Recluce Tales

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

“Most of the strong Magi’i were near your father,” observes Tyrsalyn.

  “You will likely be holder of the Malachite Throne, Kiedron, sooner than any of us thought,” says the Empress, “although we shall see.” She inclines her head to Heisyrt.

  Still ashen-faced, Heisyrt turns to Mairena. “My apologies, Lady Empress. It is just that…”

  “I understand, Captain. I do.” For you also must have lost those near and dear … and then, who would believe the visions of a mere woman, even those of an Empress and a healer?

  After a long moment, Heisyrt asks, “What are your orders, Lady?”

  “We should see if there are other Cyadoran vessels near … and see the extent of the destruction. If the devastation is as vast as I fear it is, then we should consider setting a course for Swartheld—”

  “Swartheld? What about other cities in Cyador?”

  “The Accursed Forest has already spread beyond its bounds and is growing by more than a kay a day because all the white wizards who could control it had been sent to fight the barbarians—and the dark angels—in the northeast.” She does not say “Lornth,” not after Lephi’s reactions, although she knows in her heart that he, too, has fallen to the power that has destroyed Cyad and Cyador. Mairena gestures. “I fear all is like that.” She pauses. “We should still travel the coast, in case I am mistaken.”

  “I fear you may not be, Empress,” replies Heisyrt, “but it is our duty to do what we can.”

  Mairena nods. Abruptly, she feels drained, as if all her strength has flowed out of her and into the ocean that surrounds the Kerial. She puts out a hand to the railing.

  “If you will excuse me, Empress…”

  “Captain … I would not keep you.”

  Once Heisyrt has left and re-entered the bridge, Kiedron looks to his mother. “If all is like this, why Swartheld? Why not Austra? It is far closer.”

  “Hamor is the weakest of the other continents. You are the heir, Kiedron. In a few years, if not in months, most of Cyador will be claimed by the Accursed Forest. Where else can you re-establish the Malachite Throne?”

  “The Accursed Forest cannot—”

  “It already has,” interjects Tyrsalyn, his voice raspy and tired. “Earlier last spring, the forest overran the old wards and overgrew the towns close to the walls. Almost all of the strongest white wizards were trying to hold it close to the old bounds. They were failing, even before your father the Emperor called them away to destroy the barbarians…”

  “Why?” asks Emerya plaintively. “Why … why did it happen? Why did it all happen now?”

  No one answers her plaint.

  Mairena looks toward Cyad, but all that she can see is towering dark clouds that rise from the shore and the waters beyond … and cloak everything—except for the flashes of lightning that flare intermittently.

  IV

  When Mairena wakes in the gray gloom, for a moment she does not know where she is. She lifts her head and glances around. She lies in a wide double bed, in a room with little more than an armoire fastened to the paneled wall. Bulkhead, she corrects herself as she sees the portholes and the memories of the disasters of threeday flood over her. She shudders, then forces herself to sit up.

  The Emperor’s quarters on the Kerial are spacious for a vessel, but cramped by any other standard, reflects Mairena. There is a modest sitting room, or cabin, little more than four yards by five, which holds a rectangular center table and chairs. There are two armchairs for reading and a small desk built into a corner. Off the sitting room are three sleeping chambers, one with the large bed from which Mairena rises, and two others barely large enough for beds that might accommodate two if neither man nor woman happened to be particularly large, with an even smaller washroom/jakes off the sitting room. There is also an adjoining cabin—if a space barely large enough for two bunks, one above the other, can be called that—for servants, occupied at the moment just by Viera.

  After washing up, Mairena dresses quietly in the same riding clothes and boots she had worn the day before, then eases back into the main cabin. From what she can tell, both Kiedron and Emerya continue to sleep in their quarters. She does not see Viera. She crosses the room, avoiding the heavy table bolted to the deck, opens the door-shaped hatch out onto the open second-level deck on the port side of the Kerial, steps out into a cool wind, closes the hatch softly, and walks to the railing. She looks out over the water.

