Scion of Cyador

XC

The long table in the dining room of Ryalth’s house-and Lorn’s, too, he supposes-is set for seven. The linen is cream, trimmed in green-and-blue, and the cutlery is an antique silver. The light comes from the antique bronze wall lamps with their recently and brightly polished reflectors. Lorn sits at one end of the table, with Mycela at his left and Jerial at his right, and Ryalth at the other end, with Ciesrt at her left and Vernt at her right. Myryan sits between Ciesrt and Jerial.

“Beautiful silver,” Myryan says to Ryalth, although she avoids touching the knife.

“It’s one of the few family heirlooms I was able to keep,” the trader replies. “That, and a few pieces of furniture and the carpet in the sitting room.

“Family things are important,” announces Mycela.

As she speaks, Lorn pours another two fingers of Alafraan into her glass, keeping it below a third full. He takes a last bite of the marinated and spiced fowl dumpling, then smiles at his consort.

“They are,” Ryalth agrees. “Would anyone like more-of anything?”

“I could stand another of those dumplings, thank you,” Ciesrt says.

Ryalth passes the casserole dish.

“A bit more bread for the sauce,” Vernt adds.

“Lorn, what will you be doing for the Majer-Commander?” asks Ciesrt as he serves himself two more dumplings. “Are you working directly for him, or for one of the commanders who reports to him?”

Lorn laughs. “I don’t know. He told me to spend time with my consort and family, and to report back an eightday from next oneday. He said I’d be doing some writing, since I wrote well and quickly. So I could just be another junior majer acting as a scrivener. I’ll find out then, I suppose.”

“You couldn’t ask him?” asks Mycela, sweetly. “You are a hero, they say.”

“I’m not a hero,” Lorn says politely, “but even if I were, heroes don’t question the Majer-Commander, not that way.” He smiles. “Just as Vernt wouldn’t ask the First Magus why he was picked to do”-Lorn looks at his younger brother-“whatever you’re doing now.”

“Oh…I didn’t think of it that way.” Mycela smiles sweetly at Vernt.

“That makes sense,” Ciesrt announces. “I certainly wouldn’t ask any of the three Magi’i why I was tasked with something.”

“Even your father?” asks Jerial, a glint in her eye.

“I might say something bland, to see if he’d offer an explanation, but I wouldn’t ask. We learned that as children.” Ciesrt shakes his head.

“Do you ever run across any of those I was student with?” Lorn asks, not caring whether Ciesrt or Vernt provides an answer. “Like Tyrsal or Rustyl?”

“I see Tyrsal sometimes,” Vernt answers. “He works in the chaos-cell section for Lector Stumlyt. I haven’t seen Rustyl, except in the corridors, in years, I don’t think. The First Magus sent him to Fyrad to work with the Mirror Engineers, they said, and then to Summerdock to work on the harbor. He was gone for a while. He just got back, maybe three eightdays ago.”

“He was on the Great Canal,” Ciesrt mumbles as he finishes a dumpling. “Thought he was something special, working with the highest of the Mirror Engineers and then the older first-level adepts when he got back. Still tilts his nose.”

“He always did,” Vernt adds. “Ever since he discovered he could draw chaos out of the natural world. He’s not the only one, but he thinks he is.”

“Maybe someone is encouraging him,” suggests Myryan.

“Why? So they can make him First Magus in another halfscore of years?” sneers Ciesrt.

“I thought he was going to be Ceyla’s consort,” offers Jerial.

“It is most likely,” Ciesrt admits. “He is handsome in his way, and she finds him most intriguing. Father has also suggested that she has few-enough choices left among the Magi’i.”

“You do not sound pleased,” Jerial adds.

“He can be all right at times, and I suppose we’ll get used to him.” Ciesrt shrugs. “He is talented. There is little question of that.”

“Maybe he wants to be Emperor,” says Mycela. “You know, the Empress can’t have children. They don’t have any.”

“Dear, Magi’i can’t take the Malachite Throne,” Vernt says gently.

“But…the Emperor has an elthage title,” Mycela protests.

“His Mightiness also has a merage and an altage title,” Jerial points out. “They’re all honors.”

“Not totally,” Ryalth says. “His mother was merchanter, his father a Mirror Lancer before he became Emperor, and one of his grandsires was from the Magi’i.”

Lorn keeps a straight face, letting the silence drag out before turning to Ciesrt. “Whatever the Magi’i did with the Accursed Forest, it did free up more lancers to fight against the barbarians. And the lancers are grateful. I thought you’d like to know.”

“I thought you defeated them all.” Mycela’s voice is puzzled. “Or killed them all.”

“Those in the northwest,” Lorn explains. “There are still the Cerlyni in the northeast, and unless someone else follows up on what I did, in a few years the Jeranyi will be back to raiding south of the Grass Hills again.”

“Didn’t you sack the port where they were getting their blades?” asks Ciesrt.

“We did, and we burned the warehouses and took all the blades and brought them back. But trading blades is profitable for the Hamorians, and I wouldn’t be surprised if there were traders back there by fall, or next spring at the latest.”

“Do you trade blades?” Mycela looks wide-eyed at Ryalth.

Myryan looks down, and Jerial covers her mouth for a moment.

“No. I’d rather not sell something that could kill my consort,” Ryalth says politely. “Or any other lancer.”

“Oh, I guess that would not be a good idea.” Mycela smiles.

“I’m glad she doesn’t, for many reasons,” Lorn says quickly, and with a laugh. He can sense that Myryan is having trouble not rolling her eyes or giving some outward sign of her feelings. He glances at Vernt, then at Ciesrt. “Since it’s done, can either of you tell me what the Magi’i did in the Accursed Forest?”

The two lower, first-level adepts exchange glances. Then Vernt nods. “I shouldn’t say how it was done, but the result was a combining of order and chaos to put the Forest to sleep, so that it is like any other forest, or mostly so. Some large animals will escape, I imagine, but they won’t be as big as the ones in the past, and they’ll get smaller, more like the ones in the swamps along the river and the forests above the delta. That’s why some lancers are still patrolling. And it’s really not safe to enter it. So the walls will have to be maintained.”

Lorn nods. “The growers will complain for a time, I’m sure.”

“The peasants always complain about everything,” Ciesrt notes. “If it’s not the Magi’i or the Mirror Lancers, it’s the merchanters or the weather.”

“Usually the merchanters,” Ryalth says lightly. “We’re grasping and greedy, and few think about how much it costs to bring anything from anywhere.”

“But they always say there would be nothing without food,” Ciesrt answers with a laugh.

Lorn sits stock-still for an instant, thinking about one of the questions posed by his father over a year earlier.

“You look surprised, Lorn,” Jerial says.

“I was just recalling something Father said along those lines years ago.”

“I don’t recall him talking about peasants,” Vernt muses.

“Not peasants,” Lorn replies. “About what allows Cyad to exist. And that’s food…except I think what he meant was that the lands of Cyador have to produce not only enough food for the peasants who grow it, but enough for the people of the cities. And there has to be enough that the peasants will sell it willingly.”

“They never sell anything willingly, do they?” asks Mycela.

“I think I see what Father meant,” Vernt says. “There are not that many Magi’i or Mirror Lancers…”

“Exactly,” Jerial adds. “Nor healers. Nor Mirror Engineers.”

“Nor gardens,” finishes Myryan.

Ryalth merely nods, a knowing smile on her lips.

Ciesrt frowns, and Mycela smiles blankly.

Lorn lifts the bottle of Alafraan. “Would anyone like any more? Before we start on dessert?”

Jerial grins at Ryalth, and, after a moment, so does Myryan. Vernt shakes his head ruefully.