L. Modesitt - Scion of Cyador

Vyanat looks at Lorn. “What you say is a charge most serious, and you have presented no evidence.”

“There is little evidence, honored Vyanat, save two attempts on my consort, and the word of a would-be assassin, who died later of his wounds, that he was hired by a merchanter involved with the Hypolya who also had a gold front tooth.” Lorn shrugs. “I am certain, that with your skills, you can determine the truth of the matter far better than I. As for me, I would prefer that you do.” He offers a last smile. “But should anything else along this line occur, you will understand fully that I will be far, far less forbearing.”

“Majer…” Vyanat’s voice is low and almost threatening. “You come into my house, on my sufferance of your consort’s position…”

Lorn’s eyes are hard, like frozen fire, as he faces Vyanat. “Honored Merchanter Advisor-and you are honored-were my consort not convinced absolutely of your personal honesty and worthiness, I would not be here, and neither would your brother. You have read of my devotion to Cyador. I am even more devoted to my consort. Your brother’s actions endanger both. Because of your honor, I offer you the chance to address the matter. Only because of your honor.”

After a long stillness, Vyanat nods slowly. “Were I in your boots, I would feel much the same-”

“I am glad you understand.” Lorn pauses. “When I was at Assyadt, Commander Ikynd observed that, while I was born in Cyad, I would never be a city lancer, for I loved all of Cyador too much…” His eyes go to Vyel. “I hope you have the wisdom to offer the truth and throw yourself on your brother’s mercy. I have no mercy for those who would have blood flow across the sunstones of Cyad.” Lorn looks back at Vyanat. “I would have you know, also, that I did not tell my consort the precise reason for my wish to see you this morning, only that it concerned last evening’s attack.” He bows. “I have troubled you long enough, honored Merchanter Advisor. We can find our way back to Ryalor House. Good day.”

A slight smile crosses Vyanat’s mouth, although his eyes are cold as he looks to Ryalth. “He is devoted, Lady, and you are fortunate. The rest of us may not be so.”

Ryalth returns the smile with one equally cool. “We are most fortunate that Lorn is most temperate, and most farseeing, honored Vyanat, you in particular. You have the first opportunity to avoid what might well be seen as a sign of weakness in a time when weakness is less than acceptable.” She bows and turns.

Lorn takes her arm, and they walk down the corridor and then down the steps to the main Traders’ Plaza.

Outside, Ryalth raises her eyebrows as she looks at her consort. “You came perilously close to insulting his house, dearest.”

“I have no quarrel with him or with Hyshrah Clan, but I want him to act.”

“So that the Mirror Lancers cannot be said to become involved in merchanter affairs? Or to make Vyanat seem stronger and more perceptive to Tasjan?”

“The wisest of leaders can be less perceptive when they must judge those close to themselves.” Lorn shrugs. “You can do no wrong in my eyes. At least, I know such.” He offers a wry smile. “Now…I must repair to Mirror Lancer Court, after escorting you across the Plaza to Ryalor House.”

“You expect me to conduct trade after this?” Ryalth raises her eyebrows.

“I expect you will do so well.” Lorn grins.

She shakes her head and smiles back.

Vyanat steps into Vyel’s office, leaving the door open behind him.

“I wondered where you had gone,” offers Vyel. “You disappeared this morning after that Mirror Lancer officer left. I thought you were remarkably pleasant, given his insolence, but I suppose you have to deal with the lady trader too often to say what you felt.”

“She is most astute, and one ignores her at one’s peril,” Vyanat replies. “She says little, and often seems demure. She is not.” Vyanat laughs once, but the laugh is forced.

“Where were you?”

“I needed to attend to a few matters,” returns the older brother. He pauses, then asks, almost casually, “What in chaos were you thinking?”

“You believe that magus-descended butcher who thinks with his blade?” questions Vyel. “He wouldn’t know an invoice from a bill of lading or a weight-and-balance form.”

“Actually, Vyel, I do believe him. I wish I did not. First, the Lady Ryalth was with him. Her bearing and her presence mean she believes him. Second, I did check on a few matters. Almost a score of bravos that do the sort of ‘work’ that Majer Lorn mentioned, have either appeared dead on the streets or vanished. Yet, no other merchanter houses report any problems. I am not stupid. The Magi’i do not use bravos. They don’t have to. The Palace does not. Nor do the Mirror Lancers, except for perhaps the Captain-Commander. Third, Majer Lorn could have turned you into a corpse without even raising a sweat, and without your body ever being found. He’s done it to far better and more talented men than you. Fourth, he was right about the Hypolya . I’ve known that for years, but Father asked me to forbear unless you made another error such as that. This is worse than he could have foreseen, and he had few illusions about you. Oh…and you seem to forget that Majer Lorn was bright enough about trade to figure out what Bluoyel and his cousin had done in Biehl, and he did so in a matter of days.”

“So…why didn’t Majer Lorn just remove me the way you say he did the others?”

“You are stupid, dear brother. Because he wanted me to know, and to act against Tasjan. I will not. Not now, but I cannot fail to act against you, because you have jeopardized Hyshrah House. Again.”

“You don’t have the guts, for all your talk, Vyanat. Or you would have dumped me overboard years ago.”

“I thought there was a chance you would learn-and I gave my word to Father. All you have learned is that deception and deceit bring quick returns.” Vyanat gestures behind him and three archers appear, and step into the smaller study nearly silently. They have shafts ready to nock.

“What you-and Tasjan-have failed to learn,” Vyanat continues, “is that any merchanting built on deception will fail in the end, and at a far higher cost. One of the matters I attended to was meeting with others in the house.”

Vyel looks at the archers. “You don’t even have the guts to act yourself.”

“I have no intention of soiling my hands further. My heart and spirit, perhaps, but not my hands.” Vyanat looks at the middle archer. “Make it quick.”

The small study is filled with the muted sounds of bowstrings and arrows striking.

Vyanat stands, impassive, and remains in the study, alone, long after the archers have departed. His eyes are reddened and bleak.

In the late afternoon, Lorn sits behind his desk, looking out into a fall day that has gotten grayer and colder with each passing moment. The wind whistles intermittently around the ancient panes of his study, and the sky continues to darken.

The simplest course of action would be to remove Tasjan, but that is a solution that may lead to more difficulties than it resolves, since Lorn does not know how many others may be involved with Tasjan and whether removing the merchanter would merely result in someone else taking over as head of Dyjani House, and carrying out the same schemes with different names.

There is a knock on the study door.

Lorn turns in his chair. “Yes?”

“Ser?” Tygyl steps just inside the doorway. “The Majer-Commander would like to see you, as soon as you can get there.”

“I’ll be right behind you.”