L. Modesitt - Magi'i of Cyador

With the sun higher in the clear blue-green sky, the wind has softened and warmed, and more folk fill the walkways that flank the road. A wagon drawn by a single horse passes. Lorn notes the legend painted in yellow upon the green wagon sideboard: Tarfak House, Spices.

Perhaps Ryalor House should investigate spices. He smiles lopsidedly and continues walking, his steps quick and precise. As he passes the Empty Quarter coffee house, he can see that it appears more empty than three years earlier, and that the awning that once sheltered outside tables has been removed. So have the tables. Is there that little coffee left that it is too expensive for junior merchanters?

At the Third Harbor Way, he steps behind an empty wagon drawn by a pair of mules and crosses to the white stone walkway on the far side, where he turns harborward and walks down the gentle incline to the lower merchanters’ plaza. Three carts remain under their traditional green and white striped awnings as Lorn strides around them to the northwest corner of the plaza, his destination the squatlooking white building of the Clanless Traders, where Ryalth has continued to maintain the small office of Ryalor House.

Once inside the squared open archway and off the relatively uncrowded plaza, Lorn finds himself at the edge of a swirl of figures in blue, as well as a few in red, white, or green. Seemingly without much notice, Lorn eases through and around the small groups of traders and hagglers and hangers-on and makes his way to the stairs at the rear of the high-arched hall. He glances up at the three stories of balconies and hopes that Ryalth has not moved her trading office too far.

She has not moved it at all-it remains the same twodoored area at the back of the third level, well into the northeast corner. Sitting at the small corner desk, she studies a ledger, her head down, and as he slips toward her Lorn can see that she has cut her hair far shorter than he recalls.

“Do you have a need of a senior enumerator, Lady Merchanter?” Lorn smiles, but he finds his heart is beating faster than it should.

“I have …” Ryalth looks up, and her mouth drops open. “You came,” she whispers. “You really did.”

Lorn can sense that no one is that near or listening. “I arrived last night … my parents expected me to spend some time there … so I came as soon as I could.” He forces himself to cut off the explanation of why he did not want them suspicious of his immediate departure. “As soon as I could.”

Ryalth quietly closes the ledger. “You still are trying to protect me, aren’t you?”

“You seem to be able to take care of yourself.” He smiles. “And you’ve protected me in so many ways. I never would have thought about scrolls going through Fyrad, or been able to set that up.”

“That was easy.” She pauses. “It was not difficult.”

“Your enumerator?”

“Eileyt is still at the harbor, checking the accounts of the latest venture with the Jekseng clan. Dyes from Brysta-their green is better than anything on this side of the Eastern Ocean.”

“Does Ryalor House have ventures with everyone?” Lorn shakes his head.

“It’s better that way. Each thinks we’re too small to stand alone, and that way I can spread the risks.” Ryalth stands.

Lorn wishes to hold her, but his hand merely brushes hers. They both stiffen.

“I think I’d better close up,” she smiles wryly. “I’m not going to finish reviewing these.” She lifts the ledger, then slips it into the leather case she has pulled from beneath the desk.

Lorn watches as Ryalth extracts a wallet from the desk, then slips a lock bar in place and padlocks the bar. “It won’t stop a Clan thief, but to break it will make enough noise that everyone will know, and they frown on that.” She lays the thin and long leather wallet-almost a narrow pouch-on the desk top and fingers the golds inside into a position toallow her to fold it in half. She slips the folded wallet into the slots in the back of the heavy and overlarge blue leather belt she wears.

After Ryalth closes and locks the doors, the two walk briskly down the steps and out through the covered hall. A few heads turn at Ryalth’s red hair, see the enumerator’s garb, and turn back.

“Another enumerator … has three …”

“ … trades everything … but not a lot … doesn’t lose much …”

“You should be so good, Tymyk.”

“Everyone knows you,” Lorn observes.

“I’ve made it a point,” she says. “I’ve helped those I could, and cheated no one.”

“The good and fair lady trader.”

“Not always good.”

The bleakness in her voice surprises Lorn, and he says nothing as they cross the open plaza outside the hall.

“You were right, when we first dealt with cotton and oil.” She turns her head, and the deep blue eyes fix his amber ones. “I learned that again, the hard way. I find I have to remember that, but I don’t like it.”

Lorn nods, though her words send a cold knife down his spine.

They walk silently eastward along the Road of Benevolent Commerce, past a row of arymids with furled gray winter leaves, their trunks pale gray in the afternoon light.

“How long will you be here?” she asks quietly.

“Almost five eightdays. I get six, but that has to include travel from Isahl and then to Geliendra. That’s my next post.”

“And you sought me out within a day? Are there not scores of healers and women from high lancer families vying for your attention?”

“I wasn’t interested.” Lorn cannot quite keep his tone disinterested. “I would have sought you last night, but my family was watching. Someone has also been following me with a screeing glass, not always my father. I didn’t come fromthe house, directly. I stopped to see Myryan and then changed in her garden arbor after she left for the infirmary.”

“I would have liked to have seen that.” Ryalth’s lips quirk.

“I’m sure you would.” Lorn laughs gently.

They pass the Fourth Harbor Way-the east one, although the ways are not distinguished on the placards by whether they are east or west of the harbor center.

“How is Myryan?” Ryalth asks after a time.

“I don’t know. She seems healthy, but she’s … more resigned than happy. The only time she seemed joyful was when she talked of the house and of her garden.”

“Isn’t that good?”

“I’m glad she has the house,” Lorn says. “I can’t imagine her living with Ciesrt’s parents. He’s the second highest of the Magi’i. Kharl, Ciesrt’s father, I mean.”

“That must be quite an honor for Myryan to be his consort.” Ryalth’s voice is even, hiding emotions.

“She didn’t want it, and I tried to talk father out of it before I left. He waited to consort her, but he didn’t change his mind.” Lorn takes a deep breath. “I think Myryan would have been better without the honor.”

“You’d do almost anything for those you love.”

“Almost,” Lorn temporizes, again wondering if he should have killed Kharl before the Lector knew Lorn was a threat.

“More than that, I think.” Ryalth’s voice is calm, slightly distant. “Your father knows that.” After a barely imperceptible pause, she adds, “Don’t you think?”

“Father? I think he doesn’t know quite what to think. I’m not the Magi’i son he wanted, and I’m not exactly the lancer officer he suggested I could be.”

“You survived and made captain,” she points out.

“I’m … effective,” Lorn says. “Not glorious.” His eyes flick to the next Way, where a tinker’s cart is tied before a smaller house, and where the maroon garbed tradesman pedals a foot-grinder and sharpens knives, deftly handling one, then another.