Still... there is a hint of something there. Lorn takes another deep slow breath, ignoring a faint whimper from Kerial and the rustling of pages from his consort.

   He finds his eyes wandering away from the full-length mirror, and he concentrates on trying to hold his image... then laughs softly.

   "What is it?" Ryalth looks up, as if slightly annoyed at the noise.

   "I'm sorry," Lorn says softly. "I'll ask for my favor. It won't take but a moment, and then I'll leave you to the reading."

   "What is it?" Suspicion mixed with amusement clouds her voice.

   "I want you to read for a moment or two, then look up at me, and tell me what you see."

   "Is that all?" A faint frown furrows her brows.

   "That's all." Lorn grins at her. "Really."

   "I start reading now..."

   "Exactly." Lorn concentrates once more on the sense of aversion, of nudging the order-reflected chaos of light just slightly so that the pattern makes Ryalth, or anyone, wish to look away from himself.

   "Lorn! Don't do that."

   Lorn drops the blurring shield. Perhaps that is not what it is called, but that is what it feels like. "Do what? What did you see?"

   "I wanted to look at you, and it was as though I couldn't. My eyes kept drifting away from you as though you weren't there."

   "Good."

   After a moment, Ryalth nods soberly. "I can see that, but be careful when you do that."

   "I will, but from what I recall, it's hard to detect, even by a lector, because it's such a gentle and delicate manipulation of order and chaos."

   She shakes her head, then smiles. "There are times when not being seen could be useful, especially when some Austran trader wants to know why you won't sell him a quarter-case of golden brandy."

   "Because most others won't buy a broken case?"

   Ryalth nods.

   "That's my favor, dearest. I need to practice some more so I don't forget how I did it."

   "Just don't expect me to watch."

   "I won't." After his smile fades away, and Ryalth picks up the next invoice, Lorn tries once more... and then again.

   After a mere halfscore of attempts, he finds his whole body is shaking, and his vision is blurring. Faint stars seem to appear wherever he looks. His lips curl. Another skill that takes much energy, and even more practice.

   He wipes his brow. "I need to get some bread or cheese or something. Do you want anything?" He looks at the trader who is more than halfway through the invoices.

   "Just some more quiet."

   Lorn nods. "I'll be in the study. If you let me know when you're done?"

   "I will."

   He unlatches the bedchamber door, steps out into the dark corridor, and starts down the stairs to the kitchen to see what he can find to eat, placing each foot carefully, and trying to ignore his wavering vision.

 

 

CXXIII

 

The older magus looks at the unconscious healer lying on the bed. He concentrates, and the slightest shimmering of chaos enfolds the young woman for a moment, then vanishes. The younger magus, broad-shouldered and with dark red hair, breathes a gentle sigh.

   After a moment, the two step from the bedchamber.

   "You see?" asks the red-haired and green-eyed older magus. "That was her sister's doing, and she will not remember this... not for a time, if ever. The suroyen will make her feel ill, as if a minor flux... but she will not have her order powers fully back for a day or so. Best you ensure you have an heir by then."

   "Yes, ser. Was there no other way?" Ciesrt wrinkles his forehead, then purses his lips.

   "Have you found any such, my first-level adept?" Kharl's eyebrows lift. "You have been consorted now for, what, four years?"

   "Almost five," Ciesrt replies.

   "And have you an heir?"

   "No. But I worry. In her own way, she is fragile."

   Kharl shakes his head. "She is a healer. She will love the child, and it will make it easier in time for you two to have another. Be kind and gentle, and you will see. Healers always love children. You have seen her with her brother's son, have you not?"

   Ciesrt nods.

   "All would have been well, had her elder sister not become involved. Yet... one can say nothing, not now, for she is most effective as a healer, even if she chooses to dally with a dissolute merchanter."

   "None know much of him, save he provides her lodging and gambles much."

   "He gambles well," Kharl says, "well enough to hold a dwelling in the merchanter quarter, and to do little else. It is sad that a daughter of such a once-great line will have neither consort nor heirs." He frowns, momentarily. "But you and Myryan will continue that heritage, and you may prosper far more than any would have dreamed."

   "She'll be all right, won't she?"

   "She will be fine." Kharl coughs gently. "She will not even recall anything until tomorrow morning, I would judge. Do what you must, and tell her that she has the flux when she wakes."

   Ciesrt frowns, then nods.

   "I will be going." Kharl steps toward the doorway of the bedchamber. "I can let myself out."

   Ciesrt looks at Myryan, then at the doorway, but it is empty, and shortly there is the sound of another door closing.

 

 

CXXIV

 

The Recording Hall in the Quarter of the Magi'i is of polished white marble, like that of the small hall in Jakaafra where Lorn and Ryalth were consorted. The tall and narrow windows are also of ancient blue glass, and there are no furnishings in the hall save a single white sunstone pedestal. There, the resemblance ends. The white granite walls soar high overhead, into an arch whose highest point is nearly thirty cubits directly above the pedestal. The windows are more than ten cubits high, and their casements are of green marble.

   Among the halfscore couples standing at the back of the hall before those windows, all are in total shimmercloth white-except for Lorn and Ryalth. He wears the green-and-cream formal Mirror Lancer uniform, and she the green-trimmed formal blue shimmercloth tunic and trousers of a merchanter clan head consorted to a Mirror Lancer.

   To their right stand the parents of Aleyar-Liataphi and Lleya-and to their left, Tyrsal's mother.

   Behind the sunstone pedestal stands a senior lector-Hyrist'elth. Hyrist looks down at the massive open book that rests on the stand of white sunstone. Each page of the book is a cubit-and-a-half in height and two-thirds that in width. The senior lector wears a sashlike white shimmercloth scarf that barely stands out against his white shimmercloth tunic and trousers.

   "I am Hyrist'elth, senior lector, and recorder of consortings for all the Magi'i. Approach... you who wish to record your consortship here in Cyad, the city of Eternal Light, and home of the Magi'i." The lector and recorder inclines his head to the couple.

   Tyrsal and Aleyar walk slowly toward the book and sash-wearer until they stop and stand two cubits back from the sunstone pedestal and the book upon it. Both look to the recorder.

   "Do you two-Tyrsal'elth of the Magi'i and Lady Aleyar, healer of Cyad-declare your intention to take each other as consorts?"

   "I do," Tyrsal replies.

   "I do," affirms Aleyar.

   "Would you each inscribe your name in the book before you, signifying that such is your choice of your own free will, in the prosperity of chaos and light and under the oversight of the Emperor of Light?" With a smile, Hyrist extends a shimmering white pen to the slender healer.

   After taking the cupridium-tipped pen, Aleyar bends forward and writes her name. She straightens and hands the pen to Tyrsal. He leans forward and writes his name.

   Hyrist takes the pen and replaces it in the ceremonial cupridium holder, then clears his throat before declaiming, "As entered in the book of the Quarter, in Cyad, the City of Eternal Light, you are hereafter consorts." Hyrist looks at the couple and declaims sonorously, "May you always be fulfilled in the light and in the fullness of time."

   Tyrsal slips the shiny silver onto the pages of the book, according to custom, then steps back, standing before the sunstone pedestal almost awkwardly.

   Aleyar whispers something, and Tyrsal turns and kisses her, flushing slightly.

   Beside Lorn, Ryalth sighs. Lorn can hear more than one gentle sigh from the back of the hall where the halfscore of couples stand as witnesses and family.

   Then, Tyrsal and Aleyar turn and walk back toward the double doors that are opened by two junior Magi'i.

   As the just-consorted couple nears Lorn and Ryalth, Tyrsal smiles broadly and happily at his friend. Lorn smiles back. After the two pass, Lorn and Ryalth turn and follow the others out of the hall and down the wide white-granite steps.

   A line of carriages waits outside the hall, and Lorn and Ryalth share a carriage with Syreal and Aleyar's youngest sister, Nyarl. Like all of Liataphi's daughters, Nyarl and Syreal are blonde, although Nyarl barely looks old enough for the healer pin she wears in the collar of her white tunic.

   "They both looked very happy," Ryalth says.

   "So did Father," suggests Syreal. "Aleyar is happy, and he has a magus in the family at last."

   "Having the head of a trading house in the family is also good," Lorn observes.

   "From you, Lorn, I will accept that gratefully." Syreal smiles. "From others, it would be condescension. I wish Veljan would have come to the ceremony," she adds. "He will be at the consorting dinner."

   Lorn notes the absolute lack of doubt in Syreal's voice, and represses a smile.

   Syreal glances at Ryalth. "I hope you don't mind, but he insisted that we be seated next to you. He wasn't sure there would be anyone else he could talk to."

   "I do understand," Ryalth replies. "It felt strange being the only ones not in white."

   "I wanted to wear my greens," Nyarl said, "but Father and Mother insisted on white. When I get consorted, I will wear green."

   Lorn smiles.

   "You were a magus, once, weren't you?" Nyarl asks Lorn.

   "I was a student magus," Lorn admits.

   "I thought so. I'll wager-"

   "Nyarl..." cautions Syreal.

   "Yes, sister dear."

   "I've been a lancer officer for many years now."

   "Tyrsal says that you're the best field officer in the lancers. Are you?"

   Syreal rolls her eyes.

   Lorn laughs. "Tyrsal is kind, and he's my best friend. He may rate me higher for that reason." He inclines his head to Ryalth. "My consort, the lady trader, has accomplished far more than I have."

   "He says you're the most accomplished lady trader in the history of Cyad-"

   Syreal sighs.

   Ryalth bursts out laughing, shaking her head. "That may... be true... but only because there have been so few."

   The carriage slows, then stops, then creeps, then stops, the pattern repeating for several times until it halts before the stone floral gateway to Liataphi's dwelling. Lorn slips out of the carriage and holds the door for the three women.

   "Thank you..." murmurs Syreal.

   Lorn and Ryalth follow the sisters into the house and up the circular staircase to the second-level foyer, where several groups of people are already gathered and talking. As Lorn surveys the small crowd, again he notes that virtually all are clad in white shimmercloth.

   He frowns as he senses the brief chill of a chaos-glass, and he glances at Ryalth, who responds to his glance with a nod. Syreal catches the exchange. A slightly puzzled look vanishes almost immediately as she says in a low voice. "Terrible manners... and less point, except to be rude. Probably Rustyl. I told Father and Tyrsal he could not be invited."

   "You're not exactly fond of him?" Ryalth asks.

   "He tried to insist Father allow Aleyar to be his consort, and even got Chyenfel to put in a good word. Father, for once, listened to the rest of us."

   "Even were he not my friend, I would find Tyrsal far better for your sister," Lorn says.

   "Rustyl is a finely-formed dungball," suggests Nyarl brightly.

   "Nyarl..."

   "He is, but I'll be still."

   "Thank you," answers Syreal.

   Lorn and Ryalth smile, then watch as Syreal turns.

   Veljan-wearing pure blue shimmercloth, not the blue-and-green of Ryalth's tunic, is blocky, clean-shaven, and square-faced. He makes his way from the circular staircase toward the foyer outside the dining area, and his brown eyes sparkle when he catches sight of Syreal standing beside Ryalth.

   As he approaches, Veljan bows to Ryalth and then to Lorn.

   "You have heard of Lorn and the Lady Ryalth, Veljan," offers Syreal.

   "I am most pleased to see you both here, and especially you, Lady Ryalth."

   "And I, you, honored trader." Ryalth smiles warmly.

   Lorn inclines his head politely.

   Veljan laughs. "I can only lay claim to seeking to be honest and fair and listening to two of the best advisors a trader could ever have." His head inclines to Syreal.

   "Lorn! Ryalth!" Two dark-haired figures make their way through the growing crowd.

   Lorn smiles as Jerial and Myryan approach. "I was looking for you."

   "We just got here," Myryan explains. "Ciesrt was late, and now he's stopped downstairs to talk to someone."

