Scion of Cyador

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “Ah… Vyel… this is Majer Lorn. Majer, my brother Vyel.”

  Vyel smiles pleasantly.

  Lorn notes the single gold front tooth. He feels that Ryalth does, as well, although nothing changes in her expression or posture.

  Lorn smiles at Vyel. “You had much to do with the… difficulties with the Hypolya, did you not?”

  Vyanat glances at Ryalth, who shrugs.

  “Honored ser… I fear I do not understand.”

  Lorn smiles. “I must have been mistaken.” Lorn smiles. “But could you tell me why you chose Benylt?” He pauses long enough to get the internal reaction he seeks, then adds, “Was that because of your respect for Tasjan? Or because of his promises?”

  “I fear, ser, that you are gravely mistaken, and were you not a consort-”

  Lorn looks hard at Vyel. “You do not have to answer to me, Vyel. I suggest you answer to your brother and your house.” He smiles again, and then turns to Vyanat. “I fear, most honorable Merchanter Advisor, that I have trespassed upon your hospitality, and upon your forbearance, but well you should know that there have been two attempts on my consort’s life in the past eightday. I would not intrude upon merchanter matters, but for her safety, and for the fact that I fear the devious Tasjan would put his green-clad guards against Mirror Lancer Court, after he has destroyed your reputation for honor, and that is something none of us would wish.” Lorn inclines his head toward Vyel. “I fear your younger brother has had the misfortune to be indebted in some fashion to Tasjan, and, if it is not handled discreetly, you will find matters most difficult. So… as is most unlike my usual fashion, I will leave the matter in your hands.”

  Vyanat looks at Lorn. “What you say is a charge most serious, and you have presented no evidence.”

  “There is little evidence, honored Vyanat, save two attempts on my consort, and the word of a would-be assassin, who died later of his wounds, that he was hired by a merchanter involved with the Hypolya who also had a gold front tooth.” Lorn shrugs. “I am certain, that with your skills, you can determine the truth of the matter far better than I. As for me, I would prefer that you do.” He offers a last smile. “But should anything else along this line occur, you will understand fully that I will be far, far less forbearing.”

  “Majer…” Vyanat’s voice is low and almost threatening. “You come into my house, on my sufferance of your consort’s position…”

  Lorn’s eyes are hard, like frozen fire, as he faces Vyanat. “Honored Merchanter Advisor-and you are honored-were my consort not convinced absolutely of your personal honesty and worthiness, I would not be here, and neither would your brother. You have read of my devotion to Cyador. I am even more devoted to my consort. Your brother’s actions endanger both. Because of your honor, I offer you the chance to address the matter. Only because of your honor.”

  After a long stillness, Vyanat nods slowly. “Were I in your boots, I would feel much the same-”

  “I am glad you understand.” Lorn pauses. “When I was at Assyadt, Commander Ikynd observed that, while I was born in Cyad, I would never be a city lancer, for I loved all of Cyador too much…” His eyes go to Vyel. “I hope you have the wisdom to offer the truth and throw yourself on your brother’s mercy. I have no mercy for those who would have blood flow across the sunstones of Cyad.” Lorn looks back at Vyanat. “I would have you know, also, that I did not tell my consort the precise reason for my wish to see you this morning, only that it concerned last evening’s attack.” He bows. “I have troubled you long enough, honored Merchanter Advisor. We can find our way back to Ryalor House. Good day.”

  A slight smile crosses Vyanat’s mouth, although his eyes are cold as he looks to Ryalth. “He is devoted, Lady, and you are fortunate. The rest of us may not be so.”

  Ryalth returns the smile with one equally cool. “We are most fortunate that Lorn is most temperate, and most farseeing, honored Vyanat, you in particular. You have the first opportunity to avoid what might well be seen as a sign of weakness in a time when weakness is less than acceptable.” She bows and turns.

  Lorn takes her arm, and they walk down the corridor and then down the steps to the main Traders’ Plaza.

  Outside, Ryalth raises her eyebrows as she looks at her consort. “You came perilously close to insulting his house, dearest.”

