Scion of Cyador

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  Lorn nods.

  “You do not seem surprised, Majer. Why not?”

  “Because, ser, as you know, a number of officers have already approached me indirectly. If they know, many in power know. They will have contacted you, or others who contacted you, and none will be pleased, except the Emperor. The Emperor will care little for titles, and if you can employ a name to placate others, then it is for the best.”

  “You don’t sound as though you think much of the idea.” Rynst’s eyes are cold as he studies Lorn.

  “I doubt it will change anything, ser. Those with something to gain will not be deceived. Those who do not understand how dangerous the times are will not understand, whatever title is used, and few of the senior commanders will be happy with my being in charge, for whatever reason you give.”

  “You are most cynical, Majer.” Rynst offers a dry laugh. “You have few illusions about your fellow officers, perhaps too few illusions for a majer.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “What if I made you a commander?”

  “They would be even more angry, and I would advise against that, ser.”

  “So would I, and I am glad you see that.” Rynst shakes his head. “In truth, Majer, all you have said, I understand, yet there is a reason why I will do what I told you. Can you suggest why I might?”

  “It implies a weakness in your position, which will allow others the luxury of thinking they have time to plot, when you but wish to ensure that the Mirror Lancer companies arrive and are firmly in my command.” Lorn does not say more, although there is much he could say.

  “You could say more, Majer.”

  “Anything beyond what I have said would be a wager based upon a guess, ser.” Again, Lorn forces himself not to volunteer more.

  “I wished you to know.” Rynst nods. “You may go.”

  After Lorn has risen, bowed, and turned, and has taken several steps toward the door, Rynst says, “Majer…”

  Lorn turns.

  “I would not travel Cyad without your sabre and great care.”

  “Yes, ser.”

  As he heads back down to his study, Lorn questions how much Rynst knows and how much of what the Majer-Commander has implied is based on his understanding of human nature.

  “Does it matter?” Lorn murmurs to himself as he stands and looks out the ancient windows of his study.

  The only things that are clear are that the times are about to change, and are dangerous, and that Lorn must be ready to act when the time comes-if he can even recognize when that will be.

  CXXXIII

  Lorn looks across the dining table at Ryalth, over the large sections of goose they have not touched. The nearly a third of a goose remaining does not include more than half the bird which was already eaten by the other four in the household. Ryalth eats one-handed, occasionally feeding small morsels to the active boy in her lap.

  “What else have you discovered about Tasjan?” asks Lorn.

  Ryalth takes a sip of the ale, then answers. “He has been careful. So far as any know, he has met with no one except those of his own house in the past eightday or so. He continues to seek more guards with experience as armsmen or lancers. You remember Sasyk, his head of guards?”

  Lorn nods.

  “Sasyk is also a cousin of one of your schoolmates, I think. Allyrn’alt is the cousin.”

  “Anything else about Tasjan? What about your Austran trader? Did he have anything to add?”

  “The trader was hoping I had still had grain.”

  “I thought you did,” Lorn says, breaking off a small morsel of bread. “You talked about it earlier because of the poor harvests in Hydlen.”

  “I do, but not at the prices he was willing to pay. He would pay but a tenth-part above what was asked last eightday in the exchange, and but a fraction over the day’s bid. Prices will be half again what they are now by midwinter.” The redhead sips her ale before continuing. “So I told him that it appeared I might have some grain by midwinter, if my shipments came in as paid for, and that he should see me then if he still needed such.”

  “Will he?”

  Ryalth nods, easing Kerial’s hand away from the goblet. “The goblet is for Mother, not for Kerial.”

  “Did he have anything to say about Tasjan?”

  “He was forthright. I must doubt his accuracy, but he said that Tasjan had whole granaries, and would sell to none.”

  “Tasjan’s doing what you are.”

  Ryalth shakes her head. “No. It might seem so, but it is not. I have perchance a hundredscore measures. Tasjan has that a hundredfold. Had I what he does, some I would sell, for one needs goodwill as much as golds.”

