Once the two companies are arrayed, Lorn nods at Cheryk, then Esfayl. Both nod that their lancers are ready.
“First Company, first squad! On the oblique! Attack!” Lorn orders.
The drill is a variation on the formation he used at Inividra, the glancing attack at an angle with firelances alone, one of the few formations that he has used or developed that will be, and will look, effective in a mass drill with firelances.
While there will be one-on-one blade drills, those are for the benefit of the lancers, and have little visual appeal to the traders or those citizens of Cyad who have never seen the Mirror Lancers fight.
“On the oblique! Attack!” echoes Cheryk, and then the senior squad leader of the first squad.
The twenty white mounts of the first squad charge forward, for all the mounts of the two companies in Cyad are white, at Rynst’s orders. After less than a dozen paces, the riders turn leftward at a forty-five-degree angle toward the twenty half-figures set up on the cubit - and - a - half - high stone wall that had once been the foundation of a warehouse.
Lorn catches sight of several figures in green-and-gold uniforms, watching from the corner of the Second Harbor Way West. Although he cannot be sure, one wears gold epaulets-the only such figure Lorn has seen, either around the piers or in his chaos-glass. He guesses that it is probably Sasyk, although the man is not close enough for Lorn to ascertain that accurately.
The guard leader’s presence, on the first day of Mirror Lancer public maneuvers, confirms for Lorn that he must continue to watch Tasjan and his greenshirt guards.
Lorn suspects the next attack from the merchanter will not be direct, nor at Ryalth, but that, in time, there will be another attack of some sort.
He can only hope he can anticipate it.
CXLII
His Mightiness Toziel, Emperor of Perpetual Light, Heir to the Rational Stars, and Protector of the Steps to Paradise, lies under a light shimmercloth cover on the high bed in his private bedchamber in the Palace of Eternal Light. His face is flushed, yet pale under the flush. Ryenyel’s hand rests lightly on his forehead.
“Every audience… like this…” Toziel’s form shivers. “We… still… should not tell…”
“Just rest…” Ryenyel says gently. “You’ll be better in a bit.”
“Will you… though?” he murmurs.
“We do this together.” She squeezes his hand gently, but firmly. “You must rest now. We can talk when you are stronger.”
“…can’t rest… Tell me…”
“About what, dearest?”
“…ever have an heir?… Cyador ever have a true scion?”
“Majer Lorn has foiled two or possibly three attempts on his life or on that of his consort,” Ryenyel says. “As you know, yesterday he conducted an impressive display of Mirror Lancer power on the new parade grounds off Second Harbor Way. Rustyl is now consorted to Ceyla, the daughter of the Second Magus, and is convinced that he indeed should be First Magus, but I imagine he would settle for being your successor. Tasjan has made public certain papers that show Vyanat’s brother evaded Imperial tariffs. Tasjan has had others suggest that Vyel was killed to cover up Vyanat’s own tariff violations.”
“Poor Vyanat… acted quickly because he is an honorable man, and now he faces dishonor.” The Emperor pauses to gather breath. “…Because he wished to show that he would punish the unjust were they even his brother.” A lopsided smile appears on Toziel’s face and vanishes.
“The most honorable head of Dyjani House continues to maneuver to incite the merchanters, particularly the weaker large houses, like Kysan and Bluyet-against the Mirror Lancers, and to add more armsmen to the green-suited guards-”
“What of Sasyk?”
“As self-centered as ever. His second consort vanished on a short voyage from Cyad to Summerdock. After a time, he will find another young blonde woman.”
“You dislike him.” Toziel smiles.
“No more than you. He makes Tasjan seem principled.” Ryenyel’s fingers touch Toziel’s forehead. “You must rest. You must.”
“Can Lorn or Rustyl deal with Tasjan?”
“We will see, and before all that long.”
“That… I hope…” Toziel’s words break off into a fit of coughing. When the coughs cease wracking his tall and slender form, his eyes close.
Ryenyel’s hand remains lightly on his forehead, even as she also shivers, and her own complexion pales.
