Scion of Cyador (60 page)

After Kysia returns to the kitchen, Lorn gestures to Ryalth to help herself, then serves himself two slices of the rolled and stuffed pork covered with a brown sauce. Then he takes some of the nutted beans, and a chunk of dark bread.

Kysia returns with a pitcher and pours the ale into their glasses, then vanishes once more.

“Have you found out anything about those commanders-Sypcal and Lhary?”

Ryalth looks abashed. “I’m sorry. I did. Days ago… and somehow, every time I meant to tell you, something happened or Kerial was fussy… or something. I’m really sorry. I know it was important… I guess I’m trying to do too much.”

Lorn finishes chewing a mouthful of the stuffed pork, and then swallows. “I understand. You are trying to run a trading house, look after a son, and please a consort, and each is more of a task than it should be.” He pauses. “About Sypcal?”

“He comes from Geliendra. His father was a tradesman. He was considered a good field commander, but he cashiered a captain by the name of Sasyk.” Ryalth raises her eyebrows.

“Sasyk… I’ve heard the name somewhere, but I don’t recall right now.”

“Sasyk is some relative of Tasjan, and he’s the one in charge of Tasjan’s guards.”

“Why did cashiering an officer cause a problem for Sypcal? That’s what you’re hinting.”

“A tradesman in Assyadt made a charge that Sypcal had ordered some wine and not paid for it, and then threatened to kill the tradesman if he insisted on payment. Sypcal had a receipt. The tradesman said Sypcal forged it. Sypcal brought in two captains who had witnessed the transaction. The tradesman claimed they all lied. Sypcal did lose his temper, and killed the man. The justicer said it was allowable because the man had committed fraud and tried to disgrace an officer. The merchanters in Syadtar were less than happy.”

“Let me guess,” Lorn says. “The tradesman was either a relative or in debt to Tasjan, or something.”

“His daughter was his mistress-one of them-for a time.”

Lorn takes a sip of ale. “So then Rynst ordered Sypcal to Cyad and put Ikynd in charge at Assyadt?”

“Not quite. Rynst had selected Sypcal as commander in Assyadt, and the town was upset…”

“So Rynst had Luss pick the commander to succeed Sypcal?”

Ryalth nods.

Lorn shakes his head. “What about Lhary?”

“No one knows much of anything, except that he was considered a good company officer at Pemedra. Since then, he’s always been someone’s assistant, except for a short tour when he was the commander of the outposts around the
Accursed
Forest
. He’s very close to Luss, and he has no consort.”

None of that surprises Lorn.

“Anything new about Tasjan?” he asks after several mouthfuls of the stuffed pork.

“There’s always some gossip.” She wrinkles her brow, then frowns. “What was it? Oh, he sent a scroll to Vyanat. This time he asked the Merchanter Advisor to request that the Mirror Engineers build more of the new warships to protect the traders. He said that with the changes in the
Accursed
Forest
and the sack of Jera and all the golds you brought back, the lancers didn’t need as many arms and men, and that between your loot and the golds saved the lancers could build the ships without increasing tariffs.”

“Hmm… does anyone know what Vyanat said?”

“No.”

“He’s forgetting that the lancers are also losing their firelances, and we’ll need more Lancers to do the same task. He should know that.”

Ryalth laughs.

“I know,” Lorn says. “Knowing something, and conveniently forgetting it when it serves your purpose, is nothing new in Cyad. Still, I have to wonder.”

“Why are you interested in Tasjan?”

“Rumors,” Lorn says. “I was sparring with Tyrsal, and he’s heard from his mother that Tasjan was up to something. She didn’t know what, and neither did Tyrsal.”

“You’re not telling me everything.”

“No. The rumor also indicated that Tasjan wanted to cause trouble for you and Ryalor House.” Lorn shakes his head. “Are you sure that Magi’i blood doesn’t run in your family?” He takes a swallow of the ale, then another serving of the stuffed pork from the platter.

“That’s not something that would have been mentioned when I was that young, and…” Her mouth twists into a awkward smile, “I’m certain that Mother wasn’t about to say anything, not until I was older. Then, she couldn’t.”

“You’re more Magi’i than some Magi’i.”

“You’re kind… I think.”

“Accurate.” He frowns. “I need to see if I can find Tasjan in the glass. Would you watch and see if what I call up is Tasjan-if I can?”

“When you do that… it’s so strange,” Ryalth says. “I know others can scree, too, but it’s different, to me, anyway, when it’s your own consort.”

