Cyador’s Heirs

VI

For the next eightday, Lerial dutifully continues his lessons with Saltaryn, followed by sessions with Undercaptain Woelyt. While he feels he is getting better and is able to avoid the worst strikes and bruises, the undercaptain still disarms him regularly, even though Lerial has taken to practicing even more by himself. He no longer gets that tired holding the wand, but he is all too aware that he does not have the physical strength of the undercaptain, or even of Lephi, who returned from his first patrol late the previous evening.

When Lerial rises on sevenday, he sees no sign of his brother, who does not rise for breakfast and is doubtless sleeping in, although their father has always insisted that sevenday morning is for work and that only on that afternoon and eightday itself are the two excused from duties and lessons. Lerial finds he is annoyed, but not especially surprised, since their father’s rules seem to him to be applied less rigidly to Lephi. That’s the way things are, and will always be.

He eats his breakfast quietly, with Ryalah, Amaira, and Emerya, although his mother arrives as he is finishing, then heads for his lessons with Saltaryn. The magus is less demanding on sevendays, and by late midmorning, Lerial is finished. Lephi is still not up.

So Lerial seeks out Undercaptain Woelyt and spends a good glass accumulating more bruises and, hopefully, getting better in using the sabre.

After cooling down and cleaning up, Lerial returns to his chambers to work on an even longer essay for Magus Saltaryn. Lephi does not come by, and Lerial is not about to go looking for him. Instead, he finishes the essay and practices some with the sabre wand, if not strenuously enough to work up much of a sweat. Finally, it is time to head down to the main courtyard for refreshments before dinner.

He reaches the east door to the courtyard just after Lephi. His older brother’s face is lightly tanned, as dark as it will likely ever get, but his short-cut hair is now almost white-blond, and his green eyes appear paler to Lerial. He even looks more confident as he fills a glass with red wine, not watering it, and settles into the chair across the large courtyard table from his mother.

Lerial moves toward the refreshment table where he half fills his glass with light lager, knowing that he can drink two half glasses without comments from his mother or aunt, when drawing a full glass would draw a cold look or a few words.

“Emerya!” calls his mother.

Lerial turns to see his aunt approaching with Amaira and Ryalah. Immediately, he sets down his glass and pours redberry from the crockery pitcher into two small tumblers, which he carries to the table where the girls usually sit.

“Thank you,” says Emerya quietly, before turning. “What do you say, girls?”

“Thank you,” chorus the two.

“You’re welcome.” Lerial smiles as he steps back and watches the girls sit down.

Ryalah sets the ubiquitous pegboard on the table, then takes a swallow of redberry, but Amaira takes only a small sip.

Lerial cannot sense any chaos in his cousin, but she is very quiet, even quieter than she had been at breakfast. Rather than say anything, he waits while Emerya takes a goblet and pours a small amount of white-or light amber-wine into it. Then he follows her to the large table and sits to his mother’s right, putting as much space between himself and Lephi as possible.

“How is Amaira?” asks Xeranya, looking to Emerya. “She seems better. A bit pale, though.”

Both women look at the smaller table where Amaira and Ryalah sip redberry juice from the small tumblers.

“Her fever is gone, and she’s eating now. She gets tired by the end of the day.” Emerya takes a deep breath. “It’s been a long eightday.”

Lerial nods. He’d been able to sense that just from his aunt’s demeanor over the past days.

“Tell us about your patrol,” says Xeranya, looking proudly at her older son.

“It was just a patrol,” replies Lephi. “We rode southwest from Cigoerne along the Thylan River road for almost four days. One day we rode through Teilyn, as you requested, ser.” Lephi looks at Kiedron, who has entered the courtyard from the west entrance unnoticed and who nods. “We didn’t see anyone we shouldn’t have, and none of the people along the road had been raided. It wasn’t until we got to Barteld that we heard about raiders. The captain said that was a bad sign. Usually they don’t come north of Narthyl.”

“That’s not good,” Emerya agrees.

