Cyador’s Heirs

XXIX

Another two eightdays pass, and, while there are several more letters to Lerial’s mother from his father, there are none to Lerial. There is one from Lephi to Xeranya as well, but all it says is that there are some raiders in the south, but not many, and most flee at the sight of the Lancers. The predictions of his mother and his aunt also prove to be true, for, while the clouds of winter roll across Cigoerne, they do not offer the heavy rains that have characterized the early winter eightdays in past years.

Lerial is not certain exactly when it happens, but by sometime late on the first sixday of winter, he has become fully aware of where his opponent’s blade will be-before it’s there, and he has finally reached the point where he can actually do something with that knowledge … and he has not only the technique, but the strength-except when it comes to brute force against Captain Chaen … and then he must find ways to exploit technique. He is still weaker than he would prefer on attacks, but almost never can any of the Lancers with whom he has sparred at headquarters penetrate his defenses, largely because, he suspects, he can discern their attacks almost before they develop.

As Lerial is taking off the padded armor outside the armory, Captain Chaen appears. “You’ve improved measurably over the last three eightdays, Lord Lerial. I’d say that you could hold your own against most now, certainly on defense … although it’s better not to be defending.”

“Am I good enough that Lancers wouldn’t worry about that?”

Chaen smiles. “Any Lancer would worry about you, your brother, or your father, but not because you can’t handle a blade.”

“I wouldn’t be as able to do so without your instruction, ser.”

Chaen shakes his head. “Majer Altyrn’s instruction. I just provided enough different officers so that you could learn how to handle different approaches.”

“You showed me things I didn’t know,” Lerial points out.

“I’ll accept that I helped a little,” the captain replies. “You don’t really need more work…”

“But I need to keep in practice, just like your officers, ser.”

“Fair enough.” Chaen smiles. “Then I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yes, ser.” After the captain leaves, Lerial makes his way to the officers’ quarters to wash up and change.

When he is finished, he walks back toward the stable. He has planned to ride, as usual, to the Hall of Healing, but when he nears the stable, he sees that there are five rankers with Squad Leader Fhanyd, rather than four.

“Ser,” says Fhanyd deferentially, “Lady Xeranya sent a messenger to inform you that she would appreciate your presence at the Palace.”

Has something gone wrong? Father? Lephi? Afritan forces riding toward Cigoerne? Lerial pauses slightly to collect himself, then asks, “Did she say why?”

“No, ser.” Fhanyd adds after a moment. “It might have to do with your brother’s return.”

“Is he all right?”

“He looked to be fine, ser,” says one of the rankers, presumably the one who had brought the message.

Lerial mounts, then turns to Fhanyd. “If you would send one of the men to the Hall of Healing to inform the Lady Emerya that I’ve been summoned to the Palace … and that it’s unlikely I’ll be able to be at the Hall this afternoon?”

“Yes, ser.” The squad leader turns in the saddle. “Rykkar, ride to the Hall of Healing and give a message to the Lady Emerya that Lord Lerial has been summoned to the Palace and that it is unlikely he will be able to be at the healing hall this afternoon.” Fhanyd turns back to Lerial. “Is there anything else, ser?”

“No, thank you.” Not since I don’t really know why I’ve been summoned.

On the ride back to the Palace, Lerial says little, composing himself for what he fears will be a quiet ordeal of sorts, since he suspects he is being summoned to a small private welcome home for his brother, given that the Lancer messenger had said Lephi appeared well.

He doubts that Emerya has been summoned, but he could be wrong. Not that you feel you are.

He also doesn’t like the idea that his father is still fighting Afritans, while Lephi is safe … because if anything happens to Father … There’s nothing he can do about that possibility, nothing at all.

When he reaches the palace courtyard, Lerial follows his usual pattern of unsaddling and grooming the gelding before he walks to the Palace … and turns over his soiled and damp uniforms to one of the maids. Lephi and his mother can just wait a little longer.

He finds his mother and Lephi seated in her salon, with a fire in the hearth, although the Palace does not seem that chill. Lephi has a crystal goblet half filled with red wine resting on the side table beside him. Lerial also notes that he not only wears the uniform of a Lancer officer, but that it is complete with the insignia of an undercaptain.

Both turn to look at him.

“Welcome home!” Lerial makes sure that his greeting is said warmly. There’s no point in angering his mother.

Xeranya looks up from her chair with a worried expression. “I wondered what was keeping you, Lerial. I did think that Emerya could do without you for one afternoon so that you could welcome your brother home from patrol.”

“I came directly.” Lerial offers a pleasant smile as he turns to his brother, who remains seated. “You’re looking well. Doing patrols must suit you.”

“You look good as well,” returns Lephi. “All that extra training must have some benefits. But I suppose you need that to balance the effects of healing.”

“It works out.” Lerial turns to the sideboard, hoping for some lager, but there are only pitchers for wine. He doesn’t really feel like wine, but knows that he is expected to take either the red or the white. He pours less than half a goblet of the white, as the less objectionable of the two vintages, then seats himself on the settee between the armchairs occupied by his mother and brother. Once seated, he lifts the goblet. “To your safe return.”

“Thank you,” replies Lephi. “I really wasn’t in any danger.”

“Any patrol could be dangerous. That’s something that Majer Altyrn pointed out.”

“He must be very old now,” says Lephi, after a sip of his wine.

“One wouldn’t know it from all that he does. He still handles a wand well.”

“That’s not the same as a blade.”

Lerial refrains from pointing out that the wands Altyrn used to show him moves were actually heavier than real sabres. “No, they aren’t, but they do take effort.” He smiles again. “Tell me about your patrols … well … what you haven’t already told Mother.”

“I haven’t said much. We were waiting for you.”

“I appreciate that. I came as soon as I knew.” Even if I didn’t gallop back in joy.

“Well … as I was telling Mother, patrols aren’t quite like what people imagine. There’s lots of riding, and most of the time very little happens.” Lephi looks guilelessly at Lerial and then continues. “In time, you’ll find that out … I mean, whenever you start riding patrols.”

“I’m sure I will … whenever that is.” Lerial takes the smallest sip of the wine, which reminds him of vinegar, and offers an attentive expression.

“Anyway … we ended up almost three days ride south of Narthyl…”

Lerial continues to smile, knowing he is facing a long afternoon.