CXLIII
Lorn looks out through the small side window of the sitting room into the darkness, watching the white forms of the geese. After a long moment, he turns back to Ryalth.
“What are you thinking, dear?” She has Kerial seated in her lap, and the two play finger games. “ ‘One little hare, and he goes there… second little hare, and he goes there…’ ” Despite the bright tone of her rhyme to Kerial, her eyes are dark as they look to Lorn.
“Geese, iron locks and bolts, more and more use of the chaos-glass… your use of information from Ryalor House, armed guards to escort you…”
“All because an Emperor is dying and will not name an heir,” she says.
Lorn smiles tightly. “He cannot name an heir. The heir must name himself and be recognized as the sole scion by enough of the Quarter, Mirror Lancer Court, and the Plaza. Now… they see no one.”
“And… you cannot see…”
“I can see, but not without blood across the sunstones, and more bloodshed after that, and Emperors are not anointed in blood in Cyad itself. Alyiakal was the only one to shed blood on the sunstones… and recall how he is remembered?”
“I understand,” she says slowly, her fingers still playing with those of Kerial. “For reasons very clear to all-and we have talked about this for seasons-the Mirror Lancers have not kept any armed companies in Cyad. Now there are two companies-fourscore with firelances.” She looks up from the settee toward her brown-haired consort and smiles softly. “All my sources tell me Tasjan has gathered more than tenscore armed guards, and they have been trained by Sasyk and by other former lancers. Pheryk knows some of them. That’s like five lancer companies, is it not?”
“They have no firelances, but if they moved on the Palace in support of Tasjan, we would have to use ours, and most of his guards would die. I cannot see the merchanters being pleased with such, or with anyone who commanded or ordered such.” Lorn shrugs.
“Waiting may not help, dearest,” Ryalth points out. “Tasjan has now begun to suggest that Vyel was killed to keep anyone from finding out the extent of Vyanat’s corruption. And when your companies began maneuvers the day before yesterday, Tasjan again sent out word that he was looking for additional guards for his vessels, another rwoscore.”
“Six companies-does he plan to turn the sunstones red with blood?”
“You can handle them,” Ryalth says.
“That I know, but what will happen to Cyad? Will there be blood in the streets?”
“What if Tasjan is not there to call them forth?” she asks.
Lorn raises his eyebrows.
“Sasyk wishes to seize the Palace. Few know this, but Pheryk was able to talk to some of Sasyk’s guards he knows. Tasjan may suspect Sasyk’s ambition, for he will meet with Sasyk only when Sasyk could not leave without encountering those guards who are loyal to Tasjan. Yet Tasjan needs Sasyk, because he cannot train or command armsmen. So the two contest silently. Many merchanters will not support Sasyk-not if Tasjan were to die now. Sasyk wishes conflict and unrest, and he would have it last long eightdays, until all would settle on any heir, and he would either be that heir, or the right hand of that heir. If Tasjan were to die or vanish… now,” Ryalth says slowly, “the Dyjani would either select Tyrsal’s friend Husdryt or Tasjan’s nephew Torvyl as clan head. Neither would support Sasyk, and either would not oppose the Mirror Lancers, were they needed to destroy the green-suited guards.”
Lorn shakes his head. “I would be bringing firelances and death into every way and road in
Cyad. Would you have me do this?”
“I would have you as a merchanter or a lancer captain still in Isahl.” Ryalth leans forward and nuzzles Kerial. “Good… good boy.” Then she looks back up at Lorn. “I have supported all you have done. Would you like less than my judgment on what will happen?”
“No.” Lorn purses his lips. “Yet…”
“You do not wish to be the lancer majer who loosed the firelances in Cyad.”
“No. I do not.”
“Did you encourage Tasjan to bring in guards? Did you tell the Emperor to have no heirs and to name no one? Were you the one to raise the tariffs on merchanters and trade?”
“No… but… firelances in Cyad?”
For a time, there is silence in the sitting room.
“Lorn, dearest… why do you think that the people of Cyad are any different from those of Jera?”
“Because… because… do you remember the poem about Cyad… the one in the book?”
