As the driver mounts and Tyrsal climbs up on top from the footman’s station, Lorn steps back toward Ryalth and lowers his voice. “That ship…it’s a Hyshrah vessel, isn’t it?”
“How did you know?”
“Because it wouldn’t have made sense any other way. No other house is a threat to Tasjan, except you. See if you can think about who or how Tasjan would use that to hurt both us and Vyanat.”
She nods.
Lorn looks up at Tyrsal, sitting in the baggage rack.
“I’m ready. I’m glad it’s not that long a drive.”
After a last glance at Ryalth, Lorn climbs into the carriage, his sabre still unsheathed.
The carriage lurches forward, then settles into a even motion. Lorn continues to hold the unsheathed sabre, if loosely, as the driver follows the roads that lead northward and east into the merchanter quarter.
“Just drive up exactly as you’re supposed to,” Tyrsal orders the driver as the carriage turns off the main way.
“Yes, ser.”
The carriage halts beside a torch set in a bracket in the dark low wall more than a hundred cubits east of the iron gate to his own dwelling. Lorn can sense a number of figures, on both sides of the carriage, concealed in the shadows. With several on the wall to the right, Lorn opens the right door from inside. He does not exit, instead, sensing the four men in the shadows, he slides back to the other side, holding the blur-shield for long enough to step clear of the carriage.
Thunk! Thunk!
Two arrows go through the driver’s chest.
“Bast…” the man gurgles as he slumps.
Hssstt! Hssstt! Two quick firebolts from Tyrsal incinerate the pair of archers who stand in the darkness atop the flat wall adjoining the wall that surrounds Ryalth and Lorn’s dwelling.
Lorn does not drop the vision-blurring shield until his chaos-aided sabre slices through the neck of the bravo who steps out of the deeper shadows on the left side of the lane. He then pivots, and steps back toward the second assailant-the one approaching from the rear.
“Where are they?” mutters someone.
Hssstt! A scream begins and dies almost immediately after Tyrsal’s firebolt.
Lorn parries a lancerlike slash by a figure nearly a head taller than he is, and then a second, and several more before he has an opening-but the one is all he needs.
Another firebolt hisses through the night as Lorn turns from the second fallen bravo.
“Got a fire-magus there!”
Lorn hurries around the back of the carriage and steps silently behind the rearmost bravo, the one he suspects is Benylt. The chaos-aided Brystan sabre slides through bone and muscle like a red-hot poker through water, sizzling and steaming.
“Got Benylt! Run!”
Two sets of boots begin to run.
Neither makes it a dozen cubits before Tyrsal’s firebolts bring them down.
Lorn casts his chaos-senses around, but can find no hint of anyone besides the chaos-shimmering figure of Tyrsal. “There isn’t anyone else, is there?”
“Not alive,” Tyrsal replies dryly. He slowly climbs down from the carriage box, holding a sabre he has not used.
Lorn studies the figure of Benylt sprawled on the stones.
Tyrsal looks from one sprawled figure to another, shaking his head. “I don’t know as I could do what you do all the time.”
“I could do it with types like these every day.” Lorn snorts, bending and wiping his blade clean on Benylt’s cloak.
“What do we do with all these bodies?” asks Tyrsal, blotting his forehead.
“I don’t think there ought to be any,” Lorn suggests. “If bravos just vanish every time they take on Ryalor House…in time…perchance…”
“You are an optimist, my friend, but I can muster enough chaos, I think.”
“Good. After that we’ll check on Kerial, and go back to your house, if you don’t mind.” Lorn smiles grimly.
“You’re welcome…Can you put a stop to this?”
“I have some ideas.” Lorn begins to gather up the fallen blades. “They might even work.”
CXXXVII
Lorn closes the door of the guest bedchamber in Tyrsal’s dwelling and turns to Ryalth. She is propped up on the bed and is already nursing Kerial. He unclips the sabre scabbard from his belt and leans weapon and sheath against the wall.
“How was he?” she asks.
“He was sleeping-a bit fussy when I woke him up, but he liked the carriage ride. Pheryk’s a better driver than most.” Lorn takes a deep breath. “I think everything would have been all right at home, but there wasn’t much point in risking it, and then traveling out to get you and then coming back again and worrying.”
“What did you do with the carriage?”
“Pheryk drove us back and then said he would leave it tied at the carriage station that serves Hyshrah Clan. There’s no one there at this time of night.”
“You’re being more indirect than usual,” the redhead says.
“I want Vyanat to have something to think about.” Lorn shrugs
“You acted as if you knew the Hypolya were one of Vyanat’s vessels. Is there something you haven’t told me?” Ryalth looks at Lorn. “I cannot believe that he would wish either of us dead-or that any thinking member of his house would.”
“It would depend on the thoughts.” Lorn sits down on the side of the bed and gestures to the bag beside the armoire. “I brought daywear for the two of us, and three sets of clothes for Kerial.” He bends to pull off his boots. “I also brought my chaos-glass.”
“You don’t think Vyanat-”
“While I trust no one, I do trust your feelings, especially on that. But there are enemies and relatives within every large house, and their goals may not be at all the same as Vyanat’s. Perhaps you should pay Vyanat’mer a visit-tomorrow-and bring me along. Tell him that I wanted to meet him because he had appreciated my report on Biehl so much. I’ll send a messenger in, saying that I’ll be slightly late to Mirror Lancer Court.”
“You think Vyanat will see me if I just show up?”
“With me beside you? I think so.” Lorn grunts and pulls off the other boot. “At the very least he will wish to know why you want to make such a call.”
“How many did you kill tonight?”
“They killed the coachman with archers. We killed eight plus the leader. Tyrsal used chaos-fire to incinerate the bodies. He has a headache, and he’s not going to feel wonderful in the morning.”
“Aleyar will help.”
“That’s true. I also asked him if he would request she not tell Liataphi for a day or so.”
“Just a day or so?”
“Until after we meet with Vyanat.”
Ryalth lifts Kerial to her shoulder and burps him gently.
Lorn stands and walks to the corner by the armoire, setting his boots almost against the wall, then bending again and easing the chaos-glass case from the bag. He carries the case to the table under the window and eases back the vase with the spray of cut flowers to make room for the glass.
Lorn concentrates, and, as the silver mists form and then dissipate, the image of Tasjan appears in the glass, sitting at a long table, clearly enjoying what seems to be a family gathering of sorts. Lorn shrugs and releases the image.
The next image is that of Luss-in his bedchamber. Lorn also releases that image quickly. Rustyl, too, is in bed, apparently sleeping, although the magus turns in his sleep. Lorn lets the image vanish.
“Did you find anything?” Ryalth asks, yawning.
“No. I would have been surprised if I had.”
“Because Tasjan worked through someone else?”
Lorn nods as he replaces the glass in its case. “We do need to see Vyanat in the morning.”
“If he is in Cyad.”
“He will be. Tasjan needs him to be.”
Ryalth offers a sad smile.
CXXXVIII
Ryalth bows as she steps into the square room that is Vyanat’s office. Lorn bows as well, before straightening and taking in the muscular but trim Merchanter Advisor. Behind the merchanter’s table desk is a wall that is entirely bookshelves, and almost every shelf is filled with leather-bound volumes.