L. Modesitt: Cyador’s Heirs

The guard outside the study raps once and opens the door. “He’s expecting you, ser.”

“Thank you.” Lerial steps into the study, steeped in gloom, except for the two lamps at each side of the desk.

“Lerial!” A broad smile crosses Kiedron’s face as he stands and surveys his son. He shakes his head. “Had I seen you leading a company I doubt I would have recognized you. You have grown. Oh, not that way, but in the way you carry yourself. Do sit down? How far did you ride today? How did the training go?”

“We rode all the way from Teilyn today. We left well before dawn. As for the training…” Lerial is the one to shake his head. “… we just finished fighting a modest war.” He looks at the two envelopes, then extends the one for his father. “I think you should read this first, ser. I would have left a copy with Majer Phortyn, but he wasn’t at the post. We even had trouble getting in. The guards didn’t know there was a Lancer detachment in Verdheln. Neither did the duty officer. He said none of the officers he knew had any idea.”

“A good commander tells only what needs to be said, Lerial.” Kiedron frowns. “A modest war? Casseon didn’t actually attack, did he?”

“He sent eight battalions and six chaos mages or white wizards. It’s been a long spring in Verdheln, ser.”

“Looking at you … I did wonder at the change. You led a company, didn’t you?”

“There wasn’t much choice, ser.”

“I’d better read the report before asking more questions.” Belatedly, Kiedron takes the envelope, then seats himself.

“Before you start … how is Ryalah? I got a letter from Emerya…”

“She’s fine. Now. Without Emerya … it might not have been so good.” Kiedron smiles. “But she’s like nothing happened.” Kiedron lifts the envelope.

Lerial sits quietly as Kiedron breaks the seal, then extracts the sheets and begins to read. After the first sheet, he is frowning, and the frown is even deeper when he sets down the last one on the wide study desk.

“You were fortunate to survive. Hard as it may be, I would like to request that you not tell your mother any of the details of your … campaign. She has consoled herself with the idea that you and Lephi have been engaged in politically necessary but not terribly dangerous duties. She thinks that the Heldyans are even more dangerous than what you have been through.” Kiedron looks directly at Lerial.

Lerial can see, for perhaps the first time, the lines in his father’s face, and sense a certain tiredness behind the firm words.

“Do I have your word?” presses Kiedron.

“Yes, ser.”

“Good. I am proud of you, but we will not talk of it around your mother or your sister.”

Lerial understands … unfortunately.

“Why would Casseon do that?” asks Kiedron, almost musingly. “One would think that he knew I was sending the majer there.”

Maybe he did. Lerial does not voice that thought. “According to the Verdyn elders, he did build a fort closer to Verdheln last year and looked to be building one closer this year, but that might have been cover for the attack on the Verd.”

“It likely was. Someone must have told him.” Kiedron shakes his head. “As long as there are men who revere golds over honor … or power … there will be traitors, even among those you most trust. Remember that, Lerial. Never forget it.”

“No, ser.” Should I mention Phortyn? No … not after his comment about the need to be closemouthed.

Kiedron laughs. “I imagine you’re ready for a good night’s sleep.”

Lerial withholds a smile. Some things never change. His father will always keep the words to a minimum. “That I am. I’ll be up early. Majer Phortyn wasn’t at headquarters, and I need to deliver his copy of Majer Altyrn’s report to him.”

“You didn’t leave it?”

“No, ser. Majer Altyrn requested that I deliver it personally.”

The Duke nods thoughtfully. “I can see that. If Majer Phortyn questions that, tell him that I also ordered that he receive the majer’s report personally.”

“Yes, ser.”

“Good night.”

When Lerial leaves the study, his father is still at the desk, his eyes fixed somewhere well beyond the Palace.

Lerial supposes he should see his mother, but when he makes his way to her chambers, her maid informs him that she has already retired for the night. Lerial is somehow relieved at that, although he knows he will hear about his not waking her, but he doesn’t really want to explain anything at the moment-especially given the promise made to his father.

He turns toward his own quarters.

Lerial wakes at dawn on threeday, largely because his stomach is empty and growling. He does wash thoroughly and shave, then dons a set of clean greens that have not been worn in a season. He is about to leave his chamber, when someone begins to pound on his door.

“Lerial!”

He cannot contain a smile as he recognizes Ryalah’s voice. He hurries to the door, unbolts it, and opens it-only to step back several paces as his sister throws her arms and around his waist with such force that retreating is the only way to keep his balance. “You’re back! You’re back!”

“I’m back.” Lerial gently disentangles himself, noticing that Ryalah is barefoot and still in her nightdress.

“No one told me. Except Nurse, and she said I couldn’t wake you. So I waited until I heard you.”

“The only one awake when I got here last night was Father, and he told me not to wake anyone.” That is untrue, but Lerial doesn’t want to get into more complicated explanations, including the fact that, if he had awakened Ryalah, it would have been glasses later before she would have gone back to sleep.

“That wasn’t fair.”

Lerial reaches down and scoops her up, wrapping his arms around her and holding her tightly. “I’m just glad you’re well.”

“I’ve been well for eightdays. Aunt Emerya says I’m fine.”

“That’s so good. I worried about you.”

“We all worried about you.”

As much as Ryalah squirms in Lerial’s arms, he sets her down. “I’m just fine.”

“Will you stay here now?”

“For a while.” Not all that long, Lerial knows, not so long as he remains an undercaptain in the Lancers … and while Afrit and Heldya threaten the Cigoerne’s borders.

“That’s good,” Ryalah declares emphatically.

“You’d better get dressed, now,” Lerial says. “You wouldn’t want Mother seeing you barefoot and in nightclothes.”

“Must I?”

“If you want to have any breakfast.”

“All right.” There is a hint of a pout as Ryalah turns and heads for her room.

Lerial steps out into the hall and watches. His sister keeps turning her head and looking over her shoulder, but once he is certain she is in her room, he quickly makes his way down to the Palace breakfast room.

He is the first there, and has only had a few mouthfuls of honest egg toast with sweet berry syrup when his mother appears and marches to the other side of the table. She looks at him. “You didn’t think that I worried about you? You couldn’t even stop for a few moments to let me know you were safe?”

You knew she’d be upset. You knew. “It was late, and you left word you were not to be disturbed-”

“With you off in the west and no word from you in almost a season-”

“There was no way to send word, Mother…”

“You’re the son of the Duke, and there was no way?”

“We were fighting the Meroweyans…”

“The Verdyn were fighting them. That is what your father said.”

Lerial holds back a sigh. He understands why his father has not told her everything … and why he made Lerial promise not to reveal details. She has always been overprotective- especially of Lephi -and can worry herself sick. “We didn’t have any men to spare, and they certainly didn’t. Most of their archers were even women.”