“Nor do you have the Mirror Lancers to spare now that you are dealing with the barbarians to the northeast.” Nor have we had the vessels to transport such a force, not until the fireship.
“We will beat them back. They are barbarians.”
“What of the dark angels of the Westhorns?” asks Mairena.
“What of them? There are few of them, and a handful helping the barbarians will make little difference. The cold of the heights will destroy them in another generation. It could be even sooner.”
Mairena nods politely, deciding against pressing the issue, for Lephi has made up his mind. Once his mind is set, she knows from bitter experience, there is no changing it, not without paying a high price, a price she will only pay when her views will change matters, and only when absolutely necessary. This is not one of those times, not when she does not have enough allies among the Magi’i and the Mirror Lancers to make her husband understand the folly of his coming campaign.
“Have you had any of your visions about what will happen?” His voice rumbles, and his tone carries amused condescension, a condescension she has found more and more irritating with each passing year.
“Only that your fireship—”
“Not my fireship. The Kerial.”
“… that your fireship will sail the Great Western Ocean.”
“And the others as well!”
“And the others as well,” repeats Mairena, knowing that she has not seen that.
“You have doubts?”
“I have doubts about your efforts against the Accursed Forest, the barbarians, the traders, and building a fireship and firecannon all at once, with too few Magi’i and fewer young people being born to the Magi’i every year.”
“The symbolism of the chains will help,” he counters. “Women must understand that home and hearth are the strength of any land.”
And allowing them to be chained, even symbolically, will increase the number of children they are willing to bear?
When she does not speak aloud, he goes on, his voice strengthening. “You will see, my Empress and healer. The entire world will see Cyador rise once more, stronger and more powerful than ever.”
“May it be so,” she replies, understanding that, once more, he will not hear what he does not wish to hear, especially from her … and even less from any other woman.
“It will be.” He pauses. “I wanted you to know about the sea trials. You’ll be able to see the Kerial set forth from here.”
“I will be watching with great interest.” And she will, if not precisely for the reasons Lephi would appreciate, nor does he know that she has studied not only the plans presented to him by the white engineers, but other documents as well, and made her own preparations. But then, there are some things he will never know.
“Excellent! Excellent! How is Emerya coming in her trials as a healer?”
“She has passed all but the last, and that she could do now, but there must be a season between trials.”
Lephi nods. “The same as for the Magi’i.” Then he frowns. “That will make a match for her difficult.”
“You have a son. An immediate match for Emerya is not necessary. Besides, healers should not marry young.”
“Unless they intend to marry within the Magi’i,” he reminds her.
“That might create even greater … complications.”
“True.” He pauses. “Is there … anything else?”
She smiles softly. “Why would there be? I do little except what healing is considered appropriate here in the palace, and you know when I leave the palace and for what purposes. The children are fine, although Kiedron is scarcely that anymore, and you know as much as do I about his activities.”
“Triendar says that he has more ability than do I, but he could also be a healer. Of sorts, at least.”
“He has enough ability to be elthage, without question, and he has a good mind.” When he chooses to use it.
“A good mind in a sound body.” Lephi smiles, but the smile fades as quickly as it had appeared. “Well … good evening.”
“When will you be leaving?”
He raises his eyebrows.
“Not this evening. I meant … to deal with the barbarians. You said that you were considering it.”
“I did?”
“The other night, after dinner.”
“Oh … that is unlikely. The reinforcements Queras dispatched should be more than adequate to deal with them.”
“Even if they are advised by the dark angels?”
His eyes narrow. “The dark angels … I told you. There are only a handful of them. Do you really think they can stand against the firewagons, the Mirror Lancers, and the Shining Foot?” His voice increases in volume with every word.
Mairena decides against pressing. She has tried to suggest the danger they pose, a danger she has sensed on more than a few occasions, and her husband has dismissed her concerns time after time. “Their powers are unknown. I worry, but you and the Magi’i know more about them than do I.” She doubts that, but saying so will merely enrage Lephi, and she is weary of pressing facts upon him that he will not accept.
“Themphi has used his glass often to see their actions. They build upon the Roof of the World, and that is all. They are no threat. We could call in more of the white wizards among the Magi’i, if necessary. But it is not necessary. Not necessary at all.”
“That is good.” Especially since calling them away from the Accursed Forest will allow it to spread across the entire east.
When Mairena says nothing more, Lephi nods and once more says, “Good evening.”
“Good evening.”
After Lephi leaves her study, she walks back to the window and takes a long, slow breath, even though there has been little intimate contact between the two of them in years. Lephi finds the order abilities that have grown over the years in Mairena too painful to bear, especially as she has become more and more adept as a healer. In turn, she has found his rage at that pain has resulted in far too many bruises and far too many angry conversations—if listening to tirades qualified as conversation, she reflects.
What can you do … with what will come? After a moment, she answers herself, but only in her thoughts, for even in her chambers the walls may have ears. Prepare as you can and must, for Lephi will not listen.
As if he ever had.