  “I have no quarrel with him or with Hyshrah Clan, but I want him to act.”

  “So that the Mirror Lancers cannot be said to become involved in merchanter affairs? Or to make Vyanat seem stronger and more perceptive to Tasjan?”

  “The wisest of leaders can be less perceptive when they must judge those close to themselves.” Lorn shrugs. “You can do no wrong in my eyes. At least, I know such.” He offers a wry smile. “Now… I must repair to Mirror Lancer Court, after escorting you across the Plaza to Ryalor House.”

  “You expect me to conduct trade after this?” Ryalth raises her eyebrows. “I expect you will do so well.” Lorn grins. She shakes her head and smiles back.

  CXXXIX

  Vyanat steps into Vyel’s office, leaving the door open behind him.

  “I wondered where you had gone,” offers Vyel. “You disappeared this morning after that Mirror Lancer officer left. I thought you were remarkably pleasant, given his insolence, but I suppose you have to deal with the lady trader too often to say what you felt.”

  “She is most astute, and one ignores her at one’s peril,” Vyanat replies. “She says little, and often seems demure. She is not.” Vyanat laughs once, but the laugh is forced. “Where were you?”

  “I needed to attend to a few matters,” returns the older brother. He pauses, then asks, almost casually, “What in chaos were you thinking?”

  “You believe that magus-descended butcher who thinks with his blade?” questions Vyel. “He wouldn’t know an invoice from a bill of lading or a weight-and-balance form.”

  “Actually, Vyel, I do believe him. I wish I did not. First, the Lady Ryalth was with him. Her bearing and her presence mean she believes him. Second, I did check on a few matters. Almost a score of bravos that do the sort of ‘work’ that Majer Lorn mentioned, have either appeared dead on the streets or vanished. Yet, no other merchanter houses report any problems. I am not stupid. The Magi’i do not use bravos. They don’t have to. The Palace does not. Nor do the Mirror Lancers, except for perhaps the Captain-Commander. Third, Majer Lorn could have turned you into a corpse without even raising a sweat, and without your body ever being found. He’s done it to far better and more talented men than you. Fourth, he was right about the Hypolya. I’ve known that for years, but Father asked me to forbear unless you made another error such as that. This is worse than he could have foreseen, and he had few illusions about you. Oh… and you seem to forget that Majer Lorn was bright enough about trade to figure out what Bluoyel and his cousin had done in Biehl, and he did so in a matter of days.”

  “So… why didn’t Majer Lorn just remove me the way you say he did the others?”

  “You are stupid, dear brother. Because he wanted me to know, and to act against Tasjan. I will not. Not now, but I cannot fail to act against you, because you have jeopardized Hyshrah House. Again.”

  “You don’t have the guts, for all your talk, Vyanat. Or you would have dumped me overboard years ago.”

  “I thought there was a chance you would learn-and I gave my word to Father. All you have learned is that deception and deceit bring quick returns.” Vyanat gestures behind him and three archers appear, and step into the smaller study nearly silently. They have shafts ready to nock.

  “What you-and Tasjan-have failed to learn,” Vyanat continues, “is that any merchanting built on deception will fail in the end, and at a far higher cost. One of the matters I attended to was meeting with others in the house.”

  Vyel looks at the archers. “You don’t even have the guts to act yourself.”

  “I have no intention of soiling my hands further. My heart and spirit, perhaps, but not my hands.” Vyanat l
ooks at the middle archer. “Make it quick.”

  The small study is filled with the muted sounds of bowstrings and arrows striking.

  Vyanat stands, impassive, and remains in the study, alone, long after the archers have departed. His eyes are reddened and bleak.

  CXL

  In the late afternoon, Lorn sits behind his desk, looking out into a fall day that has gotten grayer and colder with each passing moment. The wind whistles intermittently around the ancient panes of his study, and the sky continues to darken.

  The simplest course of action would be to remove Tasjan, but that is a solution that may lead to more difficulties than it resolves, since Lorn does not know how many others may be involved with Tasjan and whether removing the merchanter would merely result in someone else taking over as head of Dyjani House, and carrying out the same schemes with different names.

