L. Modesitt: Cyador’s Heirs

“I hope you don’t mind,” says Maeroja, “but we hadn’t planned sweets…”

“Stars, no! The biastras and the lager are treat enough.” Lerial means every word. Simple as the meal may have been, he has not had anything that good since leaving Kinaar the last time.

Maeroja glances to Rojana. “If you would help your sisters ready themselves for bed…”

Lerial can tell that is the last thing Rojana wants to do, but she nods politely and ushers the other two from the table.

“And make sure you wash your hands and faces,” adds their mother as the three leave.

“I’ve truly enjoyed being here, and the biastras and bread were delicious.” Lerial knows he needs to be leaving soon.

“Thank you. It was our pleasure, and we cannot thank you enough for the news and for the letter.”

“That was my pleasure,” Lerial insists.

After a moment of silence, Maeroja fixes her eyes on Lerial. “How much danger does he face in Verdheln? Truly?”

“Very little, if any … now.”

“You are being truthful, I trust.”

“Very truthful. There are only a few handfuls of Meroweyans in Verdheln, mostly wounded and all held captive … and no mages or wizards-not Meroweyan ones. There are at present no other Meroweyan armsmen near the Verd, and I doubt that there will be for some time to come.”

“What you say suggests that he was in great danger earlier.”

“He was in danger. He was most careful. He sent others on the most dangerous missions. He led no charges, but we were greatly outnumbered. He planned thoroughly and well. What he did was brilliant.”

“But you went on missions, didn’t you? Why?”

“I’m a junior undercaptain, and he’s the majer in command. Also, he is more valuable to Cigoerne than I am.”

“He would not say that.” She purses her lips.

Lerial smiles pleasantly and waits.

“He knows how things should be,” she finally says. “He claims he doesn’t see what will be … but he has … a certainty.”

“He had that about you, didn’t he?”

For one of the very few times he has seen, there is a momentary expression of surprise and consternation on Maeroja’s face. Then she laughs softly. “I should have expected that. I imagine you know the answer. He also believes that you are … let us say that…” She shakes her head. “Let us say nothing.”

By saying she would say nothing, she has said what she wished to convey, Lerial knows. Since he senses someone-Rojana-nearing and stopping just short of the open doors to the dining chamber, he decides against pursuing that. He is also amused, since there is no way that Rojana could have completed her task in that short a time, which means that she likely turned the task over to one of the servants in order to hurry back and eavesdrop. “I am just the younger son, doing what I can to support my father.”

“Doing it rather well.”

“Only because of your consort, and all he has done for me,” he replies. “I cannot thank him-or you-enough.”

“You have already. You can tell me what you will, but you kept him safe.” She holds up a hand. “Please … no argument. I can see-it is plain to see, for those who observe with more than eyes-that you are not the youth who left here more than a season ago.”

“Rojana said I’ve changed.”

“You will change more. We live in a time of great change.” A faint smile crosses Maeroja’s lips. “You may come in, Rojana.”

“The girls are in their rooms and ready for bed,” Rojana announces as she steps through the doors.

Lerial looks to Maeroja. “I should be going. It’s a bit past two glasses.” He stands.

“We’ll walk you out to the outer courtyard.” Maeroja rises from the table and nods to her daughter. “We’re so glad you could stay for a while.”

“So am I. And I’m glad that I could bring you good news.”

When they reach the north entrance, Lerial can see that one of the villa stable boys has brought the borrowed mare from the stable and holds her reins. Beside the mount, the two Lancers wait, still mounted.

“I hope you haven’t been waiting long,” Lerial says. “I didn’t mean to keep you.”

“No, ser. Less than a tenth of a glass. Young fellow here just brought your mount.”

Lerial turns back to Maeroja and Rojana. “Thank you both. I can’t tell you how much I appreciated the dinner and the company.” Especially since it will be a long time before I’m back here.

“It was our pleasure.” Maeroja smiles.

Rojana’s smile is fainter, as if it is an effort, and Lerial wants to comfort her … and knows that would be a mistake, because it would give her the wrong impression. Instead, he returns the smile and then mounts.

He can sense Rojana’s eyes on his back as he rides down the lane toward the yellow brick posts and the main road.

Lerial leaves Teilyn before dawn on twoday so that they can reach Cigoerne in one long day. Even so, the sun has set before they ride into the city proper, and the twilight is lengthening into a deep greenish purple when they reach the gates of Lancer headquarters. Lerial frowns. The main gates are actually closed, although the small personnel gate is ajar.

“Detachment returning from Verdheln,” he announces.

The shorter gate guard looks hard at Lerial. “Begging your pardon, ser. There are no detachments in Verdheln.”

For an instant, Lerial is disconcerted. “Then Majer Altyrn and two squads of Mirror Lancers will be somewhat concerned to learn that they don’t exist. And Duke Kiedron will be most upset to think that he dispatched his son with a detachment that doesn’t exist.” Even Lerial is surprised at the dry and withering tone with which the words come forth.

“Ser…”

Lerial surveys the guard, with his crisp greens and polished sabre and almost comments on that, but instead says mildly. “You can let us enter, and lose a bit of face. Or you can deny us and face the consequences tomorrow.” Lerial can’t help but think about the number of Verdyn Lancers who died fighting off the Meroweyans, especially compared to the guards standing gate duty in Cigoerne.

The other guard peers at Lerial, then swallows, finally saying in a low voice, “Ruefyl … that’s Lord Lerial you’re denying.”

“But…” Ruefyl looks totally flustered.

“Yes, I am wearing the uniform of an undercaptain. That is because I am one. So is my older brother, who is riding patrols in the south along the river. You might recall that my father the Duke still commands patrols. Or have you forgotten that as well?”

Lerial realizes that he’s already said too much and adds quietly, “Just open the gates. It’s been a long ride from Verdell.”

“Yes, ser.” Ruefyl looks totally dejected as he steps back and signals. “Open the gates. Incoming detachment.”

After several moments, the gates swing inward, and the eleven riders and two packhorses move through.

As they ride toward the stables, Lerial turns to Bhurl. “I’ll need to talk to the duty officer. We’ll need bunks for the Lancers, and food, as well as feed…”

“We can take care of the mounts, ser.”

“If you would. I’ll also need a spare mount and two men as an escort to the Palace. They can stay there tonight. I’ll return them and the mount in the morning. Then I’ll take my own mount back to the Palace.”

“Think I can take care of that, ser.”

Once he dismounts outside the stables, Lerial takes Phortyn’s copy of Altyrn’s report from his saddlebags, then crosses the courtyard to the octagonal building that holds the studies for the senior officers-and the headquarters duty officer. He has taken no more than two steps into the duty chamber when a stocky older undercaptain steps forward, as if he has been waiting.