Cyador’s Heirs

XXXIV

While the skies are overcast or cloudy on most days in Cigoerne as winter proceeds, there is only one other light rain over the next several eightdays besides the one that occurred the night of Lephi’s return, but the weather turns markedly colder. Every morning, and every afternoon, Lerial struggles with using order to create a concealment, and slowly begins to be able to hold the patterns for perhaps a tenth part of a glass. At times, however, if he does not concentrate closely, small iron objects fly toward him, or rather toward either the lodestone … or his sabre. That worries him, because spears and arrowheads are made of iron, and what good is a concealment if holding one will attract weapons?

He wishes his progress were better, and he has to remind himself that Emerya had told him almost a year before that using order would be far harder than merely mastering the skills of handling a sabre … and his struggles with mastering the concealment technique are yet another proof of that.

On fourday of the third eightday of winter, there are so few injuries and illnesses that both Emerya and Lerial leave the Hall of Healing just after midday. As he rides beside his aunt, Lerial can see his breath steaming, and he is very glad for the Lancer riding jacket-and the gloves Altyrn had given him.

Lerial, Emerya, and their Lancer escorts are still a good half kay from the Palace when Emerya straightens in the saddle and says abruptly, “Your father must be back.”

Lerial almost asks how she knows, but then sees that the ducal banner flies above the guardhouse by the main gate to the palace grounds. “I hope that means that the fighting around Penecca is over.”

“So do I, but it might also mean that both sides remain there, and that your father sees no point in staying, since nothing will change over the winter.”

Lerial frowns. He has not thought of that.

“Not all battles are won in great fights. Some are won by not fighting at all,” Emerya says.

“How can you win by not fighting?”

“Cigoerne today is more than two-score times as large as the lands your grandmere purchased from Duke Atroyan’s father. Not a single field was added by fighting.”

“But the Lancers fight all the time. They fight raiders, and Afritan and Heldyan armsmen.”

“They fight to protect those who have chosen to be part of Cigoerne. Chosen,” Emerya adds firmly.

Lerial considers her words and then replies. “Duke Atroyan and Duke Khesyn can’t like that. Why have they let it happen?”

“They thought the lands were not worth fighting over, but when our engineers and Magi’i made them worth more, they wanted them back.” She pauses. “You’re right, though. I fear those times are over.”

As they ride through the Palace gates, Lerial sees only a few signs of his father’s return-more Lancers in the outer courtyard, dealing with mounts, carrying gear into the stables and the Lancer barracks, and unloading several wagons.

Because he has made a habit of unsaddling and grooming the gelding, and because he stops to wash up somewhat, he knows he will likely be later than Emerya in arriving in the salon to greet his father, but Lerial sees no point in altering his pattern, since no one seems to care that much about his presence.

When he does reach the salon, his father is seated in one of the armchairs, with his mother at the end of settee closest to him. Emerya sits at the far end of the settee.

“Ah … Lerial, you’re finally here,” says Xeranya. “I would have thought you’d have made a greater effort to greet your father.”

“I hurried as I could, ser,” Lerial says to his father, “but I did have to see to my mount.”

“Do you always unsaddle and groom him?” asks Kiedron politely.

“Yes, ser. Well … ever since you sent me to Kinaar.”

Kiedron looks to Emerya.

She nods.

“It’s a good habit to nurture,” remarks Kiedron.

“Lerial has changed many of his habits for the better,” says Xeranya.

The way his mother utters her words suggests that there might be times when Lerial should not be a servant to even the best habits, but Lerial says, “I’m glad that you’re home and well, ser. Very glad.” For more reasons that you know.

Lerial catches the briefest sense of surprise and amusement from Emerya, a feeling he also senses that his mother does not catch. But she’s a healer, too, like Emerya. Except, he realizes, and has to accept, that Emerya is the stronger … and more sensitive. Do they go together?

“I’m very glad to be here.” Kiedron gestures to Lerial. “Go get yourself a lager, or whatever, before I tell you all about what happened … and what we face.”

Lerial moves to the sideboard and pours a glass not quite three-quarters full, then sits in the vacant armchair facing his father.

“What I did not convey is that the elders of the Afritan town of Ensenla have made overtures to me. They have been less than pleased with Duke Atroyan, particularly in the way in which his officers and armsmen have treated their young men and especially their young women…”

Lerial nods, thinking about the two healer trainees who fled to Cigoerne.

“… this has clearly reached either Arms-Commander Rhamuel or Duke Atroyan, if not both, or so many Afritan armsmen would not have been sent to our northern border from the river westward. It is also possible that the overtures have not been made truly by the elders, but by those close to Duke Atroyan as an attempt to entice me to act to expand the borders of Cigoerne. This is something that we have never done. We have only accepted those towns and lands that honestly wanted our protection. At the moment, I have no way of knowing whether these supposed overtures are a true offer or a ruse that will allow Atroyan to assert to Duke Khesyn and Duke Casseon that Cigoerne is ambitious and dangerous and that the three should unite against us.”

“Casseon may talk, but he would have to bring armsmen all the way from Nubyat, or even from Dawhut, and that’s hundreds of kays just to our southern border,” Emerya points out.

“We cannot afford to have any of them think we are too powerful or aggressive,” Kiedron replies. “Atroyan would like nothing better than to have Khesyn attack us in force. I know you believe Rhamuel thinks that is unwise, but Atroyan has ignored his brother’s advice before.”

“True,” admits Emerya. “It did not work out well, but Atroyan does not seem to learn from his mistakes.”

“People often think things are different, even when the same problem occurs again,” suggests Xeranya.

