L. Modesitt: Cyador’s Heirs

As he rides nearer, he sees, standing with Maeroja, Rojana, Tyrna, and Aylana. Even before he reins up, Lerial can see the worried expression on Maeroja’s face, and he quickly says, “He’s fine. The fighting is over, and the Meroweyan force was destroyed. He said he had to stay another season to complete the training necessary so he wouldn’t have to go back.” Altyrn had never actually said the last words, but Lerial feels that is what he meant. “I have a letter for you. He asked me to deliver it personally.” Lerial keeps his eyes on Maeroja, although he can feel Rojana looking at him.

Rojana murmurs something to her mother, and Maeroja smiles. “Can you stay for dinner? I would have asked anyway, but I was prompted.”

“I’d hoped that would be possible. I’d very much appreciate that.” Lerial turns in the saddle. “You can return to the post.”

“Ser…?” ventures one of the Mirror Lancers.

“Give him a good two glasses,” says Maeroja.

Lerial laughs. “You can see I’m in good hands. Two glasses, it is.”

“Thank you, ser.”

As the two Lancers leave, Lerial says, “Can I just stable the mare in an empty stall?”

“We could summon the ostler…”

“I can do it, and it’s likely to be faster.” Lerial rides to the stables, where he dismounts, stalls his horse, then walks back to the north entry, where Tyrna and Aylana are waiting.

“Mother took Rojana with her,” announces Aylana.

“They’re getting refreshments,” adds her older sister. “We’re to take you to the salon.”

“It’s still cold in the courtyard,” declares the youngest daughter.

“Have you started this year’s worms?” asks Lerial.

“Not yet. Mother says they’ll be late.” Tyrna turns.

Before she can open the outer door, Lerial steps forward and opens it. “After you, ladies.”

“We’re not ladies yet, mother says,” declares Aylana.

“Rojana almost is,” adds Tyrna.

Lerial keeps his smile to himself, thinking of Ryalah and Amaira as he follows them all the way to the salon. Maeroja and Rojana rise as the two younger sisters and Lerial enter the chamber. For a long moment, Rojana looks at Lerial, then drops her eyes.

“Before I forget…” Lerial steps forward and withdraws the sealed envelope from his Lancer jacket, extending it to Maeroja. “I might take a walk in the courtyard while you read it.”

Maeroja cannot conceal a frown.

“There shouldn’t be anything disturbing in it,” Lerial says quickly. “I just thought you’d appreciate it without…”

“If you wouldn’t mind…”

“I wouldn’t have suggested it.” Lerial looks down to Aylana. “Would you care to come with me?”

Aylana looks to her mother.

“I’ll read it all to you later.”

“We’ll all walk in the courtyard,” announces Rojana, with a firmness that sounds much like her mother.

Once the four have left the salon, Rojana glances to Lerial. “Thank you. She’s been so worried.” She pauses. “Father is all right, isn’t he?”

“He was fine when I left. He wasn’t wounded or injured at all. He was brilliant in the way he defended the Verd-and Cigoerne.”

“Cigoerne?” asks Tyrna. “I thought you were in Verdheln. That’s what Mother said.”

“We were. But we were fighting to keep the Meroweyans from threatening Cigoerne.”

“Oh.”

Lerial walks toward the nearest fountain, realizing, suddenly, that he had not seen a single fountain anywhere in Verdheln. Is that because they have plenty of water? “I like your fountains.” He glances back to see that Aylana has stamped her foot and is glaring at Tyrna.

Rojana glances back at her sisters, shaking her head and smiling, then says, “The arrangement was Mother’s idea. You won’t tell her I said that, will you?”

“No. Not if you don’t want me to.” Why would she say that? “Is that because … she missed having fountains?” Lerial barely manages to keep from having said something about Maeroja missing things from home, remembering what Emerya has said about her.

“Father never said. Neither has Mother. I thought you might know.”

“He said that it took some effort and special pipes for them.” That is certainly true enough.

“You won’t say, will you?”

“It’s not my place to say.”

“You’ve changed.”

Lerial can hear a trace of sadness in her voice as he looks into her gray eyes and says softly, “War, for the first time, must change everyone, don’t you think?” He pauses. “I never truly thanked you for the lodestone. What I’ve learned from it saved my life … more than once.”

“I’m glad … I thought it might help.”

“It did. More than you know.”

“I wanted…”

“I know.”

Neither speaks for a moment. Then Rojana looks away.

“Do you think she’s through reading now?” asks Tyrna, hurrying toward them.

“We should walk around the fountains once,” suggests Rojana.

“I don’t want to. I’m cold,” declares Aylana as she joins the others.

“You’ll feel warmer if you keep moving,” says Lerial, reaching out and taking Aylana’s hand. “We’ll go this way.”

Lerial and Rojana manage to coax the other two into two tours of the courtyard before returning to the salon.

Maeroja looks to Lerial and Rojana and mouths, “Thank you.” Then she says, “Your father assures us that he is healthy and well. I’ll let you all read it later. He also wrote that things would have gone badly without Lerial. He says we mustn’t ask Lerial about it. That’s because he will insist that your father and the elders and everyone else did it. That’s not true, but it has to remain our secret.” Maeroja pauses. “We should have refreshments. Lerial has waited long enough.”

“Can I have lager?” presses Tyrna.

Maeroja shakes her head. “Not yet. You and Aylana can have a little watered wine, if you like. Rojana, only half a beaker of lager.”

“When can I have lager-” begins Aylana.

“When you’re the age Rojana is now,” says Maeroja firmly.

Aylana’s pout is only momentary, perhaps because of the stern look bestowed on her by her mother.

Lerial moves to the refreshment table, then nods to Maeroja. “Wine or lager?”

“Lager, please.”

Lerial fills one beaker-that is, two-thirds full-and another one-third full, handing the second to Rojana and the full one to her mother, before returning to the table and serving himself. Then he takes the armchair to Maeroja’s left, the one not usually occupied by the majer. After a slow sip from the beaker, he smiles. “This is the best lager I’ve had, ever, and it’s made better by the fact that they don’t brew anything like it in Verdheln.”

“I’m glad you like the lager,” says Maeroja. “Dinner will be simple. We didn’t know we’d have company.”

“Whatever it is will be far better than anything I’ve eaten in over a season.”

“Could you tell us something about the Verd?”

“Trees and more trees,” he begins, “and where the trees end they have grown special trees with such trunks that they form a tree-wall around the forests that comprise the Verd…” From there Lerial does most of the talking for a good half glass … until he sees a serving girl standing in the entrance to the salon.

“It is time for dinner.” Maeroja rises.

Lerial does as well.

“You didn’t finish,” declares Aylana.

“I’ll finish at dinner,” Lerial promises.

The main dish-in fact really the only dish-except for fresh-baked bread and pickled carrots, not his favorite, but acceptable-is a large platter of lamb biastras, seasoned with far less chili than at the Palace, with a brown sauce that has a slight fruity taste, rather than the white cream sauce that Lerial associates with biastras. The sweet peppers are an orange brown also. He has four of the tubular biastras, and could have eaten more, except he feels that would be excessive … and he has promised to finish telling about Verdheln. He cannot, or should not, talk while eating. So he contents himself with sips of the excellent lager and describes everything he can remember.