Cyador’s Heirs

XV

By the middle of harvest, Lerial has worked at some aspect of bringing in every crop on the majer’s extensive lands, but under the majer’s direct supervision, and seldom with Rojana anymore, although he sees her doing harvest chores as well. As part of his studies, he also has to draw up orders of battle for the company stationed at the Teilyn outpost, as well as organization plans for a company and a battalion, make up equipment lists, and plan logistics for campaigns into Merowey and Heldya … and those are just the beginning.

“So far as I know, your father is not planning anything like that,” Altyrn tells Lerial, “but he might … or your brother might.”

Much more likely Lephi, thinks Lerial.

On the fourth threeday of harvest, after breakfast, Altyrn says, “We’re going over to the outpost at midmorning. You need to spar with someone besides me. I’ve already talked to the captain. They aren’t riding out this eightday. They didn’t have orders yesterday, anyway. Wear your oldest pair of greens and riding boots, not work clothes.”

“Yes, ser. What do you want me to do before that?”

“I don’t recall that you’ve written your father since you’ve been here. This would be a good time. That way, you can have it sent with the next dispatch pouch to Cigoerne.”

Lerial would rather dig ditches or be battered in sparring than write a letter to his father, but only says, “I’ll do that, ser.”

“It doesn’t have to be long,” replies Altyrn, “but give him an idea of what you’ve been doing.”

“Yes, ser.”

Lerial returns to his room, where he looks out the small, high window for a short time, trying to work out what he might say that is true, but that does not reveal his feelings. Finally, he seats himself at the small table-desk and begins.

Dear Father-

I should have written sooner, but I have been working hard. I am learning all the aspects of how an estate must work. Commander Altyrn has made certain I know exactly how each task must be done. I have dug ditches and helped build brick walls. I have harvested olives and barley, and seen all the processes by which your venture is conducted. The commander has also instructed me in arms, logistics, and tactics.

His family has been most gracious, and my quarters are more than adequate for all my needs …

After that, finding words is more difficult, but Lerial adds another few paragraphs describing the villa and the grounds, mostly in case his father chooses to share the letter with his mother and the rest of the family. When he finishes, he signs and seals it, then dresses in the greens and boots and makes his way down to the inner courtyard.

He has been there only a few moments before the majer appears.

“Since you’re ready, we might as well ride out now. Go saddle your horse. I’ll be with you in a few moments.”

“Yes, ser.” Lerial nods, then makes his way from the courtyard, sensing the majer’s eyes on him.

After grooming and saddling his mount, Lerial leads the gelding out of the stable into the paved area he still thinks of as the outer courtyard, for all that the only walls are those of the villa and the outbuildings. He has ridden very little since he arrived at Kinaar, and only around the majer’s lands. He also realizes the fact that he has not ridden much hasn’t bothered him in the slightest.

“Where are you going?”

He turns to see Aylana and Tyrna walking toward the villa from the cocoonery, although it is properly no longer that, since all the worms have spun their cocoons, and now all those involved are extracting the strands from the cocoons and turning them into proper silk thread. “Your father and I are riding over to the Mirror Lancer post in a bit. How is the threading going?”

“It’s boring,” declares Aylana, offering an exaggerated sigh. “I’d rather gather rotten apricots.”

“You’ll be gathering overripe olives in a day or two,” interjects the majer, who has ridden into the unwalled courtyard from the south. “Those few that there are.”

From that, it dawns on Lerial just how long the majer has been working on his lands … and that he had to have been doing some of it while he was still heading the Lancers … or Maeroja did.

Both girls make faces at their father’s words.

Lerial represses a grin, then immediately mounts and rides to join the majer, watching as the two girls hurry into the villa. “They do have opinions.”

“They’ll have to learn when to express them and when not to,” replies Altyrn. “Fairly soon. Almost no men like women who appear strong-willed, but there are some who like honest opinions in private.” He turns his mount toward the lane leading to the main road and the Lancer post.

The two are on the road before Altyrn asks, “Did you meet Captain Graessyr? Or Undercaptain Shastan?”

