L. Modesitt - Scion of Cyador

“You’re welcome…Can you put a stop to this?”

“I have some ideas.” Lorn begins to gather up the fallen blades. “They might even work.”

Lorn closes the door of the guest bedchamber in Tyrsal’s dwelling and turns to Ryalth. She is propped up on the bed and is already nursing Kerial. He unclips the sabre scabbard from his belt and leans weapon and sheath against the wall.

“How was he?” she asks.

“He was sleeping-a bit fussy when I woke him up, but he liked the carriage ride. Pheryk’s a better driver than most.” Lorn takes a deep breath. “I think everything would have been all right at home, but there wasn’t much point in risking it, and then traveling out to get you and then coming back again and worrying.”

“What did you do with the carriage?”

“Pheryk drove us back and then said he would leave it tied at the carriage station that serves Hyshrah Clan. There’s no one there at this time of night.”

“You’re being more indirect than usual,” the redhead says.

“I want Vyanat to have something to think about.” Lorn shrugs

“You acted as if you knew the Hypolya were one of Vyanat’s vessels. Is there something you haven’t told me?” Ryalth looks at Lorn. “I cannot believe that he would wish either of us dead-or that any thinking member of his house would.”

“It would depend on the thoughts.” Lorn sits down on the side of the bed and gestures to the bag beside the armoire. “I brought daywear for the two of us, and three sets of clothes for Kerial.” He bends to pull off his boots. “I also brought my chaos-glass.”

“You don’t think Vyanat-”

“While I trust no one, I do trust your feelings, especially on that. But there are enemies and relatives within every large house, and their goals may not be at all the same as Vyanat’s. Perhaps you should pay Vyanat’mer a visit-tomorrow-and bring me along. Tell him that I wanted to meet him because he had appreciated my report on Biehl so much. I’ll send a messenger in, saying that I’ll be slightly late to Mirror Lancer Court.”

“You think Vyanat will see me if I just show up?”

“With me beside you? I think so.” Lorn grunts and pulls off the other boot. “At the very least he will wish to know why you want to make such a call.”

“How many did you kill tonight?”

“They killed the coachman with archers. We killed eight plus the leader. Tyrsal used chaos-fire to incinerate the bodies. He has a headache, and he’s not going to feel wonderful in the morning.”

“Aleyar will help.”

“That’s true. I also asked him if he would request she not tell Liataphi for a day or so.”

“Just a day or so?”

“Until after we meet with Vyanat.”

Ryalth lifts Kerial to her shoulder and burps him gently.

Lorn stands and walks to the corner by the armoire, setting his boots almost against the wall, then bending again and easing the chaos-glass case from the bag. He carries the case to the table under the window and eases back the vase with the spray of cut flowers to make room for the glass.

Lorn concentrates, and, as the silver mists form and then dissipate, the image of Tasjan appears in the glass, sitting at a long table, clearly enjoying what seems to be a family gathering of sorts. Lorn shrugs and releases the image.

The next image is that of Luss-in his bedchamber. Lorn also releases that image quickly. Rustyl, too, is in bed, apparently sleeping, although the magus turns in his sleep. Lorn lets the image vanish.

“Did you find anything?” Ryalth asks, yawning.

“No. I would have been surprised if I had.”

“Because Tasjan worked through someone else?”

Lorn nods as he replaces the glass in its case. “We do need to see Vyanat in the morning.”

“If he is in Cyad.”

“He will be. Tasjan needs him to be.”

Ryalth offers a sad smile.

Ryalth bows as she steps into the square room that is Vyanat’s office. Lorn bows as well, before straightening and taking in the muscular but trim Merchanter Advisor. Behind the merchanter’s table desk is a wall that is entirely bookshelves, and almost every shelf is filled with leather-bound volumes.

Lorn notes two volumes on one of the higher shelves, volumes bound in the same shimmering silver as Ryalth’s book of verse, but the majer does not let his eyes dwell on them.

“I do appreciate your seeing me with so little notice.” Ryalth smiles.

Vyanat bows. His perfectly combed black-and-silver hair moves not a fraction of a cubit. “When a house head so successful as you asks for a moment, I am more than pleased to grant it.” His head inclines toward Lorn. “This, I presume, is your consort, the redoubtable Majer Lorn.”

Lorn bows politely once more. “I have heard much of you from Ryalth-much good.” He smiles. “I have also heard that you believe directness and honesty to be necessary for the merchanters of Cyador to flourish.”

Vyanat laughs. “You must wish to be direct.”

“I may in the future,” Lorn counters.

“Lorn had wished to meet you and to see Hyshrah House,” Ryalth says.

“It appears as though much of what affects Hyshrah House and other merchanter houses also bears upon Mirror Lancer Court, and I have but seen my consort’s house,” Lorn admits.

The faintest frown flickers across Vyanat’s brow.

“I see you have rather a large number of volumes here.” Lorn gestures to the shelves behind the Merchanter Advisor.

“Most were gathered by my sire. He insisted that I read and learn certain of them.”

“One can learn much from the past,” Ryalth suggests. “The hearts of men change seldom from generation to generation.”

Another faint frown appears on Vyanat’s face, then vanishes.

“I would not take too great a portion of your day,” Lorn says. “But if you would indulge me slightly, and just walk us around your house.”

“There is little one would not see in many houses, I am certain.” Vyanat glances at Ryalth, then looks back at Lorn and offers a quick laugh. “Still, seeing is believing, and since you do assist the Majer-Commander, I am pleased to indulge your curiosity.” The Merchanter Advisor steps from behind his table desk.

Lorn and Ryalth stand back and then follow the muscular merchanter out the office door and along the corridor.

“This study is that of my brother Vyel.” Vyanat gestures toward the open door, a gesture that is not meant to suggest entry.

Lorn ignores the body language and steps into the office, smiling.

The slender and dark-haired man behind the table filled with stacks of papers rises, his brows briefly knitting in puzzlement, his eyes going from Lorn to Vyanat and then back to Lorn.

“Ah…Vyel…this is Majer Lorn. Majer, my brother Vyel.”

Vyel smiles pleasantly.

Lorn notes the single gold front tooth. He feels that Ryalth does, as well, although nothing changes in her expression or posture.

Lorn smiles at Vyel. “You had much to do with the…difficulties with the Hypolya , did you not?”

Vyanat glances at Ryalth, who shrugs.

“Honored ser…I fear I do not understand.”

Lorn smiles. “I must have been mistaken.” Lorn smiles. “But could you tell me why you chose Benylt?” He pauses long enough to get the internal reaction he seeks, then adds, “Was that because of your respect for Tasjan? Or because of his promises?”

“I fear, ser, that you are gravely mistaken, and were you not a consort-”

Lorn looks hard at Vyel. “You do not have to answer to me, Vyel. I suggest you answer to your brother and your house.” He smiles again, and then turns to Vyanat. “I fear, most honorable Merchanter Advisor, that I have trespassed upon your hospitality, and upon your forbearance, but well you should know that there have been two attempts on my consort’s life in the past eightday. I would not intrude upon merchanter matters, but for her safety, and for the fact that I fear the devious Tasjan would put his green-clad guards against Mirror Lancer Court, after he has destroyed your reputation for honor, and that is something none of us would wish.” Lorn inclines his head toward Vyel. “I fear your younger brother has had the misfortune to be indebted in some fashion to Tasjan, and, if it is not handled discreetly, you will find matters most difficult. So…as is most unlike my usual fashion, I will leave the matter in your hands.”