Scion of Cyador (70 page)

“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?”