Magi'i of Cyador

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TWO FIGURES STAND on the westernmost balcony of the Palace of Light, enjoying the comfortable breeze that heralds the beginning of the cool but moderate winter in Cyad. Below them, the green and white awnings on the small plaza to the west and north of the harbor piers ripple with a gust of wind coming off the Great Western Ocean, enough of a gust that the rippling is visible nearly a kay away on the Palace balcony.

“Someone used chaos to create the fire in the warehouse district,” First Magus Chyenfel says to the Majer-Commander of Lancers.

“Was there any damage beyond the one warehouse?” inquires Rynst.

“No. The damage was confined to the western end. It had been rented to an outland trader by the Jekseng clan.”

“Outsiders, again. Everywhere, from the barbarians to the traders, we have difficulties with outsiders.” After a pause, Rynst ventures quietly, “Some had mentioned seed-oil burning.”

“It was-but you cannot get that heavy oil to burn with a striker-or even a fallen candle or lamp.” Chyenfel smiles ironically, his sungold eyes flashing.

“Cammabark?”

“There wasn’t any sign of an explosion, and there were bodies and bones there. The dead men didn’t try to run.”

“The fire was to cover their murder, then. Anyone important?”

The High Lector and First Magus shakes his head. “No. The bodies seem to be those of the man renting the warehouse-a most unsavory Hamorian thought to be a smuggler-and his two bodyguards.”

“How unfortunate. How very unfortunate.” Rynst lifts hiseyebrows. “Then we cannot suspect the Hand of the Emperor?”

“No … not in a dispute between traders, not unless it is far more than it seems to be. But then, you know that.” Chyenfel smiles lazily. “You would like to know who the Hand is, would you not?”

“Many would.”

“True,” muses Chyenfel. His face hardens. “Perhaps, just perhaps, the most unfortunate demise of this Aljak may put an end to a string of recent disappearances among the merchanters.”

“You do think it was retribution?” Rynst turns so that the afternoon sun falls full on his back, bright if cold in the green-blue sky, and so that he can watch both the First Magus more closely and the harbor.

“It probably was, but we don’t know who killed Aljak.” Chyenfel offers a theatrical shrug. “Unhappily, the man comes from a prominent Hamorian trading family. They have threatened a ten percent increase in the cost of Hamorian goods … or so Bluoyal tells me.”

“They cannot make that stick, not when the Austrans will bring the same goods for a five percent increase. Then, the Hamorians, should they want the trade, would have to go back to the old prices.”

“That is true, and even Bluoyal would agree. Yet … there is one thing.”

“Oh?” offers the Majer-Commander warily.

“There was a trace of chaos beneath all the charred goods and ashes.”

“You have assured me that all your Magi’i would not do such.”

Chyenfel nods. “I have already spoken with every magus. All are innocent. None are hiding anything.”

“Does that mean a wild chaos wielder? Or that one of your Magi’i can evade the truthreading?”

“Even those few skilled at truthreading cannot evade another’s reading. Since no Magi’i are involved, it means the chaos was directed in another fashion. There was no spray.That I could tell even after the fire, and wild types do not have that kind of control.”

“So … a former Magi’i?”

“Those who have such talents are weeded out early-they are dead or in the lancers on the frontier.” Chyenfel fingers his smooth chin. “And we follow those who hold chaos with the glasses until they can no longer do so or until they die. None have been detected in Cyad in seasons, if not years.”

“You have the impossible, then, and that is less than satisfactory, especially in these times.”

“It could have been a small firelance-as your guards for the Emperor carry,” suggests Chyenfel almost idly.

“I would be most pleased to accompany you as you question each of them.” Rynst smiles tightly.

“I thought you would be.” Chyenfel returns the smile.