Heritage of Cyador

XVI

Lerial is awake and out of his quarters early on sevenday morning, making certain that the one wagon is properly prepared for the wounded men who cannot ride and that all the other wounded are ready, as well as the half squad of Mirror Lancers he has detailed from Eleventh Company to accompany them. He has already arranged for the Afritan Guard squad promised by Arms-Commander Rhamuel to meet the Mirror Lancer party at daybreak.

After inspecting the Mirror Lancers returning to Cigoerne, Lerial then hands the dispatch he has so carefully crafted to Gherst, who will be the acting squad leader for the lancers returning to Ensenla. “This needs to get to the duke as soon as you can do so once you have reached Ensenla.”

“Yes, ser.”

Lerial extends a second sealed sheet to Gherst. “These are your orders that declare you are to report immediately, directly, and in person to Duke Kiedron upon your return to Cigoerne and that you are not to be assigned or to undertake any other duties, save those that would preserve your squad or facilitate your return, until you have so reported.”

“Yes, ser.” Gherst slips the sheet into his riding jacket.

Another sheet appears in Lerial’s hand. He smiles as he extends it. “Here is a backup copy of those orders.”

“I’d be hoping I won’t need those, ser.” Gherst smiles in return.

“That makes two of us.” Lerial steps back and watches as the acting squad leader mounts and rides toward the front of the small column that is pointed toward the western gate of Lubana. He continues to watch as the riders and the single wagon move out.

Then he inspects his three companies and has them stand down and wait for the arrival of Arms-Commander Rhamuel, Subcommander Valatyr, and the squad of Afritan Guards that will accompany them. Lerial joins Fheldar and the two undercaptains at the head of Eighth Company.

“Ser, doesn’t it seem strange that we’re the ones escorting the Afritan arms-commander back to Swartheld?” Strauxyn looks to Lerial.

“I’d worry a lot more,” replies Lerial, “if we were escorting Commander Sammyl … or the head of whatever group represents the merchanters in Afrit. All of the fighting commanders I’ve met seem to respect Rhamuel.”

“And Commander Sammyl isn’t a fighting commander?” asks Kusyl dryly.

“Let’s just say that he reminds me of a certain former majer in the Mirror Lancers,” replies Lerial. “That may not be a fair comparison,” probably not to Phortyn, “but it’s what comes to mind.”

While Strauxyn looks puzzled, Kusyl doesn’t even try to conceal a wince before saying, “That bad, ser?”

“It might not be, but I think we can trust the Afritan Guard far more than the merchanters and traders of Swartheld.”

“Same’s true in Cigoerne,” adds Fheldar. “Maybe not so bad as in Afrit, but golds are the only thing merchanters respect.”

Lerial does not comment, because his experience with traders is limited, although what little he has observed tends to make him agree.

An Afritan Guard undercaptain rides toward them, reining up short of the four. “Overcaptain Lerial?”

Lerial nods. “You are?”

“Norstaan, undercaptain, Afritan Guard. The arms-commander will be here in less than a third of a glass.”

“We’re ready. Once we see him, we’ll mount up.”

“Ah…”

“There’s no sense in tiring mounts and making officers and rankers impatient, Undercaptain. We’ll be ready to go before he reaches us.”

“That isn’t customary…”

Lerial looks at the fresh-faced undercaptain, recalling that he was even younger when he first wore the single bars, and smiles. “It’s customary for the Mirror Lancers, and we’re escorting him at his request. If he has any difficulty with our practices, I’m most certain he’ll let me know. Don’t you think so, Undercaptain? If he does, I’ll explain that it was my decision.” Lerial pauses, then goes on, “I’d suggest that your scouts or outriders lead the way, followed by half your squad, then the Mirror Lancers, with your other half squad bringing up the rear. That way, any bystanders and those in the hamlets and towns through which we pass will be reassured that the Afritan Guards have the situation well in hand.”

“I had thought…” Norstaan stops. “I will present that to the arms-commander and leave the decision to him.”

“We’ll certainly abide by his decision once he knows of our recommendation,” replies Lerial politely.

The Afritan undercaptain turns his mount and rides back in the direction of the stables west of the country house.

Kusyl looks to Lerial. “Took him a moment.”

“I’ll be interested to see what the arms-commander’s personal squad looks like.” And whether they’re combat veterans or a parade-polish squad.

Before that long, and certainly less than a third of a glass, Lerial sees a squad riding toward them and immediately calls out, “Companies mount! Full order!” Then he concentrates on the approaching riders. At the head of the squad escorting the arms-commander is an Afritan trooper bearing a crimson banner trimmed with a gold border and a gold device of some sort in the middle of the long triangular field. As the squad nears, Lerial sees the arms-commander riding beside Norstaan, who is gesturing in an animated fashion. Behind them rides Valatyr, although Lerial cannot see him clearly.

Lerial refrains from sighing. It looks like Norstaan didn’t get it at all. Then he smiles as Rhamuel says something, and the young undercaptain seems to wilt in the saddle. In moments, the young officer moves away from Rhamuel, then rides forward to Lerial, stopping less than two yards away. “Overcaptain, ser, the arms-commander is agreeable to your plan for the riding order.”

