Scion of Cyador

III

In the late, late afternoon, just before twilight, the Emperor Toziel’elth’alt’mer and his Consort-Empress Ryenyel stand on the uppermost balcony of the Palace of Light, ten tall stories above the gardens. His tall but slender frame seems stooped under the silver robes he has worn to the last audience of the afternoon and not removed once he has departed the small audience chamber. Ryenyel wears a tunic of vivid green shimmercloth, and flowing trousers of a lighter shade, colors which enhance her mahogany hair and lightly freckled complexion.

The warm and moist spring breeze comes from the east, whispering past them and past the fluted bars on the grillwork with enough force that there is a trilling and humming from the bars-a sound both pleasant and loud enough to foil eavesdroppers, as intended by the builders of the Palace some eight generations previous. While cupridium flowers might have served the same function, the Palace of Light contains no such fripperies, nor any statuary. All lines are clean, elegant, and without decoration, almost totally without even carved inscriptions.

To the south, and downhill, beyond the trade quarter and the warehouses, are the white stone piers of the harbor of Cyad. Scaffolds rise around the two white-hulled fireships at the Mirror Lancer pier. One of the fireships the Emperor knows will never move again under its own power, and is being cannibalized to refit the second ship, the Ocean Flame. At the piers to the east of the scaffolds are tied two three-masted ocean traders, deep-sea vessels, neither of which is Cyadoran, and a pair of coasting schooners, one Sligan, one Spidlarian.

North of the piers and below the Palace, the sunstone walks and white-granite paved streets shimmer in the late-afternoon sun. The shops and scattered cafes to the west sport immaculate green-and-white awnings.

“Bluoyal’mer tells me that all is well with our trade,” reflects Toziel, his right arm around the waist of the Empress. “Yet few ships in the harbor fly our ensign. And the Emperor’s Enumerators report that tariff collections have declined each year.”

“Perhaps not all the tariffs are being collected,” suggests Ryenyel. “Can the Hand of the Emperor-”

“No. The Hand can send orders, but his effectiveness is lost once he leaves the shadows and is known.”

“First Magus Chyenfel’elth must know who he is.”

“He doubtless does, as we have discussed, but it is not to his advantage to reveal such.” Toziel laughs. “Nor to ours.” The Emperor shakes his head slowly, without taking his eyes from the City of Light spread out below him. “The chaos-towers are failing, and I am forced into supporting the plan of the First Magus to use all the chaos in those remaining around the Accursed Forest merely to confine the Forest so that it will not overrun eastern Cyador. That means those towers can no longer charge the lancer firelances or the chaos-cells of the firewagons.” Toziel shrugs. “Is this the beginning of the last long afternoon of Cyad?”

“The chaos-towers in the Quarter of the Magi’i here in Cyad yet function,” the mahogany-haired Empress points out, “and will for some years yet, according to the First Magus.”

“Some years is not that many, as we know, and, while he would certainly wish it so, I have some doubts about Chyenfel’s predictions.”

“How could you choose otherwise, my love, even if he is too hopeful?”

“I could not, for the Forest is worse than the barbarians of the north. They can be contained with cupridium lances and blades, if with greater losses, but only some form of bound chaos will contain the Accursed Forest.” A mirthless chuckle follows his words. “We know this, and yet, like a schoolboy, I must talk to soothe my soul over choices between evils. More Mirror Lancers will die. The merchants will lose more ships to pirates and raiders, and there will be unrest among the merchanters-”

“There is already, with Tasjan’s plotting and his hiring of Sasyk to head his greenshirt guards,” Ryenyel points out.

“Who could fault him for hiring a former Mirror Lancer officer?” Toziel’s words are light, but his eyes are dark. “Especially in these times. Tasjan will turn any questions about Sasyk against me. And, amid all the changes, most in Cyad, and throughout Cyador, will fault me, for they have neither seen nor experienced the power of the Forest.”

“That is always so,” replies the Empress gently. “Folk care for but the removal of that which they know will harm them or for the addition of that which will benefit them. Few care for actions which benefit all, but slightly, if it means they receive less. Always it was so, and always will be. For that, there is an Emperor.”

“Yet I must not seem to plan nor plot, for those who do are thought cold and calculating, no matter how they care for their peoples, no matter what benefits they bring, no matter how many lives they save.”

Ryenyel nods. “That, too, is why there is an Emperor.”

“Yet all these troubles would come to pass while I am Emperor?”

“The Magi’i have warned of such for many years, that the towers would fail, that what the ancients built would not last forever.” Ryenyel places her hand over his-the one that rests on her right hip-and squeezes her fingers around his hand.

“At such times, I am almost glad we have no heirs,” he muses. “For whoever follows me…whatever scion there may be…if there is one…”

“There will be…we have time,” she reassures him.

“With a gaggle of Magi’i who plot, and a Majer-Commander of Lancers who believes them fools not to see the danger of the barbarians, and a Merchanter Advisor who doubtless abuses his knowledge and position to line his pockets and undermine Cyador, even as he protests that he maintains it?”

After a moment of silence, Ryenyel replies. “Your Majer-Commander, the most honorable Rynst, has come to understand that Bluoyal only wishes the towers and the lancers in order to support the merchanters’ trading ships. Rynst also understands that while he cannot brook Chyenfel, the First Magus can be trusted far more than the Second. Or even Chyenfel’s protégé, young Rustyl.”

“Only because Rynst fears Bluoyal more than the Magi’i.” Toziel snorts.

“Bluoyal treads a devious and deadly path. He would ensure that the Mirror Lancers and the Magi’i do not see that their interests are closer to each other’s than to his.”

“Rynst and Chyenfel have always seen such. We have talked of this before. Neither can afford to trust the other allied to Bluoyal. Yet they know that both Magi’i and Mirror Lancers are few indeed outside of the three cities. They cooperate like a pair of giant cats against a pack of night leopards. Most carefully.”

“And when the towers do fail?”

“We will need far more lancers against the barbarians. Bluoyol’s successors will find they still need lancers, but not until many perish, and more than a few vessels are lost.”

“Thus, all will continue as today,” she replies.

“It will not seem so, not to most. The emperors to come will either be powerful Magi’i or inspire loyalty within the Mirror Lancers, because it appears that either lancers or Magi’i can destroy an Emperor.”

“Bluoyal believes that the merchanters will purchase the Palace of Light in years to come, perhaps sooner. We need to watch him, more closely, far more closely, for a merchanter rising would bring down Cyador more swiftly than the Accursed Forest or the barbarians.”

“So has said the Hand, but he has also advised that we have time, and that Bluoyal will overreach himself before such can occur.”

“Would that I could take comfort in that,” says the Empress, leaning her head against his shoulder.

“Seldom is he wrong…most seldom.”

“If he is…?”

“If he is, if we fail, then blood will stain the sunstone of the Palace so deeply it cannot ever be lifted.” He looks down and studies her drawn face. “I tell you this often, but…You give too much to me.”

“What else would I do, dearest? We know there is no one else.”

“Not yet.”

As he speaks, her fingers lift to rest lightly on his cheek.

The orange glow of twilight floods from the hillside to the west, and the white stone piers of the harbor shimmer gold.

The Emperor and Empress stand on the balcony and watch the gold fade.