Scion of Cyador

CXVII

Lorn has just arrived at the dwelling, and stands on the veranda, blotting his forehead from the heat of the late-fall afternoon, when he hears the gate open and close. He turns to see Ryalth and Ayleha walking around the privacy hedge. Ryalth carries Kerial, whose whimpers rise over the splash and spray of the fountain.

Lorn hurries toward them.

“Are you all right?” Lorn asks, taking Kerial. His son’s whimpers immediately increase into an intermittent wailing as Lorn walks beside Ryalth past the cooling spray of the fountain.

“We’ve all been better.” Ryalth’s voice holds an edge.

“I’m sorry. Can I do anything?”

“Keep holding him. I know he’s teething. At least, I hope it’s just teeth.”

Belatedly, as he steps into the shade of the veranda, Lorn uses his chaos-order senses to study Kerial, but he finds nothing except the faint redness around the boy’s teeth. “It’s just his teeth.”

“I hope he gets the rest of them soon.” She shakes her head. “Maybe I don’t. He’s starting to bite.”

Lorn pauses at the door to the foyer. “Why don’t you just go upstairs, and wash up and lie down or just spend some time by yourself?”

“You don’t want to see me?”

Lorn holds back a sigh. “Everyone has been asking things of you all day. Kerial has probably been unpleasant and whimpering all day. I gather trading wasn’t good, and you had problems there. I do like to see you, but the way you’ve been talking, I only thought you might like some time when no one was asking or demanding.”

“Maybe I do.”

“I’ll stay out here with Kerial.”

“You just got here, didn’t you?” asks Ryalth.

“Just before you.”

“I shouldn’t leave him with you. You’ve had a day, too.”

Lorn laughs. “Just take care of yourself for a while. We’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“You deserve a rest.”

“Thank you.” Ryalth’s voice softens, and she smiles for the first time since she stepped through the iron gate. “I won’t be that long.”

“However long it takes, and then take some more time for yourself.”

She nods and steps into the foyer.

Lorn walks around the veranda, patting Kerial on the back. After what seems like tenscore circles in one direction, he turns and walks the other way. He can feel the dampness on his shoulder where his son half gnaws, half slobbers on his uniform in between whimpers.

The sun has dropped behind the larger dwellings and the hillside to the northwest, and Lorn has circled the veranda more than a score of scores before Kerial finally begins to snore on Lorn’s shoulder. He walks another score of circles and then makes his way slowly through the dwelling and up the stairs. He meets Ryalth at the top.

Her eyes widen.

“He’s asleep,” Lorn mouths as he walks as softly as he can toward their bedchamber, and Kerial’s bed. Kerial does not wake as Lorn eases him down on his back, then backs away slowly.

Outside their chamber in the corridor, Ryalth smiles. “Thank you. I know I shouldn’t get cross.” She points to his shoulder. “You’re wet.”

“I think the uniform felt good to chew on.” Lorn starts down the stairs, then looks at her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t ask about dinner.”

“Kysia says it’s about ready.”

“Good. I am hungry.” Lorn continues down the stairs to the main floor.

“You should be. It’s late. You walked him for a long time.”

“You were upset.”

“I was. Immilhar’s Western Wind is lost, in a storm in the Gulf of Austra. That was a good ship, a good captain, and we had a good hundred golds in the cargo, and a chance for double that. I’d finally gotten them to take the golden-melon brandy, and this was the first real order.” Ryalth shakes her head. “Let’s go eat, before Kerial wakes up.”

“He might sleep awhile.”

“I’m not counting on it.” She turns toward the dining area.

Lorn follows her, and almost as soon as they sit, Kysia arrives to set a platter, a covered dish, and a basket of dark bread on the table.

“Ale is all we have,” announces the gray-eyed server.

“That will be wonderful,” Lorn says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ryalth nods.

Lorn shakes his head. “What about Lhary?”

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

None of that surprises Lorn.

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

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

“Hmm…does anyone know what Vyanat said?”

“No.”

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

Ryalth laughs.

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

“Why are you interested in Tasjan?”

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

“You’re not telling me everything.”

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

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

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

“You’re kind…I think.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He has special uniforms for his armsmen?”

“Oh, yes. Some of the other traders think he’s putting on airs.”

Lorn concentrates, trying to fix Tasjan’s image in his mind, before he finally lets the chaos-glass turn blank once more. He blots his forehead, then massages his neck. For a moment or so, he sits before the glass with his eyes closed.

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

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

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

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

“That image didn’t show much.”

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

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

“Who are they?”

“The Captain-Commander and Commander Lhary.”

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

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

“That’s worse.”

Lorn agrees silently. “Watch the next image.”

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

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

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

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

Ryalth steps up behind him and massages his shoulders.

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

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

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