Cyador’s Heirs

LXXX

The column turns up the paved street in Verdell on fourday afternoon just before third glass, heading toward the octagonal green that holds the black stone building, also octagonal in shape, where Lerial and Altyrn will once again meet with the High Council of Verdheln. This time Bhurl and Klerryt ride at the head of the Lancers, followed by Altyrn and Lerial. After they rein up outside the single-level octagonal building with its low, domed slate roof, Lerial, Altyrn, and Klerryt dismount, and the elder leads the way into the building, through the open area, and then into the council chamber where three others are waiting, rising from their places around the circular table.

Lerial recognizes Ruethana and Donnael, but not the other woman, who, while certainly not young, is strikingly exotic, with an almost silver-white skin, and short hair that is a shade Lerial could only have described as silver blond. Her eyes are black, and chaos radiates from her.

As Lerial and Altyrn move to the far side of the table Klerryt stops beside Donnael, who offers a few words that Lerial cannot make out. Klerryt shakes his head and replies, also in a low tone, then asks something.

Donnael frowns quizzically and murmurs, “Are you certain?”

At least, that is what Lerial thinks he asks.

At Klerryt’s reply, Donnael hands the younger elder something wrapped in a brown cloth. Klerryt nods, and moves to stand behind his seat.

“Welcome to Verdell,” says Ruethana, in a voice that is but a shade warmer than perfunctory.

“Welcome, indeed,” adds Donnael in a far warmer tone, although his voice is raspy and Lerial can see that his one hand, gesturing for them to take the vacant seats at the table, is shaking slightly, while the other hand, on the back of the chair, steadies him. After a pause, the senior elder inclines his head to the silver-blond woman. “This is Khalya, the newest elder.”

Khalya inclines her head.

Klerryt takes his seat, and so does Altyrn. Again, Lerial finds himself between the majer and the youngest elder, in this case, Khalya.

As he settles into his seat, Lerial gathers in what his order-senses tell him about the elder who has succeeded Essiana. While she radiates chaos, there is no free chaos actually within her, nor any free order, either. It is almost as though she attracts chaos and then repels it, but that it never becomes a part of her. That may be so, but he cannot determine how she does that, or why there is no more order around her than the usual amount in a living person. Certainly, he has never seen or sensed anything like her. He tries not to look too obviously in her direction and waits for what the elders may say.

“Lord Lerial, Majer Altyrn,” begins Ruethana, “you and your Mirror Lancers have accomplished something we doubted was possible. Your efforts have also left the High Council with certain concerns. It is clear that Duke Kiedron prefers a Verd that is part of Cigoerne. It is clear as well that both of you do. Duke Casseon had the same preference, but he did not wish us to continue in our way of life. The concern we have is whether, in the future, Cigoerne will continue to allow us our ways … or whether, in time, some future Duke will decide to force the issue the way Duke Casseon did.”

Lerial is tempted to suggest that what Ruethana has said is not even a question, but instead he looks to Altyrn.

The majer nods politely back at Lerial.

“Elders,” begins Lerial, cautiously, “no one can foresee the acts of future generations. I can only say that my father the Duke has let those people who have asked to be governed by him continue in their old ways, if with several exceptions. He has insisted that girl children be treated as equals with boys”-At least until they’re grown-“and that the punishments for violation of the laws be the same throughout Cigoerne … or no harsher than those levied in Cigoerne. I do not foresee that he will change his views in those regards. Nor would I, were I in a position to do so.” But trying to speak for Lephi is something Lerial isn’t about to do, nor will he even bring up the matter of his brother being the primary heir.

“We understand that,” says Donnael smoothly, although his voice remains hoarse. “We would like you to take a proposed agreement between the High Council of Verdheln and your sire, as Duke of Cigoerne, which, with his signature beside ours, would affirm his agreement with those principles.”

“I can certainly convey that agreement.”

“Perhaps you should read it,” says Ruethana dryly.

“We would be happy to do so,” replies Lerial.

Ruethana hands a large envelope to Klerryt, who passes it to the majer.

Altyrn slides the single sheet from the envelope, reads it, and then passes it to Lerial with a pleasant smile.

Lerial begins to read, almost skimming over the prefatory politeness and formality of the greeting to his father, referred to as “Duke of Cigoerne, heir of the Rational Stars,” before concentrating on the text that comprises the key section of the agreement. To his surprise, the agreement is almost as direct as Ruethana’s words. The last paragraph lauds Kiedron under the notation that the signatories for the High Council freely acknowledge the Duke’s aid and assistance without which there could have been no agreement.

