“He hasn’t named a new Hand, either, from what I’ve overheard,” Tyrsal says.
“Father says he should, but will not, not until he names a successor,” Aleyar volunteers.
“A successor?” Ryalth frowns.
“The Emperor looks young, but he is not. This is something all healers know, though we say little,” Aleyar replies. “The Empress is a healer, and tends him constantly, so that he looks young. They have no children, not even any nieces or nephews, and both have outlived their siblings. There was a nephew, but he was a lancer officer who was killed years ago.”
A nephew killed years ago-that alone indicates an old Emperor to Lorn. “No one speaks about a successor.”
“No one will,” says Ryalth. “Not openly. The Magi’i and the lancers do not want to lose their powers, and the merchanters do not want Cyador to be seen as any weaker or as in turmoil, because we will lose golds.”
“There must be some in Cyad who could turn that to a profit,” suggests Lorn.
“There are, and they will, and the clans will let them, so long as it is done quietly.”
“And if not?” questions Tyrsal.
“Several warehouses burned, and some ships never returned to port before the lancers and the Magi’i agreed on Toziel’s sire. And the Captain-Commander of Mirror Lancers was killed by the old Third Magus, and the Second Magus vanished.”
“That’s not in the history scrolls,” Tyrsal says dryly.
Aleyar laughs softly.
“I know. I know,” replies the redheaded magus. “I am hopeless in my desires for openness and truth.”
“You never told me that Lorn had suggested you meet me,” Aleyar points out sweetly. “That was not in your personal-history scroll.”
Tyrsal shakes his head so ruefully that the other three laugh. “Best I talk of some other matters. Quickly. How is Myryan doing?”
“She says she’s fine.” Lorn shrugs. “I still worry about her. She’s so sweet, but her eyes are sad, like Mother’s were the last time I saw her.”
“We choose to be healers,” Aleyar says quietly.
“But your choices are limited,” Ryalth points out. “As the daughter of a magus, you can keep the house of your consort, or become a healer, or do both…”
“Or leave Cyador,” Aleyar says. “Before I met Tyrsal, I was thinking about that. Healers are welcome elsewhere in Candar, especially in the east. Lydiar, especially.”
“You would have done that?” asks Tyrsal.
“Rather than accept someone like Rustyl? Certainly. Father can protect me now…but he is not so young as he thinks.”
Lorn holds back a frown. The Emperor is old. So are Rynst and Liataphi.
“Here are the tarts!” Ryalth announces as Kysia appears with a platter.
Lorn smiles. He can do little else this evening, except enjoy Ryalth and the company of Tyrsal and Aleyar-and he is happy for his friend.
Besides, the pearapple tarts are good. He has already sampled one in the kitchen earlier.
C
His Mightiness Toziel’elth’alt’mer leans forward in the smaller malachite and silver throne of the Lesser Audience Hall. “We now have but four fireships capable of protecting our interests.” His eyes go to Rynst. “How goes the construction of the three sailing warships?”
“The first will be completed by late fall, the others thereafter.” Rynst nods slightly.
“And the cannon?”
“We have tested one. More work will be required.”
“And how many golds?” asks Vyanat’mer.
Toziel’s head turns slowly from Rynst to Vyanat. “You question the need for such weapons and vessels?”
“The need for such vessels? And more armament?” Vyanat’mer shakes his head. “The need, never. I question how we can afford such. Already the Empire of Eternal Light tariffs those of us who are merchanters at nearly ten golds on every hundred we take in.”
“The tariffs of Hamor are higher than that,” Chyenfel points out.
The gray-haired Rynst glances from Toziel to the First Magus, then to the blue-eyed Merchanter Advisor.
In her smaller seat behind Toziel’s shoulder, Ryenyel appears disinterested, her eyes absently ranging from one advisor to another.
The merchanter laughs ruefully. “The tariffs levied by the Hamorians are high on parchment, but their enumerators are not so well-trained, and can be bribed by those of Hamor. I would even guess that bribery is encouraged. Were I to attempt such, I would lose a ship or a hand or both. So we pay golds there, and those are golds they do not pay, while they but pay ours. That can mean that our traders often pay twice as much in tariffs as do the Hamorians.”
“Without fireships and a larger fleet…” Rynst says quietly.
“You wish that we should go to war against Hamor?” asks Toziel. “Or bar our ports to the Hamorians, so that they will bar theirs to us?”
“No, sire.” Rynst shakes his head. “No, sire, but the Hamorians know we cannot do such.”
“Why can we not require the Hamorians to pay greater tariffs than do our traders?” asks Chyenfel.
“Then they will do the same,” counters Vyanat, “and we will find ourselves in an even worse position.”
“How then, honored Merchanter Advisor, would you counsel me?”
“I would counsel you to reduce the tariffs on all goods.”
“And how are we to support the Mirror Lancers and keep the barbarians from pouring across the Grass Hills?” Toziel raises his eyebrows. “With fewer firelances and recharges available, we need more lancers, not fewer.”
“Lower their stipends,” Vyanat says genially. “By increasing tariffs, you have lowered what we make and can pay our seamen and workers.”
“They will be risking their lives more,” Rynst says, “and you suggest we pay them less?”
“You cannot pay what you do not have,” Vyanat counters. “If tariffs are raised, fewer goods will pass through Cyad. We already trade fewer goods than generations earlier. One has but to look at the empty warehouses and piers to see that. Fewer goods provide fewer golds in tariffs. That is true even with higher tariffs.”
Toziel frowns, then fingers his chin. “Let me say what you all have said: Because we have fewer warships, our traders pay higher tariffs elsewhere in the world. To build more warships will require golds. To get the golds one must raise tariffs on something. Raising tariffs will lower the golds we gather because fewer goods will come to Cyad and fewer will leave. Without more golds we cannot pay for more Mirror Lancers, but we will need more lancers because we have fewer firelances and firewagons.” The Emperor pauses. “If you are all correct, then Cyador is doomed. Yet we are prosperous. So there must be a fault in this reasoning.” He smiles. “I would that each of you reflect on this and bring me your thoughts the day after tomorrow.” He stands.
The three advisors bow as the Emperor of Cyador, Land of Eternal Light, turns and makes his way from the audience hall, followed by Ryenyel.
CI
Lorn leans forward in his study chair, ignoring the warm afternoon breeze of full summer that scarcely cools Mirror Lancer Court at all. He forces himself to read slowly over the summary and conclusion page of his draft plan for dealing with the Jeranyi-the paragraphs that matter the most, in a way, since he doubts anyone but the Majer-Commander will ever see more than the summaries. Perhaps even Rynst will not read more than the summary.
As he has drafted the plan, Lorn has included everything he can think of, from the costs of carrying blades from Hamor-figures Eileyt and Ryalth had helped him calculate-to distances between the planned stops of a campaign to take Jera, and even the supplies necessary in the event that the Mirror Lancers were not to raid the storehouses of the Jeranyi.