Scion of Cyador

LIII

The winter light coming through the ancient windowpanes of the low Tower of the Magi’i is supplemented by that of the wall lamps and their polished cupridium reflectors. The First Magus does not stand, but remains seated behind the desk in the austere study on the topmost level of the tower as the Second Magus bows and makes his way to the golden oak armchair opposite Chyenfel.

The Second Magus bows once more before seating himself. Had he looked directly at the First Magus, he would not have seen his reflection in the eyes of the older magus, but only the blank sun-gold of an aging and powerful magus.

“You are so mannerly, Kharl,” offers Chyenfel. “It is one of your virtues, and I do most appreciate that.”

“You wished to see me? In private?”

“I did. The inner tower of the Magi’i will fail at any time. It could last a year, two at the outside, but it could collapse within a season. I thought you had best know this, for the Captain-Commander will doubtless press you when I announce that we will again be cutting back on the recharging of firelances and firewagon chaos-cells.”

The green eyes of the Second Magus flicker but once. “Can we not suggest that it is merely weakened?”

“You would have me lie to the Emperor and the Mirror Lancers? When the Hand of the Emperor will know, and when he will ask such of the Hand?”

“Neither the Hand nor the Emperor will long last, ser.”

“Nor will I, you are thinking.”

“I cannot deceive you.” Kharl shrugs. “Yet…in public I would counsel prudence. Any chaos-tower but that one can fail. That one, it must not be seen to fail.”

“And when the word is out, what then?” Chyenfel’s tone is mild. “We will have lied, and failed.”

“By then, ser, it will matter not. I warned you of this, years ago. I told you that we would need every chaos-tower. You assured me that the Accursed Forest was a greater danger. Now you have taken the towers of the ward-walls, and hidden them in the mists of time. Half the fireships are without chaos-towers, and we cannot hide that. We have but a handful left. Without the towers, Cyad as we know it will perish. Without the power of the firelances, for no magus can recharge but a handful a day, not and do aught else, without the speed of the firewagons, and without the might of the fireships…” Kharl tilts his head and raises his eyebrows. “What will we have?”

“We still have the cupridium blades, and lances such as are used by the District Guards. We have great roads and canals that none can match. We have a people of talent and wisdom.”

“For how long? Cupridium cannot be forged without the towers.”

“Kharl, that is not so. Tools of cupridium can be forged with the residual chaos of the world-and there is much of that.”

“It will take a magus for each blade, and each will have to be hand-forged-if there is anyone with the technique.”

Chyenfel leans back and smiles. “You surprise me, Second Magus. I would not have thought you so. What message are you conveying? That we pretend all is well?”

“I find it preferable to the flux chaos of the alternative.” The red-haired and green-eyed Second Magus pauses, then adds, “Then, the inner chaos-tower may last a few years.”

“Long enough for me to have returned to chaos, so that you may do as you see fit, I am sure.”

“I would not offend you, nor cross you, honored First Magus.”

“Not while I live.” Chyenfel smiles. “I may yet retain my vitality longer than you suppose. I did wish to tell you, in the event that your most creative mind might seek a more…encouraging approach.”

“I thank you, and I will think upon it.” Kharl inclines his head. “If you have no further requirement of me…?”

“Not at the moment. Not at the moment. But…Kharl…what if the next Emperor is as Toziel, and not as, shall we say, the Captain-Commander? Or even a younger magus?”

“Such as Rustyl, you mean?”

“I know you would follow Toziel, but that will not and cannot happen. Content yourself with following me. For all your deviousness, you would make an effective First Magus. I suggest you consider such.”

“I will consider much, honored First Magus.”

“With more than polite lip service, I would suggest. While Toziel is far older than he appears, he is not yet failing, and he searches for a heir to the Malachite Throne-an heir who is not of the Magi’i.”

“He will search far, for there are none among the lancers, that he will ever find, and certainly, to elevate a merchanter would stain the sunstone of the Palace of Eternal Light with so much blood that it could never be scrubbed away.”

“I have learned, as you must have-or will-that ‘never’ and ‘none’ are most dangerous words, and that those who utter them often must swallow them most often.”

“I bow to your wisdom.” The Second Magus inclines his head, as if waiting.

“You may go.” A weariness infuses Chyenfel’s words, and he nods at the younger magus.

“I thank you, and wish you a pleasant rest.” Kharl stands and bows, before turning and easing his way from the austerity of the study.

The sungold eyes of the First Magus follow him out with the power of still-banked and massive chaos. A faint smile lingers on his lips.