  There is a knock on the study door.

  Lorn turns in his chair. “Yes?”

  “Ser?” Tygyl steps just inside the doorway. “The Majer-Commander would like to see you, as soon as you can get there.”

  “I’ll be right behind you.”

  As he follows the senior squad leader up the stairs to the fifth level, Lorn wonders. Rynst’s informers seem to know everything. Is it about the attack of the night before-or his visit to see Vyanat?

  Tygyl closes the door behind Lorn, leaving Lorn alone in the oversized study with the Majer-Commander.

  Lorn bows. When he straightens, he can see that a thunderstorm is moving across the city from the east. A lightning bolt flashes to the northeast, and after a few moments, a rumbling crash rolls over Mirror Lancer Court.

  Rynst remains standing beside his desk and gestures for Lorn to step closer. Lorn halts three cubits short of his superior. “Ser… as you requested.”

  “You were somewhat delayed this morning, Majer,” observes Rynst, ignoring the oncoming storm.

  “Yes, ser.”

  “Would you care to explain?”

  “Ser… last night, when we were returning from dinner at a friend’s, some bravos attacked our carriage outside our very door. ”

  “You were late this morning, not last night.”

  Lorn smiles apologetically. “One of the bravos mentioned that he had been hired by someone associated with a ship-and the ship was one of those of Hyshrah Clan. I persuaded my consort to introduce me to Vyanat’mer so that I could bring the matter to his attention. I did, and then I came to Mirror Lancer Court.”

  Rynst’s smile is frosty. “How many bravos were there, Majer?”

  “A halfscore, ser.”

  “They are all dead, I presume.”

  “Yes, ser.”

  “You killed them all?”

  “No, ser. We were fortunate that my friend Tyrsal was with us. He is a most capable magus.”

  “Majer… could you attempt to explain why bodies always appear around you, or if they do not, why people vanish, never to be seen again?”

  “I do not believe the attack was on me, ser. I have heard a number of rumors dealing with those who are less than pleased with the success of my consort as a merchanter. Were there some concern about me, I believe that the attacks would have taken place at the many times when I have been alone.”

  “Although you did not answer my question, I am forced to agree with your conclusion-at least publicly.” Rynst nods. “I received a message from the Merchanter Advisor just a few moments ago. His younger brother confessed to the attempt on your consort. Vyanat appreciates your tact in informing him and in not taking matters onto your own blade. He assures me, in my capacity as advisor to His Mightiness, that this unfortunate event is not a matter which involves the Mirror Lancers or the Magi’i.”

  “Yes, ser.”

  “Unhappily, anything which involves my staff also involves the Mirror Lancers. Such is life in Cyad.”

  Lorn waits.

  “You are the commander of the two companies of Mirror Lancers. You are known to be an excellent field commander. You are also noted as an officer capable of taking no captives, should the necessity arise for such. And you report directly to me. By tomorrow, everyone will know there was an attempt made on your life by a highly placed merchanter. Tongues will suggest that Vyanat killed his brother as a convenient scapegoat, and that the merchanters were foiled in their attempt to halt the growth of the power of the Mirror Lancers in Cyad. Vyanat will find himself being considered as one plotting to place a merchanter as the heir to the Emperor. The Emperor will have to deny that there was a plot, and affirm that the Malachite Throne will not fall to any known in power in either the Magi’i, the Mirror Lancers, or the merchanters.”

  Lorn continues to wait.

  “Majer… Vyanat is too smart to attempt anything like this. He could not possibly benefit from it. We both know this. Thankfully, so do most of those in power in Cyad, but it is too good an opportunity for those who dislike Vyanat’s honesty not to use it against him. You should have known that forcing him to act would cause this sort of problem. You are too intelligent not to know. Why did you do so?”

  “Because it was not the first attempt,” Lorn admits. “I kept everything quiet after the first attempt.”

  “How many attempted the first time?”

  “Six.”

