to explain, Rustyl. Think.” Chyenfel leans back and waits.