He taps on the door. “It’s me,” he says loudly. “The fellow who went off with a blade in his smallclothes.”
“Do I know you?” comes the answer.
“Far better than a fellow by the name of Halthor,” Lorn replies.
The door slides open, and Lorn slips inside. With a nod, he notes that Ryalth has a sharp dagger poised. “You’re a careful lady.” He slides the bolt-latch into place.
“I shouldn’t be? What happened?” She smiles. “How did you remember Halthor’s name?”
“I just did.” Lorn moistens his lips. “Someone hired some bravos. There were five. They’re dead. Pheryk got one. We need to move the bodies. It would be better that they just turned up dead in the street.” Lorn sets the Brystan blade against the wall and pulls on a pair of trousers, an undertunic, and his boots.
“Do you know who sent them?”
“I tried to get answers from one of them. He didn’t know. Hired in the darkness, I’d guess. Probably through someone else.”
“Tasjan,” Ryalth says.
“Why?”
“The Magi’i don’t work that way,” she points out in a low voice. “The Mirror Lancers don’t, either. They were after all of us. Otherwise you would have been attacked alone somewhere. Vyanat needs me. I don’t think Veljan would do this, and Bluyet House, much as they hate you, wouldn’t dare, because it could mean they would lose clan status.”
Lorn stands and takes up the blade again. “I can’t imagine Tasjan risking that directly.”
“He didn’t. It was done by someone who owes him or someone he can force to act. There’s no way to prove it, but I know it as surely as I’m standing here.”
Lorn nods briskly. “We’ll talk more after we deal with the refuse. It’s probably better if you stay here until I get back. It won’t be long.”
“Be careful. They could have others beyond the wall.”
“I will…but I can tell if they’re there.”
“Make sure of it.”
That…that, Lorn will certainly do. He slips from the bedchamber, listens to make sure Ryalth slides the iron latch shut, and heads down the steps to rejoin Pheryk. Even if the dead man with the burned face is found, so long as he is not found near Lorn, people can surmise that he was struck with a lantern or attacked a magus. But…with whoever was watching through a chaos-glass, Lorn does not wish to reveal how much chaos he can muster until he must.
CXXXII
In the early-morning light, Lorn stands in the door to the bedchamber, his eyes going to his consort and son. “Pheryk and I are walking with you to Ryalor House. You were right about last night, but if Tasjan is behind this, he may not be quite so indirect the next time. And you aren’t exactly in the best position to defend yourself or run if you’re holding Kerial. I’ll either come by and walk back with you, or you hire a pair of guards to accompany you and Pheryk.”
Ryalth nods as she wraps a small woolen cloak around Kerial, who is trying to crawl away from his mother so that he can plunge off the bed. Ryalth scoops him up. “No.” She turns to Lorn. “I would have suggested that, had you not. I think this morning might be safe, but from this afternoon on, it will not be.” She frowns. “Yet…if you escort me, and all know that…”
“Pheryk was out early this morning, and heard the news about the dead bravos,” Lorn says. “You’ve heard word that certain merchanter rivals have made threats. If merchanters are beginning to kill merchanters, a little care is warranted.” Lorn smiles. “After all, it is not as though you have a halfscore of guards-merely your consort and a pensioned old lancer.”
“The two of you are worth a halfscore,” Ryalth snorts.
“Perhaps a quarter-score,” Lorn concedes, “but none need to know that. An escort of two for a lady trader and her heir are scarcely excessive.”
“True.” Ryalth nods.
“There is one other thing, once you reach Ryalor House,” Lorn says.
“Besides finding out everything that Tasjan is doing, and if he is hiring more guards, or building ships with cannon?” asks Ryalth.
Lorn shrugs sheepishly. “You’re ahead of me.”
“I will know more by this evening-and even more by tomorrow evening.” Ryalth hoists Kerial to her shoulder. “We need to go. If we do not, you will be late, and that will raise questions. And one of the senior Austran traders will be coming by. He has suggested by his request to meet me, that all is less than desirable with his current merchanting house in Cyad.”
“Tasjan’s, I imagine,” Lorn says lightly.
“Tasjan’s or one of the smaller houses like Ryalor.” She starts for the bedchamber door, and Lorn follows.
Pheryk is waiting downstairs, and he nods to Ryalth. “A sunny morn, but chill, Lady. Saw but few when I was dumping refuse this morning.”
“The others?” asks Lorn.
Pheryk shrugs. “I saw nothing. Perhaps none will.”
The three and Kerial make their way through the dwelling, across the veranda, now without bloodstains, Lorn notes, and along the dew-slicked marble walk past the fountain that has been turned off for the winter.
Lorn lets his senses range beyond the gate, but the narrow way is empty, and he unlocks the iron gate. Pheryk steps out first, then Ryalth, and Lorn follows and locks the gate.
The walk to the Traders’ Plaza and up to Ryalor House is uneventful. Ryalth exchanges greetings with a handful of others as she crosses the Plaza to the stairs.
Eileyt is waiting inside the door of Ryalor House, holding several sheets of parchment. “Once you are ready…Lady…”
Lorn smiles and bows to Ryalth. “Until this evening. Should I come by here?”
“I would guess you should. It will be a long day.” Ryalth returns his smile warmly.
Lorn and Pheryk turn and walk down the steps.
Halfway down, Lorn says in a low voice, “I think we should have goose tonight.”
“Ah…a good idea, ser, and I will tell Kysia and Ghrety. My consort has a wonderful way of fixing it…”
Lorn laughs. “That would be fine. Perhaps you should also inquire about some more geese or goslings.”
“I had thought to do so, ser.” Pheryk inclines his head.
At the edge of the Traders’ Plaza, the two men part. While Lorn is more cautious than usual, he notes nothing strange on the rest of the walk to Mirror Lancer Court.
He has no more than entered his study when Senior Squad Leader Tygyl is knocking at his door.
“Ser?”
“Yes, Tygyl?”
“The Majer-Commander would like to see you for a moment.”
“I’ll be right there.” Lorn turns and follows Tygyl up the last flight of stairs to the fifth floor and waits for the senior squad leader to announce him, then steps into the long study as Tygyl motions for him to enter.
Lorn closes the door and steps forward, seating himself at Rynst’s behest.
The gray-haired Majer-Commander studies Lorn. Finally, he speaks. “I will be announcing your appointment as maneuvers coordinator for the two squads of Mirror Lancers that will be arriving in the next few days. You will be their commander, and the company officers will be told such, but there is little need to state directly that we are assigning two fully armed companies under the command of a field commander. Especially one with a record such as yours.”
Lorn nods.
“You do not seem surprised, Majer. Why not?”
“Because, ser, as you know, a number of officers have already approached me indirectly. If they know, many in power know. They will have contacted you, or others who contacted you, and none will be pleased, except the Emperor. The Emperor will care little for titles, and if you can employ a name to placate others, then it is for the best.”
“You don’t sound as though you think much of the idea.” Rynst’s eyes are cold as he studies Lorn.
“I doubt it will change anything, ser. Those with something to gain will not be deceived. Those who do not understand how dangerous the times are will not understand, whatever title is used, and few of the senior commanders will be happy with my being in charge, for whatever reason you give.”