L. Modesitt: Cyador’s Heirs

“Yes, ser. Very good, ser.”

“That should include Squad Leader Juist, who died in Verdheln,” adds Lerial.

Kiedron frowns slightly, then nods.

When Jhalet and the Lancer have left, with the strongbox, Kiedron turns to Emerya.

“What do you really think?”

“There’s no doubt. His heart stopped. There are no signs of poison, and the mess said that he only had some bread and cheese. If he’d been poisoned at breakfast, he would have died either much sooner or much later.”

“Good.” Kiedron shakes his head. “I mean, it’s good that it’s clear he wasn’t poisoned. Will you make certain that the other healers know that as well … quietly, of course.”

“Of course.”

“We’ll need a new commander. I’d rather not recall Altyrn.” He turns to Lerial. “What do you think?”

“I’d agree. He wouldn’t decline the post, but you wouldn’t be doing him or his family any favors, and you’d still have to find someone to succeed him before too long.”

“Is he ill?”

“No … but,” Lerial answers in a wry tone, “he might be before long if he had to take command again.”

“Then we’ll confirm Jhalet as his successor and watch closely.” Kiedron turns to Emerya. “Is there anything else?”

“No.”

“Then…”

Lerial and Emerya exchange glances.

“I’ll leave you in comparative peace,” says Emerya.

Lerial follows Emerya from the study and down the hallway away from the guard before speaking. “You never trusted him, did you?”

“No. You didn’t either, did you?”

Lerial smiles sadly. “No … but I never had enough proof to go to Father about it.”

“Well … the way things turned out, you were right.” Emerya offers an enigmatic smile.

“Let’s just say that we were fortunate this time.”

“We were.” Emerya glances toward the courtyard. “I need to get back to the healing hall. There have been far too many injuries today. You need to talk to your father a bit more, I suspect.”

“I’m just going to tell him what few things I know that led to my suspicions … and why I couldn’t bring them to him without more proof.”

“He’ll appreciate your discretion, I’m certain.”

Lerial watches as she strides toward the courtyard, then he walks back into the study, closing the door behind him.

Kiedron stands between the end of the desk and the window, looking out into the courtyard, where Xeranya is sitting in the shade, reading something. The cover is silvered green.

Lerial nods to himself and waits.

Kiedron turns. “You had something else to say?”

“Yes, ser. I’ve worried about Majer Phortyn for some time. I don’t think I told you, but only a handful of Mirror Lancer officers even knew that Majer Altyrn and I’d gone, and none of them except Captain Graessyr and Undercaptain Shastan at Teilyn post knew that we were going to Verdheln.”

Kiedron frowns. “That’s true, but what does that have to do…?”

“Then there was the business of the Afritan archer who tried to kill Altyrn in Tirminya.” Lerial goes on to explain finishing up with, “… and when I got back here to the Palace, I found out that Woelyt had been reassigned to the north and Seivyr to Sudstrym or a new post that is taking the brunt of Heldyan attacks, and no other than Veraan would be taking over the Palace garrison-when Phortyn has been courting Veraan’s father Apollyn, and also Scarthyn. By the way, before I forget, I’d suggest that you ask Submajer Jhalet to replace Veraan with a more seasoned undercaptain, someone like Lauxyn or Haentur. Anyway, I left the majer feeling very uneasy, especially when I saw that he was wearing a belt knife with an ornate hilt that held a fire emerald. I kept thinking that you’d said that someone had likely told Casseon about our mission there. Why else would he have sent so many armsmen? Then there is the problem with that chest … and the other keys.”

“The other keys concern me as well,” admits Kiedron, “but there are times to look and not to look. If other chests turn up, well and good. If not…” He shakes his head.

Lerial shrugs. “Maybe I should have told you sooner, but … I’ve never run across anything like this … and I wanted to sleep on it.”

Kiedron nods thoughtfully. “I can see that.” He offers a wry smile. “The Rational Stars were looking out for us.”

“It’s good they were.” And we won’t mention that they had a little help. Not ever.

Two eightdays later, well past fourth glass in the afternoon, Lerial returns from Lancer headquarters, where he has been assisting Captain Chaen in training new Mirror Lancer recruits, to find himself summoned to his father’s study. He suspects he knows why, given that the courtyard is filled with both Mirror Lancers and a squad of armsmen in golden brown uniforms

He steps into the study and inclines his head. “Ser, you requested my presence?”

“I did. Duke Casseon sent an envoy. I’ve just finished meeting with him. I thought you should know.” Kiedron picks up several sheets of heavy parchment and extends them to his son. “I’d like you to read his proposed agreement and tell me what you think.” A hint of a smile lingers at the corners of his lips.

Lerial begins to read, skimming the honorifics and niceties and concentrating on the significant sections.

… clear and obvious that the inhabitants of the Verd, the people of the area that calls itself Verdheln, have chosen to be ruled by you … have made that choice with life and blood, as well as with order and chaos … as Duke of Merowey, I have striven to keep chaos from my people, another reason for my acquiescence in their choice … as an honorable ruler of Merowey I will respect that choice …

In return, I would trust that you, as Duke of Cigoerne, will ensure that the people of the Verd refrain from any raids or warlike acts against the peoples south of the Verd … that you will also take all steps to keep raiders from Afrit or elsewhere from using or crossing those lands to trouble my people … I would also trust that the boundaries between our lands follow those suggested on the attached map, although we should agree that, if it is in our joint interests, small modifications to those boundaries may be possible …

There is a great deal more, but those are the parts that are most important.

Lerial looks up and lowers the papers. “It’s a great victory. Cigoerne is now almost as large as Afrit.”

“Not really. Afrit is a third again our size, with far more people.”

“For now,” Lerial points out.

“For now,” Kiedron agrees. “I shouldn’t question this too closely, I suspect, but even after reading the majer’s report, I can’t see exactly how he managed this.”

Lerial smiles politely. “We didn’t, not alone. The Verdyn did, with blood and ashes. The last two battles delivered the final message. Duke Casseon sent something like six chaos mages along with forty-five companies…” Lerial suspects there may have been more, but he remains uncertain whether, in some cases, his order-controlled and redirected chaos killed or merely stunned a chaos mage. “… in the end a few survivors, if that, straggled back to Yakaat. Casseon knows we had only six companies.”

Kiedron laughs, but the sound is tinged with rue and puzzlement. He looks to Lerial. “You had more to do with this than you’re saying, didn’t you? More than I even suspected.”

“I was able to redirect some chaos bolts, ser.” That is all Lerial wishes to admit.

“Saltaryn has said you had limited abilities to gather order or chaos.”

“Apparently, ser, I have fewer difficulties in turning that which others have gathered against them.”