“Most would have run or slashed up the geese,” Pheryk observes with a smile on his mouth and in the dark brown eyes.
“I was surprised,” Lorn admits. “I didn’t expect the geese so soon.”
“You told me that sooner was better,” Ryalth points out.
“Indeed I did.” Lorn laughs once more.
Ryalth turns to the white-haired woman. “This is Ghrety. She’s Pheryk’s consort.”
“We’re most pleased that we can be of service,” Ghrety says, bowing. “Never thought that little Ryalth would ever be a mighty trader lady.”
“I take it that you’ve known Ghrety before.” Lorn looks to his consort.
“Of course, dear. She was my nursemaid’s sister, and I knew she’d consorted with a Mirror Lancer. Actually, that was how I found Kysia to begin with, because Ghrety recommended her. Kysia’s Pheryk’s cousin.”
Lorn nods. Ryalth will not bring anyone into the household whom she cannot trust. “I’m am glad you are both here. I am sure Ryalth has already told you of my concerns.”
“Yes, ser.” Pheryk smiles. “Be good for us, as well. For now, young Phelyt and his consort can have our place without the old folk to worry about, and we’ll have the pleasure of a young one about-and folk who need what we do.”
“Young Kerial-he’ll be needing clothes, too,” adds Ghrety.
“All the time,” Ryalth says. “He’s growing so fast.”
There is a moment of silence.
“Not that I’d be meaning to put sweetsap in your mouth, ser,” offers Pheryk, “but when word got round about what you did to the barbarians, many were the plain lancers who cheered under their breath. More of that been done years back, never would we have had the troubles of the past years.”
“That’s what I thought,” Lorn says. “I was fortunate enough to be where I could do something about it.”
Pheryk smiles. “Once, ser, that be a happy accident. Twice be not.”
Lorn shrugs. “Best I still claim fortune and such in Cyad.”
“Aye.” The gray-bearded man nods. “That I understand.”
Lorn glances back at the geese, who have reduced their clamor to an occasional hiss, and half smiles, before turning to his consort. “Have you all any more surprises for me?”
“Well…we now have iron bolts, and Pheryk has put them in place on most of the doors.”
“My da-he was a journeyman cabinet-maker, and I learned a thing or two before I joined the lancers,” explains the gray-haired veteran. “Be a shame to scar the doors more than you must.”
Lorn nods. Once more, Ryalth has done far better than he could have.
CVIII
In the fading light of a late-summer afternoon, the first-level adept steps into the study of the High Lector and First Magus of Cyador. He bows. “Thank you for allowing me to intrude, ser.”
“You seldom intrude, Rustyl. Or not without reason. You may sit.” Chyenfel brushes back his silvering black hair. “What did you wish?”
The tall and blond Rustyl looks at the First Magus for several moments, as if deciding how to begin. “Did you know that Majer Lorn was in the Quarter the other day? He was meeting with the Third Magus.”
“That is not surprising. The Third Magus often meets with the officers serving the Majer-Commander to advise them on matters such as the availability of firewagons and the services we provide them. Those are part of his duties.”
“A mere majer?” Rustyl sneers, his deep-set eyes cold in his narrow face.
“Majer Lorn is perhaps the most effective field commander the Mirror Lancers have had in generations. The Majer-Commander knows that the lancers will soon have to do without firelances. Why would he not have such a commander talk to Liataphi?” Chyenfel smiles coolly. “The Majer-Commander is not unaware of the majer’s background as a student magus. Do you think he would not employ such?”
“I had thought of that, ser. Yet…” Rustyl leaves the words hanging.
“ ‘Yet’? You believe there is more?” Chyenfel’s voice offers a tone of mild curiosity. “What might that be?”
“That…I thought you might know, ser. The Third Magus did make a point of bringing Lorn to see me.” Rustyl looks directly at the First Magus.
“To upset you, Rustyl. And he has clearly done that.”
Rustyl smooths away the momentary frown on his face. “Yes, ser. Yet I do not see what purpose that served.”
“Liataphi knows that I have given you duties to prepare you for greater responsibilities. Perhaps he wished to show you that there are others in Cyad to whom equivalent responsibilities have also been given. While Majer Lorn was not suitable for the Magi’i, that does not mean he lacks ability, and the Majer-Commander has recognized that ability.”
Rustyl nods.
“And I have no doubts whatsoever that Liataphi wanted to reintroduce you to Lorn not only to suggest that you are not so special as you believe yourself, but to use you to deliver the same message to me.” Chyenfel smiles coldly. “And you have done so.”
“I beg your pardon and indulgence, ser.”
“That is acceptable, Rustyl. Liataphi has suggested that he does not wish to be First Magus. He has even hinted that he may not wish even to be Second Magus. He does not wish, however, that whoever may follow me be excessively arrogant, and this little stratagem was designed to call my attention to your stratagems.” The First Magus steeples his fingers together above the polished golden-oak surface of his desk table. “You dislike Majer Lorn. The Third Magus knows this. Lorn is perceptive enough to sense this dislike. Now…Liataphi has been able to convey to the Majer-Commander, with little beyond a polite greeting, that you are arrogant and to be watched with care. You are one of my protégés. Therefore, I must be watched as well.”
Rustyl is silent for a long time.
“You have a question, yet you have concerns about voicing it,” Chyenfel finally says.
“Yes, ser. I honestly do not understand what the Third Magus would gain from this.”
“I should not have to explain, Rustyl. Think.” Chyenfel leans back and waits.
Rustyl pauses, and the quiet in the study draws out before he finally speaks. “Yes, ser. He makes it known that I am not worthy or ready of greater responsibilities. He casts doubt upon your judgment. He gains greater trust from the Mirror Lancers. But he is Third Magus, and not Second.”
“And who of the Mirror Lancers is close to the Second Magus?”
“The Captain-Commander.” Rustyl’s face clears, and he nods.
“Exactly. Rynst will never trust the Second, and whom does that leave?” asks Chyenfel.
“What would you have me do, then, ser?”
“Nothing different, not for now. For if you change what you do, it will validate what the actions of the Third Magus have suggested.”
“I see.”
“I believe you do.” Chyenfel smiles once more, if coolly. “Think upon this incident, Rustyl. Think upon it with great care.”
“Yes, ser.”
“You may go.” Chyenfel looks blankly out upon the Palace of Eternal Light for some long moments after the first-level adept has left the study. Then he takes a deep breath.
CIX
In the dimness of the upstairs study in the dwelling, Lorn rubs his forehead, then concentrates once more on the chaos-glass before him, trying to bring up the image of Rustyl. He smiles to himself. At least one advantage of using the glass in Cyad is that any of the upper-level adepts of the Magi’i might be suspect, and since none have felt his use of the glass, Lorn wagers that they will not know who follows them.
The silver mists appear, and then clear.
The blond figure of the first-level adept appears, in the same study where Lorn had seen him with Liataphi. Rustyl glances up from the study desk-and the glass before him-an annoyed expression on his narrow features. Even through the glass Lorn can see the hardness in the other’s deep-set eyes. Rustyl looks down at the glass, clearly concentrating.
Hoping that Rustyl cannot use his glass to see who is screeing him, Lorn quickly releases the image. Then he almost casually slides the wooden cover across the glass, so that there appears before him but a wooden box, before leaning back and massaging his forehead with his left hand, then the back of his neck. Even after several moments, there is no feeling of the chill which accompanies a glass looking at him, and he slowly releases the breath he had not quite realized he was holding.