Cyador’s Heirs

XXX

Lerial does not see Lephi on sevenday morning, not that he expects to, as early as he leaves for Lancer headquarters. When he returns from the Hall of Healing that afternoon, after riding through a cold south wind that promises either snow or icy rain, he finds Lephi in the main salon, wearing the dress uniform of a Mirror Lancer and talking with their mother. Lephi does not rise when Lerial enters..

“You’re going somewhere?” asks Lerial.

“In a while. There’s a reception at the villa of First Magus Tyrsalyn. His daughter is pretty enough, but some of her friends are stunning. You should come,” suggests Lephi.

“I wasn’t invited.”

“Who’s going to deny the son of the Duke, even the younger son?”

“Even so … I think I’ll pass.”

“You’re worried about being too young?” Lephi shakes his head. “Some of the girls will be younger than you are.”

“You could go,” says Xeranya in a tone that conveys the opposite of her words.

“He could if he wanted. No one will care if he comes with me,” Lephi replies.

Exactly! No one will care, except for the wrong reasons. “I think I’ll pass. It’s been a long week.”

“All that bladework tiring you out, brother?”

“Healing is tiring as well.”

“Healing?” Lephi raises his eyebrows.

“Yes, healing,” says Emerya firmly.

Lerial has sensed her arrival, but has said nothing.

Even Xeranya nods at Emerya’s words.

“I suppose a lot falls on you, being the most accomplished healer,” Lephi says graciously, not quite pointedly avoiding acknowledging his mother’s nod.

“It often does.” Emerya moves to the sideboard and pours herself a glass of lager.

Lerial takes the opportunity to do the same, then seats himself on the settee beside his aunt.

“Lerial … you never did say how you were coming along with blades,” says Lephi.

“Better,” replies Lerial.

“That’s good. You needed a lot of improvement.” He smiles. “We could spar sometime, and I could show you what I’ve learned.”

“Well…” Lerial pauses, then goes on, trying to be noncommittal enough, even slightly reluctant enough, that Lephi will insist because he sees a certain weakness in Lerial, “that might be good. Most days, though…”

“You don’t spar with the Lancers on eightday. They never do.”

“That’s true. We could spar tomorrow.”

“Excellent! I look forward to it.” Lephi sets his glass of wine, still more than half full, on the table beside him, and rises. “I must be going before long.” He looks to Lerial. “You’re sure you don’t want to come?”

“Not this time.” Lerial smiles politely, with a touch of warmth. “Perhaps when I’m recognized in my own right, as you are.” He can sense that Emerya blocks revealing something, almost as if a black haze surrounds her for a moment.

As soon as Lephi leaves, Xeranya looks to Emerya. “What was it that upset you?”

Emerya smiles and shakes her head. “I almost laughed, and that would have upset Lephi … unnecessarily.” She looks at Lerial. “Do you really think you’ll ever be recognized in your own right?”

Not without accomplishing far more than Lephi has. “You’re saying that we’re only recognized because of our parentage.”

“At present … isn’t that true?” Emerya responds. “Isn’t that always true of the children of those with power until they come close to or exceed the accomplishments of their parents?”

“Sometimes,” adds Xeranya quietly, “that’s true even when a child accomplishes more than the parent.”

Lerial understands what she means all too well. His grandfather, from what he has learned in recent years, apparently took actions that led to the destruction of Cyador while his father has built a duchy from almost nothing.

“What people believe is often not true,” Emerya agrees, “and sometimes it is most unfair.”

“People believe what they wish to believe.” Xeranya’s words are cool, almost dismissive, yet Lerial senses a weariness behind them. Then she smiles. “We do have a warm dinner, a very gentle burhka, one that even Kiedron would like.”

“Will we have snow, do you think?” asks Lerial.

“What do you think?” counters Emerya.

Lerial frowns. Emerya is asking as if he were a weather magus. “I don’t know. I’ve heard that some ordermages and healers can sense what the weather will be. That’s why I asked.”

Xeranya shakes her head. “Not me. Sometimes your aunt can.”

“How do you do that?”

