Cyador’s Heirs

L

By sixday, almost three eightdays since he began arms instruction with the Verdyn recruits, Lerial is still wondering whether he can teach the would-be Lancers enough to survive, and more than to survive, to prevail against the Meroweyan armsmen. He is tired, exhausted, in fact, by the end of each day, as well as hoarse. Yet he cannot complain about the recruits. They are polite. They do everything he asks … and, then, by the next session, it is almost as if they have forgotten half of what they had learned before. At least, it’s two steps forward, and only one back. And both squad leaders and Altyrn had emphasized that repetition is the way to learning skills.

Unfortunately, that is also true of Lerial himself. That is why, tired as he is, especially after another short session practicing left-handed, he makes his way through the darkness toward the building that holds the mess hall and the adjoining kitchen. Given the incident with the recruit watch patrol on the previous oneday, he has decided that he does not need a concealment, except when he nears the mess hall. He can sense two of the recruits standing outside the nearest barracks, in the darkness a good fifteen yards away. How far he can sense people has also increased with practice. Almost absently, he uses his order-sense to try to hear what they might be saying of interest, if anything.

“… who’s that?”

“… undercaptain … walks like he knows where everything is … doesn’t have to see it…”

Lerial nods. He can definitely sense people and their words from farther away, but it has taken continual effort and practice.

“… same way with wands, blades, too, I suppose…”

“… and he’s the younger heir?… really scary…”

Lerial frowns. While his ability with a sabre is better than that of many, there are others with better technique, except perhaps on defense, but that is not his technique but his order-sensing skill. Admittedly, his order-senses have improved enough that he no longer needs a lantern or a candle, even in pitch darkness, but he wouldn’t have thought of that as scary. Except that you’ve grown up among the Magi’i.

He keeps walking toward the mess hall, but stops in the deeper shadows by the end of the barracks nearest the kitchen, where he raises a concealment. Then he crosses to the rear kitchen door, which he opens when he is certain no one is near or watching. After entering, he closes it and makes his way to the ovens, banked, but still hot. He chooses the center oven, selects several chunks of wood, opens the door, and feeds them to the coals, waiting until the wood catches fire. Then he sets to work.

He begins by forming order into a fine five-line pattern, similar to that created by the lodestone, then doubles that, and uses it to form a line of flame straight up the middle of the chimney. Although he still has difficulty in controlling chaos, except that it is not so much difficulty as that the handling of much chaos becomes extremely painful, especially in his eyes and head, he can do so, but he has discovered that using order to channel chaos is pain-free and comparatively easy when he is dealing with smaller amounts of chaos.

While his ability to gather free order has increased greatly, doing too much is still painful, as his experience on oneday had proven. Yet by twoday evening, the pain had vanished, and by threeday, he had been able to create a ten-line pattern, without pain or strain. It is clear that the more he stretches his abilities, the more he can do the next time-provided he doesn’t do too much, as oneday’s effort had demonstrated all too obviously.

After warming up with the five- and ten-line patterns, he tries, if carefully, a fifteen-line pattern. He can only hold that for a moment, and he is quick to release it, before he loses control and gets hit with the backlash. Even so, he has proved, if only to himself, that he can increase his ability to channel chaos-at least, fire-chaos. Whether he can use that ability against mage-thrown chaos is another question. Yet he has seen and felt enough varieties of chaos to know that what he is doing should work. If you can work out the differences.

After another brief creation of a fifteen-line pattern, he steps back and takes a deep breath. He can tell he has done enough for the night. Just like bladework … practice and more practice … And just like bladework, he is sore when he finishes, except the soreness is a pounding headache and a slight sense of dizziness, but not the intense dizziness that had struck him on oneday.

This time, as he has been after his near-disaster, he is careful to bank the coals and close the oven door. He also raises a concealment before he leaves the mess hall kitchen, one that he does not release until he is in deep shadows of the nearby barracks and he can sense no one nearby. Then he slowly walks back to the north end of the barracks that holds his quarters and Altyrn’s.

The majer steps out of his quarters, as if he had been listening for Lerial. “Working late, again?”

“As if you don’t,” replies Lerial with a smile that he has to make an effort to present. “You’re planning for the future. I’m trying to catch up in learning what I need to know to be an effective undercaptain.”

“A bit more than that, I think.”

“Some, but there’s still so much to learn.”

“The sabre instruction has been good for you.”

“Most of it is just basics.”

“That’s true, but you’re more comfortable with a wand or a blade. I’ve watched. So have Juist and Kusyl. None of us would want to face you now. You’re also more confident in dealing with rankers.”

“Those are just part of what an undercaptain does.”

“You’re right. That’s why I want you to work with Juist on maneuvers in the afternoon, starting on oneday.” Altyrn holds up his hand. “I know they’ve only had an eightday using actual sabres in their exercises, and they’re not sparring with them, but they need the maneuvers more now. We’ll have to rework the training schedule on eightday, but some of the rankers who are good with a blade can take over in running the recruits through drills. I’ve picked out three who will do it well enough.”

“Yes, ser.”

“I’m glad to see you’re getting more sleep. You looked like sowshit on twoday, and not much better on threeday.”

“There’s just a lot to do,” Lerial temporizes.

“There is, but you’ll do it badly if you’re exhausted. That can get you-and your men-killed if you make a practice of it.”

“I’m learning that, ser.”

“I think you are.” Altyrn smiles. “Good night.”

Lerial returns the smile. “Good night.” Then he enters his own quarters. He is so tired that he has no doubts he will sleep. Well, he hopes.