Cyador’s Heirs

XVIII

The sun is barely above the low rolling hills to the east of the Lynaar when Lerial and Altyrn ride down the lane to the main road. Altyrn wears a worn Lancer riding jacket, along with Lancer greens, without insignia, as well as a Lancer cap, also without insignia, although Lerial can see the brighter green of fabric once covered by insignia.

“You haven’t said much about where we’ll be going and what we’ll be doing,” offers Lerial once they are headed north toward the Lancer post.

“I haven’t. That’s true.” Altyrn grins, something he doesn’t do that often, Lerial has noticed, and even the majer’s smiles are often guarded. “First, you need to see more of Cigoerne. You also need to compare what maps show to what you see with your own eyes.”

“To be able to see in my mind what a map shows?”

“Partly … and partly to see what even the best maps do not show.”

“What else?”

“That’s enough for now, don’t you think?”

What that tells Lerial is that the majer has something else in mind.

When they ride into the fort and rein up perhaps ten yards from the small headquarters building, Lerial immediately sees a group of Lancers ready to mount at the near end of the stables. There are ten rankers-and a junior squad leader.

A junior squad leader … and ten rankers? Just to accompany the majer and him? Either the majer is more worried about Lerial’s safety than he will admit to Lerial, or he has far more in mind than just a journey to educate Lerial. If not both. And Captain Graessyr is not likely to allow eleven Lancers to go off with Lerial and the majer, is he, just for an uneventful ride. But if Lerial is that important … why is he being allowed any freedom at all?

Lerial is still trying to decide if he is reading too much into what he sees when Captain Graessyr appears on the steps of the headquarters building and calls out, “If you’d spare me a moment, Majer?”

“Just stay here,” Altyrn tells Lerial, before he rides over to where the captain stands on the steps up to the small headquarters building. Graessyr moves closer to the majer and his mount and speaks in a low voice.

Lerial struggles to hear the words, but can only make out a few.

“… sure this … wise?”

“… necessary … more … think … someone … family … see…”

“… careful…”

Altyrn nods once, then twice, then remains by the steps when Graessyr reenters the building, only to emerge in moments carrying a jacket and a Lancer cap.

“Lerial.” Altyrn motions.

Wondering exactly what the two want, Lerial urges the gelding forward and then reins up beside the majer. “Ser?”

“The majer and I have been talking,” Graessyr begins. “If you wear a different jacket when you’re riding with him and the others, people might take too much of an interest. We’d both feel better if you wore a Lancer riding jacket and cap. No insignia. Just so you don’t stand out.”

“Yes, ser. I can see that makes sense.” Lerial slips off the gray riding jacket and folds it, then turns in the saddle and eases it under the straps holding his kit in place. He takes the Lancer jacket from the captain.

“It should fit.”

Lerial dons the jacket, leaving it unfastened, and nods. “It does.” He takes the cap, and adjusts it so that, as far as he can tell, it sits on his head in the same way as the Lancers wear theirs. He finds that it is more comfortable than it looks. “It fits, ser.”

“Excellent.” Graessyr steps back. “A good journey to you all.”

For all the heartiness in the officer’s voice, Lerial can sense a certain concern. That concern is scarcely allayed when, after the riders have left the post, two rankers ride out and take positions as scouts or outriders a good hundred yards ahead of Lerial and Altyrn.

Lerial debates asking the question that springs to mind for the time it takes to ride some fifty yards, then turns in the saddle and addresses the majer, who rides beside him. “The majer ordered the rankers to accompany us. He’s not happy about it. Why did you do it?”

“Of course, he’s not happy. You’re second in line to be Duke of Cigoerne, and he’s in charge of patrolling this part of the duchy. If anything happens to you, he doesn’t want to explain how it happened.”

“You told him I needed to see more of the duchy, and blackmailed him into supplying half a squad of Lancers.”

“I didn’t ask for anything,” replies Altyrn. “I just told him what I planned to do and why. He insisted.”

“How could he not?”

“Exactly. That’s the first lesson. Sometimes, it’s just better to do something than try to persuade someone. You have to be prepared to carry out your plan without them, however, and it had better be good, or you won’t be convincing. At least, not until you’re much older and more skilled at misrepresenting the situation.”

“We’re going to do more than ride around this part of Cigoerne, aren’t we?”

“There wouldn’t be any point in going to all the trouble of possibly angering your father for just that, would there?”

Lerial sees no point in even contesting that. “So what are we going to do?”

“If I tell you first, then you’ll never really understand.”

“But you wanted me to study the maps…”

“That’s different. Some things, like reading or knowing maps or handling a blade or riding, you have to learn the basics first. But there are other things where book learning, or tales from an old Lancer, makes it harder to learn.”

“Such as?” asks Lerial.

“If I told you, that would amount to the same thing.” Altyrn offers a rueful smile. “Now … look at the part of the Wooden Ridges that is closest to the river. Where would be the best place to approach it if you thought there might be archers hidden in the trees?”

Realizing that the majer has said what he is going to say about the purpose of the journey, Lerial turns his attention to the trees, a mixture of pines and broadleaf types. “I’d come in from the north, along that gentle slope that goes south from your southernmost barley fields.”

“That’s the easiest for riders, and it’s open,” replies Altyrn. “Don’t you think the archers would know that? Wouldn’t there be more of them there?”

You should have thought of that. “The horses would have trouble climbing the slope to the east, if they could do it at all.”

“Does every attack have to be mounted?”

Lerial pauses for a moment. “On foot, the Lancers could take cover behind the boulders, and they could be within yards of where the trees get thick before they’d be exposed.”

“That’s true enough, but a bow has a longer range than a blade…”

Lerial takes another long look at the Wooded Ridges. Even what might have been a pleasant ride that morning is turning out to be more than he expected.