   "These are my sisters, Jerial and Myryan." Lorn looks the other merchanter couple. "And Veljan and Syreal. Syreal, you may recall, was a favorite of Father's."

   Syreal flushes slightly as she bows. "Aleyar has talked about you both so much. I am so pleased to meet you."

   Veljan bows. "And I, also."

   A handbell rings, and Liataphi's voice rises above the conversations taking place around the foyer. "If you would all find your placards and seat yourselves..."

   "We'd better find Ciesrt," Myryan says, then looks at Veljan. "It was good to meet you." She turns to Lorn and Ryalth. "We'll talk to you after dinner."

   "And you, too," replies Syreal.

   "Please find your placards," Liataphi's voice rises again.

   "Father... always organizing everyone," says Syreal good-naturedly.

   "There's one in every family," Veljan says. "My sister Elnya is that way."

   "Yes, she is," agrees Syreal, "nice as she is."

   "Chyla looks like her," interjects Nyarl. "Perhaps she'll be like Lady Ryalth."

   Syreal rolls her eyes. "Nyarl... you need to find your place."

   "So do you." But Nyarl bows and turns.

   "I love her," Syreal says as the younger healer slips past several Magi'i and consorts Lorn does not know, "but she has the healing skills of one twice her age, and the tact of people of one-half her age." After a pause, she adds, "We're over on the left side of the first table."

   "At the bottom, I imagine," suggests Veljan, withholding a grin for a moment.

   Syreal flushes, if briefly, then shakes her head, moving toward the table. The other three follow, and seat themselves before the simple white cards with their names. Lorn is seated farthest to the right and from the head of the table, jointly shared by the newly-consorted couple. Above him on the same side are Aleyar's parents, so that Lorn sits beside Lleya. Ryalth is seated on Lorn's left, with Veljan beside her, and Syreal at the bottom corner.

   Serving girls come down the tables, offering either Fhynyco or redberry juice. Lorn, Ryalth, and Veljan take the wine, Syreal the juice.

   Somewhere the bell rings, and silence finally reigns in the dining area that holds three tables. At the head table, Tyrsal rises and surveys the party.

   "Thank you all for coming," Tyrsal says. "I'm supposed to make a few light remarks and then let everyone enjoy the food. So I will. First, we thank our parents, for being the first ones in making this happy event possible. Second, I would like to thank Lorn, and only say that you and your father were absolutely correct about Aleyar, and I wish I'd listened sooner." Tyrsal grins. "Except I probably wouldn't have appreciated her half so much then. And lastly, I'd like to say how much it means to us both for you all to be here." With another broad smile, Tyrsal sits down. "He was brief," offers Veljan.

   "Tyrsal never speaks long unless he has something of worth to say," Lorn says. "Unlike some of us who are more wordy."

   "You are more like Tyrsal than you would admit," suggests Syreal, "else you would not be friends."

   Lorn shrugs. Both Syreal and Ryalth nod at each other, then lean back as a serving girl offers the braised lamb in lemon sauce, followed by buttered and nutted beans, and grass-rice.

   After the servers pass on, Veljan clears his throat and turns to Ryalth. "I hope you will pardon me, but we haven't had the pleasure of meeting before, and I would like your thoughts on some matters." He smiles boyishly. "I have to confess that I like to get opinions from everyone I respect, because I know that I know very little."

   "That alone means you know a great deal," Ryalth parries. Syreal laughs. "She knows what you want, dear."

   "I make no secrets of it," Veljan admits. "I am not like Tasjan, sneaking around with all his informers, and Sasyk and all his guards. Nor like Vyanat'mer, who must study every invoice in his house each time before he decides on a venture. I prefer to listen to people, not spies or papers."

   "And you listen very well," suggests Lorn. Syreal nods.

   "What think you of the cochina dyes from Hamor?" Veljan asks Ryalth.

   "They are good dyes, especially for wool, but at ten golds an amphora?" Ryalth shakes her head. "Besides, most folk in Candar, except the Hydlenese, are not partial to red. The Kyphran green is a better buy, and there are more customers for it."

   Veljan laughs. "So... you have already sold all you have?"

   "Of course." Ryalth grins. "Not that I didn't buy and sell an amphora or two of the cochina red as well-as you did, I recall."

   Veljan shakes his head, ruefully. "What of the yellow of Suthya?"

   "I would not sell it."

   "Tasjan buys much there," Veljan points out, adding after a moment, "but he will only sell it to outland traders."

   "What does he receive for buying it?" Lorn asks.

   Veljan frowns.

   Syreal nods and answers. "The right to hire armsmen for his vessels."

   "So... most of his guards... are outlanders?" Lorn pursues.

   "Many, I have heard," Veljan admits.

   "Are they just guards?" asks Ryalth. "Does he not have them wear uniforms that are the same, no matter what ship they serve?"

   "He says he is preparing for when the fireships are no more," Syreal says flatly. "But some few vessels of smaller traders have vanished when no other ships were near save his."

   "Wouldn't someone notice the cargoes?" questions Lorn.

   "Not if they are sold to outlanders," Ryalth points out.

   "It is true that Tasjan has cultivated many outland traders," Veljan says slowly, "but one cannot accuse another merchanter or bring a charge before Vyanat without some proof. Tasjan is most careful."

   Lorn nods.

   "Aleyar has said that you and Lorn met long years before you were consorted," Syreal says. "And that you were not consorted in Cyad."

   Both Lorn and Ryalth understand the meaning of the question. Lorn looks at Ryalth. "Best you answer."

   "Yes, let us hear the lady's version," suggests Veljan.

   Ryalth smiles, then takes a brief sip of the Fhynyco before speaking. "I was a very junior merchanter, and he was still a student magus..."

   Lorn watches as his consort speaks, marveling once more at how fortunate he has been that she had been so patient with him. Around them, various conversations ebb and flow as he listens to Ryalth's voice.

 

 

CXXV

 

Lorn stands by Fayrken's desk in the fourth-floor foyer of Mirror Lancer Court. He extends several sheets of paper to the senior squad leader. "Here's the report of the oneday meeting. I'll need two copies."

   "Yes, ser." Fayrken nods as he takes the sheets. "Short meeting."

   "It was this time." Lorn smiles. "Thank you." He turns, and as he sees the curly-haired and narrow-faced commander nearing, he says, "Good day, Commander."

   "Good day, Majer." Shykt slows, frowns, then adds, "Might you have a moment?"

   "Yes, ser."

   Shykt inclines his head toward the door to Lorn's study.

   Lorn holds the door to the study and allows Shykt to enter first, then steps into the room, closing the door behind him. The study is dim on a fall midafternoon when the rain, occasionally heavy, slides down the ancient windowpanes. Lorn waits for the senior officer to seat himself before he takes his own seat behind the desk.

   "Majer... I have heard certain rumors, and I will not put you in the difficult position of denying them falsely or betraying confidences..."

   "Thank you, ser."

   "So I will phrase what I have to say as suggestions about an event that has yet to take place and that may indeed never take place." Shykt purses his lips and tilts his head, then focuses his eyes directly on Lorn. "If it should come to pass that several companies of Mirror Lancers are indeed transferred to Cyad, under the command of a field commander... whoever that field commander is might well be advised to be most careful in how he views his orders."

   Lorn nods. "Any Mirror Lancer officer must be most careful in such."

   Shykt's smile is perfunctory. "We claim to serve chaos and prosperity for the benefit of all Cyador. That can never be, because there are as many Cyadors, in a way, as there are people within our land. Each man, each woman, has a vision of Cyador."

   Lorn offers a smile in return. "That is true, and I have pondered that."

   "Unhappily, the greater the position a man holds, the more likely he is to feel that what is good for him is good for Cyador. Unless he is the Emperor, or one who can see all of Cyador selflessly, and such are rare, and, I fear, becoming more rare."

   With an interested look upon his face, Lorn waits for Shykt to continue.

   "It is no secret that the Emperor looks well beyond himself. So does the Empress, and they have been good for Cyador. Less well-known is the fact that this time of change may last longer than the Emperor, and all around Cyad are those positioning themselves for what may occur." Shykt's smile is hard, bright, forced. "Even you, I suspect, Majer."

   "Like all men, I have a vision of Cyador, ser, but I am not one to force that vision on the people of this land, and I am a lancer, bound to my duty, and to the Majer-Commander and the Emperor."

   Shykt raises his eyebrows. "Those are fine words, if careful."

   Lorn laughs, gently. "Ser... what would you? If I offered less, you would not be pleased. If I offered more, you would not believe me."

   Shykt purses his lips. "Were there... Only speculation, you understand, but were there lancers armed with firelances in Cyad, what sort of officer should command them?"

   "I was asked that once," Lorn says reflectively. "I recommended Majer Brevyl."

   For a moment Shykt is silent, as if Lorn has offered words he had not expected.

   "And I say this not in flattery," Lorn says, "even though it might come out as such, that you also would do well in such command. As would Commander Sypcal."

   "Flattery indeed, nonetheless." Shykt laughs, more harshly than Lorn would have expected.

   "Perhaps," Lorn allows, "but true. You are concerned about what happens to Cyador more than what happens to you."

   "Are you, Majer?"

   "I hope so," Lorn answers truthfully, adding with a wry expression, "but words are but that until one has to choose."

   "That, too, is true." Shykt stands. "I trust you understand why I offered my thoughts on something that might never occur." The commander's voice is neutral.

   "You have great concerns for the future of Cyador, as might any man of vision in these times," Lorn replies. "You wish to preserve that which is best about our land at a time when few even consider what things have made it a great land."

   "And, I would like my son to have the chances that I did. And his children as well." Shykt nods. "Thank you, Majer."

   "Thank you, ser."

   Lorn watches as the curly-haired commander closes the door. Then he sits down slowly, wondering who else has read the orders sent by the Majer-Commander, and what others, if any will visit.

   After a time, he shakes his head. Speculation will avail him little... yet, and he has reports to read, and to summarize for the Majer-Commander. He picks up the first sheet and begins to read. When he finishes the first report, he writes three lines on a separate sheet, then picks up the next one.

   He finishes three reports, ignoring the heavier beat of rain on the panes of the closed window.

   Thrap.

   At the knock on his study door, Lorn looks up. "Yes? Come in." He stands even before he has finished speaking.

   The swarthy and dark-browed Luss steps into Lorn's study, and closes the door firmly. "Did you know I was coming, Majer?" asks the Captain-Commander with a frown.

   "No, ser. But in the season - and - a - half I've been here, I've yet to meet an officer junior to me, and the messengers and rankers are always announced."

   Luss laughs. "Every time I talk with you, I discover more why the Majer-Commander ordered you here. You see too much too quickly at too young a rank to be left in the field without understanding headquarters."

   "I appreciate your compliment, ser, but I am sure there are others who see more."

   Luss waves off Lorn's demurral and sits down opposite the table desk. Lorn sits slowly and waits.

   "The Mirror Lancers have always served Cyador, Majer. I'm certain that you understand that."

   "Yes, ser."

   "And every company, wherever it may be, is in the end under the command of the Majer-Commander."

   Lorn nods, understanding all too well the impact of the phrases yet unuttered, but keeping his expression politely interested.

   "The duty of the Majer-Commander, whoever he may be," Luss continues, "is to use the Mirror Lancers to preserve Cyador, just as the duty of the First Magus is to use his powers to preserve the Land of Eternal Light."

   "Yes, ser."

   "Those who serve the Majer-Commander cannot question the Majer-Commander's orders, not and carry out their duties as Mirror Lancer officers."

   "No, ser, they cannot."

   Luss smiles, almost lazily. "Are you a Mirror Lancer officer, Majer?"

   "Yes, ser. My duty is to the Majer-Commander, and to serve Cyador under his command."

   Luss frowns, ever so slightly. "Would that be your answer were you still in Invidra?"

