L. Modesitt - Magi'i of Cyador

Only the slightest tightening of the muscles around hiseyes betrays the interest of the Emperor. There is no visible change in the Empress, who continues to look vaguely amused, as her eyes rest not on either the First Magus or the Mirror Lancer Majer-Commander, but upon Merchanter Adviser Bluoyal.

“My dear friend, never have you been so effusive in your compliments.” Rynst smiles indulgently. “But I beg you explain in terms simple enough for me to convey to those lancers who may die without the chaos-cells charged by the Forest towers.”

Beside Rynst, Bluoyal looks at the white and glistening stones of the floor of the audience chamber.

Chyenfel turns toward Rynst once more. “Perhaps I have tailored my previous presentations to your great perception. I will attempt greater simplicity. The chaos towers are beginning to fail. Yet we cannot move the chaos towers without causing them to fail immediately. We now have barely more than the minimum number of chaos towers required to maintain the wards. At times already, the chaos-net on the northeast ward-wall is breached. If … if our effort is not undertaken soon, it cannot be undertaken at all. Then the Forest will breach the wall and surround the remaining towers so that they cannot be used. So … we can contain the Forest, and lose the excess power from the chaos towers, or we can refuse to contain the Forest and lose the excess power from the towers-and turn much or all of eastern Cyador back to the Forest.” Chyenfel bows to Rynst.

“You are most clear, O master magus.” Rynst pauses. “Yet you and your predecessors have assured us of the power of your magely towers. We have relied on such. Now … you say such powers will vanish within years-or sooner.”

“The Firstborn said that the chaos towers would not last forever, only that their power would be uncontested while they endured. Now … one by one, they are failing. We have but one tower more than the minimum we need to create the sleep-ward barrier, and thus restrain the Accursed Forest for generations to come. If we do not act now, we cannot act in the seasons and years ahead.”

“I could say, although I will not,” Rynst declares, “that if we do not have more firelances, the barbarians will take northern Cyador. Nor will I suggest that a barbarian can lop a poor lancer’s head from his body more effectively and more swiftly than can the fastest growing of trees.”

“You are most eloquent, my dear Majer-Commander.” Chyenfel laughs. “Most eloquent. Not that I would call you verbose. Nor vain. Nor simplistic. No, for you see far beyond what passes in this chamber. You are most wise, and you know that the barbarians remain raiders and bandits. You even know that, even were our northern borders undefended, the barbarians would move but a few dozen kays southward in your lifetime or that of your children or grandchildren. And you know, too, that the Accursed Forest can grow a large tree in two seasons. And that you lose half as many lancers to the Forest as to the barbarians-and that is with the ward-walls.” Chyenfel shrugs. “So I do not have to tell you that if the ward-walls fail because we maintain them to charge a few score firelances, you will be fighting both the barbarians and the Forest, and you will indeed lose. You are wise enough to see that and more. Would that others saw as much.” Chyenfel bows deeply to the Mirror Lancer Majer-Commander.

“I thank you for your most cogent explanation.” Rynst’s tone grows more indulgent. “I truly understand that all Magi’i have limitations that we can but dimly grasp. We of the Mirror Lancers also have limitations, for it is difficult to contest with blades alone and far fewer numbers, an endless flow of barbarians, whether they be raiders or not.”

Toziel laughs-long and loudly. “I applaud you both. For both of you have outlined the dilemma most eloquently. So eloquently that I must ponder the wisdom you have so masterfully conveyed.” He stands. “Until tomorrow.”

Ryenyel rises silently, then follows the Emperor from the chamber.

When Toziel and Ryenyel have returned to her salon, he seats himself on one side of the white divan, she the other. Toziel studies her face. “You are tired.”

“Much occurred.”

“Rynst has never been so intemperate. Nor Chyenfel,” muses Toziel. “Yet I could sense no anger. Both were acting.”

“That is because they were trying to get you to act, my dear. They know that what you decide and how you decide will determine the power to be in Cyador for generations.”

“Because we have no heirs.”

“Because I would not bear heirs and have them twisted by what must happen in the Palace of Light. You understood that from the first, my love.”

“It makes matters more difficult.”

“You have time yet,” Ryenyel points out.

“Not so much as others think, and those others would replace both Rynst and Chyenfel. That is clear, but beyond that … who might know? A dozen rationales, or more …. Yet Chyenfel cannot live too much longer. He is already almost consumed by chaos.”

Ryenyel nods for the Emperor to continue.

“Liataphi? Do you think he wants Kharl’elth to be First Magus to expose his venality and weaknesses?”

“That could be,” responds the mahogany-haired Empress-consort, “but what of the plot to place his daughter in control of the Yuryan Clan through her consort Veljan? She advises him on everything.”

“As you do me,” Toziel reminds her.

“Veljan is forthright and honest and devoted to his consort-mistress. So is an ox.”

Toziel laughs gently. “I trust I am not an ox.”

“Far from that, my dear.” Ryenyel frowns slightly, showing the tiredness on her lightly freckled face. “There is still the missing ordered-death sabre. I fear we have not seen the last of that plotter.”

Toziel raises his eyebrows.

“Ten golds … a stolen trade plaque … a dead heir … and a cupridium-plated sabre filled with iron order-death … and silence.” Ryenyel smiles. “Each is by itself a trifle. Less than a trifle. Yet your Merchanter Advisor Bluoyal was worriedenough about that to ask of Luss and Kharl. Did Shevelt know something? And why is Bluoyal so concerned about a Brystan sabre?”

“It makes one wonder.” Toziel’s voice is nearexpressionless.

“It makes me wonder,” she replies. “Shevelt’s death is tied to that weapon, and Liataphi would not have dared such. Nor could he have used such a weapon. Someone wants the calmer Veljan to succeed his father, and Bluoyal is most concerned about that.” She smiles. “Then there is the silence. Silence is the surest of assurances that an able plotter still lives. All crow when such dies, and they crow sooner and louder when an inept one dies.”

“What else troubles you?”

“Bluoyal was telling me-”

“You meet with my advisors without me?” Toziel’s eyes twinkle.

“As necessary.” She arches her eyebrows. “He was telling me about a clanless trading house that is wealthier and more influential than many of the smaller clan houses.”

Toziel waits.

“It is called Ryalor House. He but mentioned it in passing, and Bluoyal never mentions anything without a reason.”

“That tie is stretching, my dear,” says Toziel, grinning. “It is run by the mistress of a lancer captain who could have been a magus, and the captain is the son of a magus who is a senior lector-” He breaks off and looks at her.

They both laugh, almost joyously.

After a time, Toziel shakes his head. “So why does Bluoyal wish this known? He knows we talk.”

“Kien’elth’s daughter is consort to Kharl’s son … and Bluoyal does not trust Kharl.”

Toziel raises his hands helplessly. “So we have an unknown plotter advancing both Liataphi and Kharl. The pair so dislike each other that none will have them in the same chamber save on the most formal of occasions.”