Kiedron clears this throat. “All this brings me back to you, Lerial.”

“Yes, ser?”

“I sent a letter to Majer Phortyn, inquiring about your progress.” Kiedron pauses. “He sent back a dispatch.”

Lerial waits, wondering how favorable the majer’s evaluation might be.

“He admitted that he was surprised by your initial effrontery, but also equally surprised by your level of skill, and especially pleased by your dedication to improving your skills. According to Captain Chaen, while your attacks could use some work, your defenses are excellent.” Kiedron actually smiles. “It appears your time with Majer Altyrn was worth it.”

“Yes, ser. You were absolutely right to send me there.”

“We do occasionally know what might be helpful for our children.”

Xeranya nods in agreement.

“Your presence in the south and your clear ability to get along with Majer Altyrn,” Kiedron continues, “may prove valuable in ways I had not anticipated.”

“Ser?”

“I’m getting there. In addition to the problems with Khesyn and Atroyan, the unsettled state of the lands that border Cigoerne on the south and theoretically belong to Merowey has resulted in far too many raids and raiders over the last ten years. Part of the problem is that Duke Casseon is both arrogant and does not believe as we do.”

Lerial offers a quizzical frown.

“Duke Casseon forbids the use of chaos in his domains. He claims it is evil and must never be used.”

“But … both order and chaos are forces. How they are used determines what they are.”

“Not to someone like Casseon, but Casseon isn’t the problem. Not directly. His lack of control of the northern part of his lands is. Your experience with the majer is just another example.”

Emerya and Xeranya exchange glances, and Lerial senses a certain puzzlement from his mother. He also feels his father is enjoying drawing out what is coming next, as if almost challenging the two to figure out what he is about to reveal.

“To put the matter in simple terms, the elders from the hill towns north and east of Jabuti, believe they are almost a land unto themselves They have sent an actual petition requesting that I consider ruling Verdheln.”

“Verdheln?” Xeranya frowns.

“That’s what they call it. They’re even willing to provide Lancer trainees … and an advance on their tariffs, in golds, to show their sincerity. They worry greatly that they will suffer worse than have our towns, not because many of the raiders have decided to attack their towns, but because they fear Casseon will insist they open their lands and allow in all from Merowey. This troubles them. Enough that they would have me rule them.”

Lerial almost swallows. If the hill towns are the ones whose locations he has studied on Majer Altyrn’s maps, their acceptance of his father’s rule will more than double the size of the lands held by Cigoerne. In time, his father might rival Atroyan in holdings. But not in the number of people or the wealth of those holdings. And that might be another problem.

“Will you accept?” asks Xeranya warily.

“How can I not? The situation is getting more dangerous every year.…”

“We’re spread too thin as it is,” says Emerya. “Even if you can raise more Lancers from those towns, it will take more golds to pay them and time to train them. Who can you spare, with the Heldyans on the east and Atroyan on the north?”

Kiedron smiles. “I have asked Majer Altyrn to oversee the training of those men, and I can spare two squads to support him, but … the elders want a pledge that I will not abandon them.”

Lerial has a strong feeling about what is coming next.

Kiedron turns back to Lerial. “You can do two things at once. You can obtain more Lancer training, and you can represent me to the hill peoples. You are younger than I would prefer to be riding patrols, but accompanying Majer Altyrn would not be exactly the same. You have already shown, according to the response I received from the majer, that you can defend yourself in battle. That is important, because fighting when you can die is not the same as sparring, even with blunted blades. Your presence will assure the hill peoples of my faith in them. There are more towns hidden in and around the forests than Casseon realizes, and we will be able to use some of the Lancers we train for them in places other than defending against raiders from the south.”

“What about arms?” asks Emerya.

“I have known for years that the time would come when we would need more weapons. Every year we have arranged for more sabres to be forged than we would need. An additional fifteen or twenty blades every season seems like nothing for the smiths of Luba … and our own ironmages have also been forging.”

“How many more companies can you equip?” demands Emerya.

“Seven, perhaps eight.”

“You can’t take on Heldya or Afrit with twenty-some companies.”

Kiedron shakes his head. “No. And we may have twenty-five companies. But it’s enough to keep them from wanting to take us on. We’ll just keep building up the Lancers, and Atroyan and his merchants will be happy that we’re taking the losses.”

“Until when?” Emerya’s words are flat.

“Until they leave us alone.”

Lerial can sense the evasion behind those words, and he knows that his aunt must be able to do so as well, but Emerya only nods, if slowly.

“When do I leave for Teilyn?”

“It will take several days to complete arrangements for the wagons to take the supplies and weapons you and the majer will need. I hope to have you and the two squads on the way no later than sevenday … eightday at the latest. Oh … and I’ve asked Majer Phortyn to tell as few people as possible and only to say that you will be accompanying Majer Altyrn on a mission to train townspeople in the west.”

“I’ve been working with the Lancers every morning.”

“You can keep that up for the next day or so. After that, you’ll be busy. Oh … we’ll also need to get you some additional uniform greens and undercaptain’s insignia.”

“I’ll be an undercaptain?”

“Provisionally. Once the majer feels you can handle those duties, he will have the authority to make the rank permanent.”

“You need me to have that rank now … well before we arrive in the hill and forest towns.”

Kiedron nods. “I hope that it is otherwise, but this could be the beginning of even more troubled times.” He smiles brightly. “That’s enough for now. I want to hear what’s been happening here.”

Lerial manages a pleasant expression, but the fact that his father has said “enough for now” means there is more, and it may well not be all that pleasant.