Cyador’s Heirs

LXXIX

A good night’s sleep and some solid, if not particularly appetizing ghano-acorn hash for breakfast has Lerial feeling far better on oneday morning when he goes to meet with Altyrn to discuss who might be best to accompany Lerial on his return journey to Cigoerne.

When Lerial enters the small study, Altyrn seems preoccupied for a moment, then says, “I think we’d better go over my report.”

“I trust that you didn’t identify the ordermage who created those ground lightnings,” Lerial says evenly.

“I thought you might say that.”

“You hoped I would.” Lerial offers a lopsided smile as he sits down in front of the desk.

“That, too, but I’ve noticed that you don’t want much credit.”

“I like praise as much as anyone, but I like not being a target even more.”

Altyrn extends a sheaf of papers. “Then read.”

“You must have been writing all night.”

The majer shakes his head. “I’ve written each section as it happened. You forget less that way. You also have less temptation to revise occurrences in your favor.”

Lerial can see both points. He eases the report before him and begins to read. When he finishes, he says, “The only thing I’d suggest is to add something about the loss of not only Essiana, but also a chief archer who was the daughter of an elder on the High Council. And something about the number of hamlets burned and Verdyn killed.”

“I’d thought about the hamlets. Why do you want to mention Klerryt’s daughter?”

“It’s a way of pointing out that the Verdyn are similar.”

Altyrn nods. “You’re right. That will strengthen your father’s resolve to keep supporting them.”

Lerial hands the report back.

“For your return party, I’d thought to ask for four Mirror Lancer volunteers, well … three now, and six Verdyn Lancer volunteers.”

“Three now?”

“Bhurl has requested permission to return with you.”

“How does he know I’m going?”

The majer grins. “He doesn’t. He requested that he be allowed to return to Cigoerne whenever it was possible and in the interests of the Mirror Lancers. He has a family in Cigoerne, his consort and three children. Most of the other Mirror Lancers do not-or if they do…” Altyrn shrugs.

They’re in no hurry to return to that family … for one reason or another. “Will there be trouble getting volunteers?” Lerial is thinking that some of the rankers may prefer to remain as squad leaders in Verdheln, even if they are not being paid as such.

“We can order some of the Mirror Lancers to go, if necessary, but I doubt it will be. Out of six companies … five now, I’m certain we can get six Verdyn volunteers to escort the Duke’s son and to have a chance to see Cigoerne.” Altyrn’s lips quirk into a smile.

“When you put it that way…” Lerial shakes his head.

“You’ll need to get used to things like that.”

Lerial supposes he will, but has another thought. “Fhentaar could handle second company … with guidance.”

“We’ll see. I’ll also be sending a request for weapons to train and outfit more companies of Lancers. The elders have agreed that more are necessary.”

“There were quite a few weapons recovered from the Meroweyans.” Lerial’s statement is bland.

“There were. Once we have them all gathered up, we’ll send some of those, the ones that aren’t suitable for Lancers. Your father or Majer Phortyn can arrange for their sale or their reforging into sabres or lances.” A faint smile crosses Altyrn’s lips. “There is one other matter. Klerryt and I will be riding with you to Verdell. The full Council of Elders wants to meet with both of us to go over an agreement they wish you to present to your father.”

“What sort of agreement?”

“Something to bind him and his heirs to allowing the people of the Verd to retain their own customs in return for their allegiance and tariffs.”

There is something about that idea that bothers Lerial. He has no problem with the Verdyn wanting to retain their customs, yet …

“You have a problem with that?” asks Altyrn pleasantly.

“I have no problem at all with them retaining their own customs.”

“Then why are you looking so concerned?”

“There’s just something…” Lerial knows there is, but it is a matter of feeling, or more of the fact that what is wrong is so obvious, and yet he cannot put his finger-or his thoughts-on what that is.

“There is indeed. It’s only symbolic,” Altyrn says. “At one time, Casseon’s predecessors promised the same thing. It’s very hard for a ruler to bind his successors to a promise, even one in writing, made by a man long dead.”