   "Not quite, ser. My duty would still be to the Majer-Commander, but I would serve Cyador through his orders to the commander at Assyadt."

   "As I recall, Majer... you had some difficulties there."

   "No, ser." His eyes hard, Lorn faces Luss. "I always served Cyador, and the Majer-Commander. I did not serve Majer Dettaur."

   "He was in the chain of command, Majer."

   Lorn smiles. "He failed to protect Cyador, or the lancers, and I brought this to the attention of both Commander Ikynd and you, and the Majer-Commander. Had I been wrong, I would have been disgraced or executed. I put my life and belief in the Majer-Commander, the Mirror Lancers, and Cyador in the hands of the Majer-Commander."

   "You did indeed." Luss smiles genially-and falsely, Lorn knows. "But the Majer-Commander is not a person, but a position of trust."

   "Yes, ser, and had you been Majer-Commander, I would have done the same." Lorn hopes Luss will accept the words, because, true as they are, Lorn would have done the same, had Luss been Majer-Commander, for most different reasons.

   "You do believe that, don't you?"

   "Yes, ser," Lorn replies truthfully.

   "Would that others had such devotion to the Mirror Lancers and the Majer-Commander as you." Luss stands.

   Lorn stands quickly. "I feel that most officers feel as I do."

   "One would hope so, Majer." Luss inclines his head. "Good day." He leaves as abruptly as he has entered.

   Lorn feels like taking a deep breath, but does not. Instead, he sits slowly and looks at the heavy raindrops striking the ancient glass. He feels like the name in the ancient poem-whoever Sampson might have been.

   After gathering himself together, Lorn has just turned back to his reading and summarizing the stack of reports from Syadtar, when there is another knock at the door, and Fayrken peers in. "Ser, Tygyl sent down word that the Majer-Commander expects you in his study soon as you can get there."

   Replacing the two reports he has just read on the stack, Lorn stands. "I'm on my way."

   He walks quickly up the stairs. At the upper desk, Tygyl morions for him to enter the Majer-Commander's study.

   Lorn does so, closing the door, and bowing. "You requested my presence, ser."

   Sitting at his desk, Rynst gestures to the chairs, barely waiting for Lorn to sit before he asks, "How many visitors have you had about your coming assignment, Majer-besides the Captain-Commander and Commander Shykt? Has Commander Inylt contacted you?

   "No, ser. And there were no others... so far, ser."

   "Another cautious answer. I wondered about Commander Inylt, since he is charged with converting part of one of the unused Mirror Lancer warehouses into a barracks and a stable." Rynst leans forward in his chair, seeming larger-than-life framed in the ancient windows that show the backdrop of heavy gray clouds and rain that sleets across Cyad, almost obscuring the Palace of Eternal Light. "I assume that Commander Shykt warned you-most obliquely-against the machinations of others, most probably those of Commander Muyro and the Captain-Commander-and that the Captain-Commander reminded you of the chain of command. Luss doubtless tried to make the point that all companies of the Mirror Lancers are ultimately commanded by the Majer-Commander-whoever he may be-on behalf of Cyador." Rynst pauses.

   Lorn waits.

   "Yes... or no?" Rynst's voice is cold.

   "Commander Shykt was far more cautious, ser. He merely suggested that I think through my actions in light of their probable results and remember that, in a way, the fate of Cyad and Cyador rests on the soundness of every officer, no matter how junior. He also asked-if companies of Mirror Lancers were stationed in Cyad-what kind of officer should command them. I suggested that the officer should believe in Cyador above himself."

   Rynst laughs. "Ah... Shykt knows you. He knows you far better than Luss." Laugh and smile vanish. "How would you interpret these visits?"

   "Commander Shykt worries that I may hold power greater than I realize if given command of two full companies of Mirror Lancers in Cyad."

   "Do you think so?"

   "Ser... as my father said many years ago, neither the Magi'i nor the Mirror Lancers nor even the merchanters can stand against the will of the people." Lorn offers a shrug he does not feel. "If I do my duty, and my senior officers uphold Cyad, then I will have little power except to uphold what is. If I do not do my duty or my senior officers do not, I will also have little power, for two companies are of little use against a city."

   Rynst frowns. "You do not think your senior officers know their duty?"

   "You know your duty, ser, and you will die, I believe, before you would betray it. The others know it. Some may not have your strength of will."

   Rynst laughs. "You seek to flatter me."

   "No, ser. I tell you what I see, and I fear to do so. Honestly is seldom well-regarded, despite all that is said for it."

   "That indeed is true." The Majer-Commander shakes his head. "So... what will you do if you are tested?"

   "My duty is to Cyador, ser."

   "An ambiguous answer, Majer."

   "It must be, ser. If I answer that my duty is to you, then I could betray all that Cyador is. If I say that it is to the Majer-Commander, then I would be bound to support whoever held the position, no matter if he would destroy Cyador..." Lorn shrugs helplessly.

   Rynst nods slowly. "You will command those companies, Majer, and your duty remains as it always has been. You may go."

   "Yes, ser."

   Lorn stands, bows, and turns, wondering if Rynst has any parting comments.

   The Majer-Commander does not, and Lorn leaves the study silently, walking steadily to the steps and back down to his study, holding a faint and pleasant smile in place. Yet he worries, knowing that he has been too honest, too direct, careful as he has been. Yet, if he says what others wish to hear, how long before he will do what they wish done, even when such actions are not right or for the good of Cyador?

   He smiles grimly. Fine thoughts, when anything can be claimed to be for the good of the Mirror Lancers and Cyador. Everything in Cyador is mirrored in everything else, and some reflections are true, and some of those true reflections are yet false, for they portray true images reflecting onto and concealing deception.

 

 

CXXVI

 

Lorn stands in the middle of the bedchamber and concentrates again.

   Ryalth looks up from where she sits on the bed and nurses Kerial. "I can see you, in a way, but perhaps that's because I'm getting used to working around it, and because I know you're there."

   "What if we go downstairs, and I'll follow you," Lorn says. "You ask, say, Kysia, if she's seen me. Since I'll be behind you, she won't think you'd see me, and if she does, just turn and ask me where I was."

   The red-haired trader shakes her head. "Is your daily life in Mirror Lancer Court this convoluted?"

   "Not yet, but I fear it will be. Word is out, among some of the senior officers, that I will be commanding the two companies of Mirror Lancers."

   "And they seek to curry favor? Or threaten you indirectly?"

   "More threatening and warning." He frowns. "I can feel all the currents, but there is nothing that anyone could really call proof. The Captain-Commander suggests that loyalty is to the position of Majer-Commander, not the person. The senior commanders try to make sure that they are seen as friendly to those who appear to have power. Eightday after eightday, it continues, because all know power will shift in Cyad. The Emperor will die in the seasons or few years ahead. Chyenfel and Rynst are old." He pauses. "Vyanat'mer is not, but Tasjan still schemes, and Veljan does his best, if with the help of Syreal and Liataphi."

   "I like Aleyar and her father," Ryalth says, patting Kerial on the back to burp him. "Veljan would be a better successor to Vyanat than Tasjan, but it would be best if Vyanat remained the Merchanter Advisor. Then, there are those such as Denys and Kernys who would support Tasjan."

   "Why? Vyanat has been good for the merchanters, has he not?"

   "He has, but they are more interested in their own good or the good of their clan and not the good of all merchanters, or of Cyador."

   "You sound worried."

   "Many within the merchanters clamor against the tariffs. They claim that Vyanat does little for them but make it harder to prosper."

   "What do you think?"

   "Vyanat cannot lower the tariffs. He knows this, but some would rather have blood on the sunstones than try to persuade the Magi'i and the Mirror Lancers to change." Ryalth gives Kerial a last pat on the back, then lowers Kerial slightly on her shoulder, before easing off the bed and to her feet. "Let us try what you suggested. It seems silly, in a way, but I know it's not."

   "Gaa... maamaaa..." Kerial offers sleepily.

   "In a moment, sweetheart. In a moment." Ryalth nods to Lorn.

   He opens the bedchamber door and follows her down the stairs.

   Kysia is standing beside Ayleha in the kitchen, and both are hanging the pots used in fixing supper on the rack to the left of the stove. Lorn lets Ryalth get far enough ahead as she enters the kitchen so that he could not be seen even if his effort fails.

   "Lady?" asks Kysia, turning.

   "Have you seen Lorn?" Ryalth asks. "He's not in his study. I wondered if he'd come down here for something else to eat."

   Both women shake their heads.

   Lorn eases farther into the kitchen, standing just behind Ryalth's shoulder.

   Kysia blinks. "I thought for a moment... No, Lady, I haven't seen him."

   Lorn eases back out through the archway and releases the blurring effect. "Were you looking for me?" he asks, again stepping into the archway. "I was just walking around, thinking. I should have told you."

   Ryalth offers an exasperated glance at her consort.

   "I'm sorry," Lorn says apologetically.

   Kysia smiles.

   "Have you finished your thinking, my dear?" Ryalth asks. "It is time to put Kerial to bed."

   "I'm done for now," Lorn admits.

   "Good." Ryalth turns back to Kysia and Ayleha. "I'm sorry to have bothered you."

   "It was not a problem or a bother, Lady."

   "I'm sorry, too," Lorn adds, before he turns to follow Ryalth back up the stairs.

   Neither speaks until Lorn closes the bedchamber door.

   "I don't know which was more frightening," Ryalth says.

   "Which?" Lorn's brows furrow.

   "I could feel you behind me, and they couldn't see you. That was frightening. But the way you looked so innocent... in saying you were walking around. That was frightening, too."

   "It was the truth," Lorn says.

   "Dearest... you and your family... you all can tell the truth... words that are what is, and yet convey something else entirely. That is one reason why I am glad you are not a magus." She slips toward Kerial's bed and slips him into it, stepping back.

   "Gaa! Maamaaa... gaa..."

   Ryalth shrugs. "He will be awake for a time." Her eyes stray to the stack of papers on the bedside table.

   "I'll play with him. You have to read those, don't you?"

   "I would appreciate some time," she says.

   "You shall have it." With a smile, Lorn walks toward the small bed and his son.

 

 

CXXVII

 

The two men approach the shoreward end of the pier nearly simultaneously. Both wear merchanter blue, with similar blue wool cloaks to protect them against the cold wind that blows off the harbor. One, unlike the other, is trailed by two guards in green-and-gold uniforms. The guards stand back as he moves toward the unaccompanied merchanter.

   "Oh, Vyel," calls Tasjan, "how good to see you. I was going to stop by after I finished with my tasks on the Intryg."

   "She is a marvel, like all your vessels," Vyel says pleasantly.

   "I would hope so. We have spent enough golds on her." Tasjan laughs. "I have been considering our last conversation, Vyel."

   The younger man raises his eyebrows.

   The slender Tasjan smiles. "You know that a merchanter house cannot go to one who is not of the merchanter clan. Even the Emperor cannot change that."

   "That is true." Vyel frowns slightly. "All know that."

   "And I have found some other interesting invoices." Tasjan extends a sheet that appears from under his cloak. "This is a copy, of course. The one with the seals is in a very safe place."

   Vyel reads for a moment, then hands the sheet back. "An interesting invoice." His eyes are dark.

   "I thought you would think so." Tasjan smiles. "I would not like to see Hyshrah Clan... disturbed by such... were they to become public. Oh...  and if anything were to happen to me, some of them will appear in the hands of the Emperor's Enumerators. Now... we had discussed the possibility of your obtaining a house of your own, and in a manner that would not harm the interests of Hyshrah Clan."

   Vyel nods. "I believe you had mentioned something about that."

