L. Modesitt - Cyador’s Heirs

“I’d thought a day to rest the horses.” Lerial grins. “And maybe stock up on some decent travel food.”

“You think it’s decent, and you’re welcome to it.” Seivyr laughs.

“What can you tell me about Majer Phortyn?”

Seivyr raises his eyebrows.

“Besides the fact that he likes officers with clean uniforms and well-polished boots, and that he’s skeptical that Duke’s sons can handle a blade or perform in battle?”

The captain shakes his head good-naturedly. “You know that, and that’s what you’ve got.”

Lerial doesn’t press, and the two talk about Tirminya and the post, and the sightings of Afritan patrols for almost a glass before they leave for their respective quarters.

Lerial is sitting on the edge of the narrow bunk, pulling off his boots, when all the pieces fall into place, triggered by what Seivyr had said earlier about the Afritan arrows. By the Rational Stars! Dechund didn’t die of a flux … Lerial tries to recollect what exactly had happened in the mess the night before they had left Tirminya. There was more than one reason why he wanted you out of the mess! And spilling that carafe when you came back was no accident.

But that meant Altyrn had suspected Dechund might be a traitor from before leaving Teilyn. Otherwise …

Lerial shivers.

Seivyr had said that the majer would do anything to preserve Cigoerne.

By second glass on one day, after six long days after leaving Tirminya, even with quick glances at intervals at the jagged spurs of red rocks jutting along the Wooded Ridges to the south of the road, Lerial can easily recognize the landmarks and the most impenetrable-looking sections of the forest, although, after seeing the thornbushes of the Verd, the Wooded Ridges look far more open than he had once thought, and more familiar. They should, after all the time that the majer had you learning the terrain.

He still hasn’t figured out a way to create lasting order-defenses, although he’s gotten quite proficient at creating a variety of defenses in instants, some of which he can also instantly link to his belt knife or sabre. Which is fine for when you know that you’re being attacked, or going to be … but that won’t always be the case.

He smiles wryly. As in everything, it seems, being able to anticipate is vital.

Under the late afternoon sun of early summer, the mud-brick houses of Teilyn appear a faint orangish-pink as he and Bhurl ride through the town toward the Mirror Lancer post to the south. At the gate, the guards look from Lerial to Bhurl and then to the brown-clad Verdyn Lancers behind the other three Mirror Lancers in green.

“Verdyn Lancers detailed to escort duty,” Lerial explains. “That leaves more Mirror Lancers to assist with training in Verdheln.”

“Yes, ser,” replies the gate guard, his tone suggesting he’s not quite convinced.

Word must travel quickly, or the lookout has already reported, because Captain Graessyr stands waiting by the time Lerial rides to the stables and reins up. Behind him looms Undercaptain Shastan, as massive as ever, also looking concerned.

“Returning from Verdell with dispatches and Verdyn Lancers as additional company,” Lerial announces.

“Not that we’re not glad to see you, Lord Lerial,” declares the captain, “but I was hoping that we’d also be seeing the majer.”

“He’s fine, but he says he needs another season training the Verdyn Lancers. We took some heavy losses in defeating the Meroweyans.”

Graessyr frowns. “I thought you were just training them.”

“The Meroweyans didn’t wait until we’d finished training the Verdyn Lancers. The majer took command. We fought. We won. It was a mess, and it was costly. I’ll be happy to fill in the details after we settle the men. I also need to carry a letter from the majer to his family.”

Graessyr smiles, if slightly sardonically. “Spoken like a Lancer. I’ll be in my study.”

Settling the Lancers doesn’t take all that long, and since the duty ostler volunteers to groom and feed the gelding, in little more than a half glass, Lerial is sitting in front of Captain Graessyr’s desk, explaining what had happened in Verdheln, in much the same way as he had to Seivyr in Tirminya. When he finishes, he waits for any questions Graessyr may have.

“You took a single company after the fleeing Meroweyans … and didn’t leave any survivors.”

“That was partly because things got out of control with their last chaos wizard,” Lerial replies, “but I didn’t want there to be any effective fighting forces returning to Nubyat.”

Graessyr nods slowly. “Most would say that was carrying matters to excess.”

“They might. But with so few trained Lancers remaining and even fewer ordermages, it seemed prudent to do everything possible to reduce the possibility of another attempt to take the Verd any time soon.”

“There’s one other thing I don’t understand,” says the captain, smiling as he adds, “or maybe more. If the Verdyn had all those ordermages, why did they need the majer and you to train Lancers?”

“They didn’t have that many, and they lost at least one that I know of, and I’m not certain how long the senior elder, who is also an ordermage of some kind, will live after the strain the war put on him. What made the difference was the way the majer deployed the Lancers we had. Even before the Meroweyans managed to burn through the tree-walls to get into the Verd, we’d killed or wounded almost five companies worth of their armsmen … well … maybe four. Every skirmish or battle, they lost at least five or six times what we did. And the people, they killed or wounded quite a few with their traps and their hunting arrows. But none of it would have worked without the majer holding it all together.”

“And you just led a company? That’s all?”

Lerial pauses for just an instant, then says, “I’m just a young undercaptain, acting as a captain. That’s the way it’s reported, and the way it should be.”

After a moment, Graessyr nods. “I hadn’t thought of it that way. You’re right, though. Might I ask…”

“I requested that it be that way. The majer had drafted the report along those lines before I read it.”

“Is there anything else you would care to tell me?”

Lerial thinks. “I don’t know if you heard, but Captain Dechund suffered some sort of flux and wandered off in a brain fever and died. Majer Phortyn promoted Seivyr to post captain.”

“Dechund … oh … he was the one with the clean uniforms and bright boots. Sorry to hear it. Seivyr’ll do well, though.”

Graessyr’s matter-of-fact comments confirm that he has the same opinion as Altyrn does, and that tends to reinforce some of Lerial’s skepticism about Majer Phortyn.

“Now, ser, I have a question. What can you tell me about raids by the Heldyans, especially along the river?”

Graessyr snorts. “Not much has changed since you and the majer left. We hear that they kept testing the patrols, but they withdraw if we show any force. I haven’t heard anything about your brother. Were there anything wrong, I’m certain we’d know.”

“Thank you. Now … if I might borrow a mount?”

“I told the ostler to have one ready for you. I’d thought to have four men as an escort…”

Lerial wants to deny the escort, but then thinks about Graessyr’s position in dealing with the son of the Duke. “I think two would be more than adequate.”

Graessyr starts to say something, then shakes his head. “You’re sounding like your sire.”

Before long, Lerial and two Mirror Lancers are leaving the post and heading south toward Kinaar. He is glad that the majer’s villa is close. Less than a fifth of a glass later, he turns the borrowed mount onto the packed clay lane leading off the main road. The lane is just as smooth as he recalls as it passes through the yellow brick posts toward the villa. They have barely covered half the three hundred yards from the posts to the villa when Lerial sees several figures hurry out of the villa and wait by the north entrance. How long has she had someone posted and watching?