Lerial feels stupid for not seeing the obvious, but he’s not about to admit that, except to himself. “They hope that if I agree…” He shakes his head. “Lephi’s the heir, not me, and I can only try to persuade him.”

“They know that, but if you and your father agree, it will be harder for him to ignore the promise, and it may not even come to that.”

Lerial can see the elders’ point. “That raises another question. I assume I should report to Majer Phortyn immediately upon my arrival in Cigoerne.”

“If you still consider yourself a Mirror Lancer.”

“Why shouldn’t I? I’m not the heir. As an undercaptain, I should report to the majer.” Even if I won’t be telling him everything.

“As an undercaptain … that’s true.” Altyrn’s voice is level.

“I’m certain that the majer would prefer that I report initially through the chain of command,” adds Lerial. “He doesn’t have to know I carry a personal communication from the High Council.”

“He could command you to reveal it to him and to remain at headquarters while he reports to your father.”

Is he that great an idiot? “Then I would just have to tell him that my orders from his superior-that’s my father-were that I should report to the majer first, but that I should then report to the Palace. I would prefer not to have to say that.”

“You likely won’t have to, but it’s best to decide how you would deal with such a situation.”

Another not-so-veiled suggestion to anticipate and prepare for all possibilities.

For another half glass, Altyrn goes over the details of Lerial’s return to Cigoerne and what he should expect, including what to say to the post commander when he reaches Tirminya. To Lerial, the fact that Altyrn does not refer to Dechund by name suggests just how little the majer thinks of the captain.

When Altyrn finishes, he adds, “By the way, you won’t have to write Elder Klerryt.”

“Oh?” Lerial is immediately on guard.

“He came to Escadya yesterday to represent the council. Donnael has been ill and has returned to Verdell to recover.”

“I should talk to him, then.”

“You should. He’ll be here by eighth glass.”

“That won’t be long. I might as well go out and wait for him.” While you think about what you should say about Alaynara.

“He would appreciate that courtesy.”

“By your leave, ser?”

“Of course. I also appreciate the courtesy.”

Lerial stands and then makes his way to the hitching rail outside the barracks building that holds the officers’ quarters and their studies. There are no riders coming down the lane from the main road, and he turns his thoughts to Alaynara. He is still thinking about what he should say when he sees two riders on the lane. The elder rides in accompanied by a wayguide who looks familiar, but it takes Lerial a moment to recognize and recall Yulyn, who had guided them from the northeast side of the Verd to Apfhel and then to Verdell and Escadya.

“Greetings, Elder, Wayguide,” offers Lerial.

“The same to you,” returns Klerryt as he dismounts.

From what Lerial recalls, there is far more white in the elder’s red hair than there was a season ago, not to mention the dark circles under his eyes. “I thought we might talk for a bit … if you have some time.”

“I always have time to talk to Duke Kiedron’s son.”

Lerial stiffens inside at the formality of Klerryt’s words and tries to offer his reply in a gentle tone. “I would hope you would also have time to talk to Undercaptain Lerial, ser.”

“I would and do.” After a slight hesitation, Klerryt adds, “I’d prefer to walk while we talk.”

“We can do that.” Lerial gestures toward the green in the center of the rows of barracks buildings, then steps up beside the elder, who is just a digit or so taller than Lerial is.

“What did you have in mind?”

“I wanted to talk about Alaynara.”

“To offer some trite comments or explanations?” Klerryt’s words are softly tart.

“No. To tell you what I learned about her and exactly what happened … without justifications or elaborate explanations or rationalizations.”

“I’m listening.”

“She was very professional. She was the best archer I’ve ever seen, and she could estimate a distance and put an arrow down almost on a point on the darkest night. That is no surprise to you, I’m certain.”

“I can’t say it is.”

“She was also very perceptive. She once suggested, very tactfully, except it was really a rhetorical question, when no one else was around, that I’d hadn’t been allowed to be a child long.”

