Cyador’s Heirs

XX

Sparan dies just before dawn on eightday morning. The Lancers bury him on the hillside where he fought, but remove his personal articles and place them in the dead Lancer’s kit bag, which they tie to his saddle.

When Lerial checks Hualsh, the wounded Lancer appears slightly stronger, or his order flows do, but Lerial worries. From what Lerial can sense, the wound chaos has not increased and might be just a touch less. But is that what you want to believe? How can you tell?

“How does he feel?”

Although Altyrn’s voice is low, Lerial starts, because he has not heard the majer approach. He turns, and after a moment, he says, “He’s stronger than yesterday…”

“But you worry.”

Lerial nods.

“It would be better for him to stay here for a few days. We don’t have that choice.”

“Because of me?”

“Partly. It’s also because Graessyr and your father need to know how bad things could get. The raiders haven’t come this far north and east in years. If they’re coming here this soon after harvest, there are likely more of them near Bartheld and Narthyl. The longer before he knows, the more growers will suffer.” Altyrn adds, “That’s going to make things difficult for your father … and for everyone in Cigoerne.”

“Because the Heldyans-or the Afritan poachers-will take advantage of it if Father sends more Lancers south?”

Altyrn nods. “It’s possible.”

“We need more Lancers, then.”

“If he raises more than the two companies Majer Phortyn is training now, that will leave fewer men in the fields. That will make planting harder and slower in the spring. It takes seasons to train a Lancer. You knew how to handle a blade and ride, and look how long it’s taken you.”

“And I’m not even as good as they are,” says Lerial.

“No … you’re better than the newer Lancers. You’re just not as good as the experienced squad leaders and officers. You’re probably better than the very junior undercaptains, but you should be better than that before you can ride patrols.”

Why? Lephi likely isn’t that much better. “Because I’m Father’s son?”

Altyrn offers a sad smile. “No. Because you’re part healer.”

Lerial doesn’t know quite what to say to that. Saltaryn has said that a youth of Magi’i blood should avoid healing until he mastered chaos. Was what the majer has told Lerial what Saltaryn had really meant?

“A Lancer officer who is part healer cannot afford to think about what he does in battle. He must be so well trained and skilled that his body will instantly do what needs to be done.”

“Why is that?”

“Healers are steeped in order. Order opposes death. In battle, you have to seek the death of those you oppose. If you don’t, you’ll be the one who is most likely to die. You will have to lead men. They will know, before long, if you hesitate to kill when you must.”

Lerial understands. He doesn’t like it, but he does understand.

“Now … we need to pack up and head out.”

“Yes, ser.”

As he begins packing his kit bag, Lerial can only hope that Hualsh can survive the ride back to Teilyn. His eyes drift toward the hillside … and the single grave that holds Sparan … and the larger and shallower one that holds the bodies of twelve Meroweyan raiders.