“No, ser. We rode straight to Kinaar.”

“They’re both altage, through and through, for all that Shastan is the son of a local grower. Graessyr’s mother is from altage stock, but don’t ask about his father.”

“Yes, sir.” Lerial understands both what Altyrn means and why Graessyr has been posted in Teilyn.

“They’d take a charge single-handedly to save you or your father. One of your responsibilities will always be to avoid putting officers in such a situation. You need to be able to handle a blade well enough so that it is absolutely clear to your Lancers that you do not need special protection. Do you know why?”

“Because we don’t have enough Lancers and any that are protecting me cannot be used to deal with raiders or attackers. That weakens the force.” Lerial remembers that from something Lephi had said.

Altyrn nods. “It also gives them confidence to see that you know something about the business of arms.” He does not say more, and before long, they are riding up to the open gates of the brick-walled post.

“Good morning, Majer,” calls out one of the guards from his shaded post beside the gate.

“Good morning, Seimyrt. Is the captain around?”

“He’s in his study … or somewhere in headquarters.”

“Good. We’ll find him.”

“Headquarters” turns out to be a small yellow brick structure in the middle of the walls, directly across from the stables before which Altyrn reins up. Lerial ties his mount next to the majer’s horse, and the two walk across the brick pavement.

Two rankers nod and murmur “ser,” as they cross paths with Lerial and Altyrn.

The majer responds with a nod and a smile.

The interior of the headquarters building is simple. Behind the entry door is a large room, empty except for a table-desk at one end, behind which is seated a squad leader who stands as Altyrn enters. There are two half-open doors in the wall at the end of the room.

“He’s in his study, ser.”

“Thank you.” Altyrn makes a gesture that takes in the space around them. “This is where the officers brief their men. The officers’ studies are behind those doors.” He strides toward the door on the right, opens it full, and motions for Lerial to step inside, then enters and closes the door.

“Can’t stay away from here, can you, Majer?” The black-haired captain stands as he speaks.

“You’re not rid of me yet.” Altyrn grins, then eases to one side, leaving a clear path to the table-desk. “I don’t believe you’ve met Lord Lerial.”

Lerial takes the hint and steps forward. “I’m pleased to meet you, ser.”

“And I you.” Graessyr smiles pleasantly. “Your father said you would be staying at the majer’s. You’ve been there quite a while.”

“I’ve had much to learn, ser.”

“That’s why we’re here,” Altyrn says, moving forward slightly. “As I told you the other day, I think that Lerial needs to spar with someone a bit younger than me … someone with more energy.”

The captain laughs, a raucous barking sound that lasts but a few moments. Then he shakes his head. “I’ll spar with him, but don’t give me those words that suggest you’re a tired old man. I see how hard you work.”

Altyrn cannot hide the faintest hint of a smile. “He does need to spar with someone besides me.”

“That’s something I can accept. Blunted blades and padding or wands?”

“Let’s try blunted blades and padding. He hasn’t done that.” The majer grins. “Might be because I don’t have either.” He pauses. “One other thing. Lerial has a letter for his sire. Could you send it with the next dispatch rider?”

“We can do that.”

Lerial takes out the sealed missive and hands it to the captain. “Thank you, ser.”

“That’s not a problem. Might as well get started.” Graessyr slips from behind the desk with an easy grace, for all that he is not only broad but more than half a head taller than Lerial, and leads the way from the study, and headquarters, to the armory.

In less than a quarter of a glass, Lerial is wearing what amounts to padded armor, with plates sewn into the padding in strategic places. The padding is thick enough that he is sweating even before he thinks of picking up the blunted blade that Altyrn has set on the wooden bench.

He reaches out and grasps the blade, lifting and turning it. It feels lighter than the wand he has been using in sparring with the majer … and yet it doesn’t.

“You shouldn’t have a problem with that,” Altyrn says.

“Is that why…?”

The majer nods. “Let’s go.”

The captain is waiting outside at the edge of the sparring circle, marked in black bricks and wider than the circles at the Palace, Lerial notes.

“Yes, it is wider,” Altyrn says. “That makes it harder.”