  Fourday has barely dawned, if darkly, with endless gray covering the sky. The ocean waters that will look a deep blue green in full sunlight appear leaden gray. The wind whips her copper-red hair, its silver strands concealed with an order-based tint, across her neck and back, and she twists it into a rough knot at the back of her neck. Viera would scarcely approve.

  The coast, perhaps three kays away, looks as desolate as all that they had passed the day before. It is difficult to tell how much reflects the way it had been or whether the shore had been battered by the same type of waves that had swallowed Cyad, but there are no indications of any habitation. She does not expect otherwise, especially since the part of Cyador they now pass was largely grassland before the devastation. In another day or two, they should reach the coastal towns to the west of Fyrad, and that will likely determine their eventual destination. A destination you know, but one that Heisyrt will have to come to accept.

  She can but hope that it will not take him too long to accept the inevitable.

  She smiles ruefully at the thought of dealing with the captain, then peers once more toward the land she can barely make out. The fireship is proceeding on a southeastward course, as she and Heisyrt had agreed on the previous day, toward Fyrad, at a speed that is not wasteful of the coal in the bunkers while keeping watch for other Cyadoran vessels … and signs of unruined towns or cities along the coast. None had been sighted when Mairena had gone to sleep the evening before, exhausted.

  How long she looks at the featureless gray that still hovers over the land that had been Cyador, Mairena does not know, only that it cannot have been more than half a glass, if that, before a white-clad figure climbs the portside ladder and approaches. She half-turns and waits.

  “Lady Empress…?” offers Tyrsalyn.

  “Yes, Third Magus?”

  “Might I join you for a moment?”

  “You may. You don’t even have to be that formal,” she replies with a smile.

  Tyrsalyn moves to the railing, but not too close, his eyes on her. “Did you know … Lady? And when?”

  “Know? Absolutely?” Mairena shakes her head. “No. What I told the captain was true. I had visions … glimpses, if you could call them that. I always have had them. Some of them seemed fanciful, but many have happened … as I saw them. The Emperor disregarded those I saw. In some cases, what he was told by his marshals was not anywhere close to what happened, but he chose to believe them. So, over the years, I have said less and less—except where I could do something.”

  “You were prepared for this?”

  “Why do you ask?” she counters.

  “I have made a few inquiries and observed. While you were overcome by the power of the dark angels and the Accursed Forest, you recovered more quickly, and you were not surprised. Not as much as you should have been.”

  “I’ve always been noted for my reserve, Third Magus,” she replies with a touch of archness.

  “That reserve has served you well.” He clears his throat. “I would also note that the ship is overprovisioned for a vessel not quite fully completed … and other matters. Yet the captain was stunned by what he saw, and so was everyone else, including your children. Only you were calm. I ask you again…”

  “I was as prepared as much as I could be. It was costly…” Both in golds for bribes, and the extra bribes for those offering them to others, and for supplies that Lephi never knew about … or the orders so carefully forged and sent amid other orders.

  “It was also dangerous, was it not?” he asks, his voice low.

  “H
ad Lephi or the First Magus discovered … yes.”

  “I salute you, Lady Empress.”

  “I did what I thought best.” Rather than dwell on that, she asks, “Do you have any sense of what may have happened … in the northeast?”

  “I have tried a glass to see what might be there, but I can see nothing, as if that dark order of the Accursed Forest covers everything. In the past, I have been able to sense the First Magus … and others. Now … there is nothing. I fear, as do you, that the Magi’i accompanying the Emperor’s forces have all perished.”

  “Can you see anything in the glass?”

  Tyrsalyn shakes his head. “I can see what is on the ship. I can see Summerdock and Dellash. They are in ruins, but they were not swallowed by the sea. Biehl was damaged, but the Jeranyi hold it now. I think they fled Jerans…”

  And that would mean some of Jerans is also in ruins. Mairena finds herself shaking her head. “So … little of the cities of Cyad remains standing?”

