Cyador’s Heirs

LXXXIII

Lerial leaves Teilyn before dawn on twoday so that they can reach Cigoerne in one long day. Even so, the sun has set before they ride into the city proper, and the twilight is lengthening into a deep greenish purple when they reach the gates of Lancer headquarters. Lerial frowns. The main gates are actually closed, although the small personnel gate is ajar.

“Detachment returning from Verdheln,” he announces.

The shorter gate guard looks hard at Lerial. “Begging your pardon, ser. There are no detachments in Verdheln.”

For an instant, Lerial is disconcerted. “Then Majer Altyrn and two squads of Mirror Lancers will be somewhat concerned to learn that they don’t exist. And Duke Kiedron will be most upset to think that he dispatched his son with a detachment that doesn’t exist.” Even Lerial is surprised at the dry and withering tone with which the words come forth.

“Ser…”

Lerial surveys the guard, with his crisp greens and polished sabre and almost comments on that, but instead says mildly. “You can let us enter, and lose a bit of face. Or you can deny us and face the consequences tomorrow.” Lerial can’t help but think about the number of Verdyn Lancers who died fighting off the Meroweyans, especially compared to the guards standing gate duty in Cigoerne.

The other guard peers at Lerial, then swallows, finally saying in a low voice, “Ruefyl … that’s Lord Lerial you’re denying.”

“But…” Ruefyl looks totally flustered.

“Yes, I am wearing the uniform of an undercaptain. That is because I am one. So is my older brother, who is riding patrols in the south along the river. You might recall that my father the Duke still commands patrols. Or have you forgotten that as well?”

Lerial realizes that he’s already said too much and adds quietly, “Just open the gates. It’s been a long ride from Verdell.”

“Yes, ser.” Ruefyl looks totally dejected as he steps back and signals. “Open the gates. Incoming detachment.”

After several moments, the gates swing inward, and the eleven riders and two packhorses move through.

As they ride toward the stables, Lerial turns to Bhurl. “I’ll need to talk to the duty officer. We’ll need bunks for the Lancers, and food, as well as feed…”

“We can take care of the mounts, ser.”

“If you would. I’ll also need a spare mount and two men as an escort to the Palace. They can stay there tonight. I’ll return them and the mount in the morning. Then I’ll take my own mount back to the Palace.”

“Think I can take care of that, ser.”

Once he dismounts outside the stables, Lerial takes Phortyn’s copy of Altyrn’s report from his saddlebags, then crosses the courtyard to the octagonal building that holds the studies for the senior officers-and the headquarters duty officer. He has taken no more than two steps into the duty chamber when a stocky older undercaptain steps forward, as if he has been waiting.

“Lord Lerial … We hadn’t expected you.”

“We traveled from Teilyn almost as fast as a dispatch rider could have.” While the undercaptain looks familiar, Lerial doesn’t recognize him. “I’m sorry. Our paths have crossed, but I don’t believe we’ve been introduced…”

“Haentur, ser. Lauxyn told me all about you. We all wondered where you’d gone.”

“To Verdheln … with Majer Altyrn to train Verdyn Lancers. We just returned with four Mirror Lancers and six Verdyn Lancers … and two packhorses. That’s for the duty book. Oh … there’s one thing. One of your gate guards, Ruefyl, didn’t want to let us in. I was perhaps excessive in chastising him when he told me that there were no Mirror Lancer detachments in Verdheln.”

Haentur frowns. “I didn’t know that, either.”

Phortyn hasn’t let many of his officers know? “Majer Phortyn’s the one who sent us off.”

“The majer’s not here at present, ser. He’s having dinner with Magus Scarthyn.”

“He keeps in contact with a number of the Magi’i, I understand. That’s not surprising, I suppose, since some have sons in the Mirror Lancers. Isn’t Veraan from a Magi’i family?”

“Yes, ser. Magus Apollyn is his father.” Haentur glances toward the area behind Lerial. “Be hard not to know that.”

“I suppose the majer dines with him often as well.”

“I don’t know about often, ser.”

That is all the answer Lerial will get … and all he needs to know. “Well … since the majer isn’t here, I’d appreciate it if you would leave word for him that I’ll be reporting to him first thing in the morning.”

“Yes, ser. I can do that.”

“And if I don’t see Lauxyn before you do, give him my best.”

“It’s not likely either of us will see him soon, ser. He’s riding patrols in the north. Near Penecca, I hear.”

“Have there been more raids there?”

“No more, but no less, either. Afritans just like to make trouble.”