II
The Empress hurries from her chambers in the dark grayness well before sunrise, all too early, given that it is just past midsummer in Cyad. She stops before the nearest guard in the Palace of Light and orders, “Send for the Third Magus. Now!”
The green-uniformed man glances around, as if to question the fact that there is no one to take his post.
“That doesn’t matter. Find Tyrsalyn! He should be here in the palace.”
“Yes, Lady.”
The Empress turns and walks swiftly down the wide corridor of polished white stone tiles to the chambers of her daughter. After entering the sitting room, she strides into the bedchamber. “Emerya! Time to get up. This moment.”
“What is it?” Emerya blinks and shakes her head, brushing back long strands of brilliant copper-red hair from her face. “Where is Viera?”
“On her way here, I hope, for her sake. We need to leave Cyad as soon as possible. Without dithering and without delay.”
“At this glass of the morning? If it isn’t still night? Where are we going? Why? What about the ball? Father said he would be back in time for the ball.”
“There isn’t time for questions, or answers. I doubt there will be a ball or…” Then the Empress thinks better of what she might have said. “You have only a few moments. Don riding clothes. Gather the rest of your riding clothes and boots and put them in a travel bag. One gown. One! If the bag is not packed and you are not dressed quickly, you will wear your nightclothes to the ship. Oh … and bring every piece of jewelry you own. Every last one, even those you don’t like.”
“Even the chains?”
“Even those. Gold is valuable. Wear the gold-and-malachite healer’s bracelet. I know you haven’t passed your last trial, but wear it anyway.”
Emerya’s face contorts. “You said ‘ship’? We’re going on a ship? That means somewhere far, doesn’t it?”
“It may be necessary,” declares the Empress as she turns.
“Necessary?” asks the redhead as she struggles out from the shimmercloth sheets of the palest green.
Her mother is gone, already striding down the wide and high-ceilinged corridor and into the larger apartments in the corner of the Palace of Light, those opposite her own study.
A set of greens covers the back of the chair set at an angle behind the table desk in the sitting room, and a pair of boots lies on the floor. Mairena knocks peremptorily on the door to the bedchamber, then pushes the door open. “Kiedron. Time to get up.”
There is no movement from the dark-haired young man lying only half-covered by the tangled shimmercloth sheets. His eyes do not move.
Mairena walks to the side of the bed and says loudly, “Kiedron, get up!”
Again, there is no motion. She shakes her head and picks up the plain crystal goblet set on the bedside table, concentrates on it for a moment until frost begins to form on the crystal, then throws the icy water on her son’s face.
“Oh!” The youth bolts up and to his feet, as if ready to fight. His dark blue eyes look slightly wild and unfocused.
“I told you it was time to get up.”
“But I was up late last night.”
“That was last night. We have to leave Cyad immediately.”
“Why? Are the barbarians attacking? They can’t have crossed all of Cyador from the northeast.”
“It’s something different. Wear your greens and pack as many other sets as you can into that kit bag you were going to take to Kynstaar. A spare pair of boots and any necessities. Also any personal jewelry and any golds or silvers that you have. All of them. We need to leave the palace and board the fireship as soon as we can. Meet me in the upper foyer. Bring your sister. By force, if necessary.” Mairena adds just a touch of order to her last words, then turns and leaves her son openmouthed.
As she makes her way back toward the wide landing at the top of the grand staircase, she cannot keep the frown from her face. Are you certain what you have seen … truly certain? She pushes that thought away. The strength of the image that woke her only confirms what she had feared … and prepared for, not knowing for certain when what she has seen would occur. If she is wrong, she will be embarrassed, certainly disgraced, possibly even executed, for Lephi might well appreciate an excuse for such. If she is right, and does not follow what she has seen and prepared for, she—and her children—will be dead.
She reaches the landing and glances around. No one is there, except for a guard who appears coming up the wide white stone steps.
He is breathing heavily as he comes to a halt several yards from her. “Lady Empress, the Third Magus will be here in a few moments. He was on the lower level.”
“Good. Would you tell Captain Altyrn to proceed with the loading of the duty company? And make certain the Imperial coach is waiting.”
“Yes, Lady.” The guard’s face betrays puzzlement.
“He’ll know what you mean.” Lephi would be appalled to see me ordering around his officers. She does not reveal the wry smile she feels as the guard hurries back down the steps, past the figure of the Third Magus struggling up the staircase.
“You summoned me, Lady?” The Third Magus wears the crossed lightning bolts on the breast of his white tunic, as have all the Magi’i since almost the time of Kiedral, the Second Emperor of Light. Tyrsalyn is not that much older than the Empress, for all the tiredness in his green eyes, and the gray shot through his red hair, but true chaos mages, even the highest of the Magi’i, are fortunate to see a full five decades.
“As I told you might happen one day, we need to get the heirs and all the Magi’i you can find, and their families, on board the fireship and reach the open ocean within the next two glasses. Sooner, if possible. Also, please convey to Captain Altyrn that if he can obtain any more Lancers to join his company, it would be to everyone’s benefit.”