From his studies with Saltaryn and glasses spent memorizing maps, Lerial also understands. One of the reasons his father has been able to claim the territory he has for the duchy of Cigoerne is that, except for the lands near the Swarth River immediately west of Cigoerne and along the smaller Thylan River that flows into the Swarth a kay or so south of the city, most of the land claimed by Kiedron consists of hills covered with sparse grass, with occasional wooded areas. Rather … most of it had been grassland, but Lerial’s grandmother had insisted on using the mages and the Lancers to build ditches and canals off the Thylan and a few smaller streams. Over just a few years, more people have appeared and begun to farm lands that only needed water, and the use of irrigation for some pasturage has also created some herds used for dairying and cheese-making. The fact that raiders are appearing some sixty kays north of Narthyl, which is the largest town in the south of Cigoerne, is definitely a cause for concern.

“What happened?” asks Lerial.

“I was going to get to that,” replies Lephi, “if you’d given me a moment.”

“You might let Lephi talk, dear,” adds Xeranya mildly.

Lerial nods, seething, and takes a sip of his lager.

Lephi does not immediately speak, clearly letting the silence speak for him.

Lerial takes another sip of his lager, thinking he’ll be angel-cursed if he’ll utter another word.

At last, Lephi clears his throat and says, “For two days we patrolled the area around Barteld. We saw some tracks, but we never saw the raiders. Then a herder sent word that he’d seen riders heading west…”

West? wonders Lerial.

“… and the captain figured out that they were riding toward a hamlet southwest of Bartheld where there’s a little lake, and they’ve got orchards and sheep there. He had us ride late that evening, and we got there before the raiders did. They didn’t show up until the next morning, and we ambushed them. Only a few got away. We only captured a handful, but all but one of them died of their wounds.”

That doesn’t surprise Lerial. The grassland raiders tended to fight to the death if they are surrounded.

“How big was the band, dear?” Xeranya inquires.

“About a score. There might have been a few more.”

“Did you fight any of them?” asks Ryalah loudly from the small table.

“No,” admits Lephi. “The captain had me with the reserve squad. We were posted between the raiders and the hamlet, just in case any raiders got by first squad.”

“What did the raiders look like?” asks Emerya.

“They wore those loose baggy white tunics and baggy trousers, like all the Meroweyans do.”

“Only the raiders in the north of Merowey do that,” offers Emerya gently. “That’s because the land is so dry there.”

Lerial could have said the same, but he is glad that his aunt does.

“Of course,” agrees Lephi genially. “That’s what I meant.”

“Did they look thin or gaunt?” presses Emerya.

Lephi frowns. “I don’t know.”

“What did the captain say about how they fought?”

Lerial can tell that Emerya is worried, but he doesn’t understand why.

“He did say something about it being easier than usual. Why?”

“They’re avoiding Narthyl because it has a garrison there. Your company was sent out to patrol an area north and west of Narthyl. That likely means that the grassland nomads are short of food. We didn’t have much rain this winter, and the hill grasses here are already browning.”

“I’m afraid you’re right, Emerya,” offers Kiedron as he nears the table. “The southlands are dry, and last fall’s harvest in the north of Merowey was scanty. That’s what all the traders have been saying as well. The Ministry records show we’ve been getting more hides as well.”

Hides? What do they have to do with it? Lerial wonders, but does not ask, not with Lephi ready to show his superiority.

Kiedron walks to the serving table and pours himself a goblet of the red wine. “It’s not much better to the west of here. That’s where I’ve been with Fifth Company. We’re even seeing raiders and poachers from Afrit there, and the hill forests are drier than usual.” He sits down between his sister and his consort so that he is on Emerya’s right.

“Did you come across any raiders from Afrit?” asks Xeranya.

“One of the squads did, but we killed only two. The others fled into the woods. The area was rocky and dangerous, and I didn’t want to risk the mounts, not over raiders who were more like poachers.”

“They’re hungry,” observes Emerya.

“Then they should poach in Afrit,” retorts Kiedron, “except they know Atroyan-or Rhamuel-will execute their families if they’re caught. We can’t do that, because we’d have to go into Afrit to do it, and the poachers know that. So they try to steal game, crops, or livestock from Cigoerne. Even if they get caught, their families are safe.”

“A cruel choice,” says Emerya.

“It’s a cruel choice for us as well,” points out Kiedron after taking a swallow of wine and setting the goblet on the table. “If we don’t kill at least a few of them, even more will come sneaking into Cigoerne and steal from our people. We’re not a wealthy land, not yet. Duke Atroyan could spare some wheat-corn or maize flour for his people, but he chooses not to. You know we’ve sent what we can to Narthyl and some of the hamlets when we could.”

