Read Online Magi'I of Cyador by L. E. Modesitt Jr. - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: L. E. Modesitt Jr.
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sylvan ponds and soaring trees;
take these desert dunes and sunswept sands,
and pour them through your empty hands.
Lorn swallows, despite his resolve not to show any expression.
"It's sad, isn't it?"
He shakes his head. "I don't know."
"You do know," she insists.
"Why... why did you bring this?"
"Because it's yours now. Because I want you to keep it and read every poem in it."
"It's yours," he insists once more.
"You have to keep it and read from it. At least every few days. Promise me."
"I promise." Lorn nods slowly. "You don't sound like a merchanter lady now."
"Do you think that we're all just one thing? That I can only be a hard trader lady? That you can only be a logical magus?"
"You have to concentrate to be good."
"You... we... have some time for other things." She grins. "Other things besides making love, too."
He looks down at the book, mock-mournfully. "Are you making me choose?"
"Silly man! We have time for both."
Lorn looks at the green-silvered cover, so fresh, and so spotless, and so ancient, and he wonders.
XII
Wearing the merchanter shimmercloth blues and blue boots, Lorn walks hurriedly along the Road of Benevolent Commerce. His destination is the building that serves the Clanless Traders, the structure in which Ryalth has opened a very small office, mainly, he suspects, to legitimize her status as a woman free trader. He hurries because he has seen his father walking up the steps to Lector Chyenfel's study in the Quarter of the Magi'i. That had happened in midafternoon, as Lorn had passed along the lower Tower corridor-and Lorn had known at that moment that he was now headed for lancer training.
There might have been another reason for Chyenfel to summon Lorn's father, but Lorn strongly doubts it, and that means he has little enough time before he is sent off for lancer training. Far too little time for what needs to be done, because he has no doubts that once the Lectors know he has been notified, he will be well watched until he is out of Cyad, and probably far longer than that. He hopes the summons comes for his studies, and not because of anything else-such as the chaos compulsion he used on Halthor... but no one has said anything, and Ryalth has only mentioned the trader's death as an accident.
The absolute certainty in his father's voice was more than enough to discourage Lorn, for about magely matters, he knows his father is always correct. He pushes away those thoughts as he casually studies the street he travels.
No one he knows-or who knows him-looks out from the Empty Quarter as he passes the coffee house, but the awning that shields the vacant outside tables is furled, and any patrons are well inside and out of the wind.
The air holds an icy chill, despite the bright winter sunlight, and the salt air bites at his exposed face and neck and hands.
He stops and waits on the edge of Third Harbor Way West as a white-lacquered enclosed carriage, drawn by a matched pair of white mares, whispers past him. A gust of wind brings a hint of warmth, and the smell of fresh-baked bread, followed by the tiniest hint of erhenflower scent, possibly from the woman seated in the shielded carriage.
Two lancer rankers stand on the far corner, their eyes following the carriage, and Lorn cannot help but smile at their all too obvious interest. Then, will he end up standing on a corner in some out-of-the-way town like Syadtar? Or one of the towns bordering the Accursed Forest-like Geliendra or Jakaafra?
Lorn shakes his head, then crosses the Way and takes the white stone sidewalk on the far side down the gentle slope of the Third Harbor Way to the lower plaza-the merchanters' plaza. Even in the late afternoon chill, a handful of the green and white striped awnings remain up over a few carts. Lorn makes his way around the carts toward the squat white structure in the northwest corner of the plaza, his boots nearly silent on the hard white paving stones.
Once he has stepped
take these desert dunes and sunswept sands,
and pour them through your empty hands.
Lorn swallows, despite his resolve not to show any expression.
"It's sad, isn't it?"
He shakes his head. "I don't know."
"You do know," she insists.
"Why... why did you bring this?"
"Because it's yours now. Because I want you to keep it and read every poem in it."
"It's yours," he insists once more.
"You have to keep it and read from it. At least every few days. Promise me."
"I promise." Lorn nods slowly. "You don't sound like a merchanter lady now."
"Do you think that we're all just one thing? That I can only be a hard trader lady? That you can only be a logical magus?"
"You have to concentrate to be good."
"You... we... have some time for other things." She grins. "Other things besides making love, too."
He looks down at the book, mock-mournfully. "Are you making me choose?"
"Silly man! We have time for both."
Lorn looks at the green-silvered cover, so fresh, and so spotless, and so ancient, and he wonders.
XII
Wearing the merchanter shimmercloth blues and blue boots, Lorn walks hurriedly along the Road of Benevolent Commerce. His destination is the building that serves the Clanless Traders, the structure in which Ryalth has opened a very small office, mainly, he suspects, to legitimize her status as a woman free trader. He hurries because he has seen his father walking up the steps to Lector Chyenfel's study in the Quarter of the Magi'i. That had happened in midafternoon, as Lorn had passed along the lower Tower corridor-and Lorn had known at that moment that he was now headed for lancer training.
There might have been another reason for Chyenfel to summon Lorn's father, but Lorn strongly doubts it, and that means he has little enough time before he is sent off for lancer training. Far too little time for what needs to be done, because he has no doubts that once the Lectors know he has been notified, he will be well watched until he is out of Cyad, and probably far longer than that. He hopes the summons comes for his studies, and not because of anything else-such as the chaos compulsion he used on Halthor... but no one has said anything, and Ryalth has only mentioned the trader's death as an accident.
The absolute certainty in his father's voice was more than enough to discourage Lorn, for about magely matters, he knows his father is always correct. He pushes away those thoughts as he casually studies the street he travels.
No one he knows-or who knows him-looks out from the Empty Quarter as he passes the coffee house, but the awning that shields the vacant outside tables is furled, and any patrons are well inside and out of the wind.
The air holds an icy chill, despite the bright winter sunlight, and the salt air bites at his exposed face and neck and hands.
He stops and waits on the edge of Third Harbor Way West as a white-lacquered enclosed carriage, drawn by a matched pair of white mares, whispers past him. A gust of wind brings a hint of warmth, and the smell of fresh-baked bread, followed by the tiniest hint of erhenflower scent, possibly from the woman seated in the shielded carriage.
Two lancer rankers stand on the far corner, their eyes following the carriage, and Lorn cannot help but smile at their all too obvious interest. Then, will he end up standing on a corner in some out-of-the-way town like Syadtar? Or one of the towns bordering the Accursed Forest-like Geliendra or Jakaafra?
Lorn shakes his head, then crosses the Way and takes the white stone sidewalk on the far side down the gentle slope of the Third Harbor Way to the lower plaza-the merchanters' plaza. Even in the late afternoon chill, a handful of the green and white striped awnings remain up over a few carts. Lorn makes his way around the carts toward the squat white structure in the northwest corner of the plaza, his boots nearly silent on the hard white paving stones.
Once he has stepped
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