Magi'i of Cyador

LV

IN THE BLUES of a senior enumerator, Lorn sits at the side table in the Silver Chalice, nursing a goblet of bitter red table wine and watching through the archway the bulging figure who has to be Shevelt-watching and listening.

The enumerators’ section of the Silver Chalice is all but empty, except for a pair in the corner, a very junior blond enumerator far younger than Lorn with a dark-haired girl who giggles annoyingly and all too often.

“ … Isyt … don’t say things like that ….”

“ … you are pretty … I wouldn’t say so otherwise ….”

“ … you tell all the girls that …”

“ … none of them are like you.”

Lorn glances toward the center section of the building, through the archway, to where Shevelt stands.

“Last one! Have to go and be nice to my dear brother!” bellows the big merchanter. “Last one!”

Lorn shakes his head, and rises, leaving three coppers on the table for the serving girl. He can only hope that Shevelt will not be all that long in leaving the Silver Chalice.

Without looking behind him, Lorn-a lancer attired as an enumerator-nods politely as he passes the bravo in the entry foyer. The bravo does not even return the gesture, but looks past Lorn toward the louder merchanters in the central room.

“It’s always a last one, Shevelt? Is it really?”

“You’d be hurrying if your brother’s consort had red hair ….”

A gust of laughter fills the room.

Lorn steps into the darkness outside the Silver Chalice, turning eastward, when a cold chill settles over him. He almost halts, so strong is the sense of being observed in a chaos-glass. But, instead of halting immediately, or stopping by the straggly tree barely twice his height, which he had picked out earlier for its concealing shadows, he continues walking, back in the direction of Ryalth’s quarters.

“Chaos-light,” he murmurs under his breath.

After finally managing to be at the Silver Chalice when Shevelt is, and when the man plans to leave and not drink all night, Lorn must pass up the opportunity-all because some magus is curious. And why? Lorn has done nothing-yet-besides his duty as a lancer, and besides showing an interest in an attractive merchanter lady.

He offers a wry smile to the night and keeps walking.

While his lady trader will be pleased to see him earlier than it has been, finding Shevelt has taken more time than Lorn would like. Yet he cannot undertake what he plans with an unknown magus watching him through a chaos-glass. If Jerial is right, all the senior Magi’i know he travels in merchanter blues … but that is all they should know.

He nears Second Harbor Way West, trying not to limp or to disclose the sabre tucked into his boot-top.

At least … at least Ryalth will be pleased to see him. Lornjust hopes the next time he finds Shevelt that the same magus does not choose that time to observe him.

The chill does not lift until Lorn is well past Fourth Harbor Way East.