Scion of Cyador

CLVI

In the darkness after dusk, Rynst turns from the window, away from the myriad lamps that illumine the Palace of Eternal Light, and sits down behind his table desk. He looks at the blank sheet of parchment before him and shakes his head.

Then, in the glow cast from the lamps on his desk, he looks up as the faintest click comes from the latch to his study door. The ancient golden-oak door to the Majer-Commander’s study opens, then closes.

A faint breeze wafts from the door and then fades.

Deliberately, slowly, Rynst eases back his chair. The fingers of his left hand ease the black iron throwing knife from the slit pocket in his belt.

“I cannot say I am surprised, Kharl,” the Majer-Commander says slowly, though his eyes search the space between the door and his desk for any sign of the unusual. “Managing to get Rustyl to remove Chyenfel showed your touch.”

There is the slightest whisper of leather on the sunstone tiles of the study floor.

“I suppose Luss has no idea of this. That way you can have the Third Magus truth-read him, and Luss can answer honestly that he has no idea what happened.”

The figure of the Second Magus appears at the end of the conference table closest to the Majer-Commander. Kharl smiles ironically. “You say you would not be surprised, yet you still underestimate me.”

Rynst shakes his head as he eases his chair slightly farther back from the desk, his right hand visible on the edge of the wood. “No, honored Second Magus, I underestimated Chyenfel. I thought he would hold you more in check, and I thought you had some vestige of honor. I thought you would stop at becoming First Magus, and I did not realize you would sacrifice a chaos-tower to your endless ambition. Do you really think you can seize the Malachite Throne?”

“That depends on what the Empress announces as the Emperor’s decision, does it not? For now, I am First Magus, at least in practice, if not in title.” Kharl’s green eyes dance.

“For the moment.” Rynst shrugs, and then his left hand blurs, and the iron throwing knife flashes toward the red-haired magus.

Hsssst!

Firebolt and knife meet, but the chaos-flames and iron droplets splash back across Kharl’s left shoulder.

As the magus steps back, Rynst quickly slides out the cupridium-plated and iron-cored sabre from the scabbard fastened to the underside of his table desk, and leaps forward with the iron-cored blade in his right hand.

Kharl steps back, silently, giving ground.

Rynst holds the blade high, his eyes flicking between the midsection of the magus and his eyes, moving closer to Kharl.

Abruptly, firebolts flash toward the Majer-Commander from the left and then the right.

Rynst’s sabre flicks to the left, parrying one firebolt. His blade is slow on the return, and the second firebolt slams into his right shoulder. His blade drops from his numbed fingers. Another firebolt catches him full in the chest, and he topples forward.

For a long time, there is silence and the sound of one man’s heavy breathing.

Then there is another series of flashes of chaos.

After a time, Kharl slowly opens one of the doors to the balcony outside the study, then flings a few metal items into the night. He leaves the door open, and walks unsteadily toward the closed door leading to the fifth-floor foyer, and the empty stone staircase. One hand holds his left shoulder.

Just before the door opens, he appears to vanish, and the study of the Majer-Commander is empty.