“You didn’t mind it when I used it to see you.”

“No… but it was still strange… to feel your presence and know you were hundreds and hundreds of kays away.”

Lorn stands. “I’d like to do this now, just in case Kerial wakes later.”

“You are worried. Usually… in the evening… if he’s sleeping…”

Lorn flushes. “I am. Worried, I mean.” Then he grins sheepishly before he walks softly from the dining area and up the stairs to the study.

With Ryalth standing behind him, the small study’s shutters drawn, Lorn seats himself and looks down at his own reflection in the chaos-glass. “What does Tasjan look like?”

“He’s about as tall as you are. He’s slender. His hair is sandy-blond, and there’s some silver in it. He doesn’t have a beard. His eyes are light-brown and green mixed together. Oh, and there’s a pockmark, just one, below his left eye.”

Lorn tries to concentrate on both the appearance and the essences of Tasjan. For a long time, the silver mists swirl across the glass. Perspiration beads Lorn’s forehead.

Finally, an image appears-one of a sandy-haired man sitting at the end of a long table, a wine goblet before him. The only other figure at the table is a bearded man wearing a uniform of off-green who sits to his right, with gold epaulets.

“That’s Tasjan,” Ryalth affirms. “And the other one wears the uniform of his guards. It might be Sasyk, but I don’t know.”

“He has special uniforms for his armsmen?”

“Oh, yes. Some of the other traders think he’s putting on airs.” Lorn concentrates, trying to fix Tasjan’s image in his mind, before he finally lets the chaos-glass turn blank once more. He blots his forehead, then massages his neck. For a moment or so, he sits before the glass with his eyes closed.

“That’s hard work, isn’t it?” Ryalth says softly.

“Especially when I don’t know what exactly I’m seeking.”

She frowns. “I thought Magi’i couldn’t use the glass if they didn’t…”

“Most can’t, I found out later. I had to learn on my own.” His laugh is ragged. “I guess I didn’t know any better.”

“That image didn’t show much.”

“Usually they don’t,” Lorn says. “You see people talking, working, eating, all the things we all do. It’s more useful for things like making maps, or for finding forces when you know the terrain. I want to look at a few other people-quickly.”

Lorn decides to try to seek Luss, and concentrates. After the silver mists clear, the glass reveals the image of the black-haired and bushy-eyebrowed Captain-Commander sitting at a table covered in green linen. To the right of the Captain-Commander is the blond commander Lhary. They are deep in conversation, and Lorn immediately releases the image.

“Who are they?”

“The Captain-Commander and Commander Lhary.”

“They’re plotting something. They just looked that way.”

“I’m sure they are, except Lhary is brighter than Luss.”

“That’s worse.”

Lorn agrees silently. “Watch the next image.”

The figure of Rustyl appears once the mists dissipate. The image of the first-level adept is blurred, and wavers, but Lorn can make out that the magus stands in a corridor looking through a window in solid granite. He lets the mirror blank.

“He’s studying the chaos-tower of the Magi’i. Much good it will do.” Lorn frowns. “At least, I hope it won’t do him much good.”

“But… if he could repair it… or make it last longer… ?” asks Ryalth.

“I’d have to praise him for it, and mean it.” Lorn sighs. “And watch him even more closely.” He closes his eyes and rubs his forehead.

Ryalth steps up behind him and massages his shoulders.

Lorn sighs. “That feels good.” For a time, he just sits there, enjoying the feel of her fingers on his shoulders and neck.

Ryalth’s fingers run through his hair, stroke his neck, and then her lips brush the back of his neck. “Kerial’s still asleep,” she whispers softly.

He flushes, but he eases from the chair and takes her in his arms.

CXVIII

The two women-one a trader and one a healer-sit across the dinner table from each other. Beside the trader sits a Mirror Lancer officer in his working uniform of cream-and-green. The trader wears shimmercloth blue, and holds an infant dressed in a green shirt in her lap. The healer wears green, and pushes a lock of curly black hair off her forehead. The gentle scent of erhenflower emanates from her.

Lorn looks across the dinner table at his younger sister. “We’re glad you could come this time.”

“So am I. Ciesrt doesn’t like to come to family things unless Vernt’s there.” Myryan shrugs. “But Ciesrt’s in Summerdock for an eightday or so.”

“What’s he doing there?” asks Lorn.

“Something to do with reclaiming the chaos-storage cells on the fireships-the ones whose towers failed. Some can be used on the firewagons, and some for firelances, I guess.” Myryan takes a last bite of the glazed fowl. “I shouldn’t have eaten so much.”