After rereading the agreement to make certain that he has not missed anything, Lerial slips the agreement back into the envelope, then says, “I see no problems with conveying this to Cigoerne for my father’s consideration.”

“Then that is settled,” says Ruethana, nodding to Donnael.

“Lord Lerial,” offers Donnael, “I will be frank. We appreciated the gesture of your sire in sending his youngest son. We thought that his dispatching you was merely a commitment to good faith. We did not anticipate that you would actually command a company in battle. Nor did we think that the Duke would have sent someone so young…”

Barely more than a boy, is what Donnael means, Lerial suspects.

“… who turned out to be so powerful.” Donnael coughs several times, then wheezes.

Lerial cannot help but sense the faint red of sickness chaos in Donnael’s chest, but manages a polite smile, rather than the concerned frown that is more like what he feels.

“… we would like to convey our appreciation, both personally and as representatives of the High Council, for your efforts, one of which brought you as close to death as is possible without dying…”

Even with the chaos radiating from Khalya, Lerial can sense some disruption of the flow. Surprise? Consternation? Anger? He cannot tell, only that something affected her.

“… likewise, Majer Altyrn, without your expertise, experience, and capabilities in training and employing the Verdyn Lancers, all would have been lost from the beginning. For those reasons, we would like to present you each with a small token of appreciation.” Donnael nods to Klerryt.

Klerryt swallows before he speaks. “The past few eightdays have been difficult … for me. You all know why. I asked to go to Escadya. It was not only to relieve Donnael. It was to find an answer. I did not find the answer I sought, but another. That is why I have asked Donnael to allow me to present these to you.” Klerryt leans forward and hands Altyrn two objects wrapped in soft brown cloth. “The top one is yours, Majer.”

Altyrn takes the top bundle and hands the other to Lerial.

Lerial discovers that the soft cloth is a winter scarf, but it is wrapped around something else-a belt knife in a tooled leather scabbard. The tooling on the front of the scabbard displays an ornate “L” flanked on each side by a cloud, with three stars in an arc above the “L.” The hilt is of black lorken, textured with a diamond pattern. He eases the knife from the scabbard, and he can feel the order within the iron. The blade is simple, with a full lower cutting edge, and a double-edged point. The knife itself is older than the scabbard, but certainly not ancient. He looks up. “Thank you. It’s beautiful and most effective, I suspect. I hope I will do justice to it and to whoever last carried it.”

Klerryt nods. “You already have.”

There is little Lerial can say to that except nod.

“We will not keep you,” Ruethana says, not quite curtly. “We know Lord Lerial has to prepare for a long ride back to Cigoerne.” She rises, as do the other elders, although Donnael is slightly slower.

“Thank you,” offers Altyrn as he stands.

After rising, Lerial walks over to Donnael, where he sets the envelope holding the agreement on the table, along with the scarf and knife, then takes Donnael’s hand with his own, placing his other hand on the older man’s forearm and letting a flow of order go from him to Donnael, directing some of it into the other’s chest and lungs. “I do appreciate your understanding, Elder Donnael. I will take the agreement you are requesting and present it to my father with my support for what it contains.”

Donnael looks surprised, and murmurs, “You do not have to do that.”

Lerial knows he is not referring to the agreement on the table. “I do, as my father’s son, for good and trustworthy allies are not often found.” He releases the elder’s hand and arm, then retrieves the knife, scarf, and envelope, steps back and smiles.

Klerryt escorts the two out of the council building, then stops at the bottom of the low black stone steps and turns to Lerial. “You healed him, didn’t you?”

“I hope so. I tried.”

The elder smiles. “You did enough that he will recover.”

This time. “Thank you for presenting the knife to me. I appreciate that … after…”

“She would have wanted me to.”

Lerial nods. He understands that, recalling again what Alaynara had said to him. He reaches out and grasps Klerryt’s hand for a moment. “Take care.”

“You as well, Lord Lerial.”

“As I can.” Lerial offers a last smile, then turns and walks to where one of the Lancers holds the gelding’s reins. Before mounting he slips the knife, scarf, and agreement into the top of his saddlebags.

They have ridden for several hundred yards before Altyrn speaks. “You know, don’t you, that you’re committed to support them?”

“By accepting the knife and scarf?” Lerial shakes his head. “I was committed before that.”

“After the stream battle?”

Lerial nods.

“Loyalties outside family are dangerous,” Altyrn says quietly.

“Having none is even more dangerous, I think.”

Abruptly, the majer laughs. “Let’s get back to the hostel and make certain everything’s ready for you to leave in the morning.”