“Not really,” she confesses.
“The lines… I don’t remember them all, but there are some that go like this…
…for Cyad holds the fate of all this earth, and all of soul and skill that is of worth. So shine forth both in sun and into night bright city of prosperity and light.“
He clears his throat, then looks at her. “How can I be the one to bring firelances into Cyad?”
“You do not have to be that one. You can be the one who stands by and lets Tasjan and Sasyk destroy Cyad, and spill other blood on the stones. If you do nothing, Tasjan will order out his guards within an eightday of the Emperor’s death. What will the Majer-Commander order you to do?”
“Bring the firelances to the streets of Cyad,” Lorn admits.
“You did not hesitate to attack Jera, because you felt it was the right thing to do for Cyador. You did not hesitate to kill scores to protect what you believe in. You have killed, and rightly, I believe, those who are corrupt and evil, like Dettaur. Yet Cyad is beginning to fall apart, and you question whether you should use the weapons at hand to prevent it.”
Lorn’s amber eyes meet her blue eyes. He sees neither greed, nor guile, nor ambition. He senses no untruth. After a long time, broken only by Kerial’s murmurings, he takes a deep breath. “You have the right of it.” He offers a crooked smile. “I must do what is right, though it will cost me all I have sought, for if I bring the Mirror Lancers to the street, I may well be respected, but once more it will be the respect for a skillful butcher.”
He shrugs, then takes a deep breath. After a moment, he shakes his head. “Still…”
“I know,” she says. “Yet… how would you feel if you stood by?”
“Worse than I do, I would wager.” He walks to the window once more, looking out into the darkness yet again. It is some time before he turns. “So… where do you think I can best dispatch Tasjan?”
“There must be somewhere that the guards do not follow,” Ryalth says, “somewhere where you can wait, and he will come to you.”
Lorn nods. “Where he will come to me…”
“He knows he is followed in the glass. Will that not cause him to be more careful?”
“I’m sure it will, but I’m certain he thinks that the Magi’i are tracking him, not a poor and unknown majer.”
“You are not poor or unknown. Not any longer. You must be careful, for any blade mark will be tracked to you.”
“I know.” Lorn smiles coldly. “But if there are no blade marks… it could be a paid assassin-no honorable Mirror Lancer would stoop to that.”
“Lorn… although I can see no other course, not with all that is poised to fall into chaos, this is most dangerous… dearest one.”
“But you are right. Now… now… to do nothing is even more dangerous.” Lorn sighs once more. “Can you bring Kerial up to the study? I would that you look at the glass with me.”
Ryalth rises, gracefully, despite the burden of Kerial, who tries to lurch from her arms toward his father. “Careful now… you’re not ready to jump that far…” She laughs. “He is like I imagine you were.”
Lorn shrugs helplessly, but he smiles before turning and heading up the stairs.
Once settled at his table desk in the study, Lorn concentrates on the glass.
As the silver mists swirl away, the glass shows Tasjan. He is standing in a corridor with Sasyk, who wears the gold-trimmed green uniform and the golden shoulder epaulets. Behind the pair are other guards, all dressed in blue-not the green-and-gold of the guards recruited by Sasyk. Lorn studies Sasyk more than Tasjan, noting his trim figure and the well-worn and functional sabre scabbard. He also notes that Sasyk offers no deference to Tasjan, and that the two are clearly not agreeing on some matter.
He motions for Ryalth to study the images.
He has much to do, and far too little time in which to accomplish it, for he has waited longer than is wise… perhaps because he has been trapped by a reflection, a reflection of what he has wanted Cyad to be, just as the unknown Sampson had been trapped in reflections.
He takes another deep breath.
CXLIV
Vyanat does not bother to seat himself after he enters Tasjan’s office.
Neither does the slender Tasjan bother to rise from his chair behind his desk, but nods for the Merchanter Advisor to speak.
A faint smile crosses Vyanat’s face. “I will be brief, honored clan head. My brother Vyel confessed to planning the killing of the head of another trading house. The plot was unsuccessful, and he has been executed under merchanter justice.”