Everything here in Teilyn is harder. Why should this be any different? Lerial takes a position inside the edge of the circle opposite Graessyr.

“No leg cuts,” Altyrn orders. “You make the first attack, Lerial.”

Lerial prefers to have others move first so that he can observe and gain an idea of what they have in mind, but then Altyrn knows that. He moves forward, careful to watch the captain with both eyes and order-senses.

Graessyr keeps his blade slightly lower than the majer does, but Lerial suspects that is only because Lerial is shorter, and the difference in height would make it easier for him to attack the majer’s legs, even though there will be no leg cuts-not with blades, blunted as they are.

Lerial feints, but the captain only shifts his sabre slightly. Then Lerial begins what he hopes looks like a feint, but is actually an attack.

The captain’s blade flicks almost effortlessly to deflect Lerial’s thrust, and Lerial has to dance aside and retreat, then finds himself defending against a sabre that seems to come from everywhere for the next moments … until he begins to get a sense from the order flows of what the captain’s intentions are. Even so, Lerial finds himself on the defensive most of the time, taking hits on the padded armor, and blows he knows have been pulled.

He keeps working, though, and feels that, after a time, he is getting better at defending, and he actually manages a partial strike on the captain before he’s forced back into fighting defensively.

“That’s enough,” Altyrn finally calls out.

Lerial steps back, but keeps his blade up until he is well away from the captain.

“Good!” says Graessyr, lowering his blade. “Stay in the habit of keeping your blade ready until you’re sure that you don’t need it.” He hands his blade to Altyrn. “You can take this. I need to get out of the padding before I boil myself.”

Lerial feels the same way, but walks to the bench beside the armory door, where he lays the blade before beginning to struggle out of the damp and heavy padded armor.

“I can see the majer’s been working you hard,” observes the captain from beside Lerial as he also pulls off his own padding. “You’ve got the basics down well, and they’re smooth, but you have to back off too much when something you don’t recognize comes at you…”

Lerial listens as Graessyr explains. He tries not to move too much, despite the feeling that his legs could cramp any moment, and the stinging in his eyes from the sweat that still flows down his brow and face. When the captain finishes his comments, Lerial nods and says, “Thank you, ser.”

“You’re more than welcome.” Graessyr smiles at the majer. “Every day this time?”

Every day? Lerial manages not to wince.

“That would be best, I think,” says Altyrn.

“Next time, he should have a go with Shastan. He’s got some tricks that I don’t.”

“Good.” Altyrn nods and turns to Lerial. “Rack the padding and the blade, and then join me at the stable. We need to get back to Kinaar.”

“Yes, ser.”

By the time Lerial has racked and put away the padded armor and blunted blade and made his way back to the stable, he has begun to cool down slightly. He also feels bruises in places he has not noticed before, but he mounts easily and rides across the courtyard toward the gates beside the majer.

Altyrn does not comment on the sparring until he and Lerial are mounted and a good hundred yards south of the post gates. Then he turns in the saddle. “When you see something you recognize, your defense and reactions are excellent. When you don’t, you’re awkward enough that you could get spitted.”

Wouldn’t anyone? Lerial manages to nod.

“You don’t have any instincts with the blade. You’ve probably got more of the healer blood in you than is good for combat. I thought as much, but that’s one reason why I wanted to watch you with someone else. We’ll have to do something about that.”

“What would that be, ser?”

“You’ll have to spar with a lot of different Lancers. The more different men you’re against, the more comfortable you’ll be with a blade, even if you run up against something you’ve never seen before.”

Lerial has a sinking feeling that he never realized just what it would take to become good enough with a blade in order to be able to hold his own against Lephi … or anyone else with skill, for that matter.

“You didn’t think it was going to be easy, did you?” asks Altyrn genially. “Why do you think I’ve worked you so hard in the fields?”

“I did think that, ser. I did.” He also realizes that he couldn’t have even held a blade against the captain for more than a small fraction of a glass if Altyrn hadn’t required him to spar with the heavier wooden wand.

He just wonders what else lies before him and what else will be required of him.