Recluce Tales

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  After the other two Magi’i have left, and Viera has swept up the ashes and gathered the few metal articles that are all that remain of Chamsym, Tyrsalyn stands by the table and looks at the Empress. “Captain Heisyrt thinks you are mad to go to Hamor.”

  “That surprises me not at all. Will the remaining Magi’i support me in this?”

  “With Mueryt and Vaernt convinced … and all the women you have persuaded, who is likely to object?” He pauses. “What you plan is … bold.”

  “Most would say fanciful … or unrealistic. But it is the only way. To struggle against the barbarians, the Accursed Forest, and … the dark angels … amidst total ruin, where not a single structure remains, except for tiny towns we have no way to reach … that would be folly.”

  “Some would say going to Hamor is folly.”

  “We have golds. I arranged for that. I sent two small chests to the Emperor’s stateroom once it was completed.” Those golds do not include all the jewels I’ve hoarded and brought. “There are cupridium blades and even some ancient firelances … I assume you and the other true Magi’i could infuse them with chaos, could you not?”

  “I can, if given some time, and if the firelances hold up.”

  “I intend to save them for show … or rather, the heir to the Malachite Throne intends to do so. We also have almost two companies of Mirror Lancers, and none of the Hamorians are trained as well as the Lancers are.” Or as Kiedron will be.

  “Or as determined as you are, Lady.” Tyrsalyn inclines his head in respect, then turns and walks from the stateroom.

  XI

  By fourday, the Kerial reaches the site of Cyad, where a single lonely merchanter has anchored. Mairena makes her way to the bridge, where Captain Heisyrt steps forward to meet her at the open hatch.

  “The merchanter?” asks the Empress.

  “I recognize her—The Pride of Cyador. She’s one of the great ships of Ryalor House.”

  Mairena manages a nod. Ryalor House … and the name of the ship. The irony is almost overpowering. “I’d like to talk to the captain.”

  “You could take the pinnace once we’re closer.”

  “I’d appreciate that.”

  The Empress watches as the captain raises the large Imperial ensign and as the Kerial eases closer to the merchanter, then comes to a halt several hundred yards away. The two vessels exchange flag signals, none of which mean anything to Mairena, before Captain Heisyrt returns to the lookout platform from which the Empress has observed the impressive clipper, a vessel likely to be faster, at least in a favorable wind, than the Kerial.

  “They are ready to receive you, Lady. They have questions.”

  Who would not? “Thank you. I will do my best to answer them.” One way or another.

  Two Mirror Lancers accompany Mairena on the short sail of less than half a kay to the clipper trader. The Pride of Cyador has lowered a ladder, much like a rope and wood staircase, that makes it comparatively easy for Mairena, and the two Mirror Lancers, to reach the main deck of the merchanter, although climbing even a rope ladder would not have been that difficult in the low swells off the mud flats that are all that remain of the City of Light. When she reaches the deck, the captain steps forward.

  “Lady Empress, Captain Elthoryn’mer, at your service.”

  She smiles, trying to order-project both assurance and warmth. “I’m pleased to meet you. Perhaps we could talk, and I could tell you what has occurred here … or, rather, the causes of the devastation.”

  “I would greatly appreciate that, and so would my officers and men. If you would not mind the privacy of my rather cramped stateroom?”

  Mairena nods acquiescence.

  The two walk across the main deck to the sterncastle and up the ladder to the second deck. The captain’s stateroom is indeed modest, not more than four yards by three, with a small circular table at one end, anchored to the deck.

  Elthoryn gestures to the table, and Mairena takes a seat. He seats himself across from her, then asks, “What happened?”

  “The dark angels and the Accursed Forest destroyed every city and town in Cyador,” Mairena replies simply.

  “How could that be?”

  Mairena gestures in the direction of vanished Cyad. “You see what has befallen the City of Light. We have just returned from where Fyrad once stood. There is no sign of the city, but only an enormous great bay. There are no towns left standing anywhere along the coast from here to there. The tower that marked Cape South has been toppled and vanished…” She goes on to explain what Tyrsalyn and Vaernt have also discovered.

