“I’m sure it will, but I’m certain he thinks that the Magi’i are tracking him, not a poor and unknown majer.”
“You are not poor or unknown. Not any longer. You must be careful, for any blade mark will be tracked to you.”
“I know.” Lorn smiles coldly. “But if there are no blade marks…it could be a paid assassin-no honorable Mirror Lancer would stoop to that.”
“Lorn…although I can see no other course, not with all that is poised to fall into chaos, this is most dangerous…dearest one.”
“But you are right. Now…now…to do nothing is even more dangerous.” Lorn sighs once more. “Can you bring Kerial up to the study? I would that you look at the glass with me.”
Ryalth rises, gracefully, despite the burden of Kerial, who tries to lurch from her arms toward his father. “Careful now…you’re not ready to jump that far…” She laughs. “He is like I imagine you were.”
Lorn shrugs helplessly, but he smiles before turning and heading up the stairs.
Once settled at his table desk in the study, Lorn concentrates on the glass.
As the silver mists swirl away, the glass shows Tasjan. He is standing in a corridor with Sasyk, who wears the gold-trimmed green uniform and the golden shoulder epaulets. Behind the pair are other guards, all dressed in blue-not the green-and-gold of the guards recruited by Sasyk. Lorn studies Sasyk more than Tasjan, noting his trim figure and the well-worn and functional sabre scabbard. He also notes that Sasyk offers no deference to Tasjan, and that the two are clearly not agreeing on some matter.
He motions for Ryalth to study the images.
He has much to do, and far too little time in which to accomplish it, for he has waited longer than is wise…perhaps because he has been trapped by a reflection, a reflection of what he has wanted Cyad to be, just as the unknown Sampson had been trapped in reflections.
He takes another deep breath.
CXLIV
Vyanat does not bother to seat himself after he enters Tasjan’s office.
Neither does the slender Tasjan bother to rise from his chair behind his desk, but nods for the Merchanter Advisor to speak.
A faint smile crosses Vyanat’s face. “I will be brief, honored clan head. My brother Vyel confessed to planning the killing of the head of another trading house. The plot was unsuccessful, and he has been executed under merchanter justice.”
“Ah…such a terrible thing to happen to you…” Tasjan says mildly. “To be betrayed so, and by one’s own brother.”
Vyanat shrugs, sadly. “It is almost as sad to be betrayed by the head of another trading house. Vyel was weak, and he wanted more. He did not seem to understand that he could not obtain it because the very weaknesses that tempted him led to his failure. There are those who have the largest fleets, the grandest warehouses and dwellings, and yet they are not satisfied. Wanting more than can be obtained in an honest and open manner is always a weakness. So is spreading untruths when justice has been done.”
“You seem to have someone in mind.”
“I do…and if you know him, I offer advice, and a warning.”
“Oh…?” Tasjan
“A merchanter who heads a great house has more freedom, more luxury, and more power than any who have ever held the Palace of Eternal Light. Likewise, a true lancer can crush such a merchanter before that merchanter could lift a blade for a single stroke.”
“But…the question is, Vyanat…are there any true lancers in these decaying times?” Tasjan’s smile is as cold as his eyes.
“I know of three, and there may be more, Tasjan. You could have been the greatest of all merchanters. If you have the skill, you may yet survive. If you attempt to be more than you are, you will fail.”
“That is true of all of us, is it not, Vyanat’mer?”
“Yes, it is. Some of us understand that.” Vyanat’s last smile is both cold and somehow sad. “Good day, honored Tasjan.”
Once the door closes, Tasjan laughs.
CXLV
Lorn looks up from the glass.
Ryalth steps inside the study, carrying Kerial. “Myryan and Ciesrt should be here before long.”
“I was going to use the glass to follow Tasjan and some others before it got too late.” Lorn nods toward the blank glass before him. “Tasjan always travels with guards-his own-the ones garbed in blue. I thought that if I kept trying I might find somewhere that he doesn’t. He walks a different route to the Plaza each morning and night.”
“There is one thing I found out today,” Ryalth says. “I was going to tell you later, but I was late because of the Suthyan who arrived at Ryalor House so late…”
Lorn raises his eyebrows, waiting.
“Tasjan dines at Ayadyr often, usually on fiveday evening.” Ryalth shifts Kerial from one shoulder to the other.
“So he might not take his guards to the table?”
“I do not know,” Ryalth admits, “but when he dines with family in his dwelling there are no guards in the dining chamber-that, your glass has shown.”
Lorn nods. “We will follow him tomorrow and see…If so…” He shrugs. “I can but hope that naught else occurs in the few days it will take to see what can be done.”
Ryalth glances over her shoulder. “They should be here soon.”
Lorn looks at the blank glass. “Would you mind if I studied the glass for a few moments?”
“No.” She smiles. “If it is but for a few moments. I will check on dinner with Kysia and Ayleha.”
“A few moments,” Lorn confirms.
Even before she leaves the study, he focuses on the glass, and upon the first image.
Sasyk is in an exercise hall Lorn does not recognize, sparring with another man. Both are larger than Lorn, and both appear accomplished. There are other figures in green, sparring as well. As Lorn lets the image fade, he frowns. Sasyk is clearly trying to ensure his greensuits are welltrained with the blade, and despite the rumors, since piracy has not increased, that training bespeaks an interest in more than protecting trade.
The next image Lorn calls up is that of Tasjan, but the merchanter merely walks along a white paved street, followed by four large and muscular blue-clad guards. Tasjan looks up, and smiles, as if to tell any magus who follows him that he is aware of the scrutiny. Lorn lets the image of Tasjan fade.
At the sound of women’s voices drifting up the stairs, Lorn slides the chaos-glass into its case, and glass and case into the drawer of the table desk. Then he stands and stretches before heading down the stairs to greet his sister.
As Lorn enters the sitting room, from where she sits on the far side of Myryan, Ryalth mouths, Thank you.
“I’m sorry,” Lorn says to his sister, “I was working on something that took a bit longer than I had thought.” Lorn looks closely at Myryan. She is frail, thinner than he recalls, and yet her amber eyes glow. “I’m glad you could come tonight. Where’s Ciesrt? I thought he was coming.”
The dark-haired healer shrugs. “As I was telling Ryalth, he came back from the Quarter and told me I’d have to come alone. He’s over at his father’s. Kharl wanted to talk to him.” She sighs. “He’s been spending a great deal of time with Kharl lately. I cannot say I like it.”
Lorn looks at his sister. “Is anything the matter?” He seats himself beside Ryalth on the settee.
Myryan offers a sad smile in return. “Nothing that is any different from before, Lorn. Ciesrt is centered on himself, like most of the Magi’i, but he is kind enough, and gentle enough.”
“What about his parents?”
“I detest them.” Myryan’s words are level.
Lorn can sense near-fury, and absolute truth in the three words.
“Because of the children thing?” asks Ryalth.
“That…and because, to them, I’m an ornament. No…I’m a tool to be used. I’m a thing that is valuable because of who my parents were.”
“Doesn’t Ciesrt…?” Ryalth ventures.
“He tries…but Kharl is strong, and will have his way. Ciesrt can’t stand up to him.” A wry smile crosses her face as she brushes back unruly black curls from her forehead and looks at Ryalth. “Lorn could. Lorn stood up to Father, and to senior officers. Ciesrt isn’t that strong. I knew that. I didn’t think that his father…though…” She shakes her head. “I have decided something, though,” she adds, as if it were an afterthought.