“I don’t imagine you were. What did you tell her?”

“That it didn’t matter now … that what mattered was that other children would have that chance. Somehow … that surprised her. At least, I think it did.”

“It may well have. Why did you think so?”

“Her voice softened, and she said she was sorry.”

Klerryt shakes his head, but there is a wry smile on his face as he looks at Lerial. “That would have been Alaynara. Is there anything else?”

“She was excellent at knowing where the archers should be, and in letting me know in a way that was firm without being challenging.” He pauses. “I didn’t talk to her that much, but…” He shakes his head. “She had picked the position for the archers in the battle at the stream, but we didn’t have the chance to see how effective they would be. We were ordered to pull out and move north along the east side of the stream to delay some Meroweyan companies so that Donnael and Ruethana-I think-could call a storm to block the chaos wizards…” Lerial goes on to explain how he had positioned the squads. “… I misjudged the speed of the Meroweyan advance, but Alaynara had fourth squad cutting down a great number of the leading ranks. There had not been any chaos-bolts thrown. I was prepared for that, and when one came, I redirected it back at their wizard. He did something I hadn’t seen before, and it came back at us twice as strong. I must have done something wrong, because when I sent it back, just a tiny blast of chaos flared back-right in the middle of fourth squad. It only hit three archers. The middle one was Alaynara.” Lerial swallows slightly, then says. “I had the company withdraw immediately, or they would have overrun us.”

Klerryt does not speak for a long moment. “You surprise me.”

Lerial waits, unsure of what the elder will say, worried that Klerryt will offer some withering remark, and knowing he has every right to do so.

“You have not offered a single word to mitigate or justify what happened.”

“How could I, ser? It was a small miscalculation on my part. That is true, but some under my command died because of that mistake.”

“How many others died?”

“None, ser. Not there.”

“Were you attracted to my daughter?”

Lerial blinks. What? For a moment, he can say nothing. Finally, he says, “I admired her. I didn’t think of her in any other way.”

“A fair and honest answer. You’ve worried about her death and talking to me … have you not?”

“Yes, ser.” Many times.

“So here we are. An older man and a younger man. You have risked your life to save our people, and you made a small error of judgment that required your taking an action that led to my daughter’s death, but preserved the lives of almost a hundred other young people.”

“Then,” Lerial is forced to add.

“Then,” agrees Klerryt. After another painfully long silence, he continues. “You have not resorted to excuses. You understand more fully than most far older than you would your responsibility. I can mourn the circumstances. I can and do grieve for my daughter. I cannot fault you, especially given the burdens you bear. No leader, no ruler, no officer can protect all of those in his charge from all eventualities. All we can ask is that they have the greatest skill possible and carry out their duties to the best of their abilities. You are what, perhaps eighteen?”

“I’ll be seventeen on threeday after the turn of summer, ser.”

Klerryt almost stops in his tracks, then shakes his head slowly. “Alaynara was indeed right.” His smile is close to bitter. “And so were we.”

“You? The elders?”

Klerryt nods. “Your father leads the Mirror Lancers on many occasions, does he not?”

“He does.”

“Your brother serves as a Mirror Lancer officer, does he not?”

“He’s an undercaptain, too.” Or he was.

“What of your mother … the women of your family?”

“They’re healers.” Lerial thinks he understands what Klerryt needs to know. “My mother and my aunt serve as healers in Cigoerne. My aunt is the head healer at the Hall of Healing.”

Klerryt nods brusquely. “Then you understand why we were right.”

“I think I understand that you believe you made the best choice of those available.”

“You don’t think so?”

Lerial allows himself a wry smile. “I think so, but to say that you made the best choice would sound more self-serving than I’d care to be.”

Klerryt laughs softly. “It is indeed a pity…” Then he breaks off his words and shakes his head. “We need say no more about what happened … at the stream.”

Lerial nods, relieved, but still concerned and wondering what may come next, because Klerryt begins to resume his former pace.

