Scion of Cyador

CXXII

Lorn stands behind the desk in his study. Then he walks to the door, pauses with his fingers on the handle. After a moment, he turns and walks back to the desk, putting his hands on the back of the chair.

Lorn does not know if what he will try will work. It is a skill practiced only by first-level adepts…. and he can ask no one in the Magi’i-not even Tyrsal-to assist. According to what he remembers…the idea is simple. The practice is hard, and it is one skill he cannot judge whether he has learned.

Finally, he shakes his head, walks to the study door, opens it, and walks down the short upper hall to the main bedchamber. Again…he remembers to slide the iron latch closed when he closes the door.

Ryalth is propped into a sitting position with pillows on the bed, and is perusing a stack of papers-invoices, Lorn suspects. A faint snore emanates from the small bed against the wall.

“I still need to read through these,” Ryalth says. “I can’t do it when Kerial’s awake.”

“I cannot imagine why,” Lorn says dryly. “I will have a favor to ask in a bit, but just go on reading. I need the long mirror here.”

“Magi’i things you’d best not be caught doing?” Her mouth curls into a momentary smile.

“Something like that. Except this might help my not getting caught.”

With a half-nod, Ryalth turns her eyes to the next sheet in the stack in her lap.

Lorn looks in the bedchamber mirror, then concentrates on what he recalls, the idea that vision is the interpretation of chaos reflected from all objects in a more ordered pattern and gathered by the eyes. If that pattern is modified, so that the reflected order is changed into a less ordered pattern or one that moves the secondary chaos away from one object…then most onlookers will find their vision averted from that object, while not even sensing why.

Lorn attempts to repattern his image, but nothing happens and the full-length mirror continues to show a brown-haired and amber-eyed lancer officer in his undertunic.

Perhaps…repatterning creates too much order and actually enhances his reflection. He frowns, then tries to direct the secondary chaos away from himself.

Abruptly, the entire room seems to go black, and while Lorn can sense objects around him, he can see nothing. Ryalth says not a word, and that means that his vision is affected-not the light from the lamp. With a swallow, he stops trying to divert the chaos of the light from himself. While that approach might make him invisible, he cannot see himself groping his way along a street where everyone else can see-even if they cannot see him.

He blinks and glances at Ryalth, watching for a moment as she lays aside another invoice or bill of lading.

He rubs his forehead, then takes a slow and silent deep breath. What if he just nudges the chaos, blurring it, or breaking up the sense of order emanating from himself? He concentrates, but chaos does not blur…not as he feels it, and his image remains fully in the mirror.

After taking more slow deep breaths and massaging the back of his neck, and ignoring the speculative glance from Ryalth, he tries again, this time trying to disrupt just little portions of the chaos.

His image in the full-length mirror ripples, but it is still recognizably a lancer officer. His lips twist. That kind of image will call more attention to him, not less.

He recalls the word aversion-can he somehow nudge or blur the chaos so that people do not wish to look at him, without knowing why?

He tries one combination, then another.

Ryalth is more than two-thirds of the way through the stack of parchment and paper, and Lorn still sweats, trying to discover-or rediscover-the technique he knows exists, if but mastered by a few.

For a moment, the mirror appears not quite blank, as if an image made of fog or smoke is there, before Lorn the lancer officer reappears.

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.