   "I am certain you know those... who can arrange disappearances or perhaps those who are less fastidious but can obtain the same results. In these days... you understand that times are troubled, and it appears as though the majer who is the consort of the trader heading Ryalor House has made some enemies. More than a few." Tasjan shrugs. "He is not likely to survive, one way or another, and right now should anything happen to him... well, all fingers would point somewhere in Mirror Lancer Court, or even toward the Quarter of the Magi'i. These things happen. One would not want an heir to revenge such an unpleasantness. One would not wish a consort with power, either, who might purchase such revenge." A smile follows. "I am certain you understand."

   "I believe I do," says Vyel.

   "I would hate to see such invoices as these appear publicly. I do have a soft spot in my heart for you and your elder brother." Tasjan shrugs. "Yet... in these troubled times, one must do as one can."

   "Most honored Tasjan... ?" Vyel inclines his head.

   "You wish to know why I cannot deal with this myself?" Tasjan smiles. "Because the Magi'i follow my every movement with their chaos-glasses, and not being a magus, I know not when I am watched. So I can talk to other merchanters, my family, shopkeepers, and the like. I cannot act on my own behalf, not at the moment, much as I would prefer it, for there is less chance of failure when I can." The smile fades. "My limits are your opportunity. The opportunity may not exist that long. And while you have good contacts, Vyel, my others are also good, and could accomplish... other ends, if indirectly. I would prefer to use a man who has much to gain, and who wishes to avoid disgrace, rather than one merely paid in golds. I'm sure you understand."

   "I understand. You must realize that matters such as you have suggested cannot occur overnight."

   "Not overnight. No. But these invoices will be either burned or public within the eightday. The choice is yours, Vyel." Tasjan offers a last smile, and wraps his cloak about him. "Good day."

   The younger man stares along the stone pier, out toward the oncoming storm, for a time before he turns.

 

 

CXXVIII

 

As Lorn passes the fountain, its cold spray drifting around him, he wonders if they should shut off the water to it before long. Then he smiles as he sees Ryalth standing on the veranda, waiting for him. She is not smiling.

   "What's the matter?" he asks.

   "Mryran sent a messenger, saying that she wasn't feeling that well, and asking if she could come another time," says the red-haired trader. "It doesn't feel right."

   "I worry about her," Lorn replies, stepping forward and hugging his consort.

   Ryalth hugs him back, warmly, but for a moment. "She also sent word that she must have dinner with Ciesrt's parents tomorrow, and that she will need to be strong for that." She shakes her head. "I would not wish to wear her boots."

   "We're all different. I doubt she'd wish to wear yours." He glances around. "Where's Kerial?"

   "Sleeping. He was awake all afternoon. I didn't have to meet with any outlanders, and that was fine. I just hope he isn't awake all night."

   "Two of us share that wish," Lorn affirms, following her into the foyer from the chill of the veranda.

   "Don't you think it's strange?" Ryalth asks, turning as they stand in the sitting room just off the front foyer. "We've never met Ciesrt's family. Vernt and Mycela have, but we haven't."

   "We're not Magi'i," Lorn points out. "The honorable Kharl'elth appears to count that of great importance. Even to encouraging Ceyla to consort to Rustyl."

   "That was last eightday, Myryan said."

   Lorn shrugs. "You see. We weren't considered important enough to invite."

   "I'm glad we're not. I'm glad you're not. You're better than they are."

   "So are you," Lorn replies with a smile. "So are you." He embraces her again.

 

 

CXXIX

 

The only four sitting around the Majer-Commander's conference table are Commander Muyro, Commander Shykt, Rynst, and Lorn. Although the morning sun streams through the windows behind the Majer-Commander, a cold wind whistles outside the closed windows.

   "You had three of the large portable firecannon around the Accursed Forest, and three smaller cannon, did you not?" Rynst looks at the dark-faced Muyro.

   "Yes, ser. Two remain there. One of each has been stored in one of the Mirror Engineer warehouses in Fyrad, as you requested."

   "I would like you to make arrangements to bring those two now in Fyrad here to Cyad, as soon as you can."

   The faintest of nods comes from Shykt.

   "Ser?" Muyro looks puzzled. "That will bring them farther from the Accursed Forest."

   "The Accursed Forest is not the problem it once was." Rynst pauses, then goes on, almost wearily. "As you know, Commander, we now have four fireships, and perhaps we will have but three in the eightdays or seasons to come. But the firecannon will work so long as the Magi'i operate even a single chaos-tower. The Emperor has suggested that a firecannon or two might well provide greater protection for Cyad-and, upon occasion, its power could be demonstrated for the benefit of the outland traders."

   "Ah... yes, ser... but it could easily destroy... many things... here in Cyad."

   "In fact," Rynst replies, "it may be used for such. We will be needing it... for a number of practical reasons here."

   Muyro glances across the table at Shykt, who shrugs to indicate he has no words to add.

   "How soon could you arrange for the two to be transported here, Commander Shykt?"

   "I would have to talk to Commander Inylt, ser, but it is no more than three days by fireship, if we could use one to bring them here. If we use a merchanter vessel, it will take an eightday, perhaps longer, if there are none with cargo space for something that large. And it will cost quite a few golds if we use a merchanter vessel."

   "You have permission to request a fireship... if that is what you were seeking." Rynst's smile is cold.

   "Thank you, ser. We will work to have the two firecannon here as quickly as possible. Do you wish them kept in the Mirror Lancer supply warehouse?"

   "Is there adequate space there-where they will be safe?" asks the Majer-Commander.

   "Yes, ser. We can have an iron gate in place on the empty side in the time it will take to bring them here."

   "Good." Rynst looks at Muyro. "You and Shykt work with Commander Inylt. I'll expect the firecannon in less than two eightdays."

   "Yes, ser."

   "You all may go." Rynst stands.

   In the foyer outside the study, the bearded Muyro turns to Lorn. "You would not know what this is all about, would you, Majer?"

   "I understand that the Emperor has asked the Majer-Commander to find a way to show the outlanders the power of Cyador," Lorn replies. "I imagine, although no one has said anything to me, that a firecannon could be most impressive. Those used by the Mirror Engineers when I had a company at Jakaafra were extremely effective."

   Muyro shakes his head and turns, muttering to the curly-haired Shykt, "A firecannon, in Cyad. What order-fired good will that do?"

   "We are not here to question the Majer-Commander, Muyro," Shykt responds. "We are to make sure his orders are carried out. We should find Inylt before the Majer-Commander contacts him directly..."

   Lorn turns toward the steps that will take him down to his study, and the short report he must write on the meeting.

 

 

CXXX

 

Six people sit around the long table that could easily hold twice that number. The three men all wear the white shimmercloth of the Magi'i, and two of the women wear white tunics and trousers, trimmed in pale green. The third woman-the one with curly black hair-wears the green of a healer.

   The light cast from the shimmering cupridium reflectors of the wall lamps blankets the formal dining room with a warm glow, and turns the white linen into a pale gold. The golden-oak backs of the carved dining chairs are sculpted into smoothly interlocking arcs, none quite forming a complete circle.

   The older magus who sits at the head of the table is the only one of the three with the crossed lightning bolts glimmering on the breast of his shimmercloth tunic. The others wear but a single such lightning bolt. After taking another small sip of the maroon Fhynyco, the older magus turns his eyes to the healer who sits to his left.

   "Your brother Vernt... he is most dedicated to the Magi'i."

   "He always has been," replies Myryan.

   "And your older sister?" asks Kharl'elth politely.

   "She remains a healer. As you know, she has found healing to be her calling."

   "Without a consort, alas."

   "There is a need for some healers who remain without consort." Myryan smiles politely, lifting her glass of redberry, but barely sipping any of the juice.

   Kharl inclines his head to the thin-faced healer. "Your ability to assist the... lower... healers, and your aid to the officers of the Mirror Lancers, are most remarkable, Myryan. And your actions have bestowed much honor upon your consort and this house."

   Myryan bows her head. "What little I do but is but a trifle in the light that already shines forth from this house."

   "Modest, she is, as well." Kharl turns his eyes from Myryan to the tall and broad-shouldered Ciesrt. "Yet she is talented in healing, and in teaching her craft, and from a most distinguished lineage, and with a garden with which few compare."

   Myryan lowers her eyes.

   "She is most remarkable as a consort." Ciesrt beams. "In so very many ways. I look forward to coming home each day."

   "And you are most fortunate, my son," adds the white-haired woman who sits at the end of the table opposite Kharl. "Remember that in years to come."

   Myryan covers her mouth and swallows quietly, her eyes remaining downcast.

   In the dimness of the dining room, and against the distant lightning of the fall storm over the harbor, the vague unseen luminescence of chaos perceived by four of those around the table, and with the flickering of the lamps in wall sconces, none remark upon the faint and also unseen mist of darkness that lifts away from Kharl.

   Nor do any note the sudden pallor that crosses Myryan's face. The healer takes a slow sip of wine, and steadies herself beneath the level of the table with her left hand-the one that had been resting in her lap. Her eyes remain demurely downcast, not meeting those around the table for some time.

   When she does raise her head, ever so slightly, an enigmatic smile plays across her lips momentarily.

 

 

CXXXI

 

SSsssssss.... ssss... sssss ...

   Lorn is wide-awake even before the second hiss of the watchgeese, and the Brystan sabre is in his hand, even as he sends out his perceptions. The corridor outside the door is empty.

   "What... ?" Ryalth sits bolt upright almost as quickly as Lorn has.

   "Bolt the door after me," he whispers to Ryalth as he holds the Brystan sabre ready and pads toward the bedchamber door.

   She follows him to the door, wordlessly.

   He pauses, letting his senses recheck the hall, but it is empty, and he steps out, blade ready. The door closes behind him, Ryalth sliding the latch into place. Step by quiet step, he descends to the main level, but the house remains empty, and he moves toward the foyer and the steps up to the veranda.

   Rrrrr... eeeekkk.... The dull squeaking, straining sound comes from the door from the veranda to the foyer.

   Abruptly there is a single clanging sound, as if a long iron bar has fallen on the stone tiles of the veranda. Lorn's perceptions tell him that two figures are beyond the heavy oak door. After waiting until his senses tell him that the two have turned from the door, he slides the latch-bar open and slips out, trying to use the blurring shield, then dropping it as he can sense it will distract him far too much.

   Both intruders have blades in position and are moving toward the gray-haired form of Pheryk, who holds a lancer sabre at the ready.

   Lorn steps forward silently, and from behind the two, his chaos-aided blade severs the taller man's torso from his head.

   The second figure glances sideways, momentarily, and both Lorn and Pheryk strike.

   Pheryk's blade cuts into the bravo's sword arm, and the double-edged Austran blade clanks on the stones.

   Lorn slashes through the man's knee, using chaos as much as cupridium. "Don't kill him."

   Two geese still hiss loudly-Lorn can see two other white shapes lying on the grass beside the walk.

   As three other men in black appear on the edge of the veranda, longer blades flickering toward Lorn, he eases himself well around the fallen bravo, careful not to step on the fallen blade, and very glad of his ability to see in the darkness.

   Two of the men attack Lorn, and the third goes for Pheryk.

   Lorn parries the heavier Austran blade of the first to attack him, then steps back, mustering chaos, and flinging a crude firebolt in the face of the second.

   "Aeeiii..." The man screams, dropping his blade.

   The first bravo cannot help but gape, if but momentarily, at the chaos-fire, and that gaping is enough for Lorn's chaos-aided sabre to slash up through gut and ribs. As the man staggers, trying to turn his blade, Lorn's second cut takes his wrist.

   Cluunnggg. The sound of the Austran blade echoes dully across the veranda.

   The chaos-fire-ravaged figure staggers, then collapses, and the sound of yet another fallen blade reverberates through the night.

   Lorn turns, just in time to see Pheryk's blade slash through the neck of the third bravo. Lorn then glances around quickly, sending his perceptions out past the now-silent fountain, but he can sense no movement, hears no sounds but those of the geese hissing, and the moaning of the fallen bravo who lies on the stones of the veranda. He looks at Pheryk, who cleans his blade on the black cloth of the runic of the man he has dispatched.