“I saw the battlefield … you were most fortunate.”

“We were. They could easily have overrun us.”

“That is true.” Klerryt smiles sadly. “But that is not what I meant.”

Lerial nods for the elder to continue.

“Pardon me, Lord Lerial, if I sound as though I were a tutor lecturing a pupil, but I know no other way to convey what I must say. It is most important that you understand what you did and what you can do … and what could happen if you do not understand.”

Lerial does indeed think that Klerryt sounds more like Saltaryn than Saltaryn himself, but the almost gentle way in which the elder speaks suggests that Lerial should indeed listen carefully. You don’t have to agree, but after what you did to his daughter, even unintentionally, you need to listen to him … for the rest of your life, if necessary. “Please go on.”

“Order and chaos exist on two levels, if you will. One level is the one on which most of us who have some ability in manipulating order and chaos operate. Most order and chaos manipulation uses, for lack of a better way of saying it, ‘free’ order or chaos. These are bits or concentrations of order or chaos that are comparatively-comparatively, only comparatively, mind you-easy to bend to one’s ability and will. A fire creates a certain amount of free chaos. So does killing someone or something, or destroying something. A well-built structure tends to attract free order. People can attract either. You, by the way, do not. Most great chaos wizards or ordermasters don’t.” The elder offers another almost sad smile before continuing. “The world and all beyond it are composed of entwined order and chaos, but on a tinier level. What you did was to break apart a few of the most minute pieces of the world to release a great amount of order and chaos. Had you continued for even a few instants more, all that would have remained of you-and all the Lancers and all the Meroweyans-would have been a charred bowl in the ground that might have someday filled with water and have been known as one of the cursed lakes.”

Lerial nods slowly, then says, “I could feel an upwelling of immense power, and I stopped and shunted as much as I could away from us.”

“You did well at that, for which all of us, save Duke Casseon’s men, are most grateful. I can only beg of you to be most careful if and when you attempt that kind of order-chaos manipulation, although”-Klerryt smiles more cheerfully-“I think you have already found that you may not need such drastic measures that often in the future.” The smile vanishes. “You had best hope you do not. For most of great power, the more that power is used, the greater the impact on the user, until, at some time, it is used once too often, and it recoils on the user. When that happens…”

Lerial can sense that Klerryt believes what he says. “You’re saying that I must measure what I do … that…” He frowns. “How can that be?”

“Why do you think Essiana died?” asks the elder. “She asked too much of herself and her power. That is how most great ordermages die. That is also why the great ones who survive tend to learn more subtle uses of order.”

“I admit that I have not attempted much since the last battle,” Lerial says cautiously.

“I would suggest that you proceed cautiously, especially at first. I would also suggest you develop some sort of defense … shields or something that will protect you at all times. Not all order or chaos attacks with noisy and powerful firebolts.”

“You’ve sensed much of what I’ve felt, haven’t you?”

“Some. Not all. You hold enough order that it is … tiring … to try to sense everything.”

Left unsaid, Lerial realizes, is the fact that, without shields-or something-he likely seems like a blazing fire on a dark night to other ordermages-or Magi’i-or, especially-white wizards and chaos mages.

“I do need to speak to Majer Altyrn, since you will likely not be remaining in Verdheln long.”

“Then we should walk back.”

Klerryt nods.

Once Lerial has escorted the elder back to Altyrn and slipped back to the small study that is his, for the next day, anyway, Lerial thinks about Klerryt’s last words. 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? After a moment, he has an additional thought. If you want to survive, how can you not?

Although Lerial feels tired as oneday wears on, he cannot ignore the advice and the warning that Klerryt has delivered. Nor can he ignore what he feels-that somehow he must learn greater control over his abilities so that nothing like what happened to Alaynara will happen to anyone else as a result of his lack of understanding or control.

Isn’t that presumptuous of you-at your age? But the answer to that question is obvious enough. Whether he likes it or not, he has a certain power. Failure to gain greater control and understanding of that power could easily kill him … as he has come close to seeing … and that failure has already killed others.

