“I believe I do,” says Vyel.
“I would hate to see such invoices as these appear publicly. I do have a soft spot in my heart for you and your elder brother.” Tasjan shrugs. “Yet…in these troubled times, one must do as one can.”
“Most honored Tasjan…?” Vyel inclines his head.
“You wish to know why I cannot deal with this myself?” Tasjan smiles. “Because the Magi’i follow my every movement with their chaos-glasses, and not being a magus, I know not when I am watched. So I can talk to other merchanters, my family, shopkeepers, and the like. I cannot act on my own behalf, not at the moment, much as I would prefer it, for there is less chance of failure when I can.” The smile fades. “My limits are your opportunity. The opportunity may not exist that long. And while you have good contacts, Vyel, my others are also good, and could accomplish…other ends, if indirectly. I would prefer to use a man who has much to gain, and who wishes to avoid disgrace, rather than one merely paid in golds. I’m sure you understand.”
“I understand. You must realize that matters such as you have suggested cannot occur overnight.”
“Not overnight. No. But these invoices will be either burned or public within the eightday. The choice is yours, Vyel.” Tasjan offers a last smile, and wraps his cloak about him. “Good day.”
The younger man stares along the stone pier, out toward the oncoming storm, for a time before he turns.
CXXVIII
As Lorn passes the fountain, its cold spray drifting around him, he wonders if they should shut off the water to it before long. Then he smiles as he sees Ryalth standing on the veranda, waiting for him. She is not smiling.
“What’s the matter?” he asks.
“Mryran sent a messenger, saying that she wasn’t feeling that well, and asking if she could come another time,” says the red-haired trader. “It doesn’t feel right.”
“I worry about her,” Lorn replies, stepping forward and hugging his consort.
Ryalth hugs him back, warmly, but for a moment. “She also sent word that she must have dinner with Ciesrt’s parents tomorrow, and that she will need to be strong for that.” She shakes her head. “I would not wish to wear her boots.”
“We’re all different. I doubt she’d wish to wear yours.” He glances around. “Where’s Kerial?”
“Sleeping. He was awake all afternoon. I didn’t have to meet with any outlanders, and that was fine. I just hope he isn’t awake all night.”
“Two of us share that wish,” Lorn affirms, following her into the foyer from the chill of the veranda.
“Don’t you think it’s strange?” Ryalth asks, turning as they stand in the sitting room just off the front foyer. “We’ve never met Ciesrt’s family. Vernt and Mycela have, but we haven’t.”
“We’re not Magi’i,” Lorn points out. “The honorable Kharl’elth appears to count that of great importance. Even to encouraging Ceyla to consort to Rustyl.”
“That was last eightday, Myryan said.”
Lorn shrugs. “You see. We weren’t considered important enough to invite.”
“I’m glad we’re not. I’m glad you’re not. You’re better than they are.”
“So are you,” Lorn replies with a smile. “So are you.” He embraces her again.
CXXIX
The only four sitting around the Majer-Commander’s conference table are Commander Muyro, Commander Shykt, Rynst, and Lorn. Although the morning sun streams through the windows behind the Majer-Commander, a cold wind whistles outside the closed windows.
“You had three of the large portable firecannon around the Accursed Forest, and three smaller cannon, did you not?” Rynst looks at the dark-faced Muyro.
“Yes, ser. Two remain there. One of each has been stored in one of the Mirror Engineer warehouses in Fyrad, as you requested.”
“I would like you to make arrangements to bring those two now in Fyrad here to Cyad, as soon as you can.”
The faintest of nods comes from Shykt.
“Ser?” Muyro looks puzzled. “That will bring them farther from the Accursed Forest.”
“The Accursed Forest is not the problem it once was.” Rynst pauses, then goes on, almost wearily. “As you know, Commander, we now have four fireships, and perhaps we will have but three in the eightdays or seasons to come. But the firecannon will work so long as the Magi’i operate even a single chaos-tower. The Emperor has suggested that a firecannon or two might well provide greater protection for Cyad-and, upon occasion, its power could be demonstrated for the benefit of the outland traders.”
“Ah…yes, ser…but it could easily destroy…many things…here in Cyad.”
“In fact,” Rynst replies, “it may be used for such. We will be needing it…for a number of practical reasons here.”
Muyro glances across the table at Shykt, who shrugs to indicate he has no words to add.
“How soon could you arrange for the two to be transported here, Commander Shykt?”
“I would have to talk to Commander Inylt, ser, but it is no more than three days by fireship, if we could use one to bring them here. If we use a merchanter vessel, it will take an eightday, perhaps longer, if there are none with cargo space for something that large. And it will cost quite a few golds if we use a merchanter vessel.”
“You have permission to request a fireship…if that is what you were seeking.” Rynst’s smile is cold.
“Thank you, ser. We will work to have the two firecannon here as quickly as possible. Do you wish them kept in the Mirror Lancer supply warehouse?”
“Is there adequate space there-where they will be safe?” asks the Majer-Commander.
“Yes, ser. We can have an iron gate in place on the empty side in the time it will take to bring them here.”
“Good.” Rynst looks at Muyro. “You and Shykt work with Commander Inylt. I’ll expect the firecannon in less than two eightdays.”
“Yes, ser.”
“You all may go.” Rynst stands.
In the foyer outside the study, the bearded Muyro turns to Lorn. “You would not know what this is all about, would you, Majer?”
“I understand that the Emperor has asked the Majer-Commander to find a way to show the outlanders the power of Cyador,” Lorn replies. “I imagine, although no one has said anything to me, that a firecannon could be most impressive. Those used by the Mirror Engineers when I had a company at Jakaafra were extremely effective.”
Muyro shakes his head and turns, muttering to the curly-haired Shykt, “A firecannon, in Cyad. What order-fired good will that do?”
“We are not here to question the Majer-Commander, Muyro,” Shykt responds. “We are to make sure his orders are carried out. We should find Inylt before the Majer-Commander contacts him directly…”
Lorn turns toward the steps that will take him down to his study, and the short report he must write on the meeting.
CXXX
Six people sit around the long table that could easily hold twice that number. The three men all wear the white shimmercloth of the Magi’i, and two of the women wear white tunics and trousers, trimmed in pale green. The third woman-the one with curly black hair-wears the green of a healer.
The light cast from the shimmering cupridium reflectors of the wall lamps blankets the formal dining room with a warm glow, and turns the white linen into a pale gold. The golden-oak backs of the carved dining chairs are sculpted into smoothly interlocking arcs, none quite forming a complete circle.
The older magus who sits at the head of the table is the only one of the three with the crossed lightning bolts glimmering on the breast of his shimmercloth tunic. The others wear but a single such lightning bolt. After taking another small sip of the maroon Fhynyco, the older magus turns his eyes to the healer who sits to his left.