L. Modesitt - Scion of Cyador

The thin-faced commander Shykt is standing outside his study door. “Fayrken said you would not be long, and he was right.”

Lorn nods. “Yes, ser.”

“I’ve been dispatched to Dellash with Commander Dhynt and Commander Muyro to study the disabled fireships, and we’re to make a firsthand report.” Shykt smiles, if nervously. “I thought you might like to know, in case it applies to any reports you are doing.”

“Thank you, ser. I appreciate the notice.”

“You are most welcome, Majer.” The thin-faced commander pauses. “Did you hear about Commander Sypcal?”

Lorn’s stomach tightens even more. “No, ser.”

“Quite ill, I understand. Some sort of flux. If he recovers, it will be eightdays before he’s himself again.” Shykt offers another strained smile. “I’d guess that would leave you, the Majer-Commander, the Captain-Commander, and Commander Lhary at the next twoday meeting.”

“I suppose it would, ser. I appreciate knowing that, as well.”

“I thought you might.” Shykt nods.

“Have a good trip, ser.”

“I’m sure it will do us good.”

Lorn walks back into his study-but only long enough to gather his personal items, before he walks back out.

He stops by Fayrken’s desk station. “I’ll be down at the harbor barracks. There are some things I need to discuss with the officers and rankers.”

“Yes, ser. Will you be back this afternoon?”

“I don’t know.” Lorn shrugs. “If I can be.”

As he walks down toward the harbor, he can again sense a chaos-glass being focused on him, and whatever magus follows him holds the image until he enters the end of the converted warehouse that holds the studies of the two Mirror Lancer captains.

He finds both Cheryk and Esfayl in the slightly larger space-Cheryk’s study.

“Ser!” Both officers stand.

“Matters here in Cyad are getting…shall we say…unsettled.”

Cheryk and Esfayl exchange glances.

“I can see you have heard something along those lines,” Lorn says with a faint smile. “What, might I ask?”

“Well…there’s word that the merchanters are gathering together the greensuit guards,” Cheryk ventures. “Some are saying the Palace had that Tasjan fellow killed.”

“And others say that the Emperor is ailing,” adds Esfayl.

“I don’t know that the Emperor is any more ill than he has been,” Lorn says, “but the guards of Dyjani House could be a real problem. You are to restrict tomorrow’s maneuvers to light one-on-one drills with padded blades. You are to keep all firelances ready, but under your personal control, and no one is to leave the area without my orders or those of Majer-Commander Rynst-and the only Majer-Commander to whom you answer is Rynst. Otherwise, you answer to the Emperor. If none of those can offer you orders, you are to protect the Palace of Eternal Light.”

“Those are grim orders, ser.”

“I doubt it will come to that, but those are the orders I received.”

“Ser…?” offers Esfayl.

“Yes.” Lorn’s voice is level.

“Majer Brevyl said one other thing. He said never to wager against you, and never to ignore your orders.” Esfayl smiles ruefully. “Tell us what to do, and we’ll do it.”

Cheryk nods.

“What we want to do is hold Cyad together,” Lorn admits. “I can’t tell you how, for sure, but it’s likely we’ll have to take on the greensuits, and even with firelances, it won’t be easy. They’ve been trained by a renegade lancer officer, and I’d wager they have mirror shields somewhere. You might think about how to attack a squad with a mirror shield wall on foot in the streets where they can’t easily be flanked.”

“Too bad we can’t use the firecannon,” mutters Cheryk. “That’d do it.”

Lorn smiles. “Why don’t you find out who can operate it? Let me know by messenger. I’ll see if the Majer-Commander will put them under my command for a while.”

Cheryk smiles. “That…that we’ll do.”

“Now…I’m headed back to the Mirror Lancer Court…”

“Ser…best you take your mount, and take him to your dwelling,” suggests Cheryk.

Lorn nods. He may indeed need speed.

His Mightiness Toziel’elth’alt’mer looks up from the high bed. His head does not move as he murmurs. “Ryenyel…my dearest…you can do no more. There are so few shreds of order left in this frail form, that any strength you give me…it will destroy me yet sooner. I would…have liked…to have spent…another spring…”

“So…so would I.” The redhead whose hair whitens even as she holds his hand, kneels on the chair beside the bed, her head almost beside his.

“I would…not…have left Cyador…so.” He takes several wheezing shallow breaths before he speaks again. “We tried so hard to find one who could hold…our Land of Eternal Light…”

“We did as we could, dear one.” She squeezes his hand, offering the slightest hint of order.

“Your touch…good…as always.”

“I am here, dearest.”

“You must…write out the documents-one for each, naming him as heir-hold as you can…and choose as you must.” He forces a smile that lapses as he struggles for another breath. “How…Which…?”

“Lorn-he may yet surmount what faces him. I would have him over Kharl or any merchanter, but either Kharl or Lorn will keep Cyador strong.”

“Cyador…Cyad…there is no other…no other.”

Once she has completed her task, and he his, as the night darkens, the Empress-Consort continues to hold Toziel’s hand, long past that time when she can offer strength or warmth.

In the darkness just after dusk, Lorn sits at the small study desk in his dwelling. He looks into the chaos-glass as the silver mists slip away. Ryalth stands behind him, holding Kerial. The image in the glass is clear enough. Five men sit around a table. Lorn recognizes but one of the five, and that is Sasyk.

“Daaa!” Kerial tries to lurch from Ryalth’s arms toward the chaos-glass. “Gaaa…”

“Kerial! Hold still!”

At the sharpness of Ryalth’s tone, tears begin to form at the corners of the boy’s eyes.

“Hush…be quiet, dearest.” Ryalth cuddles him even as she strains to make out the faces in the lamplit glass. “Sasyk is the one in the middle…I don’t know the two others in green…that’s Kernys on the right, and Denys on the left.”

“That is Denys?” For some reason Lorn has pictured Denys like his predecessor, large and bulky, but Bluoyal’s successor as the head of Bluyet House is a handsome man of modest proportion.

“For all his looks, dearest, he is less trustworthy than Bluoyal was.”

Lorn lets the image lapse. He closes his eyes and massages his forehead for a moment before turning and looking at his consort. “I do not see others from Dyjani Clan. You had said that the clan would most likely support others.”

“Nor do I see those who should be there.” Ryalth sighs. “That bodes ill for Husdryt and Torvyl.”

“Could Sasyk be plotting with Kernys and Denys? To hold Dyjani House?”

“It would appear that he already does. So Sasyk has the Dyjani, Bluyet House, and Kysan House behind him? Most merchanters do not trust Vyanat that much because of the death of his brother.”

“What about Yuryan House?” Lorn asks.

“Veljan will not support Sasyk, but the strength of Yuryan House lies in its vessels and outland warehouses and factors.” As she stands beside Lorn, Ryalth rocks Kerial back and forth in the dimness of the study, lit by the single lamp on corner of the desk. “Sasyk is telling all that the Magi’i killed Tasjan, for only a magus could enter a locked and guarded dwelling and vanish so. He says that is because they wish to take more of the merchanters’ golds for themselves.”