Cyador’s Heirs

LXXXII

By second glass on one day, after six long days after leaving Tirminya, even with quick glances at intervals at the jagged spurs of red rocks jutting along the Wooded Ridges to the south of the road, Lerial can easily recognize the landmarks and the most impenetrable-looking sections of the forest, although, after seeing the thornbushes of the Verd, the Wooded Ridges look far more open than he had once thought, and more familiar. They should, after all the time that the majer had you learning the terrain.

He still hasn’t figured out a way to create lasting order-defenses, although he’s gotten quite proficient at creating a variety of defenses in instants, some of which he can also instantly link to his belt knife or sabre. Which is fine for when you know that you’re being attacked, or going to be … but that won’t always be the case.

He smiles wryly. As in everything, it seems, being able to anticipate is vital.

Under the late afternoon sun of early summer, the mud-brick houses of Teilyn appear a faint orangish-pink as he and Bhurl ride through the town toward the Mirror Lancer post to the south. At the gate, the guards look from Lerial to Bhurl and then to the brown-clad Verdyn Lancers behind the other three Mirror Lancers in green.

“Verdyn Lancers detailed to escort duty,” Lerial explains. “That leaves more Mirror Lancers to assist with training in Verdheln.”

“Yes, ser,” replies the gate guard, his tone suggesting he’s not quite convinced.

Word must travel quickly, or the lookout has already reported, because Captain Graessyr stands waiting by the time Lerial rides to the stables and reins up. Behind him looms Undercaptain Shastan, as massive as ever, also looking concerned.

“Returning from Verdell with dispatches and Verdyn Lancers as additional company,” Lerial announces.

“Not that we’re not glad to see you, Lord Lerial,” declares the captain, “but I was hoping that we’d also be seeing the majer.”

“He’s fine, but he says he needs another season training the Verdyn Lancers. We took some heavy losses in defeating the Meroweyans.”

Graessyr frowns. “I thought you were just training them.”

“The Meroweyans didn’t wait until we’d finished training the Verdyn Lancers. The majer took command. We fought. We won. It was a mess, and it was costly. I’ll be happy to fill in the details after we settle the men. I also need to carry a letter from the majer to his family.”

Graessyr smiles, if slightly sardonically. “Spoken like a Lancer. I’ll be in my study.”

Settling the Lancers doesn’t take all that long, and since the duty ostler volunteers to groom and feed the gelding, in little more than a half glass, Lerial is sitting in front of Captain Graessyr’s desk, explaining what had happened in Verdheln, in much the same way as he had to Seivyr in Tirminya. When he finishes, he waits for any questions Graessyr may have.

“You took a single company after the fleeing Meroweyans … and didn’t leave any survivors.”

“That was partly because things got out of control with their last chaos wizard,” Lerial replies, “but I didn’t want there to be any effective fighting forces returning to Nubyat.”

Graessyr nods slowly. “Most would say that was carrying matters to excess.”

“They might. But with so few trained Lancers remaining and even fewer ordermages, it seemed prudent to do everything possible to reduce the possibility of another attempt to take the Verd any time soon.”

“There’s one other thing I don’t understand,” says the captain, smiling as he adds, “or maybe more. If the Verdyn had all those ordermages, why did they need the majer and you to train Lancers?”

“They didn’t have that many, and they lost at least one that I know of, and I’m not certain how long the senior elder, who is also an ordermage of some kind, will live after the strain the war put on him. What made the difference was the way the majer deployed the Lancers we had. Even before the Meroweyans managed to burn through the tree-walls to get into the Verd, we’d killed or wounded almost five companies worth of their armsmen … well … maybe four. Every skirmish or battle, they lost at least five or six times what we did. And the people, they killed or wounded quite a few with their traps and their hunting arrows. But none of it would have worked without the majer holding it all together.”

“And you just led a company? That’s all?”

Lerial pauses for just an instant, then says, “I’m just a young undercaptain, acting as a captain. That’s the way it’s reported, and the way it should be.”

After a moment, Graessyr nods. “I hadn’t thought of it that way. You’re right, though. Might I ask…”

“I requested that it be that way. The majer had drafted the report along those lines before I read it.”

“Is there anything else you would care to tell me?”

Lerial thinks. “I don’t know if you heard, but Captain Dechund suffered some sort of flux and wandered off in a brain fever and died. Majer Phortyn promoted Seivyr to post captain.”

