L. Modesitt - Cyador’s Heirs

When Altyrn finishes, he adds, “By the way, you won’t have to write Elder Klerryt.”

“Oh?” Lerial is immediately on guard.

“He came to Escadya yesterday to represent the council. Donnael has been ill and has returned to Verdell to recover.”

“I should talk to him, then.”

“You should. He’ll be here by eighth glass.”

“That won’t be long. I might as well go out and wait for him.” While you think about what you should say about Alaynara.

“He would appreciate that courtesy.”

“By your leave, ser?”

“Of course. I also appreciate the courtesy.”

Lerial stands and then makes his way to the hitching rail outside the barracks building that holds the officers’ quarters and their studies. There are no riders coming down the lane from the main road, and he turns his thoughts to Alaynara. He is still thinking about what he should say when he sees two riders on the lane. The elder rides in accompanied by a wayguide who looks familiar, but it takes Lerial a moment to recognize and recall Yulyn, who had guided them from the northeast side of the Verd to Apfhel and then to Verdell and Escadya.

“Greetings, Elder, Wayguide,” offers Lerial.

“The same to you,” returns Klerryt as he dismounts.

From what Lerial recalls, there is far more white in the elder’s red hair than there was a season ago, not to mention the dark circles under his eyes. “I thought we might talk for a bit … if you have some time.”

“I always have time to talk to Duke Kiedron’s son.”

Lerial stiffens inside at the formality of Klerryt’s words and tries to offer his reply in a gentle tone. “I would hope you would also have time to talk to Undercaptain Lerial, ser.”

“I would and do.” After a slight hesitation, Klerryt adds, “I’d prefer to walk while we talk.”

“We can do that.” Lerial gestures toward the green in the center of the rows of barracks buildings, then steps up beside the elder, who is just a digit or so taller than Lerial is.

“What did you have in mind?”

“I wanted to talk about Alaynara.”

“To offer some trite comments or explanations?” Klerryt’s words are softly tart.

“No. To tell you what I learned about her and exactly what happened … without justifications or elaborate explanations or rationalizations.”

“I’m listening.”

“She was very professional. She was the best archer I’ve ever seen, and she could estimate a distance and put an arrow down almost on a point on the darkest night. That is no surprise to you, I’m certain.”

“I can’t say it is.”

“She was also very perceptive. She once suggested, very tactfully, except it was really a rhetorical question, when no one else was around, that I’d hadn’t been allowed to be a child long.”

“I don’t imagine you were. What did you tell her?”

“That it didn’t matter now … that what mattered was that other children would have that chance. Somehow … that surprised her. At least, I think it did.”

“It may well have. Why did you think so?”

“Her voice softened, and she said she was sorry.”

Klerryt shakes his head, but there is a wry smile on his face as he looks at Lerial. “That would have been Alaynara. Is there anything else?”

“She was excellent at knowing where the archers should be, and in letting me know in a way that was firm without being challenging.” He pauses. “I didn’t talk to her that much, but…” He shakes his head. “She had picked the position for the archers in the battle at the stream, but we didn’t have the chance to see how effective they would be. We were ordered to pull out and move north along the east side of the stream to delay some Meroweyan companies so that Donnael and Ruethana-I think-could call a storm to block the chaos wizards…” Lerial goes on to explain how he had positioned the squads. “… I misjudged the speed of the Meroweyan advance, but Alaynara had fourth squad cutting down a great number of the leading ranks. There had not been any chaos-bolts thrown. I was prepared for that, and when one came, I redirected it back at their wizard. He did something I hadn’t seen before, and it came back at us twice as strong. I must have done something wrong, because when I sent it back, just a tiny blast of chaos flared back-right in the middle of fourth squad. It only hit three archers. The middle one was Alaynara.” Lerial swallows slightly, then says. “I had the company withdraw immediately, or they would have overrun us.”

Klerryt does not speak for a long moment. “You surprise me.”

Lerial waits, unsure of what the elder will say, worried that Klerryt will offer some withering remark, and knowing he has every right to do so.

“You have not offered a single word to mitigate or justify what happened.”

“How could I, ser? It was a small miscalculation on my part. That is true, but some under my command died because of that mistake.”

“How many others died?”

“None, ser. Not there.”

“Were you attracted to my daughter?”

Lerial blinks. What? For a moment, he can say nothing. Finally, he says, “I admired her. I didn’t think of her in any other way.”

“A fair and honest answer. You’ve worried about her death and talking to me … have you not?”

“Yes, ser.” Many times.

“So here we are. An older man and a younger man. You have risked your life to save our people, and you made a small error of judgment that required your taking an action that led to my daughter’s death, but preserved the lives of almost a hundred other young people.”

“Then,” Lerial is forced to add.

“Then,” agrees Klerryt. After another painfully long silence, he continues. “You have not resorted to excuses. You understand more fully than most far older than you would your responsibility. I can mourn the circumstances. I can and do grieve for my daughter. I cannot fault you, especially given the burdens you bear. No leader, no ruler, no officer can protect all of those in his charge from all eventualities. All we can ask is that they have the greatest skill possible and carry out their duties to the best of their abilities. You are what, perhaps eighteen?”

“I’ll be seventeen on threeday after the turn of summer, ser.”

Klerryt almost stops in his tracks, then shakes his head slowly. “Alaynara was indeed right.” His smile is close to bitter. “And so were we.”

“You? The elders?”

Klerryt nods. “Your father leads the Mirror Lancers on many occasions, does he not?”

“He does.”

“Your brother serves as a Mirror Lancer officer, does he not?”

“He’s an undercaptain, too.” Or he was.

“What of your mother … the women of your family?”

“They’re healers.” Lerial thinks he understands what Klerryt needs to know. “My mother and my aunt serve as healers in Cigoerne. My aunt is the head healer at the Hall of Healing.”

Klerryt nods brusquely. “Then you understand why we were right.”

“I think I understand that you believe you made the best choice of those available.”

“You don’t think so?”

Lerial allows himself a wry smile. “I think so, but to say that you made the best choice would sound more self-serving than I’d care to be.”

Klerryt laughs softly. “It is indeed a pity…” Then he breaks off his words and shakes his head. “We need say no more about what happened … at the stream.”

Lerial nods, relieved, but still concerned and wondering what may come next, because Klerryt begins to resume his former pace.

“I saw the battlefield … you were most fortunate.”

“We were. They could easily have overrun us.”