Emerya nods slowly, and Lerial gets the impression that she does not fully agree … or that there is something left unsaid, if not both. But then, that is often the case.

“Lephi’s patrol seemed to go well,” suggests Xeranya.

“That’s what Captain Jahaal told me at the Lancer headquarters. They did run into some raiders, but not as many as I feared from the earlier reports.”

“That may be because many are too weak to cross the hills.”

“It’s possible, and I’m grateful for that. We don’t need hordes of poachers, raiders, and beggars. It will be worse after harvest. The water level in the Thylan is low, and it’s continuing to drop. If it gets much lower, we won’t be able to use some of the older irrigation ditches unless they’re deepened, and some of the growers aren’t listening. By the time they do something, it will be too late.”

“You can’t order them…?” says Xeranya.

“I’d rather not. If I do, then I’ll have to punish those who don’t. If I punish them enough that they understand, they won’t be in any condition to dig ditches … or harvest their crops.”

“What about having some of the Mirror Lancer trainees, the rankers, that is,” suggests Emerya, “work on some of the ditches?”

“Majer Phortyn is already assigning that duty for disciplinary punishment. That will help some, but not enough. He’s always believed in punishment tasks, rather than flogging.”

“With his background, how could he not?” asks Emerya.

“He’s worked hard.” Kiedron gives his sister a hard glance.

Lerial wonders what lies behind the look, but says nothing.

“Could some of the Magi’i help, Father?” asks Ryalah, timidly.

Kiedron laughs, heartily. “I would that they could, little one, but using chaos to dig in the earth is tiring, and there are better uses for the Magi’i.”

Also, reflects Lerial, earth tends to absorb chaos, so that chaos isn’t that helpful in digging through soil. In the moment of silence that follows, he turns to his father. “Why weren’t there any Magi’i in the Mirror Lancers … or in our Lancers?”

“There were more Magi’i in Cyador. It was a far bigger land, but we still have Mirror Lancers.”

“But we don’t have firelances or mirror shields.”

“They’re still Mirror Lancers, and their training and tactics are better than any other troopers in Hamor or Candar … or anywhere else,” replies Kiedron. “We have over fifteen companies now to protect our people. That’s another reason why Cigoerne has grown and prospered.”

“And because Grandmother chose where we could settle wisely?”

“That’s true, but it doesn’t matter how well you choose if you can’t hold and defend what you have.” Kiedron’s voice is jovial, but Lerial can sense, both by the slight edge to his father’s words and by the increase in the chaos surrounding him, that Lerial’s question has annoyed him.

“Strong Lancers are everything,” adds Lephi in a pontificating tone.

Lerial debates contesting that, saying that Lancers cannot defend if they don’t have a strong land with crops and herds, and crafters to support them, but he decides against speaking out.

“I understand you’ve been most diligent in your sparring,” Kiedron looks at Lerial and goes on, in an almost patronizing tone. “If you keep working you might even be their commander when Lephi is ruler of Cigoerne.”

Lerial keeps a pleasant smile on his face. I hope that’s a long time coming. “You didn’t tell me why there are no healers-”

“Men aren’t supposed to be healers, except maybe if they’re officers, and they can do a little healing for wounded men. Healers feel too much to be effective fighters…” Kiedron shakes his head. “Feeling pain and suffering is necessary to be a good healer, but all that feeling would keep a Lancer from being effective in battle.”

From beside her brother, where Kiedron is not looking, Emerya gives Lerial the smallest of headshakes. Lerial represses a smile.

“Besides,” adds Lephi, “people think healers aren’t strong, and it wouldn’t be good for us if the barbarians think our officers are weak.”

“There’s strength, and there’s strength,” Emerya says calmly. “It takes a certain kind of strength to face wounds and fluxes and blood all over everything and to do the best you can do … and know that it might not be enough. I’ve seen Lancers able to cut down barbarians with ease pale and almost faint when they see a woman or a child who’s been badly hurt and bleeding all over everything.”

Surprisingly, at least to Lerial, his mother nods at Emerya’s words.

Kiedron almost frowns, Lerial thinks.

Instead, his father declares firmly, “We need both kinds of strength.” Then he turns to Xeranya. “What might we be having for dinner?”

Even as he understands that his father has ended any further discussion of healers, Lancers, and strength, Lerial wonders why his father has done so.