  “If what I have seen in the glass is what has happened…” Tyrsalyn’s words are cautious.

  “What would you suggest?”

  “Let the captain see what does not remain of Fyrad before you press him.”

  “What else?”

  “For now, Lady and Empress, I would also suggest a guard or two be posted at the bottom of the ladder I took to reach you. There may be some who will not look upon your actions with complete favor.”

  “I do not doubt it. They will want to demand why I could not warn everyone or save more. I only knew it would happen before winter. I did not know when until the moment I woke early yesterday morning. Preparing for something that may be … and may not be … in a way that leaves few traces is … difficult.” Especially for a woman in Cyador, even an Empress.

  “I imagine it is difficult when every move you make is observed.”

  “No … only every move that is suspect for a woman.” And that will change.

  “It is said that a land survives by its traditions, Lady.”

  “Until those traditions fail it, Third Magus,” Mairena replies with a polite smile. “Some of those traditions might be left in the destruction.”

  Tyrsalyn inclines his head. “You would know best which those should be.”

  “Together we should discuss such once we know our course.”

  “I remain at your service, and at that of the heir.”

  “Who will likely have to play a different role, and who will need the support of both of us.”

  “I do stand ready to support him … and you, Lady.”

  Because you can see no other course. “Thank you.”

  The sky lightens slowly after the Third Magus departs, but the clouds remain thick enough that Mairena cannot make out the position of the sun. She turns to see Viera step out onto the open deck.

  “Lady, I have arranged for breakfast for the three of you,” offers the petite dark-haired maid who has served Mairena for almost fifteen years.

  Mairena smiles. “I take it that you’re telling me that it is ready and getting cold.”

  “That is possible, Lady.”

  “Do I need to wake anyone?”

  “Lady Emerya is awake and dressed.”

  That Kiedron is not is not exactly unexpected.

  “Rap soundly on Kiedron’s door and tell him it is time to eat.”

  “I did, Lady.”

  “Thank you.” Mairena re-enters the sitting room, noting the three platters on the table, then turns to Viera. “Did you take some for yourself, I hope?”

  “Some, Lady.”

  “You are to take what you need.”

  Viera nods.

  Mairena watches until Viera does so. Then she walks to the narrow door to Kiedron’s sleeping chamber and opens it. Only the main sleeping chamber has an inside bolt on it, as specifically ordered by Lephi. Mairena offers a bitter smile as she recalls that, then stands in the open door. “Kiedron, get up. Now.”

  “Why do I have to get up now? It’s not as though there’s anywhere to go.” Kiedron turns toward her and yawns.

  “If you want to eat, you’ll join us. The ship is likely overcrowded as it is, and the cooks won’t have time to fix special meals for you. You won’t get a chance to eat again until late this afternoon. The galley can only handle two meals a day for as many as are on board.”

  “But…”

  Mairena looks hard at her son, willing him not to say anything about being the heir … or possibly even the Lord of Cyador.

  Kiedron stiffens, as though he can sense her unspoken command. His mouth opens, then closes. “I’ll be there in a moment.” His voice is flat, just short of sullen.

  “Please arrive in a pleasant mood, a very pleasant mood.” Mairena offers a warm smile she does not feel, yet one that is near-effortless, after all the years of practice. “You need to set a good example for others.” She steps back and closes the door, with a gentleness she does not feel.

  As Mairena settles herself at the head of the table, Emerya murmurs, “He still does not understand.”

  “Then we must make sure that he does,” replies Mairena in an equally low voice, addressing herself to the bowl that contains some sort of warm and bittersweet concoction that is most likely gruel or porridge. The egg toast is too brown, but better, and the tea is barely warm.

  Slightly later, while Mairena sips her tea, the door to Kiedron’s sleeping quarters opens, and he steps out into the sitting room. “A good morning, Mother … Sister,” he offers in a falsely cheerful voice. He wears the same uniform greens of a Mirror Lancer officer trainee he had worn on threeday, but without the jacket, and his hair is unkempt. He slumps into the chair across the table from his sister.

