L. Modesitt - Cyador’s Heirs

Almost exactly a half glass after Altyrn has informed Lerial of the Meroweyan advance, all four companies are on their way. The main road is damp, but not all that muddy, as they leave Bherkhan, but by the time they have ridden two kays, the packed clay is almost dry.

Since Lerial has not had a chance to write the letter to Klerryt, as he rides beside Korlyn, he thinks about Alaynara … and what he could say about her. All the things you would like to say-that she was kind and perceptive, or that she understood more than she expressed-all those things would likely convey the wrong meaning to her father. And all the other things that you could say-that she was capable, intelligent, decisive, and a good leader and archer-convey so little of what she was. Lerial also knows that what he had seen in Alaynara might not even be understood by her father. Some parents understand … and some do not. That is something he knows all too well.

In the end, he knows he will write about those things that express the obvious, then, later, if he meets Klerryt, he will feel his way and perhaps say more … or nothing beyond what he will write.

“Ser?” Korlyn finally ventures after Lerial has said nothing for almost a glass. “How many companies do the Meroweyans have left? Has the majer said?”

The squad leader’s normally cheerful round face reflects concern, the first time Lerial has seen that. Or is it the first time you’ve taken the time to notice? “He’s only said that they have over a thousand men in the force moving toward Escadya. I don’t know how many are in the other force, the one to the west. We haven’t heard anything from Juist or Denieryn.”

“That’s not good, is it, ser?”

“It’s neither good nor bad.”

“But…?”

“If it were truly bad, I think the elders would know and would have told the majer. What it likely means is that Juist and Denieryn have withdrawn, just as we are, and that they haven’t fought another battle or skirmish.” That’s what you hope, anyway.

“Like to think that, ser.”

Lerial laughs softly. “So would we all.”

“You think they’ve got more of those wizards?”

“I’d be surprised if they don’t. They have less than when they started, and maybe we can see if they’ll have even fewer.”

“That’d be good.”

Lerial just nods to that, and Korlyn refrains from pressing.

By the fourth glass of that afternoon, Lerial and second company are riding back into the very area in Escadya where he had spent eightdays training Lancers in blade skills and trying to learn what he could about commanding a company. He glances at the sky once more, but it is clear. Of course. Once you’ve finally figured out how you might handle clouds … there aren’t any. But that also reminds him of how dangerous putting off doing things can be, no matter how pressed he feels.

Once the troopers are settled back in the barracks they left eightdays before, Altyrn summons Lerial and the other two company officers to meet in a corner of the mess hall.

When Lerial enters and looks around, he can see-and sense-that it is totally empty, except for the four of them … and likely has been for some time. As he seats himself across the table from the majer, to the left of Shaskyn and then Kusyl, he says, “Everyone is moving out of Escadya as well?”

“Not everyone,” replies Altyrn. “Several hundred people will likely stay and try to hamper the Meroweyans in some way, and some are working on fashioning more spears. There are two wagons full of war arrows, and a cart with spears that just arrived. When we finish here, you need to have your companies re-arm. If the Meroweyans proceed as they have, we will have tomorrow to prepare our defenses for their attack. The people here have been working to create more pit traps in the woods flanking where we will make a stand. We will use the same sort of defenses as at the stream, except they will be on the low ridge just west of Escadya itself, the one that crosses the small meadow that the road runs through…”

Lerial listens intently as Altyrn outlines what he has planned.

When he rises on threeday morning, Lerial immediately checks the sky, but sees only high hazy clouds, although, with the tall trees surrounding the Lancer training grounds, he cannot see any that might be near the horizon in any direction. You’re just going to have to practice with the air as it is, clouds or no clouds.

By seventh glass, second company is at the low ridge-really a gentle rise that is no more than two or three yards above the flat meadow to its southwest, so low that the main road just goes right over it, although time and the passage of people, wagons, and horses have worn down a short stretch near the top of the rise. Lerial has to question how four undersized companies are going to defend a rise that extends close to half a kay.

“You have a doubtful look,” Altyrn observes, as he and Lerial wait for Kusyl and Shaskyn to ride up and join them.

“I have several questions,” Lerial admits. “How can we possibly defend this? And why won’t they just find a way around us?”

“The answer to the first question is simple,” replies Altyrn blandly. “We can’t. We’re only going to use the position to inflict as many casualties as possible before we withdraw.”

“They must know that by now.”

“They may.”

“Then why won’t they just avoid us?”

“For two reasons,” replies Altyrn. “First, it’s not a good idea to put yourself where you might be surrounded, and the Meroweyans can’t be certain that we might not have more forces around Verdell. Second, every military leader knows that until you defeat and destroy the forces that oppose you, you can’t control or govern a land. Some can’t even when they do destroy all organized armed forces that have opposed them, but that’s another question. Ask me about that some other time.”

Lerial takes that as a veiled suggestion not to take any more of the majer’s time, at least at the moment.

“Here come Kusyl and Shaskyn. We need to set the boundaries and the angle of the trenches and defenses.”

By midday, second company has completed digging out its share of trenches and is beginning to place the branch and stick figures created in response to Altyrn’s request days earlier-to give an impression of a greater force than actually exists.

In between supervising and walking the trenches, Lerial creates order pattern after order pattern, some of which are complete failures, but discovering in the process several with possibilities, including some with interlinked order “coils.” Although he has said nothing, he knows that some of his Lancers have cast glances at him and at the occasional small clouds that have formed overhead … and then dissipated.

“Ser!”

Lerial turns to see a ranker hurrying toward him.

“Ser … the majer requests you join him immediately.”

Lerial glances around, but does not see Altyrn. “Where is he?”

“Oh … he’s over there by the trees.” The ranker points to the northwest.

“I’ll be right there.” Since Bhurl is the closest squad leader, Lerial walks to him and says, “I’ll be with the majer over there.”

“Yes, ser.”’

The spot the ranker has pointed out is over two hundred yards away, but since the mounts are on tie-lines almost as far away, Lerial walks the distance. As he nears, he sees that with the majer are two of the high elders of Vernheln-Donnael and Ruethana.

“Captain Lerial, I thought you should hear what Elder Donnael has to report.”

“Yes, ser.” Lerial moves beside Altyrn and looks at the two elders.

The senior elder’s face is drawn and has deep lines Lerial does not recall. His eyes are bloodshot and sunken, and his once silver hair is a yellowed white.