L. Modesitt - Cyador’s Heirs

“Morning, ser,” Bhurl calls out cheerfully.

“Good morning,” Lerial replies with a smile, then mounts the gelding quickly as he sees Altyrn and Klerryt both riding toward the formation.

As the column moves from the training compound, Lerial is riding at the head of the column beside Bhurl, with Vominem a good hundred yards before them as scout, and Klerryt and Altyrn behind Lerial and Bhurl.

“You glad to be headed back?” Lerial asks the squad leader.

“Relieved. Glad to be riding back in one piece. Always the chance that it can happen to you the way it did to Ferragn and Alaarn.”

“I was a little surprised to see Moraris…” Lerial is not at all surprised, but wants to hear what Bhurl will say.

“He’s close to the end of his term. Wants to try his hand as a trader. That’s what he says.”

“I did overhear him trying to trade for more arrows for his archers.”

“Leastwise…” Bhurl breaks off with a laugh. “He did a good job with the archers. Had some help from the chief archer. Shame about that.”

“A great loss.” In so many ways. Lerial lets the silence draw out before he asks, “What can you tell me about Taendalk and Khillen?”

“Good men. Taendalk’s almost as senior as me…”

Lerial listens, trying not to think too much about Alaynara … or his own failure to create defenses.

The column turns up the paved street in Verdell on fourday afternoon just before third glass, heading toward the octagonal green that holds the black stone building, also octagonal in shape, where Lerial and Altyrn will once again meet with the High Council of Verdheln. This time Bhurl and Klerryt ride at the head of the Lancers, followed by Altyrn and Lerial. After they rein up outside the single-level octagonal building with its low, domed slate roof, Lerial, Altyrn, and Klerryt dismount, and the elder leads the way into the building, through the open area, and then into the council chamber where three others are waiting, rising from their places around the circular table.

Lerial recognizes Ruethana and Donnael, but not the other woman, who, while certainly not young, is strikingly exotic, with an almost silver-white skin, and short hair that is a shade Lerial could only have described as silver blond. Her eyes are black, and chaos radiates from her.

As Lerial and Altyrn move to the far side of the table Klerryt stops beside Donnael, who offers a few words that Lerial cannot make out. Klerryt shakes his head and replies, also in a low tone, then asks something.

Donnael frowns quizzically and murmurs, “Are you certain?”

At least, that is what Lerial thinks he asks.

At Klerryt’s reply, Donnael hands the younger elder something wrapped in a brown cloth. Klerryt nods, and moves to stand behind his seat.

“Welcome to Verdell,” says Ruethana, in a voice that is but a shade warmer than perfunctory.

“Welcome, indeed,” adds Donnael in a far warmer tone, although his voice is raspy and Lerial can see that his one hand, gesturing for them to take the vacant seats at the table, is shaking slightly, while the other hand, on the back of the chair, steadies him. After a pause, the senior elder inclines his head to the silver-blond woman. “This is Khalya, the newest elder.”

Khalya inclines her head.

Klerryt takes his seat, and so does Altyrn. Again, Lerial finds himself between the majer and the youngest elder, in this case, Khalya.

As he settles into his seat, Lerial gathers in what his order-senses tell him about the elder who has succeeded Essiana. While she radiates chaos, there is no free chaos actually within her, nor any free order, either. It is almost as though she attracts chaos and then repels it, but that it never becomes a part of her. That may be so, but he cannot determine how she does that, or why there is no more order around her than the usual amount in a living person. Certainly, he has never seen or sensed anything like her. He tries not to look too obviously in her direction and waits for what the elders may say.

“Lord Lerial, Majer Altyrn,” begins Ruethana, “you and your Mirror Lancers have accomplished something we doubted was possible. Your efforts have also left the High Council with certain concerns. It is clear that Duke Kiedron prefers a Verd that is part of Cigoerne. It is clear as well that both of you do. Duke Casseon had the same preference, but he did not wish us to continue in our way of life. The concern we have is whether, in the future, Cigoerne will continue to allow us our ways … or whether, in time, some future Duke will decide to force the issue the way Duke Casseon did.”

Lerial is tempted to suggest that what Ruethana has said is not even a question, but instead he looks to Altyrn.

The majer nods politely back at Lerial.

“Elders,” begins Lerial, cautiously, “no one can foresee the acts of future generations. I can only say that my father the Duke has let those people who have asked to be governed by him continue in their old ways, if with several exceptions. He has insisted that girl children be treated as equals with boys”- At least until they’re grown -“and that the punishments for violation of the laws be the same throughout Cigoerne … or no harsher than those levied in Cigoerne. I do not foresee that he will change his views in those regards. Nor would I, were I in a position to do so.” But trying to speak for Lephi is something Lerial isn’t about to do, nor will he even bring up the matter of his brother being the primary heir.

“We understand that,” says Donnael smoothly, although his voice remains hoarse. “We would like you to take a proposed agreement between the High Council of Verdheln and your sire, as Duke of Cigoerne, which, with his signature beside ours, would affirm his agreement with those principles.”

“I can certainly convey that agreement.”

“Perhaps you should read it,” says Ruethana dryly.

“We would be happy to do so,” replies Lerial.

Ruethana hands a large envelope to Klerryt, who passes it to the majer.

Altyrn slides the single sheet from the envelope, reads it, and then passes it to Lerial with a pleasant smile.

Lerial begins to read, almost skimming over the prefatory politeness and formality of the greeting to his father, referred to as “Duke of Cigoerne, heir of the Rational Stars,” before concentrating on the text that comprises the key section of the agreement. To his surprise, the agreement is almost as direct as Ruethana’s words. The last paragraph lauds Kiedron under the notation that the signatories for the High Council freely acknowledge the Duke’s aid and assistance without which there could have been no agreement.

After rereading the agreement to make certain that he has not missed anything, Lerial slips the agreement back into the envelope, then says, “I see no problems with conveying this to Cigoerne for my father’s consideration.”

“Then that is settled,” says Ruethana, nodding to Donnael.

“Lord Lerial,” offers Donnael, “I will be frank. We appreciated the gesture of your sire in sending his youngest son. We thought that his dispatching you was merely a commitment to good faith. We did not anticipate that you would actually command a company in battle. Nor did we think that the Duke would have sent someone so young…”

Barely more than a boy, is what Donnael means, Lerial suspects.

“… who turned out to be so powerful.” Donnael coughs several times, then wheezes.

Lerial cannot help but sense the faint red of sickness chaos in Donnael’s chest, but manages a polite smile, rather than the concerned frown that is more like what he feels.

“… we would like to convey our appreciation, both personally and as representatives of the High Council, for your efforts, one of which brought you as close to death as is possible without dying…”