L. Modesitt - Magi'i of Cyador

“Good to know.” Akytol nods. “Where are you going, ser?”

“A port detachment in Biehl. A partial tour, I think, although no one has said.”

“You’re lucky, ser. Like to get one of those myself, one day.”

“Perhaps you will.” Lorn stands. “I need to take care of a few things. You can have the rest of the bottle. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Are you sure … I would not wish to impose.” Akytol stands.

“Enjoy it.” Lorn laughs gently, gesturing for the taller officer to sit down.

“Thank you, ser.” Akytol remains standing until Lorn departs.

As he returns to his room, Lorn is glad that he has already made arrangements for shipping all the remaining goods in the small dwelling on the east road from Jakaafra back to Cyad and to Ryalor House-as well as paying Dustyn an extra pair of silvers for two seasons’ use of the house.

He also hopes that the lancers of Second Company will not suffer too much before either the Magi’i complete their mysterious project to contain the Accursed Forest or before the Forest kills Akytol. He fears the latter is more likely. Although he does not dislike the big officer whose traditional approach may prove all too convenient for Sub-Majer Hybyl, there is little he can say or do that will change Akytol.

As he lifts the silver volume once more, Lorn smiles, recalling pears and praise. He hopes his brief season in Cyad will be one he can recall and praise. His smile broadens as he thinks of Ryalth and begins to pack the last of the few items he will carry with him when he leaves with the engineer’s firewagon on the morrow.

Will he see the Accursed Forest again? Or will whatever project the Magi’i have in mind render it a memory, its realitychanged before he returns-if he returns.

His lips curl into a smile. He will see Ryalth, again, and for a time he had even feared that might not occur.

As Ilryk has said, “One can but count on the wine one drinks today.” And it looks as though he and Ryalth will have at least one other day. Beyond that, neither knows.

IN THE FRONT compartment of the firewagon, only Lorn is awake. The Mirror Lancer Majer to his right sleeps, as does the corpulent factor seated across from them. Lorn looks out into the darkness, a clouded darkness deep and lit-only to him-by the hints of chaos escaping from the cells of the six-wheeled vehicle as it rumbles westward across the smooth stones of the Great Eastern Highway toward Cyad-and Ryalth.

Lorn has killed a senior officer. Maran is dead, and Maran should be dead, for Maran would have let lancers die, unwisely and unnecessarily, rather than see Lorn survive. Lorn frowns. Scores of barbarians are dead because of Lorn, and some lancers in Isahl live because Lorn has been effective at killing. Is Cyad worth all the deaths it causes to come to pass-one way or another? Or are Lorn’s dreams worth those deaths?

Life without dreams is death, but are Lorn’s hopes to lead a better Cyad worth more than Maran’s dreams of holding together an old Cyad, or worth more than the barbarians’ dreams of bringing it down? Does the best dream win? Or the most powerful dreamer? Or are all dreams merely illusions that crumple in the end upon the Steps to Paradise with the deaths of their dreamers?

And what of Ryalth? Although she knows his dreams, and has helped him in surviving, and in feeling that what he dreams is worthy … with each action he takes, the possible repercussions are greater, and so are the threats to her.

The merchanter across the compartment snores, shifts his weight, and lapses back into heavy breathing.

As the firewagon carries him ever closer to Cyad, Lorn continues to look into the future and the darkness, a darkness lightened by the chaos only he can see-and lightened but dimly for all that.

LORN WALKS ACROSS the Plaza to the wide steps leading up to the topmost level. For the first time, he wears his lancer uniform in the Plaza, and more than a handful of merchanters in blue glance in his direction. He cannot help smiling, half in apprehension, half in anticipation as he nears the steps.

“ … overcaptain … don’t know him …”

… don’t see many here …”

“Someone’s heir … guess …”

With his smile still broad, he climbs the wide steps in the middle of the two wings of the structure, wondering whether to turn right or left at the top, since he only knows that Ryalor House now holds the entire upper level. He turns left, and discovers that all the doors are closed. Retracing his steps to the stairs and past them, he comes to a set of open double doors.

After noting the painted emblem above the open double doors-the intertwined R and L within the inverted triangle-Lorn nods and steps through the doors. Amid the tables and the handful of merchanters in blue, he does not see Ryalth immediately, although there is a closed door that looks to lead to a private study.

“Ser?” asks a thin-faced junior enumerator, standing from a table on which are piled stacks of wrinkled papers. He steps forward as if to question Lorn’s very presence. “Might I help you in some way?”

A thin-faced, slender and gray-eyed senior enumerator rises from a table desk in the corner and slips forwardquickly. “Sygul … this is Overcaptain Lorn- the Overcaptain Lorn,” Eileyt says quickly.

“Oh, ser … I’m so sorry.” Sygul bows deeply. “I’m so sorry. It’s … well … no one ever described you ….”

Lorn laughs gently. “I’m not five cubits tall with shoulders that touch both sides of the door? I’m afraid not.” He looks at Eileyt. “Is she here?”

“She is, and I think that all of us will feel better if we escort you there before she sees you being detained here.” Eileyt turns toward the closed door at the left side of the trading tables.

“ … didn’t know …”

“ … don’t let her know that …. You think she be tough on an improper invoice …”

Lorn smiles sympathetically as he follows the senior enumerator.

Eileyt knocks on the closed door. “Lady … there is a most important personage here to see you. Most important.” He grins.

“Show him in, Eileyt.”

Lorn opens the door and steps inside.

Ryalth and an older balding trader in the orange of Hamor are seated on opposite sides of a desk table. The study is almost stark, with but the desk table and a handful of chairs, several chests lined up against the side wall. There are two high rear windows, both barred.

The gray and balding trader turns, and Lorn can see the annoyance in his eyes. Ryalth’s eyes widen and she stands.

Lorn smiles. “I can wait, but Eileyt suggested I should make my presence known.”

Ryalth gestures to the sitting trader. “This is Duhabrah. He is the representative of his house in Cyad.”

Lorn bows. “I apologize for the interruption, and I am most pleased to meet you.”

“The overcaptain and his house were the first backers of Ryalor.” Ryalth smiles. “He is the one who made the trade of the amber gold spirits possible … and a number of other unusual goods. Some of the goods we were talking about.”

The trader surveys Lorn more closely. “You are not a trader born, I would say.”

“No. My family is elthage.” At the trader’s blank look, Lorn adds, “Of the Magi’i.”

“A Lancer officer of Magi’i blood who is involved in trade!” Duhabrah laughs, a full rumbling laugh. “Lady trader … I see more from this than from all else, and I am pleased I am here.”

Lorn bows. “I will leave you two to your trading. Eileyt will show me around,” he adds. “I have not seen all that is here.”

Ryalth returns his bow with a smile.