  When she finishes, Elthoryn says, “We came from Biehl, and from the south of there, to Summerdock and beyond, all we saw was the same.”

  “The glass of the First Magus showed that also, even well away from the coast.”

  Elthoryn then asks, “What about the Emperor?”

  Mairena shakes her head. “All the Magi’i who were trying to bring the barbarians under control have all also been destroyed. From what we can tell, only those aboard the fireship have survived … and, of course, any aboard your vessel or any other Cyadoran ships that were at sea. The heir to the Malachite Throne is aboard the Kerial. So is the former Third Magus, now First Magus, and two companies of Mirror Lancers.”

  “Might I ask … was that a fortuitous happening?”

  “No. It was not…” The Empress explains in much the same fashion as she already did to Tyrsalyn and Heisyrt, if by adding slight touches of order to certain words and phrases … and smiling more than she would otherwise.

  When she stops speaking, Elthoryn nods slowly, then smiles ruefully. “I suspect you did not come here merely to recount events and to wish us well.”

  “No … I did not. I wish to see Cyador’s heritage renewed and carried out. You could be of assistance, and I believe we can assist you as well … since a Cyadoran vessel with no home port and no resources behind it might find it difficult to continue merchanting.”

  “In what respect might this mutual accommodation take place?”

  The Empress tells him, if in terms more suited to trade, again trying to use order as emphasis and persuasion, if subtly.

  There are several moments of silence when she has finished.

  “I don’t know that’s the best offer I’ve ever had, Lady Empress, but it’s likely to be the only one available after what’s happened. As you’ve pointed out, Cyadoran merchanters and vessels haven’t ever been the most welcomed … and without the power of Cyad and many Magi’i behind us…”

  “I had thought as much. Would you like me to address your crew and officers … or would you rather handle that yourself?”

  “I think your presence and that of your fireship will suffice.” Elthoryn’s smile is wry. “Tell me more about the heir and your plans.”

  More than a glass passes before he escorts her from his stateroom.

  After boarding the pinnace to take her back from the merchanter to the Kerial, the Empress reflects on her meeting with Elthoryn. In the end, he has proved far more reasonable, at least initially, than Captain Heisyrt about the options open to those who remain the survivors of Cyad and Cyador. But then, those who have had to rely on more than just power to accomplish their ends are often more adaptable … and reasonable.

  XII

  Even so, Mairena allows two more days to pass, each day spent quietly talking in turn with those aboard the Kerial, until she has spent time with all but a few of the adults on board. At the end of that time, another merchanter, the Toziel, arrives and anchors. Mairena once more employs the pinnace, first to pick up Captain Elthoryn, and then to sail to the Toziel.

  Her conversation with the captain of the Toziel follows much the same pattern as did her initial discussion with Elthoryn, if in less time, given Elthoryn’s support and persuasion. Then she has the pinnace convey both captains back to the Kerial, where the three of them meet with Captain Heisyrt.

  There, the Empress allows both merchanter captains t
o share their views and feelings with Heisyrt, if neither tersely nor with great verbosity. When she has seen them off to their ships, she returns to the bridge.

  Heisyrt looks to the Empress, then inclines his head. “Whenever you give the word, Lady Empress.”

  “Not quite yet, Captain … but soon.”

  When the Empress returns to her quarters, Emerya is waiting in the stateroom.

  “What have you been doing?” asks her daughter.

  “Gaining support,” replies Mairena.

  “Gaining support? Wearing what you were wearing?”

  “I’m wearing riding clothes.”

  “The way you’re wearing them…”

  “Do not question how I do what I do, Emerya,” replies the Empress, her voice like liquid ice. “I will do anything I must to assure that the heritage of Cyador continues and that you and your brother carry on that heritage. Anything to assure that you can. After all that your father did to destroy it … and all the other things he did … do not reproach me. Do not even dare to try. Do you understand?”

