“I risk less in coming directly. Often the Majer-Commander has members of his staff discuss matters with Magi’i, and I am very junior.”
“Not so junior as you think. Still…” Liataphi’s sad, pale eyes focus directly on Lorn. “What do you seek from me?”
“Your advice, and, if you feel so inclined, your support in the future.”
Another of the booming laughs fills the study. When the sound dies away, Liataphi shakes his head. “In that…In that, you are most unlike your sire.”
“I lack his ability to convince indirectly, ser. I can but ask.”
“That you have. That you have.” There is a pause. “I will do what I can, but I will not act against the spirit of the Magi’i. I will not oppose your efforts unless they threaten the Magi’i.”
“I can ask for no more.”
“You could, but you know I could not give it.” Liataphi smiles. “And what of Tyrsal?”
“He understands, and…he is like my sire.”
“I thought as much.” Liataphi stands. “I think we should take a brief walk, if you do not mind. I would like to have you see an old acquaintance of yours. He is an assistant to the First Magus, and a cousin through consortship to the Second Magus, and he may be yet related through his own consortship of the Second Magus’s daughter. I suppose that would make him a relative of yours as well, in more than one way.” The Third Magus shrugs. “Then, most of us are related somehow.”
“That must be Rustyl,” Lorn says as he rises.
“He has risen quickly within the hidden side of the Quarter, and some say that Chyenfel is grooming him to be one of the Three.” Liataphi walks to the door and opens it, turning down the corridor and away from the foyer.
“The hidden side? Would there not be more support for him were he more visible?” asks Lorn openly as he hurries to stay with the taller and long-legged Second Magus.
“I do not question the First Magus about some matters,” Liataphi says lightly. “Neither does the Second Magus, although it is likely our reasons are somewhat different.”
“The Second Magus…it’s strange, but I’ve never actually met him,” Lorn says.
“I am sure you will in time, especially with your sister as his son’s consort.”
“That may be. I’m told that Ciesrt has become more and more capable as a magus, and that he applies himself with great diligence.”
“His diligence would be a credit to any magus, and his devotion to chaos, I would judge, even outstrips that of his sire.” Liataphi slows as he takes another corridor that branches off to the left. He stops at a half-open door and knocks on the heavy golden-oak door itself, then pushes it open and steps into the small study that holds little more than a table desk, several bookcases, and three chairs, one behind the desk. A light warm breeze blows from the single narrow window.
“Ser!” Rustyl stands, his deep-set eyes flicking from Liataphi to Lorn, his narrow features impassive.
“Majer Lorn, I believe, was once a student with you.” Liataphi offers a pleasant and superficial smile. “He is now on the staff of the Majer-Commander, and I found him quite unexpectedly, and thought I would bring him by to see you before he returns to Mirror Lancer Court.”
“It’s been quite some time, Rustyl,” Lorn says easily. He gestures. “I see that you are a full first-level adept. That’s quite an honor and accomplishment.”
“Oh…thank you. I’ve been fortunate in what I’ve been able to do in the Magi’i.”
“Were you involved in the Accursed Forest ward project? If so, I’d like to thank you,” Lorn goes on. “Its success has made possible the transfer of more lancers to deal with the threat of the barbarians.”
“That was an effort by the First Magus, and my part was minor,” Rustyl admits. “At the time, I was assisting the Mirror Engineers in Fyrad.”
Lorn detects the shading of truth in the response, but merely nods. “And now?”
“I do whatever the First Magus requires.”
“As do we all,” Liataphi says dryly.
“Well…whatever you do, I’m sure it is for the good of Cyador, and I know that you will continue that work. It’s good to see you.” Lorn smiles and nods.
“I’d best be escorting the Majer out of the Quarter, Rustyl, but I thought it would be a shame if I did not bring him by.”
“Thank you, ser.” Rustyl inclines his head. “It was good to see you again, Lorn.”
“And you, too.” Lorn can easily detect the lack of truth in Rustyl’s parting words, and the dislike beneath their pleasant tone.
Liataphi and Lorn walk back down the corridor.
“I thought you should see Rustyl, if briefly,” offers the older magus.
“Your kindness and perception are much appreciated,” Lorn replies.
“In these times that verge on great change,” Liataphi continues, “it is best to know how those who may affect you feel, and not how they are presented by yet others. For that reason alone, I am most pleased that you followed your father’s suggestions.” The Third Magus walks past his own doorway and toward the foyer. He does not halt until he has passed the desk and the fourth-level adept who sits there. “It has been good to see you, Majer. Convey my best to the Majer-Commander, and assure him that the Magi’i will do their best.”
“That I will, ser.”
“And perhaps my consort and I could host you and your consort at a dinner with your friend Tyrsal and Aleyar.”
“I would like that, and I think Ryalth would as well. I have been out of Cyad so long that I fear she had thought we would never be able to meet people together.”
“I will send an invitation from my consort to yours. That will make it more social.”
“Thank you, ser.”
“You are welcome. I imagine you can find your own way from the Quarter.”
“That I can, ser.”
Liataphi smiles, then nods for Lorn to depart.
Once again conscious of eyes on his back, Lorn turns and walks down the steps. Will his meeting with Liataphi lead to more? That, Lorn cannot say, except that Liataphi has offered as much encouragement as any of the Three Magi’i could, and Lorn senses neither deception nor malice in the man. He wishes he could say the same for Rustyl.
CVII
In the full light of a late afternoon in midsummer, Lorn unlocks the iron gate to the dwelling, steps inside, and locks it behind him. Once inside, he pauses to blot his forehead with the back of his hand. Then he steps around the privacy hedge and starts toward the cooling spray of the fountain, already savoring the cooler air inside the walls that surround the garden.
Sssssssss!!! Two white objects flutter out of the shade to his right. Lorn staggers as a dull blow slams into his right thigh. Something else jabs at his left calf.
His sabre is in his hand before he realizes the attackers are two large grayish white geese. He steps back, using the flat of the blade to blunt the jabbing beaks, although the cacophony of hisses and squawklike noises continues as he edges around the big birds and toward the veranda, and as the geese pursue him with darting bills and an occasional blow from a cocked wing.
He laughs as he climbs the steps onto the polished tiles under the veranda roof and turns to see Ryalth emerging from the foyer, also laughing.
“Dearest! How do you like our guards?” Ryalth straightens up, still laughing as she speaks.
“I doubt any will enter the house without their presence being well and fully announced.”
“We will have to pen them, I fear, when we have company for dinner.”
“That might be wise.” Lorn glances back at the two hissing birds, who remain on the walk, their small eyes fixed on him.
“I’d like you to meet Pheryk.” The redhead turns to the figure who has followed her.
A muscular man with iron-gray hair and a short square beard stands just beyond the door to the foyer under the roof of the veranda. Behind him is a slender white-haired woman, who continues to smile.