“The fireship is not finished, Lady Empress,” stammers Tyrsalyn.
“The engines work, and the hull is sound, is it not?” asks Mairena. “It can travel under its own power, can it not? And is there not a partial crew on board?” And did I not arrange for one boiler to be kept ready at all times?
“Yes…”
“Then summon all the remaining mages and their families—all that can be on the Kerial in a glass or less.”
“You want them all on board? Now?”
“If they wish to live. And I expect to see you on the pier in less than half a glass.”
Tyrsalyn pales slightly, but Mairena cannot discern whether that is because of her words or her assumption of authority that, before this morning, has always been exercised under the guise of written orders of the Emperor, who she fears is meeting his fate in Syadtar … and equally fears that he may not be. Yet seldom has what she has foreseen not come to pass, although those foreshadowings have been infrequent.
“I would appreciate it if you would not say that to them, but only that it was the Emperor’s wish and that he would look upon their failure to accommodate him most unfavorably.”
“Yes, Lady Empress.” He pauses. “It is said that you have at times seen what may be.”
“At times, that has been so.”
“So did the Second Emperor of Light, it is said.” Tyrsalyn smiles, faintly. “I will do as you asked. I had best hasten.”
“Thank you.” Mairena turns and looks along the wide corridor. It is empty.
Moments pass, and then more moments, perhaps as much as a tenth of a glass before Emerya emerges from her chamber, struggling with an overstuffed kit bag—one she likely borrowed from her brother—while Kiedron appears moments later, almost sauntering before catching up with his sister. Then he walks along beside her carrying his own kit bag, not at all bulging. Behind them is Viera, looking totally bewildered.
Mairena raises her voice slightly. “Kiedron, escort your sister downstairs to the coach. Emerya, put the jewelry bag inside the travel bag. I’ll meet you at the coach in a few moments. It should be in the portico by now.” The coach I can order, and no one will say anything. “Don’t dawdle. You, too, Viera.” She heads down the grand staircase, her children and the maid who has served her and Emerya for years immediately behind her.
When she reaches the entry level of the palace, she sees that Captain Altyrn is waiting before the fountain under the dome in the reception hall of the Palace of Light. His graying hair is ever so slightly disarrayed. His eyes flick to Kiedron and Emerya as they walk past their mother and then past him, then center on the Empress as she stops before him. He pays little attention to Viera.
“Lady Empress, I know there are written orders—”
“There are indeed. The Emperor is wise and has left orders covering all possibilities. He instructed you to assure that we are safe. This is one of those circumstances. Is the duty company on the way to the fireship pier?”
“Yes, Lady. Might I ask why this is necessary?”
“You might. My answer is that events will show that necessity, and that failure to obey will be fatal for both of us.”
The hint of a frown crosses the older officer’s face.
Mairena knows that he is not that far from leaving the Mirror Lancers on a stipend after long service and asks, gently, “Have I ever asked the unreasonable of you, Captain?” She adds a touch of order to her voice.
“No, Lady.”
“Then we should be leaving.”
“I will ride ahead of the coach with the duty squad, Lady.”
“That would be appreciated. We will make better time, and that is important.” All too important. She knows she cannot become too insistent, much as she worries, because
she has pressed more than would be considered either wise or prudent for any woman of Cyador in these times, and if she is seen as unduly unreasonable, all will fail. She knows she is balancing her position as Empress against the Cyadoran presupposition that women seldom take the initiative.
How did that come to be? Was it because of … She has no time to meditate on the immediate past history of Cyador. Instead, she walks swiftly out through the arched entry and toward the gleaming cupridium coach in which Kiedron and Emerya wait. Viera is seated up beside the coachman.
Once Mairena is seated, she calls to the coachman. “Follow the captain and the Mirror Lancer escort to the fireship pier. They will be here shortly.”
“Yes, Lady Empress.”
Mairena forces herself to wait, and the moments drag as she waits for Altyrn and the four Lancer rankers to arrive … and for the coach to move.
“You didn’t mention the fireship,” says Emerya.
“Please keep your voice down,” replies Mairena.
“What is this all about?” asks Kiedron, his voice low.
“Surviving what will come. Do not ask me more. Not yet. Everything will become quite clear in another two glasses.”
Kiedron and Emerya exchange worried glances. Emerya looks to her brother, but he shrugs, and she turns to look toward the harbor. Finally, the coach begins to move, easing away from the green-tinged white stone mounting blocks and down the gradual incline to the boulevard leading to the waterfront.
“Your mother is neither mad nor willful,” Mairena replies to the unspoken queries. She looks to her daughter. “Do you remember the time I would not let you ride that gray across the bridge in the hunting park?”
“Yes?”
“What happened?”
“The bridge failed and killed the Lancer escort who said it was safe.”
Mairena turns to Kiedron.
“I know,” he says quickly. “There was the time you dragged me from the ocean just before that big wave came from nowhere and washed all the people away. And there have been more. But what—”
Recluce Tales Page 12