  Rynst shakes his head. “I suppose I should congratulate you on your forbearance. Still… it creates a problem.”

  “Yes, ser.”

  “Could you explain why you did not bring the matter to my attention?”

  “The attacks appeared to be upon my consort. If I brought them to the formal attention of the Mirror Lancers, then you would have been placed in the position of either ignoring an attempt to bring down the only merchanter house headed by a woman, or worse, using your authority to support a non-traditional house.”

  “Why should I care?”

  “Because, as you know, someone is trying to use the attacks to discredit both the Mirror Lancers, and to stir up support for a merchanter heir to the Emperor.”

  “Do you think you should have made such a decision?” Curiosity, rather than coldness, tinges the voice of the Majer-Commander.

  “If I run to you, ser, then I am seen as being in Cyad only to further your ambition. That will make the merchanters even more determined that the Imperial succession should change, and will boost their claims that I am here but to suppress them.”

  “They can charge that now,” Rynst points out.

  “They can charge that, ser, but it will not be believed by near so many folk as it could have been.”

  “What do you plan now, Majer?”

  “As I always have, ser. To do my duty.”

  “It will be interesting to see how you view that duty, Majer.” Rynst offers a faint smile. “When do your lancers begin their exercises?”

  “The day after tomorrow, ser.”

  “Do you plan to lead them?”

  “Yes, ser. Unless you wish otherwise.”

  “You had best lead them often, Majer.” Rynst nods. “Good day.”

  Lorn bows, then turns, walking toward the study doors and waiting for some last parting comment. There is none, and he leaves and makes his way down to his own fourth-floor study.

  CXLI

  In the midafternoon of late fall, at least fivescore citizens of Cyad, and more than twoscore sailors and traders from the Hamorian and Spidlarian vessels tied at the stone piers of the harbor, line the walls that surround the maneuver grounds created by the Mirror Engineers. Among the sailors are more than a handful of curious outland factors and traders. The expansive grounds are almost half a kay long and a quarter-kay wide. The newly-erected granite walls stand slightly less than three cubits high, low enough so that bystanders can easily watch.

  Lorn glances at the walls, built by the Mirror Lancers in half a season at a cost Ryalth has estimated at enough to provision and supply all the Mirror Lancer companies for more than a year, had the construction been attempted by a merchanter house. And Lorn�
��s maneuvers are supposed to justify all such costs.

  After riding along the rows of lancers, inspecting them, if briefly, Lorn reins up before them. “The first drill will be a single-burst attack on the target. One short burst only for each lancer. Senior squad leaders will keep track of who strikes the target and where, and who does not.”

  Allowing each lancer to fire multiple chaos-bolts would have been flashier, Lorn knows, but he also wants the maneuvers to keep the lancers’ aim sharp, for those who will go back to the Grass Hills will need those skills. He also knows that sooner or later, the more sharp-eyed outland observers will be more impressed by accuracy.

  Lorn begins the first drill by urging the white gelding into a brief gallop at an angle past the straw figure that is clad in captured barbarian clothes and weapons-and more armor than the barbarians usually don. Lorn’s closest approach is forty cubits, where he triggers a single chaos-bolt from the four-cubit-long firelance.

  Hssstt! The brief flash of chaos burns into the wooden target, right at the neck, leaving a black, fist-sized circular hole.

  Lorn reins up on the south side of the grounds, watching as each of the lancers makes a pass. There are four targets-one for each squad.

  From what he can tell, the chaos-bolts of two out of three of the lancer rankers strike the their targets.

  He has his chaos-senses out, trying to pick up comments from the bystanders watching from the wall fifty cubits behind him.

  “…never seen a Mirror Lancer mounted…”

  “…hit you… won’t leave much…”

  “…don’t all hit, though… See… second one over missed…”

  “…they do this before barbarians get close…”

  “…good archer do as much… well… almost as much…”

  Lorn continues to listen until the companies begin to re-form at the eastern end of the maneuver grounds. Then he urges the white gelding toward the formation as several supernumerary lancers remove the four wooden targets.