After begging-requesting, really-some acorn bread and the smelly blue cheese from the cooks, Lerial leaves the mess hall with it and walks slowly down to the open area where he and second company had practiced maneuvers so often-maneuvers that they had so seldom used. Is that always the way of it, that you don’t use what you know and you’re always confronted with what you don’t? He smiles ironically. That’s because those who oppose you will attack where you’re weakest … at least the best of them will, and you can’t count on often encountering the worst.

All that is fine, but how is he going to create shields or defenses of some sort, that is, the kinds that work all the time?

He begins by creating a simple coil pattern. That is easy enough. The next step is to link it to the flow of order around himself … and that is where he runs into trouble.

No matter what he tries, the moment he stops thinking about the pattern, it dissolves back into free order. What he does discover, though, is that there is a great deal more free order around than he recalls. Except that Klerryt had said-and he doesn’t think the elder was deceiving him-that he doesn’t attract free order … or chaos. So why…?

Because you now sense “deeper” levels of free order?

That makes sense, but whether it’s correct is another matter.

By late afternoon, Lerial is no further than he was when he began, not in terms of being able to create shields or defenses that will remain in place when he is not thinking about them … although he has developed defense patterns that provide-he thinks-a stronger defense with less effort on his part. He can definitely gather and concentrate more order, and with it, more chaos, but even small concentrations of chaos make him feel very uneasy, even when that chaos is surrounded and shielded from him by order.

In the end, he goes to bed early-worried and tired-on oneday night.

He wakes up more rested, but no less worried, or at least concerned, about his inability to figure out a defense that he doesn’t have to maintain actively.

Then again, you didn’t have any defenses a season ago. While true, that thought doesn’t console him terribly, although it remains in the back of his mind as he is packing his gear and grooming the gelding to be ready to leave the training compound with Altyrn by seventh glass. The early morning sky is hazy, not that the haze will make much difference for the ride, since most of the way is shaded by the tall trees of the Verd.

He does not bother to mount the gelding, but walks him to the north end of the stables where Bhurl, selected by Altyrn as the acting squad leader because he is the most senior, is forming up the Lancers who will accompany Lerial all the way to Cigoerne, as well as those who will ride to Verdell with the majer and then escort him back to Escadya. One of the other three Mirror Lancers is Moraris. That doesn’t surprise Lerial at all, because Moraris has always struck him as the kind of man who is more comfortable where there are more people and more opportunities to trade things to an advantage. The other two Mirror Lancers are Taendalk and Khillen, men Lerial scarcely knows except by name. Except for Vominem, he knows none of the Verdyn Lancers by name, although most of their faces are vaguely familiar.

“Morning, ser,” Bhurl calls out cheerfully.

“Good morning,” Lerial replies with a smile, then mounts the gelding quickly as he sees Altyrn and Klerryt both riding toward the formation.

As the column moves from the training compound, Lerial is riding at the head of the column beside Bhurl, with Vominem a good hundred yards before them as scout, and Klerryt and Altyrn behind Lerial and Bhurl.

“You glad to be headed back?” Lerial asks the squad leader.

“Relieved. Glad to be riding back in one piece. Always the chance that it can happen to you the way it did to Ferragn and Alaarn.”

“I was a little surprised to see Moraris…” Lerial is not at all surprised, but wants to hear what Bhurl will say.

“He’s close to the end of his term. Wants to try his hand as a trader. That’s what he says.”

“I did overhear him trying to trade for more arrows for his archers.”

“Leastwise…” Bhurl breaks off with a laugh. “He did a good job with the archers. Had some help from the chief archer. Shame about that.”

“A great loss.” In so many ways. Lerial lets the silence draw out before he asks, “What can you tell me about Taendalk and Khillen?”

“Good men. Taendalk’s almost as senior as me…”

Lerial listens, trying not to think too much about Alaynara … or his own failure to create defenses.