“You brought the squash and lentils,” Ryalth said. “We don’t get vegetables like you grow. Neither of us has time to garden, and Pheryk and Grehty came too late this year to plant one. Pheryk says he knows just where he’ll put the garden next year.” She smiles. “That’s next year.”

“We haven’t asked, and you haven’t said,” Lorn says, “but how is Ciesrt?”

“As always.” Myryan takes a long swallow of the Alafraan.

“What’s the matter?” Lorn asks gently.

“Nothing… or nothing you can do anything about.” The black-haired healer shakes her head. Her fingers twine around the stem of the goblet.

“Is it Ciesrt?” asks Ryalth. “Something we should know?”

“It’s not Ciesrt. It’s his father.” Myryan looks to Ryalth, and then at the softly babbling Kerial in her lap. “He’s so sweet.”

“Tonight,” Lorn says with a laugh. “Tonight, he’s sweet.”

“The other day Lorn had to walk him in circles for forever. I was so worn-out that when Lorn saw me, I just snapped at him.” Ryalth smiles. “He took Kerial and sent me upstairs for a bath and a nap.”

“I’m still amazed.” Myryan smiles, if but momentarily. “I never thought of Lorn as a father.”

“Neither did I,” Lorn admits.

“What about Kharl?” asks Ryalth gently.

“He’s pushing Ciesrt. He wants us to have a child. He’s talking about having me see some other healer besides Jerial.”

Lorn manages not to frown.

Myryan turns to him. “You know something about this, don’t you? And you didn’t tell me…”

“No… I didn’t know a thing, but I have to wonder.” Lorn purses his lips.

Both women look at him and wait.

“Kharl is the Second Magus. There’s no great respect or affection between him and the other high lectors. Everyone knows that.”

Myryan nods.

“It’s also common knowledge in the
Mirror Lancer Court
that Kharl has been courting the Captain-Commander of Mirror Lancers.”

“But… old as Chyenfel is… he is still strong, and he keeps chaos at bay,” Myryan says.

“Exactly,” Lorn says. “Who is not keeping chaos at bay, or will not be able to for long?”

Myryan and Ryalth look at each other, then at Lorn.

Lorn waits. He does not want to offer any suggestion, because he wants to see if the connection is logical.

“Rynst is old…” says Myryan.

“He looks older than he is. He will outlive Chyenfel,” Lorn says.

“Vyanat’mer is the youngest of the advisors to the Emperor,” Ryalth says.

Myryan’s hand goes to her mouth. “You aren’t serious… a Magi’i… the Malachite Throne… the lancers… oh… that’s why you mentioned Luss.”

“I don’t know that,” Lorn says. “But you had mentioned that they had been pushing for a child before. And you are the daughter of the most respected magus of the generation.”

“If Myryan has a child, then there are two generations of heirs… is that what you’re suggesting?” asks Ryalth.

“I don’t know. They just could want grandchildren…”

“Ciesrt’s older sister consorted with Zubyl almost two years ago, and she’s finally expecting in midwinter.” Myryan snorts. “They haven’t said so much as a word about it. Kharl hasn’t, anyway.”

Lorn takes a small sip of the Alafraan. His guts are churning.

“This upsets you, doesn’t it?” asks his sister.

“Yes. Not as much as it’s upsetting you, though.” He offers a crooked smile. “I was just guessing.”

“No one wagers against your guesses,” Myryan says. “Not if they know you, and I’ve known you too long.” She pauses. “I still can’t believe it. How could he possibly think… ? And Ciesrt, he’s never said a word. Not a word.”

“Would he know?” asks Ryalth.

A bitter smile crosses Myryan’s face. “He wouldn’t even think of it. He hopes he’ll make lector someday. He’s knows he’s not as bright as his father, and in that way, he’d do whatever he could to please Kharl.” She looks at Lorn. “Whatever made you think of that?”

He shrugs helplessly. “I couldn’t say. The pieces were there, and…” He shrugs again.

“Do you want a child?” asks Ryalth.

“No…” Myryan shakes her head slowly. “Not like this… not… I can accept being a consort. I can support Ciesrt, and make him happy. I’m not strong enough, not like Jerial. I couldn’t take having everyone look at me, and judge me, or say no one wanted me…” She swallows. “I’ll be all right. Really… I will be.”

Ryalth reaches across the table with her one free hand and places it on Myryan’s. “We’re here. You can stay here…”