   Pheryk looks at Lorn. "Fine bladework, ser. Just bladework."

   "Just bladework, Pheryk," Lorn agrees. "From what I can tell, there aren't any more, and the geese are quieting." He turns back to the one living figure lying on the stones, but addresses his words to the old lancer. "You watch the garden, just in case, please. I want some answers."

   "Yes, ser." Pheryk, who, like Lorn, is barefoot, but who wears a pair of trousers, steps out to the edge of the veranda.

   Lorn edges the fallen blade well out of reach of the badly wounded man. "Who sent you?"

   The bravo grimaces and tries to spit. Lorn slashes his cheek.

   "Was it Tasjan?"

   The truth-reading tells him that the man doesn't know.

   "Bluyet House?... Hyshrah House... ?"

   "...don't know... frig you... chaoser..."

   "Assassins?"

   In the end, Lorn leans forward and cuts the man's throat. He stands and turns to Pheryk.

   "No one else around, ser. Did you learn anything?"

   "He doesn't know who sent him. He was probably hired by someone acting for yet someone else."

   "That's oft the way they work. So I've been told."

   Lorn looks at Pheryk. "I'd like four of these five to be found-but in the street away from here."

   "That be easy, ser. And the one who looked to have stuck his head in a stove?"

   Lorn pauses. While he could use more chaos, that does not feel right. He pauses as the chill of a chaos-glass sweeps across him, then he looks at Pheryk. "He needs to vanish."

   "The harbor's not that far, ser." Pheryk smiles grimly. "I have my cart. I often carry refuse down there."

   "Can you manage it?"

   "If I wait till just before dawn, no one will think odd of it. The others... you and I..."

   Pheryk glances at Lorn. "Best you wear a cloak."

   Lorn laughs softly. "And boots and trousers."

   "A mite easier that way."

   "I'll be back in a few moments." Lorn walks back through the foyer door, sliding the iron latch in place behind him, then makes his way through the darkness up the stairs. The sense of a chaos-glass fades, but Lorn knows the watcher could return again at any moment.

   He taps on the door. "It's me," he says loudly. "The fellow who went off with a blade in his smallclothes."

   "Do I know you?" comes the answer.

   "Far better than a fellow by the name of Halthor," Lorn replies.

   The door slides open, and Lorn slips inside. With a nod, he notes that Ryalth has a sharp dagger poised. "You're a careful lady." He slides the bolt-latch into place.

   "I shouldn't be? What happened?" She smiles. "How did you remember Halthor's name?"

   "I just did." Lorn moistens his lips. "Someone hired some bravos. There were five. They're dead. Pheryk got one. We need to move the bodies. It would be better that they just turned up dead in the street." Lorn sets the Brystan blade against the wall and pulls on a pair of trousers, an undertunic, and his boots.

   "Do you know who sent them?"

   "I tried to get answers from one of them. He didn't know. Hired in the darkness, I'd guess. Probably through someone else."

   "Tasjan," Ryalth says.

   "Why?"

   "The Magi'i don't work that way," she points out in a low voice. "The Mirror Lancers don't, either. They were after all of us. Otherwise you would have been attacked alone somewhere. Vyanat needs me. I don't think Veljan would do this, and Bluyet House, much as they hate you, wouldn't dare, because it could mean they would lose clan status."

   Lorn stands and takes up the blade again. "I can't imagine Tasjan risking that directly."

   "He didn't. It was done by someone who owes him or someone he can force to act. There's no way to prove it, but I know it as surely as I'm standing here."

   Lorn nods briskly. "We'll talk more after we deal with the refuse. It's probably better if you stay here until I get back. It won't be long."

   "Be careful. They could have others beyond the wall."

   "I will... but I can tell if they're there."

   "Make sure of it."

   That... that, Lorn will certainly do. He slips from the bedchamber, listens to make sure Ryalth slides the iron latch shut, and heads down the steps to rejoin Pheryk. Even if the dead man with the burned face is found, so long as he is not found near Lorn, people can surmise that he was struck with a lantern or attacked a magus. But... with whoever was watching through a chaos-glass, Lorn does not wish to reveal how much chaos he can muster until he must.

 

 

CXXXII

 

In the early-morning light, Lorn stands in the door to the bedchamber, his eyes going to his consort and son. "Pheryk and I are walking with you to Ryalor House. You were right about last night, but if Tasjan is behind this, he may not be quite so indirect the next time. And you aren't exactly in the best position to defend yourself or run if you're holding Kerial. I'll either come by and walk back with you, or you hire a pair of guards to accompany you and Pheryk."

   Ryalth nods as she wraps a small woolen cloak around Kerial, who is trying to crawl away from his mother so that he can plunge off the bed. Ryalth scoops him up. "No." She turns to Lorn. "I would have suggested that, had you not. I think this morning might be safe, but from this afternoon on, it will not be." She frowns. "Yet... if you escort me, and all know that..."

   "Pheryk was out early this morning, and heard the news about the dead bravos," Lorn says. "You've heard word that certain merchanter rivals have made threats. If merchanters are beginning to kill merchanters, a little care is warranted." Lorn smiles. "After all, it is not as though you have a halfscore of guards-merely your consort and a pensioned old lancer."

   "The two of you are worth a halfscore," Ryalth snorts.

   "Perhaps a quarter-score," Lorn concedes, "but none need to know that. An escort of two for a lady trader and her heir are scarcely excessive."

   "True." Ryalth nods.

   "There is one other thing, once you reach Ryalor House," Lorn says. "Besides finding out everything that Tasjan is doing, and if he is hiring more guards, or building ships with cannon?" asks Ryalth. Lorn shrugs sheepishly. "You're ahead of me."

   "I will know more by this evening-and even more by tomorrow evening." Ryalth hoists Kerial to her shoulder. "We need to go. If we do not, you will be late, and that will raise questions. And one of the senior Austran traders will be coming by. He has suggested by his request to meet me, that all is less than desirable with his current merchanting house in Cyad."

   "Tasjan's, I imagine," Lorn says lightly.

   "Tasjan's or one of the smaller houses like Ryalor." She starts for the bedchamber door, and Lorn follows.

   Pheryk is waiting downstairs, and he nods to Ryalth. "A sunny morn, but chill, Lady. Saw but few when I was dumping refuse this morning."

   "The others?" asks Lorn.

   Pheryk shrugs. "I saw nothing. Perhaps none will."

   The three and Kerial make their way through the dwelling, across the veranda, now without bloodstains, Lorn notes, and along the dew-slicked marble walk past the fountain that has been turned off for the winter.

   Lorn lets his senses range beyond the gate, but the narrow way is empty, and he unlocks the iron gate. Pheryk steps out first, then Ryalth, and Lorn follows and locks the gate.

   The walk to the Traders' Plaza and up to Ryalor House is uneventful. Ryalth exchanges greetings with a handful of others as she crosses the Plaza to the stairs.

   Eileyt is waiting inside the door of Ryalor House, holding several sheets of parchment. "Once you are ready... Lady..."

   Lorn smiles and bows to Ryalth. "Until this evening. Should I come by here?"

   "I would guess you should. It will be a long day." Ryalth returns his smile warmly.

   Lorn and Pheryk turn and walk down the steps.

   Halfway down, Lorn says in a low voice, "I think we should have goose tonight."

   "Ah... a good idea, ser, and I will tell Kysia and Ghrety. My consort has a wonderful way of fixing it..."

   Lorn laughs. "That would be fine. Perhaps you should also inquire about some more geese or goslings."

   "I had thought to do so, ser." Pheryk inclines his head.

   At the edge of the Traders' Plaza, the two men part. While Lorn is more cautious than usual, he notes nothing strange on the rest of the walk to Mirror Lancer Court.

   He has no more than entered his study when Senior Squad Leader Tygyl is knocking at his door.

   "Ser?"

   "Yes, Tygyl?"

   "The Majer-Commander would like to see you for a moment."

   "I'll be right there." Lorn turns and follows Tygyl up the last flight of stairs to the fifth floor and waits for the senior squad leader to announce him, then steps into the long study as Tygyl motions for him to enter.

   Lorn closes the door and steps forward, seating himself at Rynst's behest.

   The gray-haired Majer-Commander studies Lorn. Finally, he speaks. "I will be announcing your appointment as maneuvers coordinator for the two squads of Mirror Lancers that will be arriving in the next few days. You will be their commander, and the company officers will be told such, but there is little need to state directly that we are assigning two fully armed companies under the command of a field commander. Especially one with a record such as yours."

   Lorn nods.

   "You do not seem surprised, Majer. Why not?"

   "Because, ser, as you know, a number of officers have already approached me indirectly. If they know, many in power know. They will have contacted you, or others who contacted you, and none will be pleased, except the Emperor. The Emperor will care little for titles, and if you can employ a name to placate others, then it is for the best."

   "You don't sound as though you think much of the idea." Rynst's eyes are cold as he studies Lorn.

   "I doubt it will change anything, ser. Those with something to gain will not be deceived. Those who do not understand how dangerous the times are will not understand, whatever title is used, and few of the senior commanders will be happy with my being in charge, for whatever reason you give."

   "You are most cynical, Majer." Rynst offers a dry laugh. "You have few illusions about your fellow officers, perhaps too few illusions for a majer."

   "Perhaps."

   "What if I made you a commander?"

   "They would be even more angry, and I would advise against that, ser."

   "So would I, and I am glad you see that." Rynst shakes his head. "In truth, Majer, all you have said, I understand, yet there is a reason why I will do what I told you. Can you suggest why I might?"

   "It implies a weakness in your position, which will allow others the luxury of thinking they have time to plot, when you but wish to ensure that the Mirror Lancer companies arrive and are firmly in my command." Lorn does not say more, although there is much he could say.

   "You could say more, Majer."

   "Anything beyond what I have said would be a wager based upon a guess, ser." Again, Lorn forces himself not to volunteer more.

   "I wished you to know." Rynst nods. "You may go."

   After Lorn has risen, bowed, and turned, and has taken several steps toward the door, Rynst says, "Majer..."

   Lorn turns.

   "I would not travel Cyad without your sabre and great care."

   "Yes, ser."

   As he heads back down to his study, Lorn questions how much Rynst knows and how much of what the Majer-Commander has implied is based on his understanding of human nature.

   "Does it matter?" Lorn murmurs to himself as he stands and looks out the ancient windows of his study.

   The only things that are clear are that the times are about to change, and are dangerous, and that Lorn must be ready to act when the time comes-if he can even recognize when that will be.

 

 

CXXXIII

 

Lorn looks across the dining table at Ryalth, over the large sections of goose they have not touched. The nearly a third of a goose remaining does not include more than half the bird which was already eaten by the other four in the household. Ryalth eats one-handed, occasionally feeding small morsels to the active boy in her lap.

   "What else have you discovered about Tasjan?" asks Lorn.

   Ryalth takes a sip of the ale, then answers. "He has been careful. So far as any know, he has met with no one except those of his own house in the past eightday or so. He continues to seek more guards with experience as armsmen or lancers. You remember Sasyk, his head of guards?"

   Lorn nods.

   "Sasyk is also a cousin of one of your schoolmates, I think. Allyrn'alt is the cousin."

   "Anything else about Tasjan? What about your Austran trader? Did he have anything to add?"

   "The trader was hoping I had still had grain."

   "I thought you did," Lorn says, breaking off a small morsel of bread. "You talked about it earlier because of the poor harvests in Hydlen."

   "I do, but not at the prices he was willing to pay. He would pay but a tenth-part above what was asked last eightday in the exchange, and but a fraction over the day's bid. Prices will be half again what they are now by midwinter." The redhead sips her ale before continuing. "So I told him that it appeared I might have some grain by midwinter, if my shipments came in as paid for, and that he should see me then if he still needed such."