“Dechund … oh … he was the one with the clean uniforms and bright boots. Sorry to hear it. Seivyr’ll do well, though.”

Graessyr’s matter-of-fact comments confirm that he has the same opinion as Altyrn does, and that tends to reinforce some of Lerial’s skepticism about Majer Phortyn.

“Now, ser, I have a question. What can you tell me about raids by the Heldyans, especially along the river?”

Graessyr snorts. “Not much has changed since you and the majer left. We hear that they kept testing the patrols, but they withdraw if we show any force. I haven’t heard anything about your brother. Were there anything wrong, I’m certain we’d know.”

“Thank you. Now … if I might borrow a mount?”

“I told the ostler to have one ready for you. I’d thought to have four men as an escort…”

Lerial wants to deny the escort, but then thinks about Graessyr’s position in dealing with the son of the Duke. “I think two would be more than adequate.”

Graessyr starts to say something, then shakes his head. “You’re sounding like your sire.”

Before long, Lerial and two Mirror Lancers are leaving the post and heading south toward Kinaar. He is glad that the majer’s villa is close. Less than a fifth of a glass later, he turns the borrowed mount onto the packed clay lane leading off the main road. The lane is just as smooth as he recalls as it passes through the yellow brick posts toward the villa. They have barely covered half the three hundred yards from the posts to the villa when Lerial sees several figures hurry out of the villa and wait by the north entrance. How long has she had someone posted and watching?

As he rides nearer, he sees, standing with Maeroja, Rojana, Tyrna, and Aylana. Even before he reins up, Lerial can see the worried expression on Maeroja’s face, and he quickly says, “He’s fine. The fighting is over, and the Meroweyan force was destroyed. He said he had to stay another season to complete the training necessary so he wouldn’t have to go back.” Altyrn had never actually said the last words, but Lerial feels that is what he meant. “I have a letter for you. He asked me to deliver it personally.” Lerial keeps his eyes on Maeroja, although he can feel Rojana looking at him.

Rojana murmurs something to her mother, and Maeroja smiles. “Can you stay for dinner? I would have asked anyway, but I was prompted.”

“I’d hoped that would be possible. I’d very much appreciate that.” Lerial turns in the saddle. “You can return to the post.”

“Ser…?” ventures one of the Mirror Lancers.

“Give him a good two glasses,” says Maeroja.

Lerial laughs. “You can see I’m in good hands. Two glasses, it is.”

“Thank you, ser.”

As the two Lancers leave, Lerial says, “Can I just stable the mare in an empty stall?”

“We could summon the ostler…”

“I can do it, and it’s likely to be faster.” Lerial rides to the stables, where he dismounts, stalls his horse, then walks back to the north entry, where Tyrna and Aylana are waiting.

“Mother took Rojana with her,” announces Aylana.

“They’re getting refreshments,” adds her older sister. “We’re to take you to the salon.”

“It’s still cold in the courtyard,” declares the youngest daughter.

“Have you started this year’s worms?” asks Lerial.

“Not yet. Mother says they’ll be late.” Tyrna turns.

Before she can open the outer door, Lerial steps forward and opens it. “After you, ladies.”

“We’re not ladies yet, mother says,” declares Aylana.

“Rojana almost is,” adds Tyrna.

Lerial keeps his smile to himself, thinking of Ryalah and Amaira as he follows them all the way to the salon. Maeroja and Rojana rise as the two younger sisters and Lerial enter the chamber. For a long moment, Rojana looks at Lerial, then drops her eyes.

“Before I forget…” Lerial steps forward and withdraws the sealed envelope from his Lancer jacket, extending it to Maeroja. “I might take a walk in the courtyard while you read it.”

Maeroja cannot conceal a frown.

“There shouldn’t be anything disturbing in it,” Lerial says quickly. “I just thought you’d appreciate it without…”

“If you wouldn’t mind…”

“I wouldn’t have suggested it.” Lerial looks down to Aylana. “Would you care to come with me?”

Aylana looks to her mother.

“I’ll read it all to you later.”

“We’ll all walk in the courtyard,” announces Rojana, with a firmness that sounds much like her mother.

Once the four have left the salon, Rojana glances to Lerial. “Thank you. She’s been so worried.” She pauses. “Father is all right, isn’t he?”