  Emerya steps back, from both the determination in the words and the raw power of order behind them. She drops her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

  “So am I,” replies Mairena, adding, “I have not had to stoop so low as you intimate.” Even if I would were it necessary. “But I have used some abilities in ways I would not prefer. The time may come for you as well. I hope it is not soon.” She settles into the armchair. “Not soon at all.”

  “What will not be soon at all?” asks Kiedron, walking into the stateroom from the outside port deck.

  “The time when you’ll have to make the kind of choices I’ve been making. The time when the entire fate of your heritage rests on your shoulders.”

  Kiedron starts to reply, then looks to Emerya, and nods. After a moment, he says, “I hope I make them as well as you are.”

  That does surprise Mairena, but she replies, “I can only do my best, and I can only hope the same for you.” She offers a smile that hides the sadness within and adds, “It has been a long day, and I would rest for a time.”

  Kiedron and Emerya exchange glances, but neither speaks.

  Then the Empress walks into her sleeping quarters, closing the door behind her. She does not sleep … or rest.

  XIII

  After another day spent talking to the remainder of the adults on board the Kerial, Mairena speaks to Heisyrt. Flag signals are exchanged with The Pride of Cyador and the Toziel. All three vessels lift anchor, and the Kerial’s mighty engines throb as she turns to the southeast.

  Mairena once more assembles not only the Magi’i, but all of those aboard the fireship, again on the main deck, except a handful of the crew and those on the bridge. When all are gathered out under the mid-morning sun, the Empress begins to speak, slowly and clearly, not just because she wishes to come across as deliberate, but because she infuses each word with the tiniest fragment of order.

  “In hopes that we might find some part of Cyador that remains intact, we have traveled for days and days and found nothing. Then we returned to find that nothing of that which was Cyad has remained. The captains of The Pride of Cyador and the Toziel have found only destruction to the west and north. You have seen Cyad destroyed in instants, and you can still behold that not a trace remains of what once was Cyad, save mounds of mud. Is there a single white stone left upon another? Any trace of the mighty white piers of the harbor or of the Palace of Light? You have seen the great bay that swallowed Fyrad. You have witnessed the entire coast of Cyador from west of Cyad to east of Fyrad. Not a trace of any habitation or house remains. All the Magi’i of Cyador could not prevail against the Accursed Forest, and now but a handful remain—those aboard this fireship. While we cannot prevail against the Accursed Forest, we can indeed prevail against mere men…”

  As she speaks, Mairena continues to weave a sense of order, of rightness, into the words she utters.

  “I cannot promise safety here, nor can anyone. I cannot promise the opportunity to rebuild Cyad where it stood, or anywhere in what once was Cyador, for the Accursed Forest would soon topple anything that we could build … so we must find a new land to carry on our heritage, that heritage from the Rational Stars.… The land that offers the most opportunity is that of Hamor, for it is the farthest from Candar, and it is yet divided and weak. Our ancestors crossed the endless gulf from the Rational Stars and built Cyador. Compared to that, can it be so hard to cross a single ocean? We have a great ship. We have Magi’i and healers. They had neither. We have Mirror Lancers and firelances, and we have golds to use to buy what we need and to trade.

  “And we have the heir to the Malachite Throne, and he will build another great city … one that will endure even longer than did Cyad. That I have seen, just as I foresaw what befell Cyad and Cyador.…

  “We will prevail.… We will triumph.”

  For long moments, the Empress stands in silence, shimmering in order. Then, she turns and walks to the bow of the Kerial, looking to the south and east. She does not look back, either at those she has addressed or at the two merchanters that sail in the wake of the Kerial.

  Her eyes remain on the eastern horizon—and the unseen and distant land where the heritage of Cyador will be renewed.

  Must be … and will be.

  This story came about as a request by Patrick St-Denis for his short anthology, Speculative Horizons, and sheds light on a character who walked into the sunset before the ending of Fall of Angels.