“If a storm is strong enough or near enough, I can feel the patterns of order and chaos.” Emerya shrugs. “It’s still a bit of a guess, because I’ve never been able to figure out all the patterns. I do know that when the conflicts between order and chaos are, I’d guess you’d call it ‘level,’ and the clouds are flatish … we usually get a gentle rain … and when there are towering white and black clouds, especially white at the top and dark at the bottom and there’s a chaotic swirl that’s a dull whitish red, that’s often going to be a strong thunderstorm. Now … the clouds are too far away.”

“There are high gray clouds,” ventures Lerial.

“High can also be far away.”

That makes sense to Lerial, and he sits back slightly and takes a swallow of the lager he has not even sipped.

Lerial is more than happy to have a quiet dinner with his mother and aunt and the girls … and then to read in the salon before a fire … because a cold rain has begun to fall, and his own chamber will be chill and damp-fine for sleeping, but not for reading-and he only has a single lamp.

That night, after he closes the book on the history of eastern Candar, with the puzzling entry on Duke Heldry, who supposedly stood and challenged a massive thunderstorm, and was thereafter called “Heldry the Mad,” he returns to his chamber and opens the shutters. Standing at the window, he tries to sense the clouds above. They do not feel all that “flat” to him, not in the order-sense, but then, the icy rain seems to come and go in gusts and spurts. After that, he tries to see just how far he can extend his reach in feeling what the order currents above are doing. After less than a fifth of a glass, he is exhausted.

Finally, he closes the shutter and climbs under the blankets he so seldom needs.

On eightday, Lerial rises late, for him, at seventh glass. In time, he makes his way down to the breakfast room, which his mother and Emerya are already leaving. Doubting that Lephi will be up any time soon, he takes his time with the bread, cheeses, and the late melon that have been left for him. After eating, he finds Ryalah and Amaira playing with their dolls next to the low fire in the salon. Emerya is using a lap-desk to write something and looks so intent that Lerial does not interrupt her, but amuses himself by listening to the two girls at their play.

How much time has passed he has no immediate idea when Lephi enters the salon carrying a pair of wands.

“There you are. I thought we were going to spar. That is, if you’re up to it. It is a bit chill compared to in here.”

Lerial stands and stretches. “I suppose we could do that. The south courtyard or outside by the stable … where the Lancers practice?”

“The south courtyard might be better. It’s … less obvious.”

“You’re right about that.” Lerial does not smile, but follows his older brother from the salon along the main front corridor south to the side hall leading to the courtyard. He thinks he can sense someone behind him, but when he glances back, he can see no one.

The courtyard doesn’t feel that cold to Lerial, certainly no colder than does the practice area at Lancer headquarters at seventh glass in the morning.

“Take your pick.” Lephi extends both wands.

Lerial hefts one, then the other, just to make sure that neither is terribly out of balance. Neither is, and he takes the one that is slightly heavier, then walks to the circle and waits for Lephi to join him. He doesn’t have to worry about the sun because there is still a high overcast.

“You ready?” Lephi steps into the circle and raises his wand.

“When you are.”

“Then start.”

Lerial feints an attack, but just enough of one to encourage Lephi to try a counter. Lephi does, and Lerial slips it, leaving Lephi slightly out of position. Rather than take that advantage, Lerial circles toward Lephi’s uncovered side, forcing his brother to retreat and turn. Then Lerial engages Lephi’s wand, sliding it up before dropping and starting an underthrust, but waiting just long enough that Lephi can recover.

Lephi charges forward, almost spinning his wand in a circle, but Lerial has already anticipated the attack and slipped past it, striking Lephi’s wand on the back edge and forcing his brother into another quick recovery.

The pattern continues for a good half glass, until Lephi steps back. He is breathing heavily. “It was a long night last night. You should have come. There were some young ladies there who would have been very pleased to appreciate you.”

Stepping back himself, Lerial replies, “There will be other times, I’m sure. It’s been a long week for me as well.”

Lephi lowers his wand. “You’ve got a good defense, but you never attack. That’s not the way to kill raiders or win battles.”

“I’m sure, with more practice, I’ll learn better attacks.” As he stands there, Lerial realizes something else. He has barely raised a sweat. Part of that may be due to the colder weather … but not all of it.

