Heritage of Cyador

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  Aerlyt rises from the table and smiles. He is silver-haired and easily the oldest Afritan Guard officer that Lerial has met, at least so far. He listens intently as Lerial explains, then says, “I wish I’d known what you were doing yesterday. We were slow to react, and then Fhaet sent word that we weren’t to attack.”

  That sleazy worm. Lerial still manages an apologetic smile. “That was my fault. I thought Subcommander Drusyn had informed you, and he thought I had.” Lerial isn’t going to go so far as to admit just how much he had fouled up matters, but it is becoming more clear that he had overlooked far too much. “So we planned today’s attack together, and I thought it best to check with each battalion commander before beginning our attack.”

  “It helps when everyone’s clear on who will do what.” Aerlyt smiles. “We’ll be ready, Overcaptain.”

  “Thank you.”

  The last stop is the empty tinsmith’s shop. There are no officers around, except for Fhaet himself, and he barely looks up as Lerial enters the front area of the shop.

  “Good morning, Majer,” Lerial offers pleasantly.

  “Good morning, Overcaptain.”

  “I just wanted to stop by before we begin our attack so that you would know what we’re doing, and how your battalion is expected to follow up.”

  Fhaet smiles politely, but scarcely pleasantly. “I understand what you’re doing, Overcaptain. I’ve read the subcommander’s orders, and I’m a good Afritan officer.”

  Lerial doesn’t like Fhaet’s tone, or the way he is responding, but doesn’t wish to push. “We’ll be starting our attack shortly. I just thought you should know so that you can follow up if we’re successful.”

  “We’ll do what is necessary, Overcaptain.”

  “I’m sure that you will. I appreciate that.”

  “I won’t keep you, Overcaptain.”

  “Nor I you, Majer.”

  As he leaves the former tinsmith’s shop and rides back toward the Mirror Lancers, Lerial cannot help but wonder exactly why Fhaet is so politely unpleasant. What does he have against you? Or Cigoerne?

  “Everyone’s ready, ser,” Fheldar announces when Lerial reins up on the side street, just out of sight of South Point.

  “Good. It’s going to be a few moments.”

  As he did on fiveday, Lerial uses his eyes and order-senses to survey the Heldyan positions. It is clear that they have built up the initial stone barricades to the point where it will be difficult for a mount to clear them, unlike before—another reminder of the costs of his haste and sloppiness and Fhaet’s anger and/or incompetence. Still … there is an area some thirty yards to the north of the center of the barricade where perhaps the tiniest bit of order-chaos separation could create an opening wide enough for the Mirror Lancers, provided that Lerial can deal with the remaining chaos-mage. Except … his senses reveal that there are now two chaos focal points, one most likely the diffuse and shielded mage who survived the attack on five-day, the other a more open and less-shielded and likely younger white wizard.

  But Drusyn reported that the Heldyans didn’t land any more men. Lerial frowns. The combination of more armsmen behind the first line of the rough stone wall, the increased height of that barricade, and, now, another mage suggests all too strongly that either Drusyn is lying or that he is relying on Fhaet, who is either failing to report or sending false or incomplete reports. Lerial can only hope it is the second possibility, but even that doesn’t reflect all that well on Drusyn. He forces himself to study the entire South Point area once more, slowly and methodically.

  Finally, he nods.

  “Ser?” asks Fheldar.

  “Apparently, Majer Fhaet failed to notice or to notify the subcommander that the Heldyans did manage to land a few more troopers. I’d judge another two companies, possibly three. Pass the word that we’ll attack with two companies, Eighth and Eleventh. Undercaptain Kusyl is to reinforce us where necessary.”

  “Yes, ser.”

  A tenth of a glass passes before Lerial receives word that all companies are ready. He strengthens his shields, then orders, “Mirror Lancers! Forward!”

  Unlike on fiveday, Lerial’s forces have barely cleared the side street and begun to move toward the stone barricade when the first firebolt arches almost lazily from somewhere behind the stone barricade but forward of the old walls of the fort proper. It is not aimed at Lerial, however, but at the rear squad of Eleventh Company—the most distant part of the formation from Lerial.

  Because it is a small chaos-bolt, Lerial uses a twin five-line order-pattern to redirect the chaos back down behind the front stone barricade along where he intends to attack.

  Another chaos-bolt arches higher and seems aimed farther back, toward Twenty-third Company, but Lerial intercepts it as well and angles it into the Heldyan troopers to the south of those who perished from the first firebolt.

  Abruptly, a shielded column of Heldyan foot rises and charges out of the north end of the stone barricade, as far from Lerial and his lancers as possible, clearly heading for Third Battalion, while avoiding the Mirror Lancers. Leading, as well as flanking the south side of the column, are shieldmen and pikemen, enough so that Lerial wishes that he had ordered his men armed with their lances. Without them, charging the column would result in far too many deaths and injuries.

  Frig! “Mirror Lancers! Halt!” Lerial immediately creates the smallest amount of order-chaos separation in one of the shields in the middle of the column roughly two ranks back from the front.

  Chaos erupts, but not nearly so much as Lerial would have thought—if only for a moment, as the remainder of that chaos is gathered and arrowed straight toward him. Lerial parries and redirects the chaos he has created back toward the chaos-wizard who has been throwing the firebolts, if while trying to keep track of the stronger and more concealed chaos-mage.

