“Ser?” calls a voice.
“It’s me, Pheryk. I’m back.”
“The lady asked me to watch for you, and to let the geese out of the pen once you returned.”
“Thank you. You can do that. I’m not going out again. It’s been a long day.”
“Good night, ser.”
“Good night.” Lorn opens the veranda door, then slides the bolt behind him and steps down into the foyer.
“Is that you, Lorn?”
“It’s me.”
Ryalth waits in the sitting room, a goblet of Alafraan in her hand, a second goblet on the table.
Lorn looks at the goblet.
“I thought you might need it. You look like it was harder than you planned.”
“You didn’t ask how it went.”
“I could tell that when you entered. There’s a coldness about you. It was there after Shevelt, but I didn’t recognize it as such then. You’ve got some cuts, and your eyes are watering. Are any…”
“No…the cuts are from a lorken tree I was climbing. I got them climbing down. They’re just scratches.” Lorn takes up the goblet. “Thank you.”
“And you used enough chaos that your head is splitting and your eyes water?”
“That, too.” He sits on the front edge of the chair across from Ryalth, who leans forward on the settee. “It’s all a mess.” After the smallest sip of Alafraan, he adds, “Tasjan blackmails Vyel to kill you. He releases papers so that all would believe Vyanat murdered his own brother to save himself, when Vyanat had killed his brother to show he would not countenance favoritism and ill-doing by his brother. Now I act so that Tasjan cannot create a cause…”
“…and Sasyk will use it as such in some way?”
“Possibly,” Lorn admits. “Or someone else.”
“Did you leave something to tie the death to Sasyk?”
“A green-wrapped blade and an open window-and one guard is missing.”
Ryalth nods. “That will suffice.” Her blue eyes are as sad and hard as Lorn’s amber orbs.
They each take another sip of the Alafraan.
CL
The blond and broad-shouldered first-level adept magus steps into the study in the private dwelling. He bows to the older magus who stands by the window, looking down across Cyad itself at the gray winter waters of the harbor.
“You suggested we talk before dinner, ser?” asks the tall and blond first-level adept.
“It would be opportune,” answers Kharl as he turns. “How is Ceyla?”
“Your daughter is in good health, and talks with your consort in the sitting room.” Rustyl smiles politely.
“A magnificent harbor, is it not?” Kharl gestures to the scene framed in the window. “It is a pity that, unless some action is taken soon, it will fall to the outlanders, and within your life, Rustyl, perhaps sooner.”
“The First Magus has suggested such can be averted if the Magi’i gain greater control of Cyad.”
“It is rather late for Chyenfel to think of such,” Kharl snorts. “He is the one who buried the chaos-towers of the Accursed Forest in the mists of time, and now we have too few towers to power the firewagons, or to charge the firelances of the Mirror Lancers when we need them most. We have no tow-wagons on the Great Canal, and soon will have no fireships.”
“But…would not the Accursed Forest-”
“The Accursed Forest…what was it? A place that bred large animals that occasionally killed livestock and a few peasants? A place whose name was used to frighten children? There were twelve chaos-towers there. And ten still functioned. We have but three left in Cyad, and the tower that serves the Quarter is failing. And Chyenfel gave away years of good use of the towers so that a few peasants might live? He gave away much of the power of the Magi’i.” The second snort is far louder. “Did he not keep you from that project? Why? I wonder. Or was it because you might see that Chyenfel wanted to be known for a great deed-a deed that for its greatness would cost Cyador and those of the Magi’i who follow him dearly? And now he says that the Magi’i should seek greater control?” After a moment of silence, the Second Magus adds, “I fear that it will take the Magi’i far greater control than Chyenfel believes, for us to redeem Cyad. You know the Emperor will not last a half a season, do you not?” Kharl’s green eyes focus upon the younger magus.
“Who does not know that?” Rustyl laughs.
“Most outside the Magi’i do not. Do not assume others know what you do.” Kharl’s warm smile returns. “Now that you have a consort…you could have heirs.”
“We do so hope.”
“I know you do, and they will be welcome. Most welcome.” The Second Magus smiles warmly. “You have been favored by Chyenfel-to the point that there has been talk about your becoming First Magus.” Kharl holds up his hand. “No…do not deny such. Chyenfel has made his favoritism clear within the Magi’i.” He frowns. “There is a problem with that.”
“Oh…?”
“Chyenfel remains First Magus.”
“He cannot do so forever.” Rustyl smiles, the twisting of his lips providing an ironic edge to his words.
“If he remains First Magus long enough, his support of you can only harm you. If he is First Magus when the Emperor’s heir takes the Malachite Throne…” Kharl shrugs. “Then…it may be that the new Emperor will also favor Chyenfel, as Toziel has.”
“Who do you favor for the successor?” asks Rustyl. “Or think it maybe?”
“The most honorable Tasjan was playing for that, and the word is that a former lancer named Sasyk is rallying the tenscore armed guards he trained for Tasjan-as well as others within the merchanters-to force a merchanter upon the Malachite Throne.”
“A merchanter emperor?” Rustyl sneers.
“That is why the Majer-Commander has two companies of trained lancers in Cyad, under his best and bloodiest field commander.”
“What is to prevent Lorn from seeking the throne? His lancers will support him.” Rustyl watches the older magus.
“Majer Lorn has removed himself from serious consideration as the Mirror Lancer heir,” Kharl says.
“Removed himself? He is yet on duty.” Rustyl frowns.
“No. I found him entering his dwelling-wearing merchanter blues. Two nights ago. The very night that Tasjan was murdered by one of his guards. That is…a guard is missing, and his weapon murdered Tasjan within his own study.”
“One could scarcely advance a charge such as that against the majer and expect many to believe it,” Rustyl points out. “Not after all he is perceived to have done for Cyador over the years.”
“One need not prove such, only point out that such an action benefits Ryalor House and Majer Lorn. Vyanat can offer no support to any, not after all that has occurred with Hyshrah Clan, and if one were to point out that he has specially favored Ryalor House…and Rynst were persuaded to step aside…and if all the Magi’i opposed Lorn…”
“I count three if’s, honored ser.” Rustyl’s voice is polite.
“Only two. Vyanat is truly powerless. I have strong reasons to believe that the present Captain-Commander will shortly succeed the Majer-Commander…and if you become First Magus, and I am Second…” Kharl smiles. “You see…it is most simple. Nothing need be said or done, unless Rynst steps aside. And if he does…why then, you can decide whether you will be First Magus, or whether Lorn may be Emperor. The choice is in your hands.”
“My hands? What of yours?”
“All know me as Second Magus, as clever, as scheming. Who indeed would accept me as First Magus?” Kharl offers a self-deprecating smile. “But…it is of no matter, yet. We can only see what may occur.”
“That is true.”
“We should join the others.” The Second Magus starts for the study door, then pauses. “There is also something you should know. Should you lack sufficient chaos to accomplish a task, a first-level adept can indeed draw upon the power of the chaos-towers directly-that is, from their very core. One must do so with care, but I should explain how this may be done, in the event that you find yourself threatened….”