“I can understand that. Oh … Since I’ll be borrowing a mount, and taking two rankers as an escort to the Palace, I’ll return all three early tomorrow.”

“Yes, ser. I’ll note that in the duty book also.”

“I appreciate it, Haentur.”

When Lerial returns to the stables, Bhurl has two rankers Lerial has never seen before mounted and waiting.

“Hope you don’t mind, ser. Khersett and Lavoyt are with the duty company. Khersett’s the short nasty one. Lavoyt’s taller and nastier. Thought that our men had ridden enough, and I’ve known these two a while. They’ve never seen the Lancer quarters at the Palace, either.”

“So long as I’m not taking them from other duties…”

“Ser…” Even in the dim light cast by the lantern outside the stable, Bhurl’s wide grin cannot be missed. “Don’t know that many duties outweigh accompanying you. One thing to face danger in battle. Can’t help that, but last thing we’d want is having one of the heirs needing to dispatch a bravo here in Cigoerne.”

Lerial grins in return. “Your point is taken.” He turns to the two. “I appreciate your willingness to spell some rather tired Lancers.”

“Our pleasure, ser,” returns Khersett.

Lerial notes that his gear has been shifted to the black mare. He opens one of the saddlebags and slips Phortyn’s copy of Altyrn’s report back inside, then mounts.

Once they leave the headquarters compound, Lerial asks, “Have either of you heard about what’s happened in the south, with raiders and Heldyan attacks?”

“They keep attacking, but not very often, ser,” replies Khersett.

“Most of the raiders aren’t raiders,” adds Lavoyt. “They fight too well, and they know when to back off.”

“So we haven’t taken that many casualties?”

“Some, ser,” replies Lavoyt. “Mostly green rankers who make mistakes.”

“Are meals in the taverns and cafés getting dearer?”

“Ser?”

“Are you paying more for lager or ale?”

“Well…,” Khersett draws out the word, “the Blue Beaker added a copper to the price of lager … maybe an eightday ago. Fhasyl said that was because brewers’ grain was costing more. Still think he didn’t need to.”

Lerial doesn’t learn much more by the time they near the Palace, but he can barely see, and only because of the mirrored lantern below, that his father’s banner flies from the main guardhouse by the gate. So he is here in Cigoerne.

Unlike at Mirror Lancer headquarters, the guards immediately recognize Lerial. But then, they’re from Woelyt’s company … or are they? Hadn’t Emerya written something about Woelyt being posted to Narthyl?

Lerial only gathers his gear and leaves the mare to the ostler. There are times when he doesn’t feel guilty about others grooming his mount … and this is one of those times. He has barely walked away from the stable when he sees and order-senses someone headed toward him. As the other nears, he recognizes Undercaptain Woelyt.

“Good evening, Woelyt.”

“I’m glad to see you, ser. I thought I might not before we left.”

“Your company is being posted to Narthyl?”

“No, ser. I mean, we were going to Narthyl, but Majer Phortyn decided we were needed more in Tirminya. I’m being promoted to captain, and we’re headed out next oneday. The captain there and his entire company are being sent to a new post east of Narthyl, I understand. That’s where I think we were going, but the majer wants a company with more field experience there. That’s to deal with the Heldyan incursions.”

“I just came from there. You’re likely to be just as busy in Tirminya as you would have been in Narthyl. The Afritans have at least a company just north of there, and they could be a problem. They also have sent some archer assassins to Tirminya … and they tried to bribe rankers to open the gates to raids. You’ll have to be vigilant. Certainly, my father and I will be counting on you to make sure nothing like that happens again.” Lerial smiles. “I can fill in some of the details later.”

“I’d like that, ser.”

From what Lerial sees and can sense, Woelyt knows nothing about the intrigue involving the late Captain Dechund-and that may well mean that a ranker or a squad leader in Woelyt’s company does … or has certain instructions. He also wonders just when Phortyn changed his mind. “We’ll do that. It may be a day or so, since I need to report to Majer Phortyn in the morning.” Lerial pauses. “Do you know who your replacement here at the Palace is?”

“Undercaptain Veraan, ser. He’s been assigned a new company … some seasoned squad leaders and a few solid rankers, but mostly recent recruits.”

Lerial manages not to stiffen. He nods. “I’ve met him. Have a pleasant evening, or what’s left of it. Oh … and congratulations on the coming promotion.”

“Yes, ser. Thank you, ser.”

“You’ve earned it, and you certainly will at Tirminya.” Lerial offers a smile and starts across the courtyard toward the Palace proper.