“You don’t even have any attacks.” Lephi’s tone is not quite scornful.

“Then I must have a great deal to learn.”

“Yes, you do.”

Lerial does not reply for a moment because, again, he has the feeling someone is watching, but he sees no one.

“Here. You can take the wands. I got them out.” Lephi extends his wooden wand.

“That’s only fair,” Lerial agrees.

Abruptly, Lephi turns. “I’ll see you later.”

As his brother hurries off, Lerial senses that Lephi likely drank more watered lager that morning than he had realized. With a faint smile, he heads for the western door to the south courtyard, since that’s the closest one.

He is not totally surprised when Emerya steps out of the gloom of the archway. “You were watching, weren’t you?”

“The last part. You’ve gotten a great deal better … and much older.”

Lerial suspects he knows what she means, but only says, “I’ve tried to learn as much as I can from the Lancers.”

“You’ve learned more than that. I wonder how Lephi will react if he ever discovers just how good you’ve become.”

“I’ve had more time to practice. He’s been on patrols.”

“He’s three years older, and he certainly had the time to practice before he was old enough to go on patrols.” Emerya smiles. “But you wanted me to say something like that.”

Lerial finds himself flushing. “I suppose I did.”

“You’re bright enough to know that showing up your older brother is unwise, but still young enough to want praise.”

“Doesn’t everyone want praise … or to be appreciated?”

“We all want it. I don’t think it’s a desire we ever outgrow … but it’s dangerous to need praise when you have power, especially if you’re a ruler or close to a ruler, because you can be manipulated by those who provide the praise. You can feel that they’re the only ones who truly appreciate you. Your father understands that. He doesn’t like it, but he understands.”

Lerial can see what Emerya is not saying. She is worried that both Lerial and Lephi will always be governed by the need for praise … and possibly that Lephi is even more desirous of such praise. Or is that what you want to believe?

“By the way, that comment of yours last night was masterful. Unfortunately, Lephi is so preoccupied with himself that he missed it.”

“The one about recognition? It was perfectly true.” Except for the last few words.

“You know that it’s possible that Lephi just might think over your sparring and realize that you were playing with him?”

“It’s possible,” Lerial concedes, “but then he’d have to admit that I’m better. As long as no one else knows it, and I don’t say anything … One way or another, he probably won’t want to spar with me again. Even if he thinks he’s better, and he might cling to that feeling, he knows that I’ve gotten better, and that the next time might turn out worse.”

Emerya nods. “You’re sounding like Grandmere.”

“Is that bad?”

“Not with me.”

But it might be with others. “Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Do you want to ride down to the healing hall with me? I just want to make sure there’s no one who needs a strong healer.”

“I can do that. I’d like to.”

“Good.” Emerya smiles.

Before that long, they are riding northwest on the boulevard.

After a time, Lerial asks, “How do you do a concealment?”

“Why are you asking me?”

“Because I sensed someone was following and watching me … and I didn’t see anyone. But you were there all along, weren’t you?”

“I might have been.” Emerya glances back.

“The Lancers always give us space.”

“It’s a matter of controlling the flow of order and chaos around you.” Her voice is so low that Lerial can barely hear it. “Light is a mixture of order and chaos. If you can keep the light from touching you, then no one can see you. If you don’t keep the flows smooth, though, people will know something is wrong because where you stand will look like everything is wavering … or worse. I can’t tell you how … not exactly. I just worked at it until I could. Oh … there’s one other thing. When you’re in a concealment, you can’t see. You can only order-sense. If you’re not good at it, it’s better if you stand in the shadows.”

“That’s it?”

“Is being good with a sabre just holding a blade and waving it around?”

Lerial laughs, if softly, then says, “Yet another thing for me to work on.”

Emerya nods. “That’s life. Working on one thing after another.”

Lerial senses that there is much left unsaid, but he does not press. Not now. For a moment, he wonders why she has told him so easily. Only for a moment. Because she knows it will not be long before you will be riding patrols … and she thinks you need more skills than you have with the blade.

That thought chills him … more than the icy wind blowing out of the south.