  “My … what a sight,” observes Emerya.

  “You’re not exactly a formal image,” replies her brother.

  “None of us are likely to be dressed formally for some time,” Mairena says. If ever, should matters go astray.

  “What is this?” asks Kiedron, looking down at his platter, then at his sister, and finally at Mairena.

  “Breakfast,” replies Mairena.

  “Thick porridge with a dash of molasses and grilled egg toast,” Viera finally says. “I persuaded the cooks to add the molasses.”

  Kiedron looks down even more dubiously than the first time. “I’m supposed to eat this?”

  “If you don’t want to go hungry,” his mother replies. “It’s likely no worse than what you would have been eating at Kynstaar.”

  “And the company is better,” adds Emerya, straight-faced.

  “The tea is cold,” says Kiedron.

  “It would have been warmer had you arisen when others did,” says the Empress.

  Kiedron looks from his mother to his sister. “Father wouldn’t let you two talk to me like that.”

  “Your father seldom liked to hear anything that was not to his liking, however true it might be. That has been a failing of recent emperors. It’s one you cannot afford. Too much has happened that is not to your liking. Even more will happen, if we survive.”

  “If we survive?” Kiedron’s voice is close to incredulous.

  “You’re saying Father is dead … aren’t you?” asks Emerya.

  “We don’t know that for certain, but the Third Magus fears that all the Magi’i near your father and his forces are dead.”

  “He could still be alive.”

  “If he is, it will be weeks, if not seasons, before we know. We may never know.”

  “We could ride to find him.”

  “On what? It did not appear that any of the great roads out of Cyad survived. The Third Magus can find no traces of any Cyadoran city in his glass. None. You had best eat before it gets colder.”

  Kiedron scowls, but does begin to eat, if reluctantly.

  After they have eaten, although the three still remain at the table, the Empress beckons to Viera.

  “Yes, Lady?”

  “If you would find Captain Altyrn of the Mirror La
ncers. I would see him at his earliest convenience.” While Mairena would prefer to seek out Captain Altyrn herself, she knows it is wiser to send Viera.

  Once Viera has departed through the main door into the center passageway, Mairena looks at Emerya, then Kiedron. “There will be some necessary changes immediately. More may be required later.”

  “If something has happened to Father, I’m the Lord of Cyador. Isn’t that so?” asks Kiedron.

  “If he has indeed perished, you will be his successor,” replies the Empress. “Once you are of age.”

  “I should be now, if he’s gone. There’s no Regency Council.”

  “But there is,” says Mairena. “Two of the three members of the Regency Council are the First Magus and the Empress. Who is likely First Magus now? That is, if anything has happened to your father?”

  “Oh … I had not thought of that.”

  “Kiedron,” Mairena says in a low but firm voice, “there is much about which you have not thought. You will need to think through more than you ever have, and you will need more training.”

  “Training?” Her son’s voice is wary.

  “You need to learn to handle a blade far better than you do. That was one reason”—one of many—“why your father was sending you to Kynstaar. You still need that training, and that is something you can do aboard the Kerial.”

  “I suppose so.”

  “Kiedron. There are two companies of Mirror Lancers aboard. Just two. They may be the last Mirror Lancers in all Cyador. You need to be worthy to command them. That requires more training. You will need to study many things that you would have learned at Kynstaar, but we will find those aboard who can help you learn.”

  “What about people in Fyrad or Syadtar or Guarstyad or Summerdock? Or other towns?”

  “It is likely the destruction at Fyrad is even worse than at Cyad,” replies the Empress. “It is far closer to the Accursed Forest.”

  “And don’t say that you haven’t thought of that,” adds Emerya tartly before Kiedron can speak. “You can’t ever use those words again.”

  Mairena manages to conceal her surprise at her daughter’s comment and adds, “I’m afraid Emerya is correct, Kiedron. A young man who will be a ruler cannot ever afford to appear thoughtless. That is a luxury of youth that you have just had taken from you.”