   "Will he?"

   Ryalth nods, easing Kerial's hand away from the goblet. "The goblet is for Mother, not for Kerial."

   "Did he have anything to say about Tasjan?"

   "He was forthright. I must doubt his accuracy, but he said that Tasjan had whole granaries, and would sell to none."

   "Tasjan's doing what you are."

   Ryalth shakes her head. "No. It might seem so, but it is not. I have perchance a hundredscore measures. Tasjan has that a hundredfold. Had I what he does, some I would sell, for one needs goodwill as much as golds."

   "Why would he hold so much-" Lorn purses his lips for a moment before he speaks. "We need to watch him closely."

   "My thought, as well... If grain prices and that of flour rise in the winter, then many in Cyador will grow hungry."

   "And Tasjan will make golds, and use the discontent to blame Vyanat and the Emperor. How many merchanters will support him?" asks Lorn.

   "The Yuryan will not, nor the Hyshrah, not so long as Vyanat is clan head."

   "Who would become clan head if something were to happen to Vyanat?"

   "His younger brother Vyel is next in line." Ryalth frowns. "He has cost Vyanat much, and there are rumors that Vyanat has had to pay the Emperor's Enumerators for tariffs Vyel lied about more than once."

   "So Tasjan will try to remove Vyanat."

   "That is why Vyanat cannot take clan status from Bluyet House," Ryalth points out. "He needs their support, and why Tasjan spread rumors about Vyanat stripping their status."

   Lorn shakes his head. "Bring our little friend up to the study. Let us see what we can discover." He stands, then moves around the table and lifts Kerial from Ryalth's lap. "Come on. Your father will carry up upstairs."

   "Maa..."

   "Daaa... this time," Lorn says. "Daaa..."

   "Waaaa..."

   Lorn shakes his head, mock-ruefully, and then shifts his son into his left arm and turns toward the stairs.

   "Maaa..." Kerial repeats.

   "I'm coming, dear. I'm coming," Ryalth reassures him, following Lorn up the steps and along the upper corridor and into the study.

   Once he has closed the study door-one-handed-Lorn transfers Kerial back to Ryalth and seats himself before the desk, sliding out the glass from the drawer. He concentrates on the image of the slender Tasjan.

   As the silver mists dissipate, Lorn studies the glass, and Ryalth and Kerial watch over his shoulder.

   Although he is alone, Tasjan paces back and forth in a capacious study, before a large carved desk that is of a style Lorn has never seen, with wooden flowers and garlands forming the legs.

   When Tasjan continues to pace, Lorn lets the image lapse. "In a while, I'll try again. Perhaps we'll find him in a more compromising situation. I'll try a few more people."

   The next image is that of the Captain-Commander. Once again, Luss is dining with the blond commander Lhary. Lorn releases that image almost as soon as it forms.

   "Those two are far too close for my liking."

   "Lhary commands all the outposts in the west, does he not, all those close to Cyad?" asks Ryalth.

   Lorn nods.

   "That is why you report to the Majer-Commander and will hold the two companies."

   "One reason, certainly."

   Lorn tries yet another image, and finds Commander Muyro and a woman in green, presumably his consort, dining with a mage-Rustyl- and a young-faced, but red-haired and large-boned young woman, probably Rustyl's consort Ceyla, although Lorn has never met the woman, but she looks much like a womanly version of Ciesrt.

   The narrow-faced Rustyl glances up, and tilts his head, almost as if listening. Lorn releases the image, shaking his head.

   "Everyone is tied to another, and all circle, waiting to see what will happen." Ryalth laughs.

   After letting the image in the glass lapse, Lorn leans forward and rubs the back of his neck with his left hand. He feels very much like the times are deciding what will occur, the times and not the men, for he can see nothing he dares do-not yet, anyway.

 

 

CXXXIV

 

In the midmorning of fourday, Lorn has just finished summarizing another meeting-this one between the Majer-Commander and Commander Muyro about the last details of installing the Mirror Lancer firecannon.

   There is a knock on his study door, and, even before waiting for Lorn's response, Fayrken steps inside. "Two lancer captains reporting to you, ser." The senior squad leader's eyebrows lift.

   "They should be the captains for the two companies-the ones I'm the maneuvers coordinator for. That's the latest official title." After a wry smile, Lorn asks, "Do you know who they are?"

   "Cheryk and Esfayl, I believe, were the names, ser." Fayrken smiles. "They seemed to know you."

   "Have them come right in." Lorn stands and waits for the two to enter. The older captain is thin-faced, gray-eyed, long-chinned, and has brown hair tinged with gray; the second has dark curly hair, and a boyish look to his features.

   The long-chinned Cheryk sees Lorn and smiles. "Ser. Might have known it was you."

   "Ser." Esfayl barely refrains from shaking his head.

   "It's good to see you both." Lorn pauses, then asks, "Your orders didn't say who your commander would be?"

   "No, ser. We got here, and climbed up to the top floor, and the senior squad leader said that you were our commander. Here..." The veteran with the pale gray eyes extends the scroll.

   Lorn takes the scroll and reads it.

   ...report to the Majer-Commander, lancer headquarters, for further assignment in Cyad as determined by the needs of the Mirror Lancers ...

   Then he hands the scroll back, wondering exactly how much to tell the two.

   "Ser... before I forget... Majer Brevyl sent a message," Cheryk offers.

   "Majer Brevyl?" Lorn cannot help but frown. "He was at Biehl. What's he doing in Inividra?"

   "They sent him from Biehl for a season, ser. Something about making sure that everything was the way it was supposed to be."

   After a moment, Lorn asks, "The message?" He would wager that he knows the sort of message Brevyl would send.

   Esfayl smiles, his expression confirming Lorn's suspicions.

   "He said, ser, that he still didn't care for you personally, but that if you ever made commander, or higher rank, he'd accept serving under you just to see if you have the same nerve when you had power as when you didn't."

   Lorn bursts into laughter. "He hasn't changed a bit. How did you find him?"

   Cheryk and Esfayl exchange glances. Finally, Cheryk speaks. "His words are rougher than yours, but no one noticed much difference, except that he seldom commands patrols. Gyraet does."

   "Did that work out?"

   "Yes, ser. Good man. He's a permanent overcaptain now." Cheryk looks around the small study before speaking again. "The majer also said, ser, that we'd be the first Mirror Lancers stationed in Cyad in generations."

   "That's true. One reason for that is that the Empire is losing its fireships, and that leaves the Mirror Lancers as the most powerful weapon remaining."

   "What about the Magi'i?" asks Esfayl.

   "Individually, a number of them are very powerful, but there aren't that many. That means you have a task to do. It's necessary, and if everything goes right, unless someone's really careless, it won't get anyone killed." Lorn smiles. "Call it a reward of sorts."

   "Ser?"

   Lorn laughs at the dubious tone in Cheryk's voice. "It's simple enough. The outlanders have never seen any of the Morror Lancers' powers, except the fireships, and most outlanders generally only port in places like Cyad, Fyrad, or Summerdock, where there aren't many lancers, even though much of Cyador's strength lies in the lancers. We will be conducting maneuvers-almost on a parade ground-with firelances, whenever the Majer-Commander thinks an important trader is around. Some will even be invited to watch."

   Cheryk nods. "Sort of following up on what we did in Jerans?"

   "In a way. To show the outlanders that, whether we have the fireships or not, the Mirror Lancers are to be reckoned with."

   "Is that why the Majer-Commander brought you here, ser?" asks Esfayl.

   "I don't think so, but I wouldn't presume to guess about what the Majer-Commander plans and how far he thinks into the future." Lorn clears his throat before continuing. "Now... you'll be billeted in a warehouse that they've converted into a barracks with officers' quarters. I've seen it, and the quarters are not bad. If you have family here, or find a place to live... you can do that, but one of you has to be able to be reached by messenger at all times..."

   Lorn goes on to explain the details, finally ending with, "...if you can't find me, Fayrken can." He pauses. "Oh... and the only one who can countermand my orders is the Majer-Commander or the Emperor."

   Cheryk looks hard at Lorn.

   "Those are the near-exact words of the Majer-Commander," Lorn answers.

   "Ser..."

   "I know... they're strange orders, but that's the way it is."

   Cheryk looks at Esfayl, then at Lorn. "You report directly to the Majer-Commander, ser?"

   Lorn nods.

   A slow smile fills the older captain's face. "We'll be having an interesting year, ser."

   "I hope not, but it could be." Lorn waits for a moment, and then asks, "Any other questions?"

   "No, ser. Both companies are supposed to be here day after tomorrow. When do you want us to start running drills?"

   "How about the next day?" Lorn pauses. "Give it some thought. Why don't you both come by after midday tomorrow? Then we'll discuss the kind of drills that might serve our needs."

   "We'll be here, ser." Both captains bow.

   After the two leave, Lorn goes to the doorway and looks into the foyer. Fayrken is alone at the central desk, and Lorn steps out to talk to the senior squad leader.

   "Yes, ser?"

   "I'll need two copies of this for the Majer-Commander. It's another meeting report, on firecannon transport to Cyad." Lorn pauses for a moment. "Were you ever able to find anyone who'd heard of a lancer named Sasyk?"

   "Yes, ser. Much easier-real sour pearapple, ser. He was a captain at one of the small outposts-Tyert... that's one that used to report to Assyadt, but they closed it. Anyway, about ten years ago, he took his company and killed an entire settlement in the Grass Hills. He claimed they were barbarians posing as settlers. The Majer-Commander sent several commanders to look into it. They found barbarian weapons and some Jeranyi golds, and not much was said. Then, something else happened-no one seems to know what, except that he got cashiered there. He disappeared for a year or two and then came back to Cyad. He is the head of guards for one of the trading houses-someone said Dyjani. None of the senior squad leaders I could talk to knew much more, except that he was supposed to be very good with both a firelance and a sabre."

   "Thank you."

   "Not a problem, ser."

   Lorn does not frown until he returns to his study. Outside the ancient panes, although the sky is clear, the wind has begun to whistle as if heralding a storm.

 

 

CXXXV

 

As the carriage comes to a halt in the circular drive, Lorn opens the door from inside and steps out, extending a hand to Ryalth. She descends onto a white marble mounting block and looks over a halfscore of wide white marble steps that climb to a columned entrance portico. Behind the portico rises a two-story villa that stretches more than a hundred cubits north and south of the portico. Each level of the long dwelling is surrounded by shaded and columned porticos, and on the east side of the circular drive is a garden, enclosed by a hedge with a single entrance-and that entrance is a topiary gate.

   Lorn steps down off the mounting block and around to the gray-haired coachman with the kindly and wrinkled face. He looks up and extends a half-silver. "If you could come back at around the eighth bell... ?"

   "Be pleased to, ser."

   The carriage draws away and Ryalth turns to Lorn. "You said that golds ran in Tyrsal's family. This is grander than any of the dwellings of the major clan heads."

   "I know," Lorn says. "Tyrsal doesn't like to talk about it. He feels it's really still his mother's dwelling, and he's embarrassed that it's his. Now that he's consorted..." He looks up as Tyrsal hurries out of the portico and down the steps.

   "Lorn, Ryalth! I was talking to Mother and Aleyar and didn't hear the carriage at the gate. It's good to see you both again."

   "Since three days ago?" asks Lorn.

   "You know what I meant. Besides, this is the first time we've been able to have you for dinner." Tyrsal leads them up the entry stairs, then through a blue marble-tiled entry foyer to another set of steps. At the top of the wide marble staircase, he turns right along another corridor to the first archway.

   Aleyar rises from an old blue-upholstered armchair as the three step through an archway into a sitting room that is alone half the size of the entire first floor of Ryalth's and Lorn's dwelling. The healer smiles warmly. "I'm so glad you could come."