  “Why would he hold so much-” Lorn purses his lips for a moment before he speaks. “We need to watch him closely.”

  “My thought, as well… If grain prices and that of flour rise in the winter, then many in Cyador will grow hungry.”

  “And Tasjan will make golds, and use the discontent to blame Vyanat and the Emperor. How many merchanters will support him?” asks Lorn.

  “The Yuryan will not, nor the Hyshrah, not so long as Vyanat is clan head.”

  “Who would become clan head if something were to happen to Vyanat?”

  “His younger brother Vyel is next in line.” Ryalth frowns. “He has cost Vyanat much, and there are rumors that Vyanat has had to pay the Emperor’s Enumerators for tariffs Vyel lied about more than once.”

  “So Tasjan will try to remove Vyanat.”

  “That is why Vyanat cannot take clan status from Bluyet House,” Ryalth points out. “He needs their support, and why Tasjan spread rumors about Vyanat stripping their status.”

  Lorn shakes his head. “Bring our little friend up to the study. Let us see what we can discover.” He stands, then moves around the table and lifts Kerial from Ryalth’s lap. “Come on. Your father will carry up upstairs.”

  “Maa…”

  “Daaa… this time,” Lorn says. “Daaa…”

  “Waaaa…”

  Lorn shakes his head, mock-ruefully, and then shifts his son into his left arm and turns toward the stairs.

  “Maaa…” Kerial repeats.

  “I’m coming, dear. I’m coming,” Ryalth reassures him, following Lorn up the steps and along the upper corridor and into the study.

  Once he has closed the study door-one-handed-Lorn transfers Kerial back to Ryalth and seats himself before the desk, sliding out the glass from the drawer. He concentrates on the image of the slender Tasjan.

  As the silver mists dissipate, Lorn studies the glass, and Ryalth and Kerial watch over his shoulder.

  Although he is alone, Tasjan paces back and forth in a capacious study, before a large carved desk that is of a style Lorn has never seen, with wooden flowers and garlands forming the legs.

  When Tasjan continues to pace, Lorn lets the image lapse. “In a while, I’ll try again. Perhaps we’ll find him in a more compromising situation. I’ll try a few more people.”

  The next image is that of the Captain-Commander. Once again, Luss is dining with the blond commander Lhary. Lorn releases that image almost as soon as it forms.

  “Those two are far too close for my liking.”

  “Lhary commands all the outposts in the west, does he not, all those close to Cyad?” asks Ryalth.

  Lorn nods.

  “That is why you report to the Majer-Commander and will hold the two companies.”

  “One reason, certainly.”

  Lorn tries yet another image, and finds Commander Muyro and a woman in green, presumably his consort, dining with a mage-Rustyl- and a young-faced, but red-haired and large-boned young woman, probably Rustyl’s consort Ceyla, although Lorn has never met the woman, but she looks much like a womanly version of Ciesrt.

  The narrow-faced Rustyl glances up, and tilts his head, almost as if listening. Lorn releases the image, shaking his head.

  “Everyone is tied to another, and all circle, waiting to see what will happen.” Rya
lth laughs.

  After letting the image in the glass lapse, Lorn leans forward and rubs the back of his neck with his left hand. He feels very much like the times are deciding what will occur, the times and not the men, for he can see nothing he dares do-not yet, anyway.

  CXXXIV

  In the midmorning of fourday, Lorn has just finished summarizing another meeting-this one between the Majer-Commander and Commander Muyro about the last details of installing the Mirror Lancer firecannon.

  There is a knock on his study door, and, even before waiting for Lorn’s response, Fayrken steps inside. “Two lancer captains reporting to you, ser.” The senior squad leader’s eyebrows lift.

  “They should be the captains for the two companies-the ones I’m the maneuvers coordinator for. That’s the latest official title.” After a wry smile, Lorn asks, “Do you know who they are?”

  “Cheryk and Esfayl, I believe, were the names, ser.” Fayrken smiles. “They seemed to know you.”

