Scion of Cyador

X

“Honored ser, you summoned me.” The tall man is slender, and his blond hair is both thick and fine, and shimmers as the light from the study window strikes it. His green eyes are pale, intent, as he straightens from his bow to the First Magus.

“Please be seated, Rustyl.” Chyenfel’s sun-gold eyes do not waver as he watches the handsome younger magus settle into the golden oak armchair across the table from him. “Being a discerning young magus,” the First Magus finally adds with a deliberate emphasis on each word, “you have noticed that all is not as it once was in Cyador. I would have your thoughts on such.”

“Honored ser, it would be presumptuous to assume that you have not already noted all I might say. So I will but touch on each matter. First, the chaos-towers are failing, yet all of Cyador depends on the energies of those towers. Few feel that the towers are failing, because they cannot imagine that. Instead, they feel as though the Magi’i are using the chaos-towers as a weapon to gain more influence over the Mirror Lancers and the Malachite Throne. Second, the outlanders have noticed that there are fewer fireships. We see more Hamorian traders and greater numbers of raids by the barbarians of the north. Third, the older merchanter houses and clans, those who have supported and understood Cyador, are being supplanted by newer houses, and, for the first time in memory, a trading house of note has been founded and operated by a lady trader.” Rustyl smiles. “I have little against her, for she embodies the spirit of what once all merchanters in Cyad embodied, but it is disturbing that one of the newer and stronger houses must be created by a woman, when there are so many young men among the merchanters.”

“Go on.” The voice of the First Magus remains calm. “What else?”

“The Emperor is aging, rapidly, yet hides such, and has taken no steps to name a successor, perhaps for fear that such will disturb all of Cyad. He relies ever more on his consort, and turns from the main advisors-you, the honorable Majer-Commander of Mirror Lancers, and even from his once-favored Merchanter Advisor.” Rustyl offers a far fainter smile. “Then there are those who have the skills to serve the Magi’i, but have placed themselves ahead of the calling of chaos.” Rustyl shrugs. “I doubt not that there are many other manifestations that all is not well, and those may be beyond my knowledge and experience, but these are among those that I see.”

“You see much of what others see and of which they will not speak.” Chyenfel steeples his fingers before him, purses his lips, and pauses for a long moment, which stretches into silence before he finally speaks again. “There are also other cities in Cyador where your observations would be valuable. And where your presence would be noted, most quietly.”

A pleasant smile remains on Rustyl’s face as he waits.

“On threeday,” Chyenfel says, “you will go to Fyrad to work with the Mirror Engineers.”

Rustyl nods, if slightly. “I stand ready to carry out your wishes.”

“You will be most helpful and most deferential, as you have been here. You will attempt to grant others any credit for what you accomplish. When you cannot do such, you will share such credit. If aught goes wrong, you will take the blame and find yet another solution, for which someone else will share the credit.”

“Yes, ser.”

“You will not proceed to the Accursed Forest, and you will disavow any knowledge of the sleep wards. You may note politely that such is the project and the work of the First Magus. Do you understand why?”

“Would that be because the chaos-towers surrounding the Forest will no longer be able to charge the firelances of the lancers and the entire project will be regarded less than favorably?”

“It would appear so.” Chyenfel nods. “After several seasons, when it appears appropriate, you will be dispatched to Summerdock, where you will employ your skills and powers to assist the Mirror Engineers in improving the port facilities there. Throughout Cyador, over the few coming years, all must know of you, but only in passing, only as one who is experienced and trustworthy, as one who is young enough not to be totally bound to the old ways, but one who can use and help others with those ways in meeting the needs of the present.”

Rustyl bows his head. “I understand and appreciate your foresight and wisdom.”

Chyenfel laughs. “May you always do so, but old as I am, I do not see that you will. Remember that, should you reach my exalted age. The young always demur to power, even as they scheme to obtain it and consider how they could employ it in far better or more effective ways than their elders.” A second laugh follows. “If we are successful, both in your work and your consorting, your turn will come, Rustyl. But mine is not over yet.” The First Magus gestures. “You may go.”

As the blond magus closes the study door, the smile fades from Chyenfel’s lips.