L. Modesitt - Scion of Cyador

“Thank you. I was fortunate in finding her.”

“You were fortunate in finding her, but wise to hold to her.” Kien pauses. “There is far more to your consort than meets the eye. I would be most surprised if there is not a significant Magi’i heritage.”

Lorn nods. “Nor I, although there is little overt evidence.” He wonders about the silver volume of verse. Is that evidence? Or serendipity?

“Second,” Kien continues, “I am going to request that you relinquish the claim of the firstborn to Vernt. I do not ask this for Vernt, but for Jerial.”

Lorn nods. “I understand. You have a document?”

Kien points to the parchment on the front of the table desk. “You do not question that?”

“Ser…I will either be successful as a Mirror Lancer officer-and will not need the claim-or I will not, in which case, neither I nor Ryalth would need it.”

The older man nods slowly. “You understand fully that you will have claim to but a quarter?”

“Yes, ser. But that will be many years from now.”

“I certainly hope so,” Kien says with an ironic twist to the words, “but one must make provisions.”

Lorn notes the words, and wonders. But he stands and takes the pen, reading and then signing the document.

“I will register that in the Quarter tomorrow. And I do appreciate your thoughtfulness and consideration.”

“Yes, ser.”

Kien leans back and purses his lips. “Finally, I have one observation and a few questions I would like to pose to you. The observation is that while Cyad is indeed a marvelous city, its people are like those anywhere else. I ask you to consider that. The questions…well…I would prefer that you not answer them, but think upon them during your firewagon trip to Biehl-beyond that, if you feel the need.”

Lorn finds his eyebrows lifting. Questions?

“There are but three questions. These are:

“ ‘What is it that allows Cyad to exist?’

“ ‘Could all the might of the Mirror Lancers here in Cyad, or all the might of the Iron Legions in Hamor, prevail against the will of those who live in such lands?’

“ ‘Are those who direct power or chaos the source of either?’”

Lorn concentrates on the questions, trying to hold them in mind.

Kien extends a single sheet of paper. “I have held this for a time, but you are old enough to ponder these.”

Lorn takes the sheet, and sees that it holds the questions his father has just asked.

“My son…these are not idle questions. Nor are they the overly philosophical musings of an aging magus. They are not mine, by the way, and you may, in time, discover the source. That source is not important, but pondering the questions is most important for a Mirror Lancer who aspires to command beyond a patrol company. You are leaving for what may be your most dangerous duty.”

Lorn frowns.

“Dangerous, because you will have time to think, because you will be flattered, and because you will discover, if you have not already, that the world is both far simpler than you have ever imagined, and far more complex.” His father laughs. “Call the last my question. ‘How can the world be more simple and yet more complex?’ I leave that to you, for now.”

The overcaptain nods slowly.

“I do not need to tell you to be most careful, and to listen more than you speak. You have learned that already. Remember that silence can be either a truth or a lie. Make certain your silence is taken as you mean it.” Kien stands. “I could prattle on into the night, and your consort would be upset with me. So I will not, but know that I wish you well, and that no matter who you may have believed, I always have.” He steps around the desk, awkwardly.

Lorn understands, and he hugs his father for the first time in years. “Thank you.”

Kien nods, not speaking, and his eyes are bright. Finally, he says, “Best you go to Ryalth, and enjoy what time you have left.”

As Lorn steps away from the study door, he can sense the cold chill of a screeing glass, and that chill is not that manifested by his father.

Keeping an pleasant expression, he hugs his mother a last time before he starts down the steps to the front door.

Again, Jerial is the one who stands by the door. “Be good to Ryalth tonight.”

“I will.”

“I know.” Her smile is softer, not the professional expression of a healer.

He gives her a hug. “Thank you for being so good to her.”

“She is good for you. Far better than any could imagine. She and I understand each other, and that is good.” Jerial squeezes Lorn tightly. “You be most careful.”

“I will.”

Lorn finally releases his older sister and steps around the privacy screen and down the steps to the Road of Perpetual Light.

How is the world simpler and yet more complex? His father’s last question rolls through his mind.

“Honored ser, you summoned me.” The tall man is slender, and his blond hair is both thick and fine, and shimmers as the light from the study window strikes it. His green eyes are pale, intent, as he straightens from his bow to the First Magus.

“Please be seated, Rustyl.” Chyenfel’s sun-gold eyes do not waver as he watches the handsome younger magus settle into the golden oak armchair across the table from him. “Being a discerning young magus,” the First Magus finally adds with a deliberate emphasis on each word, “you have noticed that all is not as it once was in Cyador. I would have your thoughts on such.”

“Honored ser, it would be presumptuous to assume that you have not already noted all I might say. So I will but touch on each matter. First, the chaos-towers are failing, yet all of Cyador depends on the energies of those towers. Few feel that the towers are failing, because they cannot imagine that. Instead, they feel as though the Magi’i are using the chaos-towers as a weapon to gain more influence over the Mirror Lancers and the Malachite Throne. Second, the outlanders have noticed that there are fewer fireships. We see more Hamorian traders and greater numbers of raids by the barbarians of the north. Third, the older merchanter houses and clans, those who have supported and understood Cyador, are being supplanted by newer houses, and, for the first time in memory, a trading house of note has been founded and operated by a lady trader.” Rustyl smiles. “I have little against her, for she embodies the spirit of what once all merchanters in Cyad embodied, but it is disturbing that one of the newer and stronger houses must be created by a woman, when there are so many young men among the merchanters.”

“Go on.” The voice of the First Magus remains calm. “What else?”

“The Emperor is aging, rapidly, yet hides such, and has taken no steps to name a successor, perhaps for fear that such will disturb all of Cyad. He relies ever more on his consort, and turns from the main advisors-you, the honorable Majer-Commander of Mirror Lancers, and even from his once-favored Merchanter Advisor.” Rustyl offers a far fainter smile. “Then there are those who have the skills to serve the Magi’i, but have placed themselves ahead of the calling of chaos.” Rustyl shrugs. “I doubt not that there are many other manifestations that all is not well, and those may be beyond my knowledge and experience, but these are among those that I see.”

“You see much of what others see and of which they will not speak.” Chyenfel steeples his fingers before him, purses his lips, and pauses for a long moment, which stretches into silence before he finally speaks again. “There are also other cities in Cyador where your observations would be valuable. And where your presence would be noted, most quietly.”

A pleasant smile remains on Rustyl’s face as he waits.