  THE STRANGER

  The late light oozed over the hills at the foot of the Easthorns that harvest afternoon, a light that gave the early snows on the higher peaks to the east the faintest tinge of orange. I heard the hoofbeats on the lane before I saw the man ride out of the sunset toward the cot and the sheep shed. I had just closed the door behind the flock. In those days, the mountain cats were far more numerous and far bolder, and any shepherd who left a flock outside was tempting fate. The fiercest of mastiffs was no match for a pair of cats. A young herder wasn’t, either, and I was barely old enough to sprout a few hairs on my face. I also had no real weapons, just an iron-tipped staff and a belt dagger. Ma had sold the big old sword that had been Da’s after he’d died when the Prefect had conscripted all the locals for an attack on Axalt. No one’s ever breached the walls of the trading city, and the Prefect’s forces didn’t then, either. Ma got a death-gold, and that didn’t even pay for the three lambs and the ewe that the armsmen took after they gave her the coin.

  I glanced back at the shed for a moment. I was worried about the old ewe. She’d gone into season in early winter for the first time in a year, and the ram had covered her before we’d known, and she was showing signs her time was near.

  Anyway, the hoofbeats got louder, and it was just before supper when the man rode up to the shed. He wore a black tunic, and black trousers, and even a black leather cloak. He wasn’t young, and he wasn’t old, but his face had the look of a man who’d traveled some. His hair was mahogany red, but it didn’t look that way then. In the sunset, it was more like the color of blood. He was also clean-shaven … or mostly so, like he’d shaved a day or two before.

  “Young fellow, might a man find a hearth and a meal here?”

  I didn’t understand his words at first.

  He asked again, and he spoke slowly. I still had to struggle to understand him because he spoke the way the traders from Suthya did, not quite the same, but close enough. What they called the old way of talking, sort of the way they did in Cyador, Caetyr told me later.

  “We’re not an inn, ser.”

  He smiled, sort of shyly. “I wasn’t looking for an inn. I was looking for honest folk who wouldn’t mind a few coppers for sharing their meal and letting a stranger sleep. I’d even sleep in the loft of the shed.”

  By then, Ma had come out into the yard. She just looked at him.

  He turned in the saddle and bowed his head to her for a moment. “Mistress, I was asking the young fellow about wh
ether I might pay you for a meal and a place to sleep.”

  “One way or other, I’m no mistress.” She paused. “There’s an inn in town.”

  “A stranger traveling alone is often safer with honest herders.” He smiled, and it was sort of a sad smile.

  “That’d be so in places.”

  “And you’re closer to Axalt. That’s where I’m headed.”

  “You said you’d pay?” asked Ma.

  “I did. Three coppers? Would that suffice?”

  “We’ve only got a thick soup and fresh bread. No ale, nothing like that. Water’s good, though. We got a clean spring back side of the hill.”

  “A thick soup would be wonderful.” When he dismounted, I saw that he had two swords at his belt, both on the right side, and both sheathed in something like a double scabbard, and a long dagger on his left side. The two swords were short blades, like nothing I’d ever seen. It was more than warm, but he wore a dark gray leather glove over his right hand, the kind that extended partway up his forearm under the sleeve of his tunic.

  He slipped his wallet from his belt and deftly slid out three coppers one-handed, extending them to Ma.

  “I guess you’re our guest,” Ma said with a smile.

  “I thank you.” He glanced toward the shed. “Might there be a place to put my mare? She’s carried me more kays than I’d want to count.”

  “There’s a large stall at the end of the shed,” Ma said. “She’ll have to share.”

  “She’s done that before.”

  His horse was a black mare, and she did fine in with the old gelding. The man groomed her with a worn brush that had leather straps that fitted over his gloved hand, and before long the three of us were sitting at the old table by the hearth.

  Ma dished out the soup. She even used the better bowls and set the bread in a basket in the middle of the table.

  “Would you like to say a blessing?” she asked.

  “If you wouldn’t mind … mine’s a little different.”

  “A blessing’s a blessing,” Ma said warmly.