L. Modesitt - Scion of Cyador

“But…the question is, Vyanat…are there any true lancers in these decaying times?” Tasjan’s smile is as cold as his eyes.

“I know of three, and there may be more, Tasjan. You could have been the greatest of all merchanters. If you have the skill, you may yet survive. If you attempt to be more than you are, you will fail.”

“That is true of all of us, is it not, Vyanat’mer?”

“Yes, it is. Some of us understand that.” Vyanat’s last smile is both cold and somehow sad. “Good day, honored Tasjan.”

Once the door closes, Tasjan laughs.

Lorn looks up from the glass.

Ryalth steps inside the study, carrying Kerial. “Myryan and Ciesrt should be here before long.”

“I was going to use the glass to follow Tasjan and some others before it got too late.” Lorn nods toward the blank glass before him. “Tasjan always travels with guards-his own-the ones garbed in blue. I thought that if I kept trying I might find somewhere that he doesn’t. He walks a different route to the Plaza each morning and night.”

“There is one thing I found out today,” Ryalth says. “I was going to tell you later, but I was late because of the Suthyan who arrived at Ryalor House so late…”

Lorn raises his eyebrows, waiting.

“Tasjan dines at Ayadyr often, usually on fiveday evening.” Ryalth shifts Kerial from one shoulder to the other.

“So he might not take his guards to the table?”

“I do not know,” Ryalth admits, “but when he dines with family in his dwelling there are no guards in the dining chamber-that, your glass has shown.”

Lorn nods. “We will follow him tomorrow and see…If so…” He shrugs. “I can but hope that naught else occurs in the few days it will take to see what can be done.”

Ryalth glances over her shoulder. “They should be here soon.”

Lorn looks at the blank glass. “Would you mind if I studied the glass for a few moments?”

“No.” She smiles. “If it is but for a few moments. I will check on dinner with Kysia and Ayleha.”

“A few moments,” Lorn confirms.

Even before she leaves the study, he focuses on the glass, and upon the first image.

Sasyk is in an exercise hall Lorn does not recognize, sparring with another man. Both are larger than Lorn, and both appear accomplished. There are other figures in green, sparring as well. As Lorn lets the image fade, he frowns. Sasyk is clearly trying to ensure his greensuits are welltrained with the blade, and despite the rumors, since piracy has not increased, that training bespeaks an interest in more than protecting trade.

The next image Lorn calls up is that of Tasjan, but the merchanter merely walks along a white paved street, followed by four large and muscular blue-clad guards. Tasjan looks up, and smiles, as if to tell any magus who follows him that he is aware of the scrutiny. Lorn lets the image of Tasjan fade.

At the sound of women’s voices drifting up the stairs, Lorn slides the chaos-glass into its case, and glass and case into the drawer of the table desk. Then he stands and stretches before heading down the stairs to greet his sister.

As Lorn enters the sitting room, from where she sits on the far side of Myryan, Ryalth mouths, Thank you .

“I’m sorry,” Lorn says to his sister, “I was working on something that took a bit longer than I had thought.” Lorn looks closely at Myryan. She is frail, thinner than he recalls, and yet her amber eyes glow. “I’m glad you could come tonight. Where’s Ciesrt? I thought he was coming.”

The dark-haired healer shrugs. “As I was telling Ryalth, he came back from the Quarter and told me I’d have to come alone. He’s over at his father’s. Kharl wanted to talk to him.” She sighs. “He’s been spending a great deal of time with Kharl lately. I cannot say I like it.”

Lorn looks at his sister. “Is anything the matter?” He seats himself beside Ryalth on the settee.

Myryan offers a sad smile in return. “Nothing that is any different from before, Lorn. Ciesrt is centered on himself, like most of the Magi’i, but he is kind enough, and gentle enough.”

“What about his parents?”

“I detest them.” Myryan’s words are level.

Lorn can sense near-fury, and absolute truth in the three words.

“Because of the children thing?” asks Ryalth.

“That…and because, to them, I’m an ornament. No…I’m a tool to be used. I’m a thing that is valuable because of who my parents were.”

“Doesn’t Ciesrt…?” Ryalth ventures.

“He tries…but Kharl is strong, and will have his way. Ciesrt can’t stand up to him.” A wry smile crosses her face as she brushes back unruly black curls from her forehead and looks at Ryalth. “Lorn could. Lorn stood up to Father, and to senior officers. Ciesrt isn’t that strong. I knew that. I didn’t think that his father…though…” She shakes her head. “I have decided something, though,” she adds, as if it were an afterthought.

“What?”

“Too much order, even in healing, is worse than too much chaos.”

“Is there any doubt of that?” Lorn says with a laugh.

“Ah….” Myryan draws the word out with exaggerated slowness, “but do you know why?”

Ryalth frowns, her blue eyes flicking between her consort and his sister.

“I don’t see where you’re going,” Lorn admits.

“Order’s greatest cruelty is that it denies chaos,” Myryan declares, her eyes glowing even brighter. “I see that now.”

Lorn nods slowly, trying to make sense out of all the words, and find the meaning behind them. “Why do you say that?” he temporizes, trying to draw her out.

“Lorn…perfect order is perfect memory. Would you truly wish to remember every unkindness done to you, every cruelty you dispensed? Would you wish to live in a world where every chamber is perfect, yet without heat? Where fire does not exist…because it changes, and order denies change? Where children are never born, and no one dies? Where each person is unchanging…?”

Lorn finds himself shivering at the image.

“The kindness of time is that it passes…” Myryan murmurs. Then she smiles abruptly. “I didn’t come here to mope about things. I came because I like to be around you two.” She smiles at Kerial, and the boy tries to lurch from Ryalth’s lap.

Ryalth stands and carries her son to his aunt.

“He’s so good,” the healer says, taking the Kerial into her arms. “And he feels so good to hold.”

“Most of the time,” Lorn suggests, “unless he’s wet.”

“We should probably begin dinner,” Ryalth ventures, “or it will get overcooked, and I do not care much for overcooked fowl. Also, Kerial is being good, and how long that will last…”

Lorn laughs.

As the three enter the dining area, Kysia appears and takes Kerial.

The three sit, and Ayleha begins to bring in the serving platters, starting with a gold-rimmed blue platter holding slices of fowl covered in a golden cream sauce.

“When I’m here, everything is so elegant,” Myryan says.

“You deserve elegance,” Lorn says, laughing and adding, “and so do we, but we only get it when we have company.”

“Elegance and grown-up company,” Ryalth adds, passing the tray to Lorn, who takes but one slice of sun-nut bread, before holding it for Myryan.

“You have been busy lately,” Myryan says. “Even Ciesrt is talking about how effective your demonstrations of the firelances have been. Are you the one who developed those drills?”

“They’re just variations on what I’ve used in the field,” Lorn says, holding the platter to allow Myryan to take several slices of the sauce-covered chicken. “No drill really shows what it’s like.”