   "We are glad to be here," replies Ryalth.

   Tyrsal's mother remains seated in the other upholstered armchair, adjoining the one where Aleyar had been sitting.

   Tyrsal steps forward. "This is my mother, Ensra. Mother, you remember Ryalth."

   "She looks as charming and beautiful as before."

   Lorn inclines his head to the white-haired Ensra. "It's good to see you again."

   Ensra smiles. "It's good to have younger folk back in the house. The next time, perhaps you could bring your young one."

   "Mother Ensra...." Aleyar shakes her head gently. "Let the poor woman have a few moments to enjoy herself away from her son."

   "He must be a good child... with such parents."

   "Good, but he does keep her busy," Lorn says.

   "And Lorn, as well, at times," Ryalth adds.

   Aleyar gestures. "Please sit down."

   Lorn and Ryalth take the settee across from the armchair where Ensra sits. Tyrsal sits on the other settee.

   "This dwelling... it is quite something." Ryalth gestures around the sitting room, with the dozen or so blue-upholstered armchairs, the matching set of blue velvet settees, and the thick blue-and-gold carpet centered in the middle of the blue-tinged marble tiles.

   "It should be," replies Tyrsal with a grin. "My grandsire was the head of Dyjani House. My father was his only heir, and he was a magus." Tyrsal shrugs. "You can imagine how the merchanters felt about that."

   "They felt that any merchanter who had the talents of a magus would have an unfair advantage, I'm sure," Ryalth replies.

   "He was not given that much of a choice," adds Ensra. "Tasjan's grandsire threatened to bring the matter before the Merchanter Advisor and the Traders' Council."

   "You don't hear much of Tasjan's sire," Lorn ventures.

   "He died at sea when Tasjan was young," replies Ensra. "Tasjan's grandsire lived to be almost fourscore."

   "So the grandsire pushed your father into the Magi'i and became the head of Dyjani clan?" asks Lorn.

   "Pretty much," admits Tyrsal with a glance at his mother.

   "Exactly so," confirms Ensra.

   "Your friend Husdryt... what does he think of Tasjan?" Lorn asks.

   "Husdryt says very little," Tyrsal replies.

   "That alone suggests he has his concerns," says Ensra. "Husdryt was never close-mouthed about that which he likes."

   "...uhhh..." Aleyar clears her throat. "If we do not begin dinner..."

   "It will be cold," Tyrsal says with a grin.

   The five rise.

   As they follow Tyrsal and Aleyar from the sitting room, Lorn wonders how matters might have turned out had Tyrsal's father remained a merchanter.

 

 

CXXXVI

 

In the near-black purple of night, Lorn and Ryalth walk down the wide marble steps of Tyrsal's dwelling to the waiting carriage, followed by Tyrsal and Aleyar. The driver sitting on the coach box is younger, harder-faced than the gray-haired man who had brought them to Tyrsal's.

   Lorn stares at the man for a moment, then asks, quietly, "What happened to the other driver?"

   "He had a touch of the flux, ser... asked if I'd spell him, ser."

   Lorn can sense the lie. "Oh... I see." He casts his chaos-senses around the carriage, but can sense no one hiding within. He turns to Tyrsal, still standing on the white marble steps behind the mounting block. "Do you sense it?"

   Tyrsal nods.

   The coachman looks puzzled, and leans forward slightly. The pose is a lie, as well, one which Lorn ignores.

   "Here..." Lorn points to the rear wheel. "Best you come look. The axle-post is splitting in half."

   "Ser?"

   "Come look for yourself." Lorn motions to Ryalth. "You'd better step back... if that fails here..."

   "Yes, dearest." While the redhead's voice is demure, her eyes are hard as she steps back from the mounting block.

   The driver clambers down, clearly puzzled. As he steps toward the rear wheel, the Brystan sabre is at his neck.

   "One move and you're dead," Lorn says pleasantly.

   "Ser..." The driver freezes.

   Tyrsal appears, and his cupridium sabre is also bared.

   "You're lying, and you're not very smart," Lorn continues. "My friend there is a first-level magus. No one told you that, I am sure, but he could tell you were lying. Now... you can tell the truth, or you can die."

   The man's eyes widen. "They... just told me that all I had to do was drive you back to your dwelling except stop short of the gate... maybe a hundred cubits... and look the other way."

   "That's the truth," Tyrsal says quietly. "But there's more."

   The driver's eyes flick down toward the shimmering blade at his neck. He swallows.

   "Who hired you?" asks Lorn.

   "Benylt... does work for.... for whoever has the golds..."

   "Who hired him?"

   "Ser... I don't know..."

   "You know more than that," Tyrsal says.

   "Which merchanter?" Lorn questions.

   "Ser... I can't say.... I mean... he's been around... His name... No one said..."

   "Benylt didn't tell you... but you'd seen the merchanter before?"

   "Yes, ser."

   "And you weren't supposed to know?"

   The hard-faced man swallows. "No, ser."

   "What does he look like?"

   "Dark-haired, like, but he wore a cloak... only remembered him 'cause one of his front teeth be gold... Seen him once 'afore when I was first on the piers... as a loader... came two, three times to the same ship. Wore one of those blue cloaks with a hood all the time, same as when he hired Benylt."

   "What ship?

   "The Hippo-something."

   Lorn can sense both Tyrsal and Ryalth stiffening. "How tall was he?"

   "Middling, ser... not too tall, not too short."

   "Did you hear him speak?"

   "No, ser."

   "How many men will Benylt have?" Lorn's eyes flick to Aleyar, who watches the bravo as closely as Tyrsal does, then back to the pseudo coachman.

   "Six, perchance eight. Be not calling more than that, not Benylt."

   Lorn looks at Tyrsal, who nods. "Can you handle four or five?" Lorn asks his friend in a low voice.

   "If they don't know it."

   "What about a shield? Can you sit next to the driver?"

   "Be easier if I sat up on the roof, in the baggage rack," Tyrsal points out. "Then I'm behind him."

   "Good idea."

   Aleyar's mouth opens, then closes, as Tyrsal turns to her and says, "It's more than just Lorn's problem, dear."

   Ryalth offers the smallest of nods to her consort.

   "You're going to drive us home," Lorn tells the would-be driver. "Just the way you were told."

   The man swallows. "Ser... ?"

   "Unless you'd prefer I use this sabre here and now."

   "I'll drive, ser. I'll drive."

   "And the magus will be behind you. He's very good with both a sabre and a firebolt."

   "I'll drive right careful, ser. I will."

   Lorn addresses Tyrsal, his eyes still on the bravo. "Can Ryalth stay here?"

   "Of course," the magus replies. Behind him, Aleyar nods.

   "What about Kerial?" asks Ryalth.

   "I'll bring him back... after we deal with this difficulty. We can't get there any sooner."

   The redhead clamps her lips together. "You'll be careful. Both of you."

   "Very careful." Lorn motions to the driver. "Back up to your seat."

   "Ah... yes, ser."

   As the driver mounts and Tyrsal climbs up on top from the footman's station, Lorn steps back toward Ryalth and lowers his voice. "That ship... it's a Hyshrah vessel, isn't it?"

   "How did you know?"

   "Because it wouldn't have made sense any other way. No other house is a threat to Tasjan, except you. See if you can think about who or how Tasjan would use that to hurt both us and Vyanat."

   She nods.

   Lorn looks up at Tyrsal, sitting in the baggage rack.

   "I'm ready. I'm glad it's not that long a drive."

   After a last glance at Ryalth, Lorn climbs into the carriage, his sabre still unsheathed.

   The carriage lurches forward, then settles into a even motion. Lorn continues to hold the unsheathed sabre, if loosely, as the driver follows the roads that lead northward and east into the merchanter quarter.

   "Just drive up exactly as you're supposed to," Tyrsal orders the driver as the carriage turns off the main way.

   "Yes, ser."

   The carriage halts beside a torch set in a bracket in the dark low wall more than a hundred cubits east of the iron gate to his own dwelling. Lorn can sense a number of figures, on both sides of the carriage, concealed in the shadows. With several on the wall to the right, Lorn opens the right door from inside. He does not exit, instead, sensing the four men in the shadows, he slides back to the other side, holding the blur-shield for long enough to step clear of the carriage.

   Thunk! Thunk!

   Two arrows go through the driver's chest.

   "Bast..." the man gurgles as he slumps.

   Hssstt! Hssstt! Two quick firebolts from Tyrsal incinerate the pair of archers who stand in the darkness atop the flat wall adjoining the wall that surrounds Ryalth and Lorn's dwelling.

   Lorn does not drop the vision-blurring shield until his chaos-aided sabre slices through the neck of the bravo who steps out of the deeper shadows on the left side of the lane. He then pivots, and steps back toward the second assailant-the one approaching from the rear.

   "Where are they?" mutters someone.

   Hssstt! A scream begins and dies almost immediately after Tyrsal's firebolt.

   Lorn parries a lancerlike slash by a figure nearly a head taller than he is, and then a second, and several more before he has an opening-but the one is all he needs.

   Another firebolt hisses through the night as Lorn turns from the second fallen bravo.

   "Got a fire-magus there!"

   Lorn hurries around the back of the carriage and steps silently behind the rearmost bravo, the one he suspects is Benylt. The chaos-aided Brystan sabre slides through bone and muscle like a red-hot poker through water, sizzling and steaming.

   "Got Benylt! Run!"

   Two sets of boots begin to run.

   Neither makes it a dozen cubits before Tyrsal's firebolts bring them down.

   Lorn casts his chaos-senses around, but can find no hint of anyone besides the chaos-shimmering figure of Tyrsal. "There isn't anyone else, is there?"

   "Not alive," Tyrsal replies dryly. He slowly climbs down from the carriage box, holding a sabre he has not used.

   Lorn studies the figure of Benylt sprawled on the stones.

   Tyrsal looks from one sprawled figure to another, shaking his head. "I don't know as I could do what you do all the time."

   "I could do it with types like these every day." Lorn snorts, bending and wiping his blade clean on Benylt's cloak.

   "What do we do with all these bodies?" asks Tyrsal, blotting his forehead.

   "I don't think there ought to be any," Lorn suggests. "If bravos just vanish every time they take on Ryalor House... in time... perchance..."

   "You are an optimist, my friend, but I can muster enough chaos, I think."

   "Good. After that we'll check on Kerial, and go back to your house, if you don't mind." Lorn smiles grimly.

   "You're welcome... Can you put a stop to this?"

   "I have some ideas." Lorn begins to gather up the fallen blades. "They might even work."

 

 

CXXXVII

 

Lorn closes the door of the guest bedchamber in Tyrsal's dwelling and turns to Ryalth. She is propped up on the bed and is already nursing Kerial. He unclips the sabre scabbard from his belt and leans weapon and sheath against the wall.

   "How was he?" she asks.

   "He was sleeping-a bit fussy when I woke him up, but he liked the carriage ride. Pheryk's a better driver than most." Lorn takes a deep breath. "I think everything would have been all right at home, but there wasn't much point in risking it, and then traveling out to get you and then coming back again and worrying."

   "What did you do with the carriage?"

   "Pheryk drove us back and then said he would leave it tied at the carriage station that serves Hyshrah Clan. There's no one there at this time of night."

   "You're being more indirect than usual," the redhead says.

   "I want Vyanat to have something to think about." Lorn shrugs

   "You acted as if you knew the Hypolya were one of Vyanat's vessels. Is there something you haven't told me?" Ryalth looks at Lorn. "I cannot believe that he would wish either of us dead-or that any thinking member of his house would."

   "It would depend on the thoughts." Lorn sits down on the side of the bed and gestures to the bag beside the armoire. "I brought daywear for the two of us, and three sets of clothes for Kerial." He bends to pull off his boots. "I also brought my chaos-glass."

