Cyador’s Heirs

LXXVII

On sixday evening, second company stays in some of the houses in Ironwood that have not yet been reoccupied. Lerial does not bother with detailing Lancers to bury the remnants of the Meroweyans. There are likely no remnants to speak of, and after all his men have done, that is something that the locals can do-or not-as they wish. He sleeps, if not well, with troubling dreams that he cannot recall once he is fully awake. While the throbbing in his head has eased, it has not eased that much, but at least his eyesight is not blurred.

After eating a mixture whose ingredients he does not wish to know for what passes as breakfast, Lerial meets with the squad leaders, and then effectively acting as squad leader for first squad, with those rankers. Then he begins to groom the gelding, under skies that are largely clear, except to the southwest. He also notices a faint acrid smoky odor, the same one that, he realizes, he has smelled ever since he loosed the lightning the afternoon before. Yet the air is clear, without a sign of haze or smoke. Immediately after he grooms and then saddles his mount, a thin man in a faded brown shirt and worn brown trousers approaches … just before Lerial is about to order the company to mount up and begin the return to Escadya.

“You’re the captain here?”

“I am,” replies Lerial warily, trying to be pleasant despite the headache that remains far from entirely fading.

“Mite bit young for that, aren’t you?” The man shakes his head. “What happened to those cess-swilling Meroweyans? They be back any time soon?”

“Almost all of them are dead. Those that aren’t are wounded or captives in Escadya.” Lerial pauses, then adds, “There might be a few wandering around here and there, but they’d likely be near Escadya … maybe Faerwest.”

“You’d not be stuffing my ears now, would you?”

“No. Most of them are dead.” Lerial’s voice comes out flat.

“How’d that happen, if you don’t mind my asking?”

Lerial does, especially with the annoying, almost whining, tone of the man’s speech that seems to worsen the pounding inside his skull, but he manages a smile. “The Meroweyans lost almost ten companies in the skirmishes with the Verdyn Lancers on their march toward Verdell. Some of the Lancers lured one army into a trap at Faerwest, and the elders burned them up in a huge fire. I understand the fire also destroyed the town. The other army, the one that came through here, attacked the Lancers just south of Escadya. More than half the invaders were killed by lightning. The others were killed, wounded, or captured by the Lancers. We destroyed the last two companies just outside the road gates south of Nevnarnia yesterday afternoon.”

“‘Destroyed.’ Big word for a young fellow like you.”

Lerial smiles faintly. “Go and see.”

Abruptly, the man edges back, then nods his head. “Be thanking you.” With that, he turns and walks quickly away.

Lerial watches him for several moments, then mounts. Second company needs to get back to Escadya.

A glass later, as second company is riding northwest on the main road, empty except for them, he is still pondering why the man, clearly a resident of Ironwood, had so suddenly decided to cut his inquisition of Lerial short. Had it been the certainty in Lerial’s voice? Or something else?

He glances up as the light seems to fade, realizing that a cloud must have crossed the sun. Now there are clouds. His smile is wry. The smile fades as he realizes he still smells the bitter acridity of smoke, if faintly.

Riding beside Lerial, Bhurl clears his throat. “Been thinking, ser. Might there be many chaos wizards in the Heldyan forces?”

In the Heldyan forces? “I wouldn’t know. Before we came to Verdheln, I knew that Duke Casseon had some wizards, but no one seemed to know how many. I’ve not heard anything about mages or wizards in either Afrit or Heldya. I’m sure there must be some. Why?”

“Couldn’t say, ser. Except it seems like … well … trouble just doesn’t visit alone, if you know what I mean. The Afritans are stirring things up. Same for the Heldyans … and here comes Duke Casseon.”

“They say troubles come triple,” replies Lerial with a smile. “It could be that the Duke and the Mirror Lancers have taken care of the others as well.”

“Be good if they have.” Bhurl nods, then frowns. “You know those wizards … they’re sneakylike. Can’t even see if they’re with armsmen. Can make a man a mite skittish thinking about it.”

“We managed.”

“Yes, ser, we did. Mostly you, ser.”

“It wouldn’t have been possible without all the Mirror Lancers who came, or the majer, or the elders of the Verd. It took all of us.”

“Yes, ser.” Bhurl offers a smile.

For the next kay or so, the squad leader’s words prey on Lerial, and he can’t help thinking, What happens if you don’t see or sense a chaos wizard? What can you do about that? Can you make an order diversion pattern that is part of the flow of order and chaos around you all the time?

Lerial has the definite feeling that is something he needs to work on … and soon, or as soon as his head stops pounding. He also has the feeling that there are other things he needs to do … if he could just think of them.