L. Modesitt - Cyador’s Heirs

“I need to see to Amaira, Lerial.”

“Oh … I’m sorry.”

“That’s all right. Just keep working on what I showed you.” She smiles, then slips back into her chambers.

For a long moment, Lerial just stands there. Then, he turns and begins to walk back toward his own quarters, thinking.

… You can’t ever be known to be a healer or ordermage.… not if you end up leading Mirror Lancers … His aunt’s words keep running through his thoughts.

For the next eightday, Lerial dutifully continues his lessons with Saltaryn, followed by sessions with Undercaptain Woelyt. While he feels he is getting better and is able to avoid the worst strikes and bruises, the undercaptain still disarms him regularly, even though Lerial has taken to practicing even more by himself. He no longer gets that tired holding the wand, but he is all too aware that he does not have the physical strength of the undercaptain, or even of Lephi, who returned from his first patrol late the previous evening.

When Lerial rises on sevenday, he sees no sign of his brother, who does not rise for breakfast and is doubtless sleeping in, although their father has always insisted that sevenday morning is for work and that only on that afternoon and eightday itself are the two excused from duties and lessons. Lerial finds he is annoyed, but not especially surprised, since their father’s rules seem to him to be applied less rigidly to Lephi. That’s the way things are, and will always be.

He eats his breakfast quietly, with Ryalah, Amaira, and Emerya, although his mother arrives as he is finishing, then heads for his lessons with Saltaryn. The magus is less demanding on sevendays, and by late midmorning, Lerial is finished. Lephi is still not up.

So Lerial seeks out Undercaptain Woelyt and spends a good glass accumulating more bruises and, hopefully, getting better in using the sabre.

After cooling down and cleaning up, Lerial returns to his chambers to work on an even longer essay for Magus Saltaryn. Lephi does not come by, and Lerial is not about to go looking for him. Instead, he finishes the essay and practices some with the sabre wand, if not strenuously enough to work up much of a sweat. Finally, it is time to head down to the main courtyard for refreshments before dinner.

He reaches the east door to the courtyard just after Lephi. His older brother’s face is lightly tanned, as dark as it will likely ever get, but his short-cut hair is now almost white-blond, and his green eyes appear paler to Lerial. He even looks more confident as he fills a glass with red wine, not watering it, and settles into the chair across the large courtyard table from his mother.

Lerial moves toward the refreshment table where he half fills his glass with light lager, knowing that he can drink two half glasses without comments from his mother or aunt, when drawing a full glass would draw a cold look or a few words.

“Emerya!” calls his mother.

Lerial turns to see his aunt approaching with Amaira and Ryalah. Immediately, he sets down his glass and pours redberry from the crockery pitcher into two small tumblers, which he carries to the table where the girls usually sit.

“Thank you,” says Emerya quietly, before turning. “What do you say, girls?”

“Thank you,” chorus the two.

“You’re welcome.” Lerial smiles as he steps back and watches the girls sit down.

Ryalah sets the ubiquitous pegboard on the table, then takes a swallow of redberry, but Amaira takes only a small sip.

Lerial cannot sense any chaos in his cousin, but she is very quiet, even quieter than she had been at breakfast. Rather than say anything, he waits while Emerya takes a goblet and pours a small amount of white-or light amber-wine into it. Then he follows her to the large table and sits to his mother’s right, putting as much space between himself and Lephi as possible.

“How is Amaira?” asks Xeranya, looking to Emerya. “She seems better. A bit pale, though.”

Both women look at the smaller table where Amaira and Ryalah sip redberry juice from the small tumblers.

“Her fever is gone, and she’s eating now. She gets tired by the end of the day.” Emerya takes a deep breath. “It’s been a long eightday.”

Lerial nods. He’d been able to sense that just from his aunt’s demeanor over the past days.

“Tell us about your patrol,” says Xeranya, looking proudly at her older son.

“It was just a patrol,” replies Lephi. “We rode southwest from Cigoerne along the Thylan River road for almost four days. One day we rode through Teilyn, as you requested, ser.” Lephi looks at Kiedron, who has entered the courtyard from the west entrance unnoticed and who nods. “We didn’t see anyone we shouldn’t have, and none of the people along the road had been raided. It wasn’t until we got to Barteld that we heard about raiders. The captain said that was a bad sign. Usually they don’t come north of Narthyl.”

“That’s not good,” Emerya agrees.

From his studies with Saltaryn and glasses spent memorizing maps, Lerial also understands. One of the reasons his father has been able to claim the territory he has for the duchy of Cigoerne is that, except for the lands near the Swarth River immediately west of Cigoerne and along the smaller Thylan River that flows into the Swarth a kay or so south of the city, most of the land claimed by Kiedron consists of hills covered with sparse grass, with occasional wooded areas. Rather … most of it had been grassland, but Lerial’s grandmother had insisted on using the mages and the Lancers to build ditches and canals off the Thylan and a few smaller streams. Over just a few years, more people have appeared and begun to farm lands that only needed water, and the use of irrigation for some pasturage has also created some herds used for dairying and cheese-making. The fact that raiders are appearing some sixty kays north of Narthyl, which is the largest town in the south of Cigoerne, is definitely a cause for concern.

“What happened?” asks Lerial.

“I was going to get to that,” replies Lephi, “if you’d given me a moment.”

“You might let Lephi talk, dear,” adds Xeranya mildly.

Lerial nods, seething, and takes a sip of his lager.

Lephi does not immediately speak, clearly letting the silence speak for him.

Lerial takes another sip of his lager, thinking he’ll be angel-cursed if he’ll utter another word.

At last, Lephi clears his throat and says, “For two days we patrolled the area around Barteld. We saw some tracks, but we never saw the raiders. Then a herder sent word that he’d seen riders heading west…”

West? wonders Lerial.

“… and the captain figured out that they were riding toward a hamlet southwest of Bartheld where there’s a little lake, and they’ve got orchards and sheep there. He had us ride late that evening, and we got there before the raiders did. They didn’t show up until the next morning, and we ambushed them. Only a few got away. We only captured a handful, but all but one of them died of their wounds.”

That doesn’t surprise Lerial. The grassland raiders tended to fight to the death if they are surrounded.

“How big was the band, dear?” Xeranya inquires.

“About a score. There might have been a few more.”

“Did you fight any of them?” asks Ryalah loudly from the small table.

“No,” admits Lephi. “The captain had me with the reserve squad. We were posted between the raiders and the hamlet, just in case any raiders got by first squad.”

“What did the raiders look like?” asks Emerya.

“They wore those loose baggy white tunics and baggy trousers, like all the Meroweyans do.”

“Only the raiders in the north of Merowey do that,” offers Emerya gently. “That’s because the land is so dry there.”