L. Modesitt - Scion of Cyador

Lorn gestures at the blank glass. “Some believe him.”

“They are the ones who wish to believe.”

“Were you the one who had the old bills of lading and other papers showing Tasjan’s treachery appear in the Plaza?” Lorn raises his eyebrows. “Rynst told me this had happened.”

“I did not do such.” Ryalth smiles. “But it would not have happened had I not requested a favor.”

“It may help. I hope that it does.” Lorn frowns. “Rynst ordered Shykt, Dhynt, and Muyro to Dellash. They’re all his supporters, after a fashion. Why would he order them away from Cyad right now? Sypcal’s been poisoned, or something, and he’s the only tactical commander besides me who supports Rynst. That leaves the Captain-Commander and Commander Lhary, and they oppose Rynst.”

“The Majer-Commander left you in Cyad,” Ryalth points out. “And you command the only Mirror Lancers around. Could the others do anything-except have their loyalty tried and risk being killed?”

“Rynst truly expects bloodshed.”

“He expects you to shed it.”

“How soon?”

“Sasyk does not have all the guards yet in Cyad, but he will have what he needs in the days ahead, perhaps less than half an eightday.”

“Will some come by ship?”

“I would think so.”

“Good.” Lorn pauses. “I do not favor what we see.” He shakes his head. “Once I had hoped…”

“Like Alyiakal? It still might happen.”

“I think not, for to preserve Cyad, I will have to shed blood, far too much blood, it would appear from what the glass shows.”

“One can hope otherwise,” Ryalth suggests.

“I will hope, but we must plan for what will come.” Lorn looks back at the glass to call forth another image.

The two figures in shimmering white stand at opposite sides of the corridor that adjoins the Quarter chaos-tower of the Magi’i.

“You requested I join you here for a demonstration, Rustyl,” Chyenfel says slowly. “Have you found some way in which to prolong the life of the failing chaos-tower?”

“Were you ever interested in such? Really?” asks the younger adept. “If you were so interested, why did you bury so many chaos-towers within the mists of time, so that now we must struggle to charge firewagons and firelances but from a pair of chaos-towers beyond this one?”

Chyenfel frowns. “I thought you understood. What use would a handful of chaos-towers be, surrounded by a resurgent Accursed Forest? How would one even reach them?”

“What does the safety of a handful of peasants matter, when Cyador struggles to defend herself because you gave away the greatest of the chaos-towers?”

“You are mistaken, Rustyl. Gravely mistaken. That is not the case-”

“It is the case. You do not wish me to succeed you as First Magus. Or even Kharl.”

Chyenfel’s mouth opens. “Dear Rustyl. I had never, ever expected that. I had thought more of you-both in ability, and in common sense. Why did I expose you to all of the facets of Magi’i operations? Yet why do few outside the Magi’i know of you? Surely you can understand that now?”

“You only wished to use me a counter to Kharl…nothing more.” Chaos flares around the younger mage as his shield forms.

“That is not so…but were it such, is that not an honorable duty-to counter one who would destroy all for which the Magi’i stand?” A paler, deeper shield forms around the slightly bent form of the First Magus.

“He would have the Magi’i strong. You merely wished to be recalled for a great deed, and care little for what happens to those who follow you.” The taller mage casts a bolt of chaos at the older man.

The older magus merely stands and lets the firebolt splatter into nothingness across his order-chaos shield. “You were the Magi’i candidate to be Toziel’s heir. I can see my hopes exceeded my reason.”

“You tell me that now to save yourself.” Rustyl sneers. Another firebolt begins to form.

“I need no words to save myself from an ungrateful whelp such as you.” A searing white-red flame rips the air in the corridor, throwing Rustyl against the granite wall, his shield diminished to a mere shadow of that which he had raised but moments before.

“You are a demented old man, who would ruin Cyad for your own glory,” Rustyl snaps as he straightens, frowning. His body begins to glow, even as the shimmer that filters through the black glass portal to the chaos-tower chamber begins to diminish.

Chyenfel’s mouth opens, but momentarily. “No…you must not. You will destroy yourself as well.”

“Again…you throw words to save yourself. I will do as I must!” Rustyl returns, a broad smile crossing his face.

A massive bolt of blue-white chaos appears before Rustyl, and incandescence fills the corridor, expanding in all directions as elemental chaos sears the corridor and further whitens the granite.

In the granite structure behind the now-empty corridor, the chaos-tower glows blue, if momentarily, before it begins to melt into itself.

At the far end of the Quarter of the Magi’i, the Second Magus smiles, then nods to himself, murmuring in words that do not leave his study, “If Chyenfel can use a halfscore failing towers, then one is a fair price to save Cyad from weakness.”

Rynst stands by the study window, half-turned toward the Palace of Light, its white walls seeming less crisp than normal in the hazy midmorning light of a day in early winter. His eyes ease to Lorn, but the Majer-Commander does not move from the window.

“Ser?” Lorn bows after closing the door to the Majer-Commander’s study. Then he steps past the conference table and halts before the desk, waiting.

“One of the chaos-towers of the Magi’i failed last night,” Rynst begins, without looking at Lorn. “The First Magus was killed, as was another magus. They were attempting to stabilize the chaos-tower, according to the Second Magus, but something went astray. So…now there are but two chaos-towers operating in all of Cyador, save the three on the remaining fireships.”

Lorn swallows silently, waiting.

Finally, Rynst turns from the closed and ancient glass panes. He does not step toward the desk. “That is not the worst. The Emperor has canceled all audiences. It is unlikely he will survive the eightday. The Empress has announced that the heir has been decided and will be named shortly. That could be before or after the Emperor’s death. It may not matter. You should have your lancers in readiness, Majer.”

Lorn nods his acknowledgment.

“I have not heard how the Magi’i will choose a successor to Chyenfel, but it is likely that the Second Magus will become the First Magus, and the Third the Second, and that a Third Magus will be named at a later time.” Rynst smiles, briefly, and without meaning. “For these reasons, and others, I have approved your request to put the Mirror Engineers operating the firecannon directly under your command. That order is good for three eightdays. That should be sufficient.” The Majer-Commander offers a cold smile. “I have also informed Majer Hrenk and Captain Ghyrat that you are their superior in the chain of command, and that whatever orders you give regarding the use and placement of the firecannon are to be obeyed and carried out without delay.”

“I hope it is not necessary, ser.”

“So do I, but it is appearing more so. Former captain Sasyk appears to have seized control of the guards of Dyjani House. Word is that he has killed the two most notable candidates to succeed Tasjan.” Rynst’s lips curl. “That is a merchanter matter, and one in which neither the Magi’i nor the Mirror Lancers can intervene without the order of the Emperor. The Emperor is unlikely to give any more orders.”