L. Modesitt - Scion of Cyador

“So Tasjan will try to remove Vyanat.”

“That is why Vyanat cannot take clan status from Bluyet House,” Ryalth points out. “He needs their support, and why Tasjan spread rumors about Vyanat stripping their status.”

Lorn shakes his head. “Bring our little friend up to the study. Let us see what we can discover.” He stands, then moves around the table and lifts Kerial from Ryalth’s lap. “Come on. Your father will carry up upstairs.”

“Maa…”

“Daaa…this time,” Lorn says. “Daaa…”

“Waaaa…”

Lorn shakes his head, mock-ruefully, and then shifts his son into his left arm and turns toward the stairs.

“Maaa…” Kerial repeats.

“I’m coming, dear. I’m coming,” Ryalth reassures him, following Lorn up the steps and along the upper corridor and into the study.

Once he has closed the study door-one-handed-Lorn transfers Kerial back to Ryalth and seats himself before the desk, sliding out the glass from the drawer. He concentrates on the image of the slender Tasjan.

As the silver mists dissipate, Lorn studies the glass, and Ryalth and Kerial watch over his shoulder.

Although he is alone, Tasjan paces back and forth in a capacious study, before a large carved desk that is of a style Lorn has never seen, with wooden flowers and garlands forming the legs.

When Tasjan continues to pace, Lorn lets the image lapse. “In a while, I’ll try again. Perhaps we’ll find him in a more compromising situation. I’ll try a few more people.”

The next image is that of the Captain-Commander. Once again, Luss is dining with the blond commander Lhary. Lorn releases that image almost as soon as it forms.

“Those two are far too close for my liking.”

“Lhary commands all the outposts in the west, does he not, all those close to Cyad?” asks Ryalth.

Lorn nods.

“That is why you report to the Majer-Commander and will hold the two companies.”

“One reason, certainly.”

Lorn tries yet another image, and finds Commander Muyro and a woman in green, presumably his consort, dining with a mage-Rustyl-and a young-faced, but red-haired and large-boned young woman, probably Rustyl’s consort Ceyla, although Lorn has never met the woman, but she looks much like a womanly version of Ciesrt.

The narrow-faced Rustyl glances up, and tilts his head, almost as if listening. Lorn releases the image, shaking his head.

“Everyone is tied to another, and all circle, waiting to see what will happen.” Ryalth laughs.

After letting the image in the glass lapse, Lorn leans forward and rubs the back of his neck with his left hand. He feels very much like the times are deciding what will occur, the times and not the men, for he can see nothing he dares do-not yet, anyway.

In the midmorning of fourday, Lorn has just finished summarizing another meeting-this one between the Majer-Commander and Commander Muyro about the last details of installing the Mirror Lancer firecannon.

There is a knock on his study door, and, even before waiting for Lorn’s response, Fayrken steps inside. “Two lancer captains reporting to you, ser.” The senior squad leader’s eyebrows lift.

“They should be the captains for the two companies-the ones I’m the maneuvers coordinator for. That’s the latest official title.” After a wry smile, Lorn asks, “Do you know who they are?”

“Cheryk and Esfayl, I believe, were the names, ser.” Fayrken smiles. “They seemed to know you.”

“Have them come right in.” Lorn stands and waits for the two to enter. The older captain is thin-faced, gray-eyed, long-chinned, and has brown hair tinged with gray; the second has dark curly hair, and a boyish look to his features.

The long-chinned Cheryk sees Lorn and smiles. “Ser. Might have known it was you.”

“Ser.” Esfayl barely refrains from shaking his head.

“It’s good to see you both.” Lorn pauses, then asks, “Your orders didn’t say who your commander would be?”

“No, ser. We got here, and climbed up to the top floor, and the senior squad leader said that you were our commander. Here…” The veteran with the pale gray eyes extends the scroll.

Lorn takes the scroll and reads it.

…report to the Majer-Commander, lancer headquarters, for further assignment in Cyad as determined by the needs of the Mirror Lancers…

Then he hands the scroll back, wondering exactly how much to tell the two.

“Ser…before I forget…Majer Brevyl sent a message,” Cheryk offers.

“Majer Brevyl?” Lorn cannot help but frown. “He was at Biehl. What’s he doing in Inividra?”

“They sent him from Biehl for a season, ser. Something about making sure that everything was the way it was supposed to be.”

After a moment, Lorn asks, “The message?” He would wager that he knows the sort of message Brevyl would send.

Esfayl smiles, his expression confirming Lorn’s suspicions.

“He said, ser, that he still didn’t care for you personally, but that if you ever made commander, or higher rank, he’d accept serving under you just to see if you have the same nerve when you had power as when you didn’t.”

Lorn bursts into laughter. “He hasn’t changed a bit. How did you find him?”

Cheryk and Esfayl exchange glances. Finally, Cheryk speaks. “His words are rougher than yours, but no one noticed much difference, except that he seldom commands patrols. Gyraet does.”

“Did that work out?”

“Yes, ser. Good man. He’s a permanent overcaptain now.” Cheryk looks around the small study before speaking again. “The majer also said, ser, that we’d be the first Mirror Lancers stationed in Cyad in generations.”

“That’s true. One reason for that is that the Empire is losing its fireships, and that leaves the Mirror Lancers as the most powerful weapon remaining.”

“What about the Magi’i?” asks Esfayl.

“Individually, a number of them are very powerful, but there aren’t that many. That means you have a task to do. It’s necessary, and if everything goes right, unless someone’s really careless, it won’t get anyone killed.” Lorn smiles. “Call it a reward of sorts.”

“Ser?”

Lorn laughs at the dubious tone in Cheryk’s voice. “It’s simple enough. The outlanders have never seen any of the Morror Lancers’ powers, except the fireships, and most outlanders generally only port in places like Cyad, Fyrad, or Summerdock, where there aren’t many lancers, even though much of Cyador’s strength lies in the lancers. We will be conducting maneuvers-almost on a parade ground-with firelances, whenever the Majer-Commander thinks an important trader is around. Some will even be invited to watch.”

Cheryk nods. “Sort of following up on what we did in Jerans?”

“In a way. To show the outlanders that, whether we have the fireships or not, the Mirror Lancers are to be reckoned with.”

“Is that why the Majer-Commander brought you here, ser?” asks Esfayl.

“I don’t think so, but I wouldn’t presume to guess about what the Majer-Commander plans and how far he thinks into the future.” Lorn clears his throat before continuing. “Now…you’ll be billeted in a warehouse that they’ve converted into a barracks with officers’ quarters. I’ve seen it, and the quarters are not bad. If you have family here, or find a place to live…you can do that, but one of you has to be able to be reached by messenger at all times…”

Lorn goes on to explain the details, finally ending with, “…if you can’t find me, Fayrken can.” He pauses. “Oh…and the only one who can countermand my orders is the Majer-Commander or the Emperor.”

Cheryk looks hard at Lorn.

“Those are the near-exact words of the Majer-Commander,” Lorn answers.