Lerial smiles pleasantly. “Thank you, Undercaptain Norstaan. I appreciate the confirmation.”

“My apologies for my excessive concern, ser.”

“No apology is necessary. I’m certain that the arms-commander understands your concerns.”

Norstaan does not speak for several moments, then finally says, “With your permission, ser, the arms-commander has suggested that I might best serve, at least initially, with the half squad in the rear guard.”

“You have my permission, Undercaptain.”

Norstaan inclines his head, then turns and rides toward the ten Afritan Guards making their way toward the wagons and the rear of the column.

Rhamuel and Valatyr, followed by the other ten Afritan Guards, slow their mounts to a halt short of Lerial and the head of the column.

Lerial surveys the squad, noting that, while the uniforms are spotless, the squad consists of both younger and older rankers, and one ranker decidedly … hefty.

“Good morning, Overcaptain,” says Rhamuel cheerfully.

“Good morning, ser. Might I introduce my officers?” asks Lerial, easing his gelding back slightly.

Rhamuel nods.

“At the end away from me is senior squad leader and acting undercaptain Fheldar. Then Undercaptain Strauxyn and Undercaptain Kusyl. Undercaptains, Arms-Commander Rhamuel and Subcommander Valatyr.”

“Sers…” murmur the three, inclining their heads.

“To your companies,” Lerial says quietly.

Two Afritan outriders take a position at the head of the column, with the remaining squad members forming up two abreast behind Rhamuel, with the banner bearer directly behind the arms-commander. Valatyr takes a position to the arms-commander’s left, leaving the position on the right to Lerial, who eases the gelding into place. Once the Afritan Guards are in place behind the senior officers, Lerial looks to Rhamuel.

The arms-commander nods.

“Column! Forward!” Lerial orders.

The sun is just above the east bank of the river when Lerial and the others ride out through the north gate of Lubana. Lerial has not spoken since giving the order to move out, deciding to leave any initiation of conversation to Rhamuel.

They are still south of the piers at Luba when Rhamuel says, “Young Norstaan is not used to gentle suggestions, Overcaptain. I had to point out a few things to him.”

“You are the arms-commander,” replies Lerial, “and I offered what I thought was the best arrangement as a suggestion.”

“It is the best arrangement, and I would have suggested something similar if you had not.”

“Which you gently pointed out to him, and then assigned him to the rear guard.”

“He needed to be reminded that you are not only his superior in rank, but far more than that in terms of actual power.”

“I would suggest … only suggest, that we rotate the rear-guard officer among my three and the undercaptain.”

Rhamuel nods. “I agree … but Norstaan’s first rotation there should be a bit longer.” He grins. “He needs a bit of time to think.”

From his words and his reactions, more time may not be that helpful. “We were all inexperienced once. Some of us still aren’t as experienced as we need to be.”

“No one is as experienced as they need to be unless they’ve stopped trying to do better,” replies Rhamuel.

Lerial can’t argue with that. He just smiles.

“I notice that all your officers appear to be former rankers. Is that so?”

“It is. Kusyl will likely be promoted to captain when we return to Cigoerne.”

“Is that true of all junior officers?” Rhamuel’s voice contains more than a modicum of doubt.

“Not of all. I’d say that about two in three junior officers have experience as rankers. About one in three would appear to come from backgrounds similar to Undercaptain Norstaan.”

“What would you say his background might be?”

“It’s only a guess, but I’d say he comes from a well-off family, most likely is the third or fourth son of a merchanter, or the second son of a successful senior officer.”

Valatyr laughs softly.

Even Rhamuel smiles before he asks, “How did you decide that?”

“He acts exactly the way I felt before Majer Altyrn decided to set me straight.”

“And your father let him?”

For a moment, Lerial is puzzled, because there is no real curiosity behind Rhamuel’s words, but then he understands that the answer is not for the arms-commander. “Let him? He was the one who decided it was necessary. I saw my parents and my brother and sister only once in more than a year.”

“Your point is made, Arms-Commander,” says Valatyr dryly. “But you can’t make it that way with those who need to understand it. Even faced with proof in person, they’ll deny what they see.”

“Perhaps. We’ll see.” Rhamuel turns toward Lerial. “Has your family told you much about Swartheld?”

“Not that much. Only that Cigoerne is far, far more modest than Swartheld, and that the grandest dwellings in the duchy are less than those of merchanters who are considered only well-off.”

Rhamuel laughs again, more humorously. “That’s a bit of an overstatement. The only truly grand thing about Swartheld is the harbor. It is truly magnificent…”

As the arms-commander begins to talk about Swartheld, the column reaches the paved section of the river road adjoining the Luba piers where Lerial and the Mirror Lancers had repulsed the last Heldyan attack. Lerial can see that no attempt has been made to replace the shattered paving stones or to clean away the black streaks from the stone.

Nor do any of the people on the side of the road pay much attention to the passing riders.