  “Have them come right in.” Lorn stands and waits for the two to enter. The older captain is thin-faced, gray-eyed, long-chinned, and has brown hair tinged with gray; the second has dark curly hair, and a boyish look to his features.

  The long-chinned Cheryk sees Lorn and smiles. “Ser. Might have known it was you.”

  “Ser.” Esfayl barely refrains from shaking his head.

  “It’s good to see you both.” Lorn pauses, then asks, “Your orders didn’t say who your commander would be?”

  “No, ser. We got here, and climbed up to the top floor, and the senior squad leader said that you were our commander. Here…” The veteran with the pale gray eyes extends the scroll.

  Lorn takes the scroll and reads it.

  …report to the Majer-Commander, lancer headquarters, for further assignment in Cyad as determined by the needs of the Mirror Lancers…

  Then he hands the scroll back, wondering exactly how much to tell the two.

  “Ser… before I forget… Majer Brevyl sent a message,” Cheryk offers.

  “Majer Brevyl?” Lorn cannot help but frown. “He was at Biehl. What’s he doing in Inividra?”

  “They sent him from Biehl for a season, ser. Something about making sure that everything was the way it was supposed to be.”

  After a moment, Lorn asks, “The message?” He would wager that he knows the sort of message Brevyl would send.

  Esfayl smiles, his expression confirming Lorn’s suspicions.

  “He said, ser, that he still didn’t care for you personally, but that if you ever made commander, or higher rank, he’d accept serving under you just to see if you have the same nerve when you had power as when you didn’t.”

  Lorn bursts into laughter. “He hasn’t changed a bit. How did you find him?”

  Cheryk and Esfayl exchange glances. Finally, Cheryk speaks. “His words are rougher than yours, but no one noticed much difference, except that he seldom commands patrols. Gyraet does.”

  “Did that work out?”

  “Yes, ser. Good man. He’s a permanent overcaptain now.” Cheryk looks around the small study before speaking again. “The majer also said, ser, that we’d be the first Mirror Lancers stationed in Cyad in generations.”

  “That’s true. One reason for that is that the Empire is losing its fireships, and that leaves the Mirror Lancers as the most powerful weapon remaining.”

  “What about the Magi’i?” asks Esfayl.

  “Individually, a number of them are very powerful, but there aren’t that many. That means you have a task to do. It’s necessary, and if everything goes right, unless someone’s really careless, it won’t get anyone killed.” Lorn smiles. “Call it a reward of sorts.”

  “Ser?”

  Lorn laughs at the dubious tone in Cheryk’s voice. “It’s simple enough. The outlanders have never seen any of the Morror Lancers’ powers, except the fireships, and most outlanders generally only port in places like Cyad, Fyrad, or Summerdock, where there aren’t many lancers, even though much of Cyador’s strength lies in the lancers. We will be conducting maneuvers-almost on a parade ground-with firelances, whenever the Majer-Commander thinks an important trader is around. Some will even be invited to watch.”

  Cheryk nods. “Sort of following up on what we did in Jerans?”

  “In a way. To show the outlanders that, whether we have the fireships or not, the Mirror Lancers are to be reckoned with.”

  “Is that why the Majer-Commander brought you here, ser?” asks Esfayl.

  “I don’t think so, but I wouldn’t presume to guess about what the Majer-Commander plans and how far he thinks into the future.” Lorn clears his throat before continuing. “Now… you’ll be billeted in a warehouse that they’ve converted into a barracks with officers’ quarters. I’ve seen it, and the quarters are not bad. If you have family here, or find a place to live… you can do that, but one of you has to be able to be reached by messenger at all times…”

  Lorn goes on to explain the details, finally ending with, “…if you can’t find me, Fayrken can.” He pauses. “Oh… and the only one who can countermand my orders is the Majer-Commander or the Emperor.”

  Cheryk looks hard at Lorn.

  “Those are the near-exact words of the Majer-Commander,” Lorn answers.

  “Ser…”

  “I know… they’re strange orders, but that’s the way it is.”

