L. Modesitt - Scion of Cyador

“Majer-Commander Rynst has always used his authority and the Mirror Lancers for the good of Cyad and Cyador, and I have no doubts that he will continue to do so. In years to come, his successors may not be so astute, and what we do must serve the future as well as the present.” Chyenfel bows to Vyanat. “My concerns lie not in having such demonstrations by the Mirror Lancers, but in their frequency. I would suggest that Your Mightiness could obtain the same or greater impact by merely bringing in a different set of companies twice a year for two eightdays, or four times a year for a single eightday. In this fashion, all would see with fresh eyes the power of the Mirror Lancers. Likewise, we would not see the development of what might be called city lancers, as opposed to those lancers who must face and fight the barbarians.” The First Magus bows to the Emperor.

“You raise some matters of concern to us all,” Toziel says deliberately.

Behind him, Ryenyel coughs, once.

The Emperor turns and smiles. “Is it chill in here, my dear?”

“I caught something in my throat. I beg your pardon for interrupting.” Ryenyel smiles at her consort. “I truly do.”

“Sire?” asks Vyanat.

“Yes, Vyanat’mer?”

“I would ask that we see how matters progress for another three eightdays,” suggests the Merchanter Advisor, “before any decision is considered. Even should the most honorable Chyenfel prove correct in his assessment, I would argue that for the first appearance of the Mirror Lancers in Cyad, a longer period might well prove necessary, and would not prove detrimental. After all, we are in a time of change, and at this time, as many outland traders as possible should see the true power of the Mirror Lancers.” With only the slightest of pauses, the merchanter adds, “And the First Magus has noted that in this time, while Majer-Commander Rynst serves the Empire of Light, all will be well with such lancers.”

“That would seem reasonable,” suggests Toziel. “At our normal audience three eightdays from now, we will revisit the matter.”

Chyenfel nods. “I will defer as His Mightiness suggests.”

“And I, also,” adds Rynst.

“Although I retain grave doubts about relying upon the mere occasional appearance of the Mirror Lancers,” counters Vyanat, “in three eightdays, the matter may well become more clear as to how Cyador may best show the outlanders its might.”

The shadow of a frown crosses Ryenyel’s face, although no eyes are upon her.

Rynst motions for Lorn to take one of the chairs set before the Majer-Commander’s study desk. Lorn does so, and waits, watching the Majer-Commander and listening to the moan of the early-winter wind that lows around the ancient blue windowpanes, a cold wind, despite the bright sunlight that falls on Cyad.

“Yesterday, I attended the regular audience with the Emperor,” Rynst begins, conversationally. “There I heard that your maneuvers have been successful in giving some of the outland traders a few matters to think about.”

“I understand that such was the intent, as you told me, ser. The maneuvers are but exercises and are at best a limited way of showing what the Mirror Lancers can do.”

“They are indeed, but they are effective.” Rynst purses his lips, and then tilts his head to the side. “Perhaps too effective. The First Magus raised a most interesting point. He suggested that perhaps it would not be wise to maintain the lancers in Cyad for any great period, but for perhaps two or three eightdays twice a year. Or one eightday every season, with a different set of lancer companies each period.”

Lorn waits once more.

“He fears that any companies remaining in the City of Light will become city lancers, and, although he did not say such directly, another tool of the Majer-Commander. He also feels that their presence, in daily maneuvers, will jade all those who watch, and the impact on outlanders will fade, while the citizens of Cyad will come to believe the Mirror Lancers are unmatched.”

“They are unmatched, but they can be outnumbered, ser, as we know.”

“We know that, but those in Cyad do not understand what lies beyond its borders. They do not see the hatred of our land, our roads, our cities, our prosperity. If the First Magus is correct, and correct he may well be,” Rynst continues with a wry smile, “we of the Mirror Lancers may find it even more difficult to obtain the golds required to equip and maintain the forces necessary to repel the barbarians in the years to come. And should any within the city raise arms, in years to come, there will be few Magi’i to stand against such a mob, and no firelances to bring. It will be a far different land, yet few wish to contemplate that.”

Lorn nods slowly.

“You will live in that time and land, Majer. And so will your son.” Rynst pauses momentarily. “As you are the commander of the lancer companies in Cyad, I felt you should know this. I would not pass this on to them at this moment. If you are asked, I would suggest that you tell the truth, and that is that the role of Mirror Lancer companies in Cyad is being considered by the Emperor.”

“Yes, ser.”

“That is all, Majer. I expect a copy of the report on the latest fireship replacement meeting by midmorning tomorrow.”

“Yes, ser.” Lorn stands.

Rynst does not seem to look up as Lorn departs the study.

As Lorn descends the stairs to his study, he considers what Rynst has said. Everything that the Majer-Commander has relayed makes sense, far too much sense, in some ways. One thing does not. That is why Rynst has told Lorn before any decision is made, and why Lorn has been told when a decision will be made.

Lorn fears he understands that, as well. Rynst wants the lancers used-somehow-before they must leave Cyad. Yet the Majer-Commander cannot order such, or will not, and if they are used, he will not be the one to give the order-unless there is a danger obvious to all.

In the late evening, with but a single lamp lit, Lorn sits at the study desk, squinting at the chaos-glass, and drawing out the rooms in Tasjan’s dwelling on sheets of paper beside the glass. With each image, he draws what he needs to know, then checks what he has drawn, and finally lets the image fade. Then he closes his eyes and rubs his neck before he calls forth the next image from the glass.

The lower levels of Tasjan’s dwelling have no windows that are not barred, and all the doors are iron-bound, bolted, and guarded at all times. The outside guards, and those that patrol the gardens and porticoes, wear green. Those inside wear blue.

Lorn looks at what he has drawn, shifting from sheet to sheet.

Tasjan’s private study opens onto a balcony, and that balcony can be reached easily enough by climbing up a stepped chimney from the secondlevel portico. There are two guard posts along the portico flanking the upper gardens, but if the guards see no one…

All Lorn has to do is figure out how to get to the second-level portico.

With a deep breath, he looks down at the glass yet another time.

A dozen or more glimpses of Tasjan’s dwelling, and he thinks he has a way. If he can climb a particular tree. If he can hold his blur shield long enough. If it works.

He shakes his head and puts away the glass, ignoring the burning in his eyes, and the headache that seems as though someone is trying to cleave his skull with a very dull and heavy ax. Then he turns down the wick and puts out the single lamp in the study.

He walks quietly along the upper corridor to the bedchamber, where he slides the iron bolt shut.

“You were using the glass late,” Ryalth says sleepily.

“Later than I would have liked. I was studying Tasjan’s dwelling and how he enters and leaves it.” Lorn sits on the end of the bed and pulls off his boots, then stands and begins to disrobe.