Magi'i of Cyador

LXXI

THE WARM MISTING rain of spring enfolds the Palace of Light, and within the private study of the Emperor and his consort, Toziel stands by the wide window overlooking the harbor he can barely see through that mist.

He turns, but does not step onto the Analerian wool carpet of subdued green and gold geometric designs that has graced the study from the time of the Emperor Alyiakal. “I am troubled. I should not be troubled by this trifle, and yet I am.You have noted that my sleep has not been as it should be.”

“That I do know.” The Empress Ryenyel smiles knowingly, and affectionately. “What trifle?” she asks after a moment, looking up from the black oak desk at which she is seated, the sole item of furniture within the entire Palace of Light made of that dark oak.

“The murder of a trader.” A thin and humorless smile crosses the Emperor’ mouth.

“That is a trifle. Yet … if it bothers you, it may be the first shoot of a noxious vine. Tell me of it.” She smiles warmly. “That is what you wish, is it not?”

“I have no secrets from you, my dear.”

“Nor should you, not if I am to assist you.”

“You … you have always been of great assistance, and without it, as both we know ….” He shrugs and half-turns to study the mist.

“Enough of your flattery, my dear, welcome as it always is.”

Toziel clears his throat. “Bluoyal’mer brought the matter to my attention several eightdays previous, and he mentioned it but once. Yet I have not dismissed it. The first heir of the Yuryan Clan of merchanters was murdered nearly a season ago. He was killed by a sabre tinged with chaos, a lancer’s sabre, say the Magi’i. The day after the murder someone reclaimed an iron Brystan sabre that had been plated with cupridium. This merchanter used a stolen Dyljani trade plaque as authority and paid ten golds for the work. The cupridium master and his journeyman have been truthread by several Magi’i, and the truthreading confirms their tale. Both master and journeyman swear that the blade was in their care and not ready when the murder was committed. The journeyman also swears that the enumerator who picked up the blade was unfamiliar with weapons.” Toziel turns back from the window and watches his consort.

“Who is the new heir?” asks Ryenyel.

“Veljan-a man far more suitable, according to all. Yet …”

“Yet, what?”

“His consort is the daughter of Liataphi, the Third Magus of the Magi’i. Liataphi has no sons and heirs. And this Veljan is honest and straightforward. Too honest and straightforward, from all I discover.”

“That is far too obvious, dear one,” observes Ryenyel. “Liataphi is too intelligent and too devious to have done such. He would see that such a ploy would illuminate him as if with a score of lamps.”

“Then … who wishes to plant such an appearance? And why?”

“Who else would benefit, if far less obviously?” Ryenyel slips the cupridium-tipped pen into the holder on the left side of the desk.

“Rynst’alt, clearly.”

Ryenyel shakes her head.

“Oh … Luss’alt, you think?”

“Luss’alt would benefit, but he could not have created such a scheme. I would guess that the one with the most to gain would be Kharl’elth.”

Toziel nods. “When you put it that way …”

“What thinks your Hand?”

“He says but little, saving that it would appear to be a matter of trade and personal affairs, and trade rivalries best be solved by traders, and that using the Hand to meddle in trade or the personal lives of traders can lead but to disaster.”

“Has he been right in what he advises?”

“More often than not.”

“So it is unlikely to be a plot hatched here, though many here may seek to benefit by such.” Ryenyel smiles but faintly. “Now, my dearest … that is the fashion in which it makes the most of logic, but not all plotters are of such logic. You must …”

“I know … set small traps to see who understands, and would use such, or who refuses to understand.” Toziel’s laugh is mirthless.

“Then, too,” Ryenyel continues, “there is the matter of the sabre. Does anyone know who could wield such? None of the Magi’i would dare, for the deadly danger it would poseto them. None of the lancers would benefit from the attributes of such a weapon. And the merchanters could neither wield it nor comprehend its power.”

“So there are two plots?” Toziel frowns. “And the second plotter a descendent of Alyiakal?”

“Only in spirit,” Ryenyel says quietly. “You must tread carefully, for I would wager that neither knows of the other, nor should they.”

After a moment of silence, they both nod.

Outside the mist lightens as the sun begins to struggle through the spring rain, and the greenery of the City of Light begins to reclaim the first city of Cyador from the gray-green of winter.