Scion of Cyador

CXXXII

In the early-morning light, Lorn stands in the door to the bedchamber, his eyes going to his consort and son. “Pheryk and I are walking with you to Ryalor House. You were right about last night, but if Tasjan is behind this, he may not be quite so indirect the next time. And you aren’t exactly in the best position to defend yourself or run if you’re holding Kerial. I’ll either come by and walk back with you, or you hire a pair of guards to accompany you and Pheryk.”

Ryalth nods as she wraps a small woolen cloak around Kerial, who is trying to crawl away from his mother so that he can plunge off the bed. Ryalth scoops him up. “No.” She turns to Lorn. “I would have suggested that, had you not. I think this morning might be safe, but from this afternoon on, it will not be.” She frowns. “Yet…if you escort me, and all know that…”

“Pheryk was out early this morning, and heard the news about the dead bravos,” Lorn says. “You’ve heard word that certain merchanter rivals have made threats. If merchanters are beginning to kill merchanters, a little care is warranted.” Lorn smiles. “After all, it is not as though you have a halfscore of guards-merely your consort and a pensioned old lancer.”

“The two of you are worth a halfscore,” Ryalth snorts.

“Perhaps a quarter-score,” Lorn concedes, “but none need to know that. An escort of two for a lady trader and her heir are scarcely excessive.”

“True.” Ryalth nods.

“There is one other thing, once you reach Ryalor House,” Lorn says.

“Besides finding out everything that Tasjan is doing, and if he is hiring more guards, or building ships with cannon?” asks Ryalth.

Lorn shrugs sheepishly. “You’re ahead of me.”

“I will know more by this evening-and even more by tomorrow evening.” Ryalth hoists Kerial to her shoulder. “We need to go. If we do not, you will be late, and that will raise questions. And one of the senior Austran traders will be coming by. He has suggested by his request to meet me, that all is less than desirable with his current merchanting house in Cyad.”

“Tasjan’s, I imagine,” Lorn says lightly.

“Tasjan’s or one of the smaller houses like Ryalor.” She starts for the bedchamber door, and Lorn follows.

Pheryk is waiting downstairs, and he nods to Ryalth. “A sunny morn, but chill, Lady. Saw but few when I was dumping refuse this morning.”

“The others?” asks Lorn.

Pheryk shrugs. “I saw nothing. Perhaps none will.”

The three and Kerial make their way through the dwelling, across the veranda, now without bloodstains, Lorn notes, and along the dew-slicked marble walk past the fountain that has been turned off for the winter.

Lorn lets his senses range beyond the gate, but the narrow way is empty, and he unlocks the iron gate. Pheryk steps out first, then Ryalth, and Lorn follows and locks the gate.

The walk to the Traders’ Plaza and up to Ryalor House is uneventful. Ryalth exchanges greetings with a handful of others as she crosses the Plaza to the stairs.

Eileyt is waiting inside the door of Ryalor House, holding several sheets of parchment. “Once you are ready…Lady…”

Lorn smiles and bows to Ryalth. “Until this evening. Should I come by here?”

“I would guess you should. It will be a long day.” Ryalth returns his smile warmly.

Lorn and Pheryk turn and walk down the steps.

Halfway down, Lorn says in a low voice, “I think we should have goose tonight.”

“Ah…a good idea, ser, and I will tell Kysia and Ghrety. My consort has a wonderful way of fixing it…”

Lorn laughs. “That would be fine. Perhaps you should also inquire about some more geese or goslings.”

“I had thought to do so, ser.” Pheryk inclines his head.

At the edge of the Traders’ Plaza, the two men part. While Lorn is more cautious than usual, he notes nothing strange on the rest of the walk to Mirror Lancer Court.

He has no more than entered his study when Senior Squad Leader Tygyl is knocking at his door.

“Ser?”

“Yes, Tygyl?”

“The Majer-Commander would like to see you for a moment.”

“I’ll be right there.” Lorn turns and follows Tygyl up the last flight of stairs to the fifth floor and waits for the senior squad leader to announce him, then steps into the long study as Tygyl motions for him to enter.

Lorn closes the door and steps forward, seating himself at Rynst’s behest.

The gray-haired Majer-Commander studies Lorn. Finally, he speaks. “I will be announcing your appointment as maneuvers coordinator for the two squads of Mirror Lancers that will be arriving in the next few days. You will be their commander, and the company officers will be told such, but there is little need to state directly that we are assigning two fully armed companies under the command of a field commander. Especially one with a record such as yours.”

Lorn nods.

“You do not seem surprised, Majer. Why not?”

“Because, ser, as you know, a number of officers have already approached me indirectly. If they know, many in power know. They will have contacted you, or others who contacted you, and none will be pleased, except the Emperor. The Emperor will care little for titles, and if you can employ a name to placate others, then it is for the best.”

“You don’t sound as though you think much of the idea.” Rynst’s eyes are cold as he studies Lorn.

“I doubt it will change anything, ser. Those with something to gain will not be deceived. Those who do not understand how dangerous the times are will not understand, whatever title is used, and few of the senior commanders will be happy with my being in charge, for whatever reason you give.”

“You are most cynical, Majer.” Rynst offers a dry laugh. “You have few illusions about your fellow officers, perhaps too few illusions for a majer.”

“Perhaps.”

“What if I made you a commander?”

“They would be even more angry, and I would advise against that, ser.”

“So would I, and I am glad you see that.” Rynst shakes his head. “In truth, Majer, all you have said, I understand, yet there is a reason why I will do what I told you. Can you suggest why I might?”

“It implies a weakness in your position, which will allow others the luxury of thinking they have time to plot, when you but wish to ensure that the Mirror Lancer companies arrive and are firmly in my command.” Lorn does not say more, although there is much he could say.

“You could say more, Majer.”

“Anything beyond what I have said would be a wager based upon a guess, ser.” Again, Lorn forces himself not to volunteer more.

“I wished you to know.” Rynst nods. “You may go.”

After Lorn has risen, bowed, and turned, and has taken several steps toward the door, Rynst says, “Majer…”

Lorn turns.

“I would not travel Cyad without your sabre and great care.”

“Yes, ser.”

As he heads back down to his study, Lorn questions how much Rynst knows and how much of what the Majer-Commander has implied is based on his understanding of human nature.

“Does it matter?” Lorn murmurs to himself as he stands and looks out the ancient windows of his study.

The only things that are clear are that the times are about to change, and are dangerous, and that Lorn must be ready to act when the time comes-if he can even recognize when that will be.