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really even be angry at you. Except I am. Part of me says that it wasn t your
fault, and part of me wants to know why you re so frigging noble that you
always end up picking up the pieces. She flicked the reins. We d better get
moving. Sitting here on the trail doesn t solve anything. No& it didn t.
Nylan cleared his throat, patted Weryl on the back, wondered how long before
the boy would be hungry, and flicked the mare s reins, beginning a journey
whose end he didn t know for reasons he could feel but not articulate, with a
son he barely knew in some ways-and they were headed for a land where they
were probably hated because he couldn t stay where he had built a safe haven.
Life was just so fair, so wonderfully equitable. His jaw tightened as he
eased the mare after Ayrlyn.
XIX
THE BROWN-HAIRED man in the silver robes waited as the officer in the green
uniform and white sash advanced into the small receiving hall-a marble-floored
room merely large enough for two or three of the Cyadoran steam wagons whose
numbers had dwindled from legion to a mere score or so.
Majer Piataphi?
Yes, Your Mightiness?
Sit down.
The majer glanced at the two padded stools, each armless and backless, that
faced the table desk behind which sat Lephi on a high-backed stool. Finally,
Piataphi seated himself on the front edge of the left stool.
Lephi lifted the scroll. This is the response we received from the Lornian
barbarians. Do you know what it says?
No, Sire. A faint sheen coated Piataphi s forehead.
It says nothing-except that we are discourteous. We of the land of Cyador,
ancient and mighty, are discourteous. We of Cyador, who brought order out of
disorder, cities out of . wild forests, we are discourteous. We who brought
metal-working and the first trade ships to cross the oceans, we are
discourteous. There is no remembrance of the daughters they enticed away
generations ago, nor of the dangers to life our ancestors eliminated, such as
the stun lizards that were everywhere.
Piataphi waited.
That in itself is no matter, Majer. No matter. Lephi stood and stepped
from behind the white-lacquered table desk that dated through at least eight
generations of Lords of Cyador. The Emperor walked toward the tinted glass
windows, then paused before the oiled wooden frames as his eyes ranged over
Cyad, down from the hillside site of the White Palace, toward the harbor,
toward the piers that once housed the White Fleet of the ancients, before his
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grandsire had decided that the barbarians around the Western Ocean had nothing
to offer. He smiled faintly as he took in the cranes and the timbers at the
shipworks to the west of the white stone piers.
The white-paved streets glistened, glistened from the hiss of brooms as the
sweepers continued their endless work to ensure that the White City remained
shimmering white. Those who walked the streets were well clad, clean, and
scented with oils and spices, as they should have been.
Without turning back to face Piataphi, Lephi continued. You will teach the
barbarians the meaning of discourtesy. They have forgotten that all that they
possess came from the ancients of Cyador. Since they have no gratitude, we
must use fear. They have existed on the sufferance of Cyador, and we will not
suffer that misapprehension to continue.
Yes, Sire. Piataphi remained nearly motionless on the edge of the stool.
Would that we had the fire cannons. Or the lances of light, but those will
be with us again before long.
We cannot duplicate the fittings yet, Lord. Nor fill the reservoirs.
We cannot duplicate them now, mused Lephi. But that is changing.
Already, we build a fireship. Then we will recreate the fire cannons. You will
not need them now. Cyador is larger, more prosperous than in the time of my
grandsire. He turned back toward Piataphi. We must have the copper mines of
the north; those in Delapra will not last. Take all the even-numbered Mirror
Lancers and the Shield Foot-
All, Your Mightiness?
I am not aware of any other challenges to Cyador. Are you?
No, Sire.
I wish the barbarians annihilated-those within fifty kays of the mines.
The others you may handle as you see fit. If they will not respect us out of
gratitude, they will respect the forces you command.
There are doubtless many more-they breed like lizards, Sire-than in years
previous.
You may also take the Shining Foot.
Thank you, Sire.
Begin your preparations tomorrow. You may use half the steamwagons on the
North Highway.
As you command, Sire.
As I command& yes, as I command, Majer. And I command you to leave a swath
of destruction around any that oppose the might of Cyador. Or forget what we
have bestowed upon them.
The majer nodded.
You may go.
Piataphi stood and stiffened to attention. All honor to Your Mightiness
and to the glory of Cyador.
Go& Lephi gestured, as if to wave away a fly.
The majer saluted, turned, and marched from the small receiving room.
Lephi s brown eyes went to the ancient painting on the inside wall-the
etched-metal depiction of a wheeled steam wagon with a fire cannon turning a
section of trees and animals into ashes. Even a giant stun lizard was shown
flaring into flame.
Cyador will become yet more mighty, he whispered. We will have more
steamwagons and fire cannon. We will. As I will it to be. As it was in the
beginning, and will be evermore.
XX
THE STREAM GURGLED and splashed, not quite overflowing its banks, if well
below the clay track that was something more than a trail and less than a
road.
The gray leaves on the willowlike trees had spread but not turned to the
fuller green of summer, and the new leaves were but half-open. A few
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starflowers bloomed in patches on the far side of the water, nestled in
sun-warmed patches of green between the piles of weathered rock that had
peeled off the canyon walls over the years. A steel-blue bird chittered from
the top of a scrawny pine as the two horses carried their riders downhill and
generally westward.
Nylan patted Weryl gently, trying to encourage the boy to keep sleeping.
For whatever reason, carrying his son seemed to make him saddlesore more
quickly, yet a year-old child didn t weigh that much. Or was it the weight of
two blades- or all of it together? He lifted his weight off the saddle a
moment, and his knees protested.
Do we have any ideas where we ought to be going- besides west? Ayrlyn
asked.
No. I wish I did, but& Nylan turned in the saddle and looked back over
his shoulder toward the ice needle that was Freyja-now barely visible above
the gray rock walls of the canyon that the road followed, downward and usually
westward. He took a deep breath. In a way, I feel lost. I always let someone
else decide. The service needed engineers, and so I became one. Ryba and the
marines needed a safe haven, and I built it. Now& He shrugged as he looked
toward Ayrlyn. Now, I have to figure out where we re going and what I want
from life, and I can t-or I haven t so far.
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