L. Modesitt - Cyador’s Heirs

Lerial stifles a yawn. He is tired.

“You need some sleep, I can see. There’s one other thing.”

“Ser?”

“Did you ever think that, if something happened to me, you would be in command of the Verdyn Lancers?”

“No. Actually, I didn’t.” That is certainly true enough.

“I’m not chastising you. What you did was the right thing to do. I would be happier if you had made that decision after considering all the factors. Those are things you will need to weigh in the future.”

That, Lerial also understands.

“Go get some sleep.”

Lerial doesn’t protest. He just stands. “Good night, ser.”

After he leaves Altyrn’s study, thinking about returning to Cigoerne and carrying a report from Altyrn to Majer Phortyn, a thought strikes him. Outside of the letter from Emerya and the one dispatch from Phortyn to Altyrn, they have received nothing from Cigoerne. Because no one wants to spare men as couriers … or because Phortyn doesn’t consider Altyrn’s task a true Mirror Lancer mission and only sent the one dispatch because it cost him little to do so?

Another yawn comes over him. He is tired.

A good night’s sleep and some solid, if not particularly appetizing ghano-acorn hash for breakfast has Lerial feeling far better on oneday morning when he goes to meet with Altyrn to discuss who might be best to accompany Lerial on his return journey to Cigoerne.

When Lerial enters the small study, Altyrn seems preoccupied for a moment, then says, “I think we’d better go over my report.”

“I trust that you didn’t identify the ordermage who created those ground lightnings,” Lerial says evenly.

“I thought you might say that.”

“You hoped I would.” Lerial offers a lopsided smile as he sits down in front of the desk.

“That, too, but I’ve noticed that you don’t want much credit.”

“I like praise as much as anyone, but I like not being a target even more.”

Altyrn extends a sheaf of papers. “Then read.”

“You must have been writing all night.”

The majer shakes his head. “I’ve written each section as it happened. You forget less that way. You also have less temptation to revise occurrences in your favor.”

Lerial can see both points. He eases the report before him and begins to read. When he finishes, he says, “The only thing I’d suggest is to add something about the loss of not only Essiana, but also a chief archer who was the daughter of an elder on the High Council. And something about the number of hamlets burned and Verdyn killed.”

“I’d thought about the hamlets. Why do you want to mention Klerryt’s daughter?”

“It’s a way of pointing out that the Verdyn are similar.”

Altyrn nods. “You’re right. That will strengthen your father’s resolve to keep supporting them.”

Lerial hands the report back.

“For your return party, I’d thought to ask for four Mirror Lancer volunteers, well … three now, and six Verdyn Lancer volunteers.”

“Three now?”

“Bhurl has requested permission to return with you.”

“How does he know I’m going?”

The majer grins. “He doesn’t. He requested that he be allowed to return to Cigoerne whenever it was possible and in the interests of the Mirror Lancers. He has a family in Cigoerne, his consort and three children. Most of the other Mirror Lancers do not-or if they do…” Altyrn shrugs.

They’re in no hurry to return to that family … for one reason or another. “Will there be trouble getting volunteers?” Lerial is thinking that some of the rankers may prefer to remain as squad leaders in Verdheln, even if they are not being paid as such.

“We can order some of the Mirror Lancers to go, if necessary, but I doubt it will be. Out of six companies … five now, I’m certain we can get six Verdyn volunteers to escort the Duke’s son and to have a chance to see Cigoerne.” Altyrn’s lips quirk into a smile.

“When you put it that way…” Lerial shakes his head.

“You’ll need to get used to things like that.”

Lerial supposes he will, but has another thought. “Fhentaar could handle second company … with guidance.”

“We’ll see. I’ll also be sending a request for weapons to train and outfit more companies of Lancers. The elders have agreed that more are necessary.”

“There were quite a few weapons recovered from the Meroweyans.” Lerial’s statement is bland.

“There were. Once we have them all gathered up, we’ll send some of those, the ones that aren’t suitable for Lancers. Your father or Majer Phortyn can arrange for their sale or their reforging into sabres or lances.” A faint smile crosses Altyrn’s lips. “There is one other matter. Klerryt and I will be riding with you to Verdell. The full Council of Elders wants to meet with both of us to go over an agreement they wish you to present to your father.”

“What sort of agreement?”

“Something to bind him and his heirs to allowing the people of the Verd to retain their own customs in return for their allegiance and tariffs.”

There is something about that idea that bothers Lerial. He has no problem with the Verdyn wanting to retain their customs, yet …

“You have a problem with that?” asks Altyrn pleasantly.

“I have no problem at all with them retaining their own customs.”

“Then why are you looking so concerned?”

“There’s just something…” Lerial knows there is, but it is a matter of feeling, or more of the fact that what is wrong is so obvious, and yet he cannot put his finger-or his thoughts-on what that is.

“There is indeed. It’s only symbolic,” Altyrn says. “At one time, Casseon’s predecessors promised the same thing. It’s very hard for a ruler to bind his successors to a promise, even one in writing, made by a man long dead.”

Lerial feels stupid for not seeing the obvious, but he’s not about to admit that, except to himself. “They hope that if I agree…” He shakes his head. “Lephi’s the heir, not me, and I can only try to persuade him.”

“They know that, but if you and your father agree, it will be harder for him to ignore the promise, and it may not even come to that.”

Lerial can see the elders’ point. “That raises another question. I assume I should report to Majer Phortyn immediately upon my arrival in Cigoerne.”

“If you still consider yourself a Mirror Lancer.”

“Why shouldn’t I? I’m not the heir. As an undercaptain, I should report to the majer.” Even if I won’t be telling him everything.

“As an undercaptain … that’s true.” Altyrn’s voice is level.

“I’m certain that the majer would prefer that I report initially through the chain of command,” adds Lerial. “He doesn’t have to know I carry a personal communication from the High Council.”

“He could command you to reveal it to him and to remain at headquarters while he reports to your father.”

Is he that great an idiot? “Then I would just have to tell him that my orders from his superior-that’s my father-were that I should report to the majer first, but that I should then report to the Palace. I would prefer not to have to say that.”

“You likely won’t have to, but it’s best to decide how you would deal with such a situation.”

Another not-so-veiled suggestion to anticipate and prepare for all possibilities.

For another half glass, Altyrn goes over the details of Lerial’s return to Cigoerne and what he should expect, including what to say to the post commander when he reaches Tirminya. To Lerial, the fact that Altyrn does not refer to Dechund by name suggests just how little the majer thinks of the captain.