  Cheryk looks at Esfayl, then at Lorn. “You report directly to the Majer-Commander, ser?”

  Lorn nods.

  A slow smile fills the older captain’s face. “We’ll be having an interesting year, ser.”

  “I hope not, but it could be.” Lorn waits for a moment, and then asks, “Any other questions?”

  “No, ser. Both companies are supposed to be here day after tomorrow. When do you want us to start running drills?”

  “How about the next day?” Lorn pauses. “Give it some thought. Why don’t you both come by after midday tomorrow? Then we’ll discuss the kind of drills that might serve our needs.”

  “We’ll be here, ser.” Both captains bow.

  After the two leave, Lorn goes to the doorway and looks into the foyer. Fayrken is alone at the central desk, and Lorn steps out to talk to the senior squad leader.

  “Yes, ser?”

  “I’ll need two copies of this for the Majer-Commander. It’s another meeting report, on firecannon transport to Cyad.” Lorn pauses for a moment. “Were you ever able to find anyone who’d heard of a lancer named Sasyk?”

  “Yes, ser. Much easier-real sour pearapple, ser. He was a captain at one of the small outposts-Tyert… that’s one that used to report to Assyadt, but they closed it. Anyway, about ten years ago, he took his company and killed an entire settlement in the Grass Hills. He claimed they were barbarians posing as settlers. The Majer-Commander sent several commanders to look into it. They found barbarian weapons and some Jeranyi golds, and not much was said. Then, something else happened-no one seems to know what, except that he got cashiered there. He disappeared for a year or two and then came back to Cyad. He is the head of guards for one of the trading houses-someone said Dyjani. None of the senior squad leaders I could talk to knew much more, except that he was supposed to be very good with both a firelance and a sabre.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Not a problem, ser.”

  Lorn does not frown until he returns to his study. Outside the ancient panes, although the sky is clear, the wind has begun to whistle as if heralding a storm.

  CXXXV

  As the carriage comes to a halt in the circular drive, Lorn opens the door from inside and steps out, extending a hand to Ryalth. She descends onto a white marble mounting block and looks over a halfscore of wide white marble steps that climb to a columned entrance portico. Behind the portico rises a two-story villa that stretches more than a hundred cubits north and south of the portico. Each level of the long dwelling is surrounded by shaded and columned porticos, and on the east side of the circular drive is a garden, en
closed by a hedge with a single entrance-and that entrance is a topiary gate.

  Lorn steps down off the mounting block and around to the gray-haired coachman with the kindly and wrinkled face. He looks up and extends a half-silver. “If you could come back at around the eighth bell… ?”

  “Be pleased to, ser.”

  The carriage draws away and Ryalth turns to Lorn. “You said that golds ran in Tyrsal’s family. This is grander than any of the dwellings of the major clan heads.”

  “I know,” Lorn says. “Tyrsal doesn’t like to talk about it. He feels it’s really still his mother’s dwelling, and he’s embarrassed that it’s his. Now that he’s consorted…” He looks up as Tyrsal hurries out of the portico and down the steps.

  “Lorn, Ryalth! I was talking to Mother and Aleyar and didn’t hear the carriage at the gate. It’s good to see you both again.”

  “Since three days ago?” asks Lorn.

  “You know what I meant. Besides, this is the first time we’ve been able to have you for dinner.” Tyrsal leads them up the entry stairs, then through a blue marble-tiled entry foyer to another set of steps. At the top of the wide marble staircase, he turns right along another corridor to the first archway.

  Aleyar rises from an old blue-upholstered armchair as the three step through an archway into a sitting room that is alone half the size of the entire first floor of Ryalth’s and Lorn’s dwelling. The healer smiles warmly. “I’m so glad you could come.”

  “We are glad to be here,” replies Ryalth.

  Tyrsal’s mother remains seated in the other upholstered armchair, adjoining the one where Aleyar had been sitting.

  Tyrsal steps forward. “This is my mother, Ensra. Mother, you remember Ryalth.”

  “She looks as charming and beautiful as before.”