   "You don't think Vyanat-"

   "While I trust no one, I do trust your feelings, especially on that. But there are enemies and relatives within every large house, and their goals may not be at all the same as Vyanat's. Perhaps you should pay Vyanat'mer a visit-tomorrow-and bring me along. Tell him that I wanted to meet him because he had appreciated my report on Biehl so much. I'll send a messenger in, saying that I'll be slightly late to Mirror Lancer Court."

   "You think Vyanat will see me if I just show up?"

   "With me beside you? I think so." Lorn grunts and pulls off the other boot. "At the very least he will wish to know why you want to make such a call."

   "How many did you kill tonight?"

   "They killed the coachman with archers. We killed eight plus the leader. Tyrsal used chaos-fire to incinerate the bodies. He has a headache, and he's not going to feel wonderful in the morning."

   "Aleyar will help."

   "That's true. I also asked him if he would request she not tell Liataphi for a day or so."

   "Just a day or so?"

   "Until after we meet with Vyanat."

   Ryalth lifts Kerial to her shoulder and burps him gently.

   Lorn stands and walks to the corner by the armoire, setting his boots almost against the wall, then bending again and easing the chaos-glass case from the bag. He carries the case to the table under the window and eases back the vase with the spray of cut flowers to make room for the glass.

   Lorn concentrates, and, as the silver mists form and then dissipate, the image of Tasjan appears in the glass, sitting at a long table, clearly enjoying what seems to be a family gathering of sorts. Lorn shrugs and releases the image.

   The next image is that of Luss-in his bedchamber. Lorn also releases that image quickly. Rustyl, too, is in bed, apparently sleeping, although the magus turns in his sleep. Lorn lets the image vanish.

   "Did you find anything?" Ryalth asks, yawning.

   "No. I would have been surprised if I had."

   "Because Tasjan worked through someone else?"

   Lorn nods as he replaces the glass in its case. "We do need to see Vyanat in the morning."

   "If he is in Cyad."

   "He will be. Tasjan needs him to be."

   Ryalth offers a sad smile.

 

 

CXXXVIII

 

Ryalth bows as she steps into the square room that is Vyanat's office. Lorn bows as well, before straightening and taking in the muscular but trim Merchanter Advisor. Behind the merchanter's table desk is a wall that is entirely bookshelves, and almost every shelf is filled with leather-bound volumes.

   Lorn notes two volumes on one of the higher shelves, volumes bound in the same shimmering silver as Ryalth's book of verse, but the majer does not let his eyes dwell on them.

   "I do appreciate your seeing me with so little notice." Ryalth smiles.

   Vyanat bows. His perfectly combed black-and-silver hair moves not a fraction of a cubit. "When a house head so successful as you asks for a moment, I am more than pleased to grant it." His head inclines toward Lorn. "This, I presume, is your consort, the redoubtable Majer Lorn."

   Lorn bows politely once more. "I have heard much of you from Ryalth-much good." He smiles. "I have also heard that you believe directness and honesty to be necessary for the merchanters of Cyador to flourish."

   Vyanat laughs. "You must wish to be direct."

   "I may in the future," Lorn counters.

   "Lorn had wished to meet you and to see Hyshrah House," Ryalth says.

   "It appears as though much of what affects Hyshrah House and other merchanter houses also bears upon Mirror Lancer Court, and I have but seen my consort's house," Lorn admits.

   The faintest frown flickers across Vyanat's brow.

   "I see you have rather a large number of volumes here." Lorn gestures to the shelves behind the Merchanter Advisor.

   "Most were gathered by my sire. He insisted that I read and learn certain of them."

   "One can learn much from the past," Ryalth suggests. "The hearts of men change seldom from generation to generation."

   Another faint frown appears on Vyanat's face, then vanishes.

   "I would not take too great a portion of your day," Lorn says. "But if you would indulge me slightly, and just walk us around your house."

   "There is little one would not see in many houses, I am certain." Vyanat glances at Ryalth, then looks back at Lorn and offers a quick laugh. "Still, seeing is believing, and since you do assist the Majer-Commander, I am pleased to indulge your curiosity." The Merchanter Advisor steps from behind his table desk.

   Lorn and Ryalth stand back and then follow the muscular merchanter out the office door and along the corridor.

   "This study is that of my brother Vyel." Vyanat gestures toward the open door, a gesture that is not meant to suggest entry.

   Lorn ignores the body language and steps into the office, smiling.

   The slender and dark-haired man behind the table filled with stacks of papers rises, his brows briefly knitting in puzzlement, his eyes going from Lorn to Vyanat and then back to Lorn.

   "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 looks 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.

   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."

   The dark-haired healer shrugs. "As I was telling Ryalth, he came back from the Quarter and told me I'd have to come alone. He's over at his father's. Kharl wanted to talk to him." She sighs. "He's been spending a great deal of time with Kharl lately. I cannot say I like it."

   Lorn looks at his sister. "Is anything the matter?" He seats himself beside Ryalth on the settee.

   Myryan offers a sad smile in return. "Nothing that is any different from before, Lorn. Ciesrt is centered on himself, like most of the Magi'i, but he is kind enough, and gentle enough."

   "What about his parents?"

   "I detest them." Myryan's words are level.

   Lorn can sense near-fury, and absolute truth in the three words.

   "Because of the children thing?" asks Ryalth.

   "That... and because, to them, I'm an ornament. No... I'm a tool to be used. I'm a thing that is valuable because of who my parents were."

   "Doesn't Ciesrt... ?" Ryalth ventures.

   "He tries... but Kharl is strong, and will have his way. Ciesrt can't stand up to him." A wry smile crosses her face as she brushes back unruly black curls from her forehead and looks at Ryalth. "Lorn could. Lorn stood up to Father, and to senior officers. Ciesrt isn't that strong. I knew that. I didn't think that his father... though..." She shakes her head. "I have decided something, though," she adds, as if it were an afterthought.

   "What?"

   "Too much order, even in healing, is worse than too much chaos."

   "Is there any doubt of that?" Lorn says with a laugh.

   "Ah...." Myryan draws the word out with exaggerated slowness, "but do you know why?"

   Ryalth frowns, her blue eyes flicking between her consort and his sister.

   "I don't see where you're going," Lorn admits.

   "Order's greatest cruelty is that it denies chaos," Myryan declares, her eyes glowing even brighter. "I see that now."

   Lorn nods slowly, trying to make sense out of all the words, and find the meaning behind them. "Why do you say that?" he temporizes, trying to draw her out.

   "Lorn... perfect order is perfect memory. Would you truly wish to remember every unkindness done to you, every cruelty you dispensed? Would you wish to live in a world where every chamber is perfect, yet without heat? Where fire does not exist... because it changes, and order denies change? Where children are never born, and no one dies? Where each person is unchanging... ?"

   Lorn finds himself shivering at the image.

   "The kindness of time is that it passes..." Myryan murmurs. Then she smiles abruptly. "I didn't come here to mope about things. I came because I like to be around you two." She smiles at Kerial, and the boy tries to lurch from Ryalth's lap.

   Ryalth stands and carries her son to his aunt.

   "He's so good," the healer says, taking the Kerial into her arms. "And he feels so good to hold."

   "Most of the time," Lorn suggests, "unless he's wet."

   "We should probably begin dinner," Ryalth ventures, "or it will get overcooked, and I do not care much for overcooked fowl. Also, Kerial is being good, and how long that will last..."

   Lorn laughs.

   As the three enter the dining area, Kysia appears and takes Kerial.

   The three sit, and Ayleha begins to bring in the serving platters, starring with a gold-rimmed blue platter holding slices of fowl covered in a golden cream sauce.

   "When I'm here, everything is so elegant," Myryan says.

   "You deserve elegance," Lorn says, laughing and adding, "and so do we, but we only get it when we have company."

   "Elegance and grown-up company," Ryalth adds, passing the tray to Lorn, who takes but one slice of sun-nut bread, before holding it for Myryan.

   "You have been busy lately," Myryan says. "Even Ciesrt is talking about how effective your demonstrations of the firelances have been. Are you the one who developed those drills?"

   "They're just variations on what I've used in the field," Lorn says, holding the platter to allow Myryan to take several slices of the sauce-covered chicken. "No drill really shows what it's like."

   "We were at Kharl's several nights ago, and Ciesrt suggested that perhaps some of the Magi'i should put on a display." Myryan laughs, if with a note of sadness. "Kharl was not amused. He said that the use of chaos was for what needed to be done to preserve Cyad, not to provide entertainment for outland traders and ignorant... folk."

   "He said 'ignorant merchanters,' I would wager," Ryalth responds.

   "He did. I sometimes forget how sharp you two are... until I come here. I think that's another reason why Ciesrt feels uncomfortable with our family. Everyone sees things he doesn't, and he has trouble accepting that." She shrugs. "Then, Kharl sees what Ciesrt doesn't, and I suppose Ciesrt doesn't wish to be someplace else that reminds him of that."

   "I'm sorry for him," Ryalth says. "I felt that way at first, I think, but your father and mother helped so much."

   "I miss them," Myryan says simply.

   "We all do."

   For a time, the three eat, near-silently.

   Lorn takes the last sip of the Alafraan in his goblet. "I think this is even better than usual. What do you think?" He inclines his head to Myryan.

   "Brother dear, how would I know? Your wine is the only one I drink, and I can take little enough of that."

   "It is good," Ryalth says. "Is there anything left in your garden?"

   "After last eightday's frost?" Myryan shakes her head. "Just some of the root vegetables, the late carrots, potatoes... I did get all the rest of the pearapples pickled or stewed."

   "Stewed pearapples... waste of a good fruit," Lorn grumbles.

   "Letting them rot on the tree or the ground is the waste."

   Ayleha appears, silently as always, and begins to clear away the dishes.

   "How much did you put up?" Ryalth asks.

   "I don't know. It seemed like scores and scores of jars. But they'll all be gone before midwinter, I'd guess."

   As the serving woman places a dish of egg custard before her, Ryalth smiles. "I might actually finish a dinner by myself." She frowns. "That's really not fair to Kerial. He deserves a more regular schedule, but I never know when I can leave Ryalor House or when I'll be late."

   "Or when I will be," Lorn adds.

   "Part of that is because you both want to spent time with him and each other," Myryan suggests.

   "Until this year, we haven't spent that much time together," Lorn agrees.

   "It has been good to see him every night." Ryalth smiles.

   "Sometimes, it amazes me," the healer says. "You two belong together, and I've heard the story so many times, yet it doesn't quite seem real."

   Lorn and Ryalth share a glance.

   "That's what I mean. Neither of you are Magi'i, yet you know so much about each other."

   "Names are not everything," Lorn observes, taking a last mouthful of the egg custard and adding, "That was good."

   "Almost as good as pearapple tarts?" asks Myryan, with an innocent-looking smile.

   "It was very good," Lorn grins back, "better than anything except the best of pearapple tarts."

   Myryan tries to cover a yawn.

   "Are you getting enough rest?" asks Lorn.

   "Always the big brother. It's been a long day. I spent the morning in the garden and then went to the infirmary."

   "I have a carriage waiting to take you home. Pheryk will go with you," Lorn says.

   "I can make my own way," Myryan insists.

   "I am sure you can," Ryalth says, "but Lorn and I would feel better if you accepted the offer."

   "Besides," Lorn adds with a laugh, "you'd waste my coins. I've already paid for the carriage."

   "I would not do that. Not to either of you." Myryan smiles the extra-bright smile once more. "It has been a long day, and I will not insist."

   The three rise and make their way out of the dining area and then to the foyer off the veranda.

   "You have to come more often," Ryalth says, opening the door.

   "With or without Ciesrt," Lorn adds. "We like to see you."

   "I like to see you two," Myryan replies.

   The three walk out to the iron gate, the area lit by a single lamp Pheryk had obviously hung and lit sometime during dinner.