“He was fine when I left. He wasn’t wounded or injured at all. He was brilliant in the way he defended the Verd-and Cigoerne.”

“Cigoerne?” asks Tyrna. “I thought you were in Verdheln. That’s what Mother said.”

“We were. But we were fighting to keep the Meroweyans from threatening Cigoerne.”

“Oh.”

Lerial walks toward the nearest fountain, realizing, suddenly, that he had not seen a single fountain anywhere in Verdheln. Is that because they have plenty of water? “I like your fountains.” He glances back to see that Aylana has stamped her foot and is glaring at Tyrna.

Rojana glances back at her sisters, shaking her head and smiling, then says, “The arrangement was Mother’s idea. You won’t tell her I said that, will you?”

“No. Not if you don’t want me to.” Why would she say that? “Is that because … she missed having fountains?” Lerial barely manages to keep from having said something about Maeroja missing things from home, remembering what Emerya has said about her.

“Father never said. Neither has Mother. I thought you might know.”

“He said that it took some effort and special pipes for them.” That is certainly true enough.

“You won’t say, will you?”

“It’s not my place to say.”

“You’ve changed.”

Lerial can hear a trace of sadness in her voice as he looks into her gray eyes and says softly, “War, for the first time, must change everyone, don’t you think?” He pauses. “I never truly thanked you for the lodestone. What I’ve learned from it saved my life … more than once.”

“I’m glad … I thought it might help.”

“It did. More than you know.”

“I wanted…”

“I know.”

Neither speaks for a moment. Then Rojana looks away.

“Do you think she’s through reading now?” asks Tyrna, hurrying toward them.

“We should walk around the fountains once,” suggests Rojana.

“I don’t want to. I’m cold,” declares Aylana as she joins the others.

“You’ll feel warmer if you keep moving,” says Lerial, reaching out and taking Aylana’s hand. “We’ll go this way.”

Lerial and Rojana manage to coax the other two into two tours of the courtyard before returning to the salon.

Maeroja looks to Lerial and Rojana and mouths, “Thank you.” Then she says, “Your father assures us that he is healthy and well. I’ll let you all read it later. He also wrote that things would have gone badly without Lerial. He says we mustn’t ask Lerial about it. That’s because he will insist that your father and the elders and everyone else did it. That’s not true, but it has to remain our secret.” Maeroja pauses. “We should have refreshments. Lerial has waited long enough.”

“Can I have lager?” presses Tyrna.

Maeroja shakes her head. “Not yet. You and Aylana can have a little watered wine, if you like. Rojana, only half a beaker of lager.”

“When can I have lager-” begins Aylana.

“When you’re the age Rojana is now,” says Maeroja firmly.

Aylana’s pout is only momentary, perhaps because of the stern look bestowed on her by her mother.

Lerial moves to the refreshment table, then nods to Maeroja. “Wine or lager?”

“Lager, please.”

Lerial fills one beaker-that is, two-thirds full-and another one-third full, handing the second to Rojana and the full one to her mother, before returning to the table and serving himself. Then he takes the armchair to Maeroja’s left, the one not usually occupied by the majer. After a slow sip from the beaker, he smiles. “This is the best lager I’ve had, ever, and it’s made better by the fact that they don’t brew anything like it in Verdheln.”

“I’m glad you like the lager,” says Maeroja. “Dinner will be simple. We didn’t know we’d have company.”

“Whatever it is will be far better than anything I’ve eaten in over a season.”

“Could you tell us something about the Verd?”

“Trees and more trees,” he begins, “and where the trees end they have grown special trees with such trunks that they form a tree-wall around the forests that comprise the Verd…” From there Lerial does most of the talking for a good half glass … until he sees a serving girl standing in the entrance to the salon.

“It is time for dinner.” Maeroja rises.

Lerial does as well.

“You didn’t finish,” declares Aylana.

“I’ll finish at dinner,” Lerial promises.

The main dish-in fact really the only dish-except for fresh-baked bread and pickled carrots, not his favorite, but acceptable-is a large platter of lamb biastras, seasoned with far less chili than at the Palace, with a brown sauce that has a slight fruity taste, rather than the white cream sauce that Lerial associates with biastras. The sweet peppers are an orange brown also. He has four of the tubular biastras, and could have eaten more, except he feels that would be excessive … and he has promised to finish telling about Verdheln. He cannot, or should not, talk while eating. So he contents himself with sips of the excellent lager and describes everything he can remember.

