“They won’t pass entirely,” Lorn replies. “The better Magi’i can draw chaos from the world around them. It’s not spoken of widely, but they can.”
“How many? One out of ten?” asks Ryalth. “If the towers fail…”
“When the towers fail,” Lorn says.
“Then, most of the Magi’i will be powerless, or have but a fraction of their former power,” Ryalth notes. “Vyanat knows that. Golds won’t lose their power, but the Mirror Lancers will be less powerful without firelances…”
“Not necessarily. We could raise more lancers.”
“And how will you pay them and arm them?”
“I bow to you, my lady,” Lorn says. “Both will take more golds, and that will lead to greater power for the merchanters.”
“You can think about that later.” Ryalth disengages Kerial’s mouth and lifts him to her shoulder. “What would you like to do today?”
Lorn offers a wide smile.
“Besides that. That will have to wait until later.”
“I need to see Jerial and Myryan and Vernt.”
“I had thought they could come here for dinner in a few days,” suggests Ryalth.
“We still need to see Jerial and Myryan before that.”
“Today would be better. We can hire a carriage for the day,” suggests Ryalth.
“You could afford one all the time,” Lorn says, “from what I’ve seen, you prosperous trader.” He grins.
“There’s no point in that. Most of the time, I don’t need it. Besides, that would draw attention.” Ryalth moistens her lips. “When we get up, I’ll have Kysia find a messenger to let them know we’ll be dropping by. Jerial might be gone, otherwise. Myryan gets home in the late afternoon to prepare dinner for Ciesrt.”
Lorn nods. “Would you like me to hold Kerial while you get washed and dressed?”
She smiles. “That would be nice. He usually has to stay in his bed and fuss.”
The sub-majer slowly takes his son, who is beginning to squirm, and lifts the infant boy to his shoulder.
“Keep your hand behind his neck. He’s not that strong there yet,” Ryalth cautions.
Lorn eases his fingers up Kerial’s back. “How are you this morning, young man?”
A slight burp is followed by, “Aaaaa…”
Lorn smiles crookedly as he feels the dampness on his shoulder. There is much he will have to get used to in Cyad-both in the Mirror Lancers and at home.
LXXXVII
It is nearly late midmorning when Kysia comes to the top of the stairs and announces, “Lady, ser…the carriage is here.”
“Thank you,” Lorn calls, clipping the Brystan sabre in place.
“I’ll carry Kerial. You don’t have that many uniforms left,” Ryalth says.
“Again,” notes Lorn. “I’ll need to have some more tailored.”
“Very stylishly.”
“No…not too stylishly.”
After a moment, Ryalth nods. “Well-fitted, but not dandyish.” She slips Kerial, who wears a cream-colored tunic above green trousers that look baggy, into the crook of her left arm.
Then the two descend to the main floor of the dwelling that still amazes Lorn in its deceptive size and luxury. Outside, the sun shines brightly, although there is a slight haze that lightens the green-blue sky.
The carriage that waits outside the iron gate is older, although the polished golden-oak and spruce of the closed body have been kept oiled and clean.
As Lorn and Ryalth step outside the iron gate, Lorn looks at the gray-haired coachman. “The Road of Perpetual Light, at the crossing of the Tenth Way.” He opens the carriage door and extends an arm to help Ryalth inside.
“Yes, ser.” The coachman smiles. “Handsome young-’un, there.”
“Thank you,” Ryalth says as she steps up and inside the carriage.
“You be needing me all day?” asks the coachman.
“Most of it, I’d think,” Lorn replies. “You’ll be paid for the whole day.”
“Thank you, ser.”
With a nod, Lorn follows Ryalth into the coach and closes the door.
As the carriage passes the Fourth Harbor Way East, Lorn can sense the chill of a chaos-glass, and he looks at Ryalth. Her lips quirk.
“Did Kysia find a messenger to send to Jerial?”
“Of course. Otherwise Jerial might have been at the infirmary, but she’s not. She’s packing up her things.”
Lorn winces. “I hadn’t thought about that.”
“She’ll be fine, dear,” Ryalth says. “Unlike some.”
He forces himself not to take a deep breath when the unseen chill of the chaos-glass passes.
Ryalth raises her eyebrows.
“I don’t know.” He answers the unspoken question. “A magus, but…” He shrugs. “It could be any first-level adept.”
“There will be more,” Ryalth says, patting Kerial on the back.
“I fear so-now that I am back in Cyad.”
When the coach pulls up outside the dwelling that had been Lorn’s parents’, he steps out quickly, holding the door and offering a hand to Ryalth.
“You can wait in the shade here,” Lorn tells the coachman. “And there’s water in the lower garden there.”
The driver nods.
“I don’t know how long we’ll be.”
“We’ll be here, ser.”
Lorn and Ryalth walk toward the door, but before they have even started up the steps, Jerial opens the door and steps beyond the privacy screen. Lorn’s older sister is clad in a deep black, and there are circles around her eyes.
Lorn steps forward and hugs her.
“I’d hoped it would be you.” She steps back and gestures. “Come on in. Things are messy…I’m packing.”
Lorn holds back a frown and waits for Ryalth to carry Kerial past the tiled privacy screen, then nods to Jerial, and follows the women into the house.
“Kerial just keeps getting bigger,” Jerial notes as she closes the door.
As they walk up to the second level, Lorn looks at Jerial. “I’m sorry. I was never told. I didn’t get any scrolls from you or Ryalth.”
Jerial nods. “I feared that when I didn’t hear, and when I realized that Dettaur was at Assyadt. I could feel it when you looked for Ryalth when we were together.”
The three take seats in the sitting room.
“Gaaaa…” Kerial announces, waving a chubby fist. “Gaaaa!” He lurches in Ryalth’s arms toward the dark-haired healer.
“He’s being social,” Jerial says with a smile.
“He knows his aunt,” Ryalth counters.
“He’s like his father.” Jerial grins at her brother. “Or like you were before you met Ryalth.”
“Thank you for the last phrase,” Lorn says.
Kerial lurches once more, and Ryalth stands and carries her son to Jerial, who takes him easily.
“You’re getting to be such a big boy,” Jerial coos at the infant.
“About Father…Mother?” Lorn asks. “How long has it been?”
“Father died on twoday of the third eightday of winter. Mother did not last three eightdays beyond. I don’t think she wanted to…and she had spent so much energy keeping him alive.”
“I’m sorry…you know I didn’t know.”
“What could you have done?” Jerial shakes her head. “I think I’m angriest that Dettaur took your scrolls to Father. At the end…Father would reread the older ones, and he would talk to me about when we were young.”
“How was he…at the end?” Lorn ventures.
“The same as always, except weaker. He was still sometimes saying the usual platitudes, except that they weren’t for him-and sometimes the unexpected. He told Vernt that there would come a time when Vernt would need your help, and that Vernt had better not tilt his nose too far back to see it.”
“He said that?”
Jerial laughs. “And he told me that there was life beyond Cyad, and not to forget it when the time came. He didn’t say much to Myryan that way, except to enjoy her garden, ‘for gardens are worlds.’”
Lorn swallows, fearing his father’s foresight. “You said you were packing…”
“The house is actually Vernt’s, you know, but he suffers me to live here for the moment, although his consort will probably change that.” Jerial laughs. “They’ve already moved into the master bedchamber, and brought in one of the servants from her family, now that she’s expecting.”