“Ah… such a terrible thing to happen to you…” Tasjan says mildly. “To be betrayed so, and by one’s own brother.”
Vyanat shrugs, sadly. “It is almost as sad to be betrayed by the head of another trading house. Vyel was weak, and he wanted more. He did not seem to understand that he could not obtain it because the very weaknesses that tempted him led to his failure. There are those who have the largest fleets, the grandest warehouses and dwellings, and yet they are not satisfied. Wanting more than can be obtained in an honest and open manner is always a weakness. So is spreading untruths when justice has been done.”
“You seem to have someone in mind.”
“I do… and if you know him, I offer advice, and a warning.”
“Oh… ?” Tasjan
“A merchanter who heads a great house has more freedom, more luxury, and more power than any who have ever held the Palace of Eternal Light. Likewise, a true lancer can crush such a merchanter before that merchanter could lift a blade for a single stroke.”
“But… the question is, Vyanat… are there any true lancers in these decaying times?” Tasjan’s smile is as cold as his eyes.
“I know of three, and there may be more, Tasjan. You could have been the greatest of all merchanters. If you have the skill, you may yet survive. If you attempt to be more than you are, you will fail.”
“That is true of all of us, is it not, Vyanat’mer?”
“Yes, it is. Some of us understand that.” Vyanat’s last smile is both cold and somehow sad. “Good day, honored Tasjan.” Once the door closes, Tasjan laughs.
CXLV
Lorn looks up from the glass.
Ryalth steps inside the study, carrying Kerial. “Myryan and Ciesrt should be here before long.”
“I was going to use the glass to follow Tasjan and some others before it got too late.” Lorn nods toward the blank glass before him. “Tasjan always travels with guards-his own-the ones garbed in blue. I thought that if I kept trying I might find somewhere that he doesn’t. He walks a different route to the Plaza each morning and night.”
“There is one thing I found out today,” Ryalth says. “I was going to tell you later, but I was late because of the Suthyan who arrived at Ryalor House so late…”
Lorn raises his eyebrows, waiting.
“Tasjan dines at Ayadyr often, usually on fiveday evening.” Ryalth shifts Kerial from one shoulder to the other.
“So he might not
take his guards to the table?”
“I do not know,” Ryalth admits, “but when he dines with family in his dwelling there are no guards in the dining chamber-that, your glass has shown.”
Lorn nods. “We will follow him tomorrow and see… If so…” He shrugs. “I can but hope that naught else occurs in the few days it will take to see what can be done.”
Ryalth glances over her shoulder. “They should be here soon.”
Lorn looks at the blank glass. “Would you mind if I studied the glass for a few moments?”
“No.” She smiles. “If it is but for a few moments. I will check on dinner with Kysia and Ayleha.”
“A few moments,” Lorn confirms.
Even before she leaves the study, he focuses on the glass, and upon the first image.
Sasyk is in an exercise hall Lorn does not recognize, sparring with another man. Both are larger than Lorn, and both appear accomplished. There are other figures in green, sparring as well. As Lorn lets the image fade, he frowns. Sasyk is clearly trying to ensure his greensuits are well-trained with the blade, and despite the rumors, since piracy has not increased, that training bespeaks an interest in more than protecting trade.
The next image Lorn calls up is that of Tasjan, but the merchanter merely walks along a white paved street, followed by four large and muscular blue-clad guards. Tasjan looks up, and smiles, as if to tell any magus who follows him that he is aware of the scrutiny. Lorn lets the image of Tasjan fade.
At the sound of women’s voices drifting up the stairs, Lorn slides the chaos-glass into its case, and glass and case into the drawer of the table desk. Then he stands and stretches before heading down the stairs to greet his sister.
As Lorn enters the sirring room, from where she sits on the far side of Myryan, Ryalth mouths, Thank you.
“I’m sorry,” Lorn says to his sister, “I was working on something that took a bit longer than I had thought.” Lorn looks closely at Myryan. She is frail, thinner than he recalls, and yet her amber eyes glow. “I’m glad you could come tonight. Where’s Ciesrt? I thought he was coming.”
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