Scion of Cyador

LXXXVIII

Lorn sits down on the settee Ryalth has brought from her old quarters on the east side of Cyad and looks at the ornate box, the box he had seen so often in his father’s study, with its almost ebony finish, and the inlaid metal spirals that almost seem to stand out from the wood, even though they are set so flush to the wood that Lorn’s fingers can detect no edge or roughness. A box…and questions, and perhaps a hundred golds, those are his tangible heritage.

From upstairs, the sound of a lullaby drifts downward, and the murmurings of Kerial’s protests die away.

Lorn looks down at the woven image of the ship on the carpet, then at the box. Their heritages…so different on the surface, and yet not so different.

Ryalth slips down the steps and into the sitting room. She slides onto the settee beside Lorn. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“It doesn’t seem like much. From your father, I mean.”

“He couldn’t do otherwise. Vernt’s the magus, and he gets the dwelling, and six-tenths of everything else above the bond. I get half of the remainder, and Jerial and Ciesrt split the rest.”

“It’s not fair for your sisters, either.”

“Cyad isn’t that fair to women, especially those of the elthage.”

“I have more than they do…it’s strange.”

“I told you that a long time ago. You didn’t believe me. The Magi’i need their healers. There are so few Mirror Lancers and Magi’i.”

“So they are kept in chains of custom, thinking they are privileged and pampered.”

“Not all believe that. Jerial doesn’t. She never has,” Lorn points out.

“She is not usual.”

“No.” Lorn smiles. “She’s not, and neither are you. How many lady traders have created houses?”

“You helped-greatly.”

“Even if I did, there had to have been others with coins, yet they did not do as you have done. Is that not true?”

“It is hard for me to admit such.”

Lorn shakes his head. “I don’t see why. You are the one who did it.”

Ryalth gestures toward the inlaid box. “Best you look through that. Jerial made sure you had it as soon as you arrived.”

Lorn nods and opens the wooden box, frowning, looking slowly through it, for, under the letter, are stacks and stacks of paper. Some contain diagrams, and others, what appear to be closely spaced words, almost as if they were parts of a book or a manual. He slowly eases those back into the box, then finally breaks the seal on the folded letter. He begins to read the precise handwriting that bears the hint of shakiness in each character he had seen but in the last few scrolls he had received from his father.

My dear son,

You may have already begun to see what necessary cruelty has been visited upon you, for you are one of the few hopes of Cyad and Cyador. If you have not, this will offer a few more keys to the lock of the future.

First, I must say that for your wisdom and fortune in finding your consort, I cannot tell you how thankful I am. For without her, I am not certain you would have the future you may. She is a treasure greater than any other, and I regret that I could not say such in the early years, when you would have looked askance had I expressed favor for her. You had to discover that for yourself, against my wishes, if necessary, although I would ask that you recall that I did not persist in my opposition, as I did in other matters.

Lorn cocks his head, then laughs. Beside him, Ryalth lifts her eyebrows. Lorn hands her the first sheet of the letter. “You should read this.”

She takes it and begins to read.

Lorn continues with his father’s words.

Second, the papers that accompany this missive are for your use. Some are for you to use with Magi’i of your choice, but of those I know who are close to you, I would suggest but Tyrsal and your brother. For all the rumors about him, I can also say that Liataphi is far more trustworthy than those immediately above him, although the First Magus under whom I have served can generally be trusted to think about the well-being of Cyador.

Lorn pauses and looks at Ryalth. “What do you think?”

“After I came to know your father, I liked him.” She smiles. “He understood just how rebellious you were.”

“Me?”

“You,” she affirms. “You’d best keep reading while Kerial sleeps.”

Lorn looks back at the parchment sheet he holds.

Third, I have not been fully responsive in revealing the truth about my duties, for my association with Toziel is far closer than I have indicated. This may come to light. It may not. As I once remarked, unguardedly, you are far closer in temperament to him, I think, than most would ever realize. For all our past closeness, do not presume upon it or approach him or his consort unless you are approached. This I cannot emphasize too strongly.

“Didn’t the Hand of the Emperor die about the same time as my father?” Lorn asks Ryalth.

“A little later, I think…” Her mouth opens. “Of course…of course…”

Lorn nods. “It makes a great deal of sense.” He hands her the second sheet of the letter. “Especially if you read this.”

Ryalth scans the letter and then looks at her consort. “Best you be most careful, dearest, for he will have had enemies, careful as he was.”

“I doubt he had as many as I already have,” Lorn says dryly. “He was far more cautious.”

“A Hand must be silent and cautious. Had you been such, would you now yet live?”

“I think not.” Lorn glances back down at the letter.

Fourth and finally, I would that you remember that, while fear motivates most men far more than hope or justice, fear seldom sets their feet to moving forward. One can paralyze one’s opponents with fear, but one must stand forth to lead. I was never one much for standing forth, or perhaps my skills did not lie in such. Yours do, and you must lead through your talents. Do not let your talents lead you. I did not wish you to be of the Magi’i, for your skills would have led you away from yourself.

My blessing and my curse, alas, are the same. Go forth and do great deeds. You may succeed. You may not, but a life lived in betrayal of what one is cannot be considered a life lived, and already you have lived more of a life than most twice your years.

Lorn looks blankly at the signature for a time, then silently hands the last sheet to Ryalth. She takes it and reads, this time more slowly, finally looking up at him.

“Do men make the times, or times the man?” he asks quietly.

“Your father was a man of his times, and you are one of your times.”

“That’s true,” Lorn says. “But…are we what we are because of those times, or because we simply are-regardless of the times?”

“He was a man of his time. You could be one for all times.”

“You’re kind, but I don’t know about that.”

Ryalth smiles-an amused expression. She only says, “Perhaps you should read the rest of the papers-at least some of them-to see why he wanted you to have them.”

“Yes, honored Lady Trader.”

“And don’t humor me, most honored Majer and Mirror Lancer.”

Lorn winces. “I’m sorry.”

“Read them.”

Lorn sets aside the letter and begins with the first sheet.

In the days to come, for any man who would wish to inhabit the Palace of Eternal Light, he must assure himself first of the support of the Mirror Lancers, then of the merchanters, and lastly of the Magi’i…

Many have claimed that the Magi’i hold the key to power in Cyad, and thus in Cyador. This illusion has proven useful to the Magi’i, and to those who sit upon the Malachite Throne, for the Magi’i can be said to recommend and require that which is necessary, yet not popular.

Lorn flips to another section, then a third, before another set of words catches his attention.

When the chaos-towers fail, and fail they will, he who would be leader of Cyad must know what will serve to replace them and the devices which now they power. For a vast land must have means of moving people and goods that are faster and carry more goods than mere horse- or ox-drawn wagons….

…what is often forgotten is that there remain the lesser forces of chaos within the world, such as that released when burn wood or the hardest of coals. These I have detailed in the pages which follow, and the means by which they may yet be implemented before all the chaos-towers fail.

Lorn sits back. He can only look at the papers.

“What’s the matter, dearest?” asks Ryalth.

“He knew it all. He knew everything, and he never told me. He never told me.”

“But he did. He told you when you could use what he knew. Could you have done aught with it before now?”

Lorn shakes his head. “But he knew, and he left it all to me.”

“The times were not right.”

Lorn frowns, but says nothing, his eyes going to the box in his lap, and the papers that he knows must hold far more than he had ever imagined his father would have considered, papers he must read, and read soon.

His eyes burn, and Ryalth reaches out and takes his hand.