Scion of Cyador

CV

After taking a last sip of the Alafraan, Lorn looks across the dining table at Ryalth, then at Jerial, who sits to Ryalth’s right. Outside the open windows, the sky is darkening into purple, and a cooler breeze blows off the harbor from the south, strong enough to stir the air in the house, despite the walls that surround house and garden.

“You’ve been wanting to say something all through dinner,” Jerial says. “I recognize that pose.”

“It’s serious,” Ryalth adds. “You didn’t want to spoil dinner, but that’s why you asked Jerial.”

“You both know me too well,” Lorn admits with a rueful laugh. “I have no secrets from either of you.”

“What is it, dear brother?” Jerial arches her dark eyebrows.

“Something is about to happen. Not immediately, but I think someone, or more than one person, has decided that my notoriety has faded enough.” Lorn glances across the table from Jerial to Ryalth. “Can you have someone inquire-very discreetly-about Commander Lhary?” he asks. “And a commander named Sypcal. I’ve been given hints that Lhary has contacts of the kind one must treat with great care. Sypcal seems to be what he is, but I’d like to know.”

Ryalth and Jerial exchange glances.

“I can ask,” Ryalth says.

“So can I,” Jerial says. “It will take an eightday or so if you want none to know.”

“The fewer know, the better. There is time…now.” Lorn hopes there is time. “Also…I hate to say this…but I’d feel happier if we had some guards.”

Ryalth laughs. “I could see your concerns rising over the past eightday, and Eileyt has reported more curiosity, especially from certain Austran traders. I’ve already taken certain steps.”

“Austran traders?” Lorn frowns. “I thought the problem was from the Nordlans.”

“It depends on which problem. Tasjan is associated with the Austrans.”

“He’s the Dyjani Clan head,” Lorn says. “What does he have to do with the Mirror Lancers?”

“Nothing that one can see, save that he believes that the Mirror Lancers and the Magi’i bleed the merchanters. Eileyt told me yesterday that Tasjan has been hiring and training guards, supposedly for his ships, but he has four times the number of armsmen he needs for the ships, and yet he looks for more.”

“Does he believe that, if there is too much unrest in Cyad, the merchanters will demand that a merchanter succeed Toziel in years to come?” asks Lorn.

“A merchanter on the Malachite Throne?” Jerial’s mouth opens for a moment.

Lorn shrugs. “My suspicions are always raised by those who raise arms where there are none. Cyad is held not by the lancers, but by fear of the Magi’i and their firebolts and powers. If the chaos-towers fail, and in years to come, when the Emperor dies and there are no lancers in the city…?”

Ryalth nods. “Some have suggested that.”

“That would destroy Cyador,” Jerial protests. “The Emperor-”

“-is far older than he looks,” Lorn says. “You might discuss it with Aleyar sometime. That is what she said, and I felt she was telling the truth.”

The dark-haired healer shivers. “No wonder you worry. This will all happen within a few years, will it not?”

“It may,” Lorn says. “That is why I feel confounded. If I act too quickly, I will fail. Too late, and the same will happen.”

“We cannot decide that tonight,” Ryalth says firmly. “And with all of that to be considered, I have done a few things to make matters safer without being so obvious.”

Lorn raises his eyebrows.

“We’re getting several geese. A small flock, almost.”

“Geese?”

“They are very good at warning of intruders, and they do multiply, so that we can occasionally have roast goose. They’re also not as obvious as guards, and they can’t be bribed.”

“I’ve also noticed that there are thornbushes under all the lower-floor windows,” Jerial says.

“Those were planted when I purchased the dwelling.”

“Like the gate, and the bars on the doors to the bedchamber?” Lorn asks.

“I had this feeling…”

Lorn shakes his head. Again, he is reminded that there is more in Ryalth’s background than any outsider might ever guess.

“We’ll also be getting a second set of iron locks on the doors. Just the kind that you lock from the inside, not with keys. I have told the ironworker that while they may not be necessary today, tomorrow you could be sent back to the Grass Hills if they need a field commander.” Ryalth looks at her consort. “I have made inquiries, and we will be taking on as houseman a lancer who recently received his stipend. He’s a cousin of Kysia, and most trustworthy. He also likes to garden. Everyone knows this. His children are grown, and his consort is a seamstress. They will have the lower rear quarters.”

“You anticipate me well, my dear.” Lorn shakes his head.

“Cyad is not like Inividra, where the enemy is known,” the redhead replies. “Everything must be done in the open and yet without people suspecting. Someone I know and hold dear showed me this years ago.”

“And forgot…I’ve been in the field too long,” Lorn says with a snort.

“You can no longer forget,” Jerial says. “Matters are indeed getting serious. I had not understood fully. Something else bears on this. I received a short scroll at the infirmary. It was from Rustyl, begging for permission to call upon me.”

“You are the highest of the healers left without consort.” Lorn winces, then frowns. “But he has as much as asked for Ciesrt’s younger sister Ceyla as consort. You were there…”

“What he wants, I do not know, but I did grant him permission to call. I will let you know what I discover. Or if I discover nothing-that is most likely.”

Ryalth shakes her head. “I could not live that way.”

Both Lorn and Jerial smile and look at her.

The lady trader flushes. “That was a foolish statement. We are living that way, are we not?”

Lorn nods, sadly.