“I hope you don’t mind,” says Maeroja, “but we hadn’t planned sweets…”

“Stars, no! The biastras and the lager are treat enough.” Lerial means every word. Simple as the meal may have been, he has not had anything that good since leaving Kinaar the last time.

Maeroja glances to Rojana. “If you would help your sisters ready themselves for bed…”

Lerial can tell that is the last thing Rojana wants to do, but she nods politely and ushers the other two from the table.

“And make sure you wash your hands and faces,” adds their mother as the three leave.

“I’ve truly enjoyed being here, and the biastras and bread were delicious.” Lerial knows he needs to be leaving soon.

“Thank you. It was our pleasure, and we cannot thank you enough for the news and for the letter.”

“That was my pleasure,” Lerial insists.

After a moment of silence, Maeroja fixes her eyes on Lerial. “How much danger does he face in Verdheln? Truly?”

“Very little, if any … now.”

“You are being truthful, I trust.”

“Very truthful. There are only a few handfuls of Meroweyans in Verdheln, mostly wounded and all held captive … and no mages or wizards-not Meroweyan ones. There are at present no other Meroweyan armsmen near the Verd, and I doubt that there will be for some time to come.”

“What you say suggests that he was in great danger earlier.”

“He was in danger. He was most careful. He sent others on the most dangerous missions. He led no charges, but we were greatly outnumbered. He planned thoroughly and well. What he did was brilliant.”

“But you went on missions, didn’t you? Why?”

“I’m a junior undercaptain, and he’s the majer in command. Also, he is more valuable to Cigoerne than I am.”

“He would not say that.” She purses her lips.

Lerial smiles pleasantly and waits.

“He knows how things should be,” she finally says. “He claims he doesn’t see what will be … but he has … a certainty.”

“He had that about you, didn’t he?”

For one of the very few times he has seen, there is a momentary expression of surprise and consternation on Maeroja’s face. Then she laughs softly. “I should have expected that. I imagine you know the answer. He also believes that you are … let us say that…” She shakes her head. “Let us say nothing.”

By saying she would say nothing, she has said what she wished to convey, Lerial knows. Since he senses someone-Rojana-nearing and stopping just short of the open doors to the dining chamber, he decides against pursuing that. He is also amused, since there is no way that Rojana could have completed her task in that short a time, which means that she likely turned the task over to one of the servants in order to hurry back and eavesdrop. “I am just the younger son, doing what I can to support my father.”

“Doing it rather well.”

“Only because of your consort, and all he has done for me,” he replies. “I cannot thank him-or you-enough.”

“You have already. You can tell me what you will, but you kept him safe.” She holds up a hand. “Please … no argument. I can see-it is plain to see, for those who observe with more than eyes-that you are not the youth who left here more than a season ago.”

“Rojana said I’ve changed.”

“You will change more. We live in a time of great change.” A faint smile crosses Maeroja’s lips. “You may come in, Rojana.”

“The girls are in their rooms and ready for bed,” Rojana announces as she steps through the doors.

Lerial looks to Maeroja. “I should be going. It’s a bit past two glasses.” He stands.

“We’ll walk you out to the outer courtyard.” Maeroja rises from the table and nods to her daughter. “We’re so glad you could stay for a while.”

“So am I. And I’m glad that I could bring you good news.”

When they reach the north entrance, Lerial can see that one of the villa stable boys has brought the borrowed mare from the stable and holds her reins. Beside the mount, the two Lancers wait, still mounted.

“I hope you haven’t been waiting long,” Lerial says. “I didn’t mean to keep you.”

“No, ser. Less than a tenth of a glass. Young fellow here just brought your mount.”

Lerial turns back to Maeroja and Rojana. “Thank you both. I can’t tell you how much I appreciated the dinner and the company.” Especially since it will be a long time before I’m back here.

“It was our pleasure.” Maeroja smiles.

Rojana’s smile is fainter, as if it is an effort, and Lerial wants to comfort her … and knows that would be a mistake, because it would give her the wrong impression. Instead, he returns the smile and then mounts.

He can sense Rojana’s eyes on his back as he rides down the lane toward the yellow brick posts and the main road.