“And,” Lorn continues, “because lands of the Eastern Ocean must support only a few warships, the tariffs on traders are low.”
Ryalth nods. “But the fireships are less costly to operate because they have smaller crews and can travel faster, and against the wind.”
“Now that will not be true,” Lorn points out. “Matters will get worse. Sailing warships are more costly.” He frowns. “That is why-”
“Gaaa!” Kerial interjects.
“The papers your father provided?” Ryalth guesses.
“He wrote that the chaos of coal-burning could be harnessed to create steam. There are even plans…”
“Has anyone suggested such?”
“No.”
“There must be a reason. I would not bring that idea forth until you know why.” She lifts Kerial to her shoulder. “Yet I cannot see why. Traders need protection, but Ryalor House cannot afford a single warship. I can provide arms so that pirates will think again, but no trading clan can afford to outfit a ship that will not turn a profit, and warships do not turn profits. Perhaps Vyanat’mer fears that tariffs will go up-and Bluoyal did worry about such, as you know.”
“The plans are from the Archives of the Quarter-I think that is what my father wrote. Vyanat might not even know,” Lorn says slowly. “Such engines would require much chaos-force to create and would need to be forged by an ironworker and a mage together.”
“But they would continue the power of the Magi’i,” Ryalth says.
“Then why has Chyenfel not brought forth such a plan?”
“Perhaps he has, or perhaps he would wait to offer such until he feels others would support the effort. Would not the chaos-fired steam vessels cost much more to build and require larger crews?”
Lorn nods. “But they would be faster than sailing ships and could go against the wind.”
“Whhaaa…gaaa…whaaa!” Kerial flails in his mother’s arms.
“How could the Empire raise the golds for them? And how could the merchanters pay such tariffs?” Ryalth stands, struggling with Kerial. “Our friend is ready for bed, and I cannot delay or he will be restless for all too long. Best you think about this while I put him down. I will be back when he sleeps.”
“Go.” Lorn laughs softly.
As Ryalth carries Kerial from the dining area and up the stairs, Lorn stands and picks up the platters. He considers the questions his father had posed, what seems so long ago, as he carries the platters to the kitchen. Are those who direct power the source of either? That had been the third question, and he is beginning to understand the reasoning behind the question. The First Magus can direct the power of chaos, but is not its source; the chaos-towers and the world itself are. The Majer-Commander controls the Mirror Lancers, but their weapons come from the skills of the cupritors and the Magi’i and their pay from the tariffs on the merchanters. While the fireships effectively are controlled by the Magi’i, once their towers fail, the Magi’i, too, will become more dependent upon the merchanters.
“I’ll take those, ser,” Kysia offers as Lorn enters the kitchen.
“Oh, thank you, Kysia. I’ll bring in the other dishes.”
“You don’t have to, ser.”
“It’s no problem. Ryalth is putting Kerial to bed.” Lorn turns, his thoughts still churning, turning to the last question posed by his father. How can the world be more simple, and yet more complex?
He laughs as he picks up the casserole dish, the dish that had held the peaches, and the empty basket that had held bread. The world is governed by power. It may be the power of golds, of chaos, of weapons in the hands of trained men, even of love, or of words well-spoken. The simplicity is that power governs. The complexity is that no man, no group of men, can possibly track all the sources of power and their impacts. Power is like chaos-while it can be used for good or evil at the moment, it is essentially unpredictable over time.
With a headshake, Lorn hands the dish and basket to Kysia. “Strange thoughts,” is all he says as he walks back through the house and out onto the veranda, where he stands at the edge of the stone, looking up at the night sky. Somewhere out there are the Rational Stars. He smiles at the contradiction of the two terms. For a star is concentrated chaos, which cannot be rational and predictable, not over time, even as it is, for were the flow of chaos from each star not relatively stable, life would not exist.
His father was indeed right, not that Lorn has yet figured out any way to turn those observations into use. Lorn has yet to determine how to accomplish the far more simple task of reducing the raids from Jerans with fewer golds and less Mirror Lancer casualties.
XCVIII
Lorn steps from his study and out to the table desk in the wide fourth-floor corridor of Mirror Lancer Court. There he hands the three sheets which summarize the meeting dealing with the failure of the chaos-towers and the impact on the Mirror Lancers, to Fayrken. “I’ll need two copies.”
“I can copy these immediately, ser,” answers the sandy-haired senior squad leader. “Majer Hrenk is still in Fyrad.”
“Thank you.” Lorn smiles. After nearly two eightdays at the Mirror Lancer Court, he has yet to meet or even see Hrenk, the Mirror Lancer majer who is an aide to Commander Muyro. “Do you know when he’ll be back?”
“No, ser. He’s inspecting the spring flood damage to the Great Canal. There were more giant stun lizards and more runoff. A message to Commander Muyro about that came yesterday.” Fayrken smiles. “Glad he’s not back yet. If it is like last spring he’ll have a huge report for me to copy.”
Lorn nods.
“Majer Lorn.”
Lorn turns to see the Captain-Commander standing in the fourth-floor foyer. Lorn bows. “Yes, ser?”
The bushy-browed Luss approaches and halts perhaps three cubits from Lorn. “I was reading your latest report. You write clearly and well, Majer.”
“Thank you, ser.”
“I do not think I understood how clearly and well. And you understand much.”
“I do my best to listen, ser. There’s much I need to learn.”
“I have noticed that. You also hear what is not said. That, too, is a most valuable talent, particularly when allied with prudence and caution.” Luss smiles with his mouth, but not his eyes. “How are you finding Mirror Lancer Court?”
“I’m finding that everyone here is most perceptive and intelligent, and that matters are far more complicated than they seemed when I was a field commander,” Lorn answers with total truthfulness.
Luss laughs once, not quite harshly. “Do not let the apparent complexity deceive you. In the end, there is often but one choice.”
“Yes, ser.”
With a nod as much to himself as Lorn, Luss turns and walks back toward the steps and begins to walk up to the fifth floor.
“He must think you’ve done something right, ser,” says Fayrken.
“I’d never met him before I came here, and I’ve only talked with him once-that was very short. I’ve taken notes at perhaps a handful of meetings where he spoke,” Lorn replies.
“He once told a commander that he’d best fall on his sabre while he had enough brains left to complete the job.”
Lorn raises his eyebrows.
“Yes, ser. I heard it myself.”
“I’d better be quite careful.” Lorn already knows that.
“You are, ser. I can tell that from how you write.”
“How come you aren’t an officer?” Lorn asks. “You’re brighter than many captains.”
Fayrken shakes his head. “My da was a weaver in Summerdock. Barely learned my letters, but I didn’t want to be a weaver. So I became a lancer. Then I saw that I’d die one day somewhere in the Grass Hills if I didn’t get to be a squad leader. So I buttered up one of the older fellows and got him to help me with my letters. After I made junior squad leader, almost lost my leg in a Jeranyi raid, and while I was healing, I was a clerk in at the headquarters in Syadtar. Commander Ryuk brought me here, five years ago.” Fayrken grins. “Now…ser…if I got myself to be an undercaptain, now…where would I find myself?”