“You are most cynical, Majer.” Rynst offers a dry laugh. “You have few illusions about your fellow officers, perhaps too few illusions for a majer.”
“Perhaps.”
“What if I made you a commander?”
“They would be even more angry, and I would advise against that, ser.”
“So would I, and I am glad you see that.” Rynst shakes his head. “In truth, Majer, all you have said, I understand, yet there is a reason why I will do what I told you. Can you suggest why I might?”
“It implies a weakness in your position, which will allow others the luxury of thinking they have time to plot, when you but wish to ensure that the Mirror Lancer companies arrive and are firmly in my command.” Lorn does not say more, although there is much he could say.
“You could say more, Majer.”
“Anything beyond what I have said would be a wager based upon a guess, ser.” Again, Lorn forces himself not to volunteer more.
“I wished you to know.” Rynst nods. “You may go.”
After Lorn has risen, bowed, and turned, and has taken several steps toward the door, Rynst says, “Majer…”
Lorn turns.
“I would not travel Cyad without your sabre and great care.”
“Yes, ser.”
As he heads back down to his study, Lorn questions how much Rynst knows and how much of what the Majer-Commander has implied is based on his understanding of human nature.
“Does it matter?” Lorn murmurs to himself as he stands and looks out the ancient windows of his study.
The only things that are clear are that the times are about to change, and are dangerous, and that Lorn must be ready to act when the time comes-if he can even recognize when that will be.
CXXXIII
Lorn looks across the dining table at Ryalth, over the large sections of goose they have not touched. The nearly a third of a goose remaining does not include more than half the bird which was already eaten by the other four in the household. Ryalth eats one-handed, occasionally feeding small morsels to the active boy in her lap.
“What else have you discovered about Tasjan?” asks Lorn.
Ryalth takes a sip of the ale, then answers. “He has been careful. So far as any know, he has met with no one except those of his own house in the past eightday or so. He continues to seek more guards with experience as armsmen or lancers. You remember Sasyk, his head of guards?”
Lorn nods.
“Sasyk is also a cousin of one of your schoolmates, I think. Allyrn’alt is the cousin.”
“Anything else about Tasjan? What about your Austran trader? Did he have anything to add?”
“The trader was hoping I had still had grain.”
“I thought you did,” Lorn says, breaking off a small morsel of bread. “You talked about it earlier because of the poor harvests in Hydlen.”
“I do, but not at the prices he was willing to pay. He would pay but a tenth-part above what was asked last eightday in the exchange, and but a fraction over the day’s bid. Prices will be half again what they are now by midwinter.” The redhead sips her ale before continuing. “So I told him that it appeared I might have some grain by midwinter, if my shipments came in as paid for, and that he should see me then if he still needed such.”
“Will he?”
Ryalth nods, easing Kerial’s hand away from the goblet. “The goblet is for Mother, not for Kerial.”
“Did he have anything to say about Tasjan?”
“He was forthright. I must doubt his accuracy, but he said that Tasjan had whole granaries, and would sell to none.”
“Tasjan’s doing what you are.”
Ryalth shakes her head. “No. It might seem so, but it is not. I have perchance a hundredscore measures. Tasjan has that a hundredfold. Had I what he does, some I would sell, for one needs goodwill as much as golds.”
“Why would he hold so much-” Lorn purses his lips for a moment before he speaks. “We need to watch him closely.”
“My thought, as well…If grain prices and that of flour rise in the winter, then many in Cyador will grow hungry.”
“And Tasjan will make golds, and use the discontent to blame Vyanat and the Emperor. How many merchanters will support him?” asks Lorn.
“The Yuryan will not, nor the Hyshrah, not so long as Vyanat is clan head.”
“Who would become clan head if something were to happen to Vyanat?”
“His younger brother Vyel is next in line.” Ryalth frowns. “He has cost Vyanat much, and there are rumors that Vyanat has had to pay the Emperor’s Enumerators for tariffs Vyel lied about more than once.”
“So Tasjan will try to remove Vyanat.”
“That is why Vyanat cannot take clan status from Bluyet House,” Ryalth points out. “He needs their support, and why Tasjan spread rumors about Vyanat stripping their status.”
Lorn shakes his head. “Bring our little friend up to the study. Let us see what we can discover.” He stands, then moves around the table and lifts Kerial from Ryalth’s lap. “Come on. Your father will carry up upstairs.”
“Maa…”
“Daaa…this time,” Lorn says. “Daaa…”
“Waaaa…”
Lorn shakes his head, mock-ruefully, and then shifts his son into his left arm and turns toward the stairs.
“Maaa…” Kerial repeats.
“I’m coming, dear. I’m coming,” Ryalth reassures him, following Lorn up the steps and along the upper corridor and into the study.
Once he has closed the study door-one-handed-Lorn transfers Kerial back to Ryalth and seats himself before the desk, sliding out the glass from the drawer. He concentrates on the image of the slender Tasjan.
As the silver mists dissipate, Lorn studies the glass, and Ryalth and Kerial watch over his shoulder.
Although he is alone, Tasjan paces back and forth in a capacious study, before a large carved desk that is of a style Lorn has never seen, with wooden flowers and garlands forming the legs.
When Tasjan continues to pace, Lorn lets the image lapse. “In a while, I’ll try again. Perhaps we’ll find him in a more compromising situation. I’ll try a few more people.”
The next image is that of the Captain-Commander. Once again, Luss is dining with the blond commander Lhary. Lorn releases that image almost as soon as it forms.
“Those two are far too close for my liking.”
“Lhary commands all the outposts in the west, does he not, all those close to Cyad?” asks Ryalth.
Lorn nods.
“That is why you report to the Majer-Commander and will hold the two companies.”
“One reason, certainly.”
Lorn tries yet another image, and finds Commander Muyro and a woman in green, presumably his consort, dining with a mage-Rustyl-and a young-faced, but red-haired and large-boned young woman, probably Rustyl’s consort Ceyla, although Lorn has never met the woman, but she looks much like a womanly version of Ciesrt.
The narrow-faced Rustyl glances up, and tilts his head, almost as if listening. Lorn releases the image, shaking his head.
“Everyone is tied to another, and all circle, waiting to see what will happen.” Ryalth laughs.
After letting the image in the glass lapse, Lorn leans forward and rubs the back of his neck with his left hand. He feels very much like the times are deciding what will occur, the times and not the men, for he can see nothing he dares do-not yet, anyway.
CXXXIV
In the midmorning of fourday, Lorn has just finished summarizing another meeting-this one between the Majer-Commander and Commander Muyro about the last details of installing the Mirror Lancer firecannon.
There is a knock on his study door, and, even before waiting for Lorn’s response, Fayrken steps inside. “Two lancer captains reporting to you, ser.” The senior squad leader’s eyebrows lift.
“They should be the captains for the two companies-the ones I’m the maneuvers coordinator for. That’s the latest official title.” After a wry smile, Lorn asks, “Do you know who they are?”