Someone must have hurried to inform the Palace staff, because a messenger boy runs up to Lerial as he nears the guards at the west end of the north wing entrance.

“Lord Lerial, ser?”

“Yes?”

“The Duke would like to see you. He is in his main floor study, ser.”

“I’ll go right there.” Lerial hands the kit bag to the messenger, then extracts the dispatches from the saddlebags before handing the saddlebags to the messenger as well. “Please put my gear in my chambers, if you would.”

“Yes, ser.”

“Thank you.”

Lerial nods to the guards and then enters the Palace after the messenger, heading for the study where his father handles duchy affairs.

The guard outside the study raps once and opens the door. “He’s expecting you, ser.”

“Thank you.” Lerial steps into the study, steeped in gloom, except for the two lamps at each side of the desk.

“Lerial!” A broad smile crosses Kiedron’s face as he stands and surveys his son. He shakes his head. “Had I seen you leading a company I doubt I would have recognized you. You have grown. Oh, not that way, but in the way you carry yourself. Do sit down? How far did you ride today? How did the training go?”

“We rode all the way from Teilyn today. We left well before dawn. As for the training…” Lerial is the one to shake his head. “… we just finished fighting a modest war.” He looks at the two envelopes, then extends the one for his father. “I think you should read this first, ser. I would have left a copy with Majer Phortyn, but he wasn’t at the post. We even had trouble getting in. The guards didn’t know there was a Lancer detachment in Verdheln. Neither did the duty officer. He said none of the officers he knew had any idea.”

“A good commander tells only what needs to be said, Lerial.” Kiedron frowns. “A modest war? Casseon didn’t actually attack, did he?”

“He sent eight battalions and six chaos mages or white wizards. It’s been a long spring in Verdheln, ser.”

“Looking at you … I did wonder at the change. You led a company, didn’t you?”

“There wasn’t much choice, ser.”

“I’d better read the report before asking more questions.” Belatedly, Kiedron takes the envelope, then seats himself.

“Before you start … how is Ryalah? I got a letter from Emerya…”

“She’s fine. Now. Without Emerya … it might not have been so good.” Kiedron smiles. “But she’s like nothing happened.” Kiedron lifts the envelope.

Lerial sits quietly as Kiedron breaks the seal, then extracts the sheets and begins to read. After the first sheet, he is frowning, and the frown is even deeper when he sets down the last one on the wide study desk.

“You were fortunate to survive. Hard as it may be, I would like to request that you not tell your mother any of the details of your … campaign. She has consoled herself with the idea that you and Lephi have been engaged in politically necessary but not terribly dangerous duties. She thinks that the Heldyans are even more dangerous than what you have been through.” Kiedron looks directly at Lerial.

Lerial can see, for perhaps the first time, the lines in his father’s face, and sense a certain tiredness behind the firm words.

“Do I have your word?” presses Kiedron.

“Yes, ser.”

“Good. I am proud of you, but we will not talk of it around your mother or your sister.”

Lerial understands … unfortunately.

“Why would Casseon do that?” asks Kiedron, almost musingly. “One would think that he knew I was sending the majer there.”

Maybe he did. Lerial does not voice that thought. “According to the Verdyn elders, he did build a fort closer to Verdheln last year and looked to be building one closer this year, but that might have been cover for the attack on the Verd.”

“It likely was. Someone must have told him.” Kiedron shakes his head. “As long as there are men who revere golds over honor … or power … there will be traitors, even among those you most trust. Remember that, Lerial. Never forget it.”

“No, ser.” Should I mention Phortyn? No … not after his comment about the need to be closemouthed.

Kiedron laughs. “I imagine you’re ready for a good night’s sleep.”

Lerial withholds a smile. Some things never change. His father will always keep the words to a minimum. “That I am. I’ll be up early. Majer Phortyn wasn’t at headquarters, and I need to deliver his copy of Majer Altyrn’s report to him.”

“You didn’t leave it?”

“No, ser. Majer Altyrn requested that I deliver it personally.”

The Duke nods thoughtfully. “I can see that. If Majer Phortyn questions that, tell him that I also ordered that he receive the majer’s report personally.”

“Yes, ser.”

“Good night.”

When Lerial leaves the study, his father is still at the desk, his eyes fixed somewhere well beyond the Palace.

Lerial supposes he should see his mother, but when he makes his way to her chambers, her maid informs him that she has already retired for the night. Lerial is somehow relieved at that, although he knows he will hear about his not waking her, but he doesn’t really want to explain anything at the moment-especially given the promise made to his father.

He turns toward his own quarters.