Scion of Cyador

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 twoscore.”

“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.