  Sun-white chaos flares where the first wizard had been, then flashes toward Lerial like lightning, so quickly that he has no time to react, but his shields throw the chaos back toward the remaining Heldyan chaos-mage, who in turn boosts more chaos and returns the chaos to Lerial.

  On the third pass, Lerial is ready and uses a triple ten-line pattern to focus all that chaos into a narrow lightning-like spear back at the chaos-mage.

  WHHHSTT!

  The entire front wall of the old fort explodes into a seething wall of sun-white heat, tinged with golden red, so bright that Lerial cannot even see for several moments thereafter.

  When he can see, he finds his hands are shaking, not quite uncontrollably.

  Only the last squad or so of the Heldyan column remains, and those survivors scramble back toward the remnants of the old fort.

  It takes Lerial two hands to grasp his water bottle, uncork it, and take a swallow … then another. He looks around … and has to swallow hard. Four men in the front rank of Eighth Company, the two at each end of the rank, are charred corpses. So are their mounts, the result of Lerial’s shields, wide enough to protect him and those on each side, and quick enough to keep the chaos from passing the front rank. One of those rankers had been Vominen, the Verdyn lancer and scout who had left the Verdyn Lancers to join Eighth Company … and Lerial.

  For several moments, Lerial just remains in his saddle. He swallows again, then forces himself to study the area before him. Still no one is moving. It is as if the rapid series of chaos-battles has frozen the Heldyans in place.

  Lerial uses his order-chaos senses to seek out any signs that might remain of concentrated order or chaos. There are none.

  “Mirror Lancers! Hold position!” He turns to Fheldar. “Send messengers to Third and Fourth Battalions that the chaos-wizards have been removed. They can handle the Heldyans from here on.” We’ve already lost enough men dealing with the results of Afritan weakness and incompetence. Even as he thinks that, he knows the losses will continue … and will likely get worse. But he needs to save his men for what only he and the Mirror Lancers can do.

  He watches what remai
ns of the barricades and the fort, takes another swallow of the watered lager, forcing it down, trying to ignore the stench of burned flesh … and waits for the Heldyan advance. Then he eats one of the hard biscuits he has brought, and swallows more watered lager.

  Less than a tenth of a glass later, a Mirror Lancer rides toward Lerial and reins up.

  “Ser … Undercaptain Kusyl wants you to know the Afritan battalion on the south and east side of the point is moving, but not the one to the north and west.”

  Somehow, Lerial isn’t surprised. “Fheldar, hold the company here. If the Heldyans try an attack, charge them. Otherwise, just maintain the position here.”

  “Yes, ser.”

  Lerial raises the sabre he has not even been aware of drawing. “If the Afritans begin to advance, don’t get in their way. If they don’t, be ready.” He shrugs. “For what, I don’t know.” Yet.

  Lerial hates galloping down city streets. It’s hard on the mount, and it’s not all that pleasant for the rider. And, there’s always the possibility of running into or over someone darting out of a side lane or alleyway. Nonetheless, he urges the gelding into a gallop toward where he thinks Majer Fhaet will be. Two rankers, dispatched by Fheldar, follow closely.

  Holding his shields close to his body, because that takes less effort, Lerial turns the gelding back toward the empty tinsmith’s shop on the side street where he had met Fhaet earlier. Fhaet is outside, mounted and flanked by several Afritan rankers. He is gesturing at the same captain who had followed Lerial’s lead the day before and then pulled back.

  “… follow my orders, Captain…” Lerial overhears as he nears the pair. He can see that Fhaet is red in the face.

  “I notice that the other battalion is advancing, Majer,” Lerial says loudly as he reins up facing the majer and escorts or guards.

  “I don’t answer to you, Lord and Overcaptain. You’re not my lord, and I’ve the discretion not to follow orders if it would endanger my men.” Fhaet’s face turns redder.

  The captain eases his mount away from the majer, then gestures to the two rankers, saying in a low voice, “This is between superiors.”

  Fhaet glares at the captain and opens his mouth.

  “Enough!” snaps Lerial. “You have verbal and written orders to attack. Are you going to order that attack?”

  “No. You’re not the one who can order me around. You’re a foreign nobody.”

  Lerial is the one whose mouth almost drops open. Instead, he smiles, lifting his sabre slightly. “Is that your final answer? That you won’t obey the orders issued by the arms-commander of Afrit and Subcommander Drusyn?”

  “You wrote those orders for him.” Fhaet offers a crooked smile. “Everyone knows that.”

  How do they know that? Lerial doesn’t pursue that. Instead he rides toward Fhaet.

  The majer’s eyes barely have time to widen before Lerial’s blade slashes across his throat. Lerial turns to the wide-eyed captain. “Since the majer was unwilling to carry out his orders, Captain, will you allow me to lead Third Battalion against the Heldyan invaders?”

  The captain straightens. “Yes, ser!”

  “Then we’d better get to it. The Heldyans tried to attack from the north side of the point, beyond the edge of the first line of defense. I suggest we attack there, since your men won’t have to climb over the barricade.”

  “You lead, and we’ll follow, ser.”

  “First, you have to get me where the battalion is,” Lerial says dryly.

  “Just one street over, ser.”

  The captain is as direct and accurate as the majer had failed to be, and in what seems moments, he and Lerial are at the head of a column of Afritan foot that stretches back more than a long block. The two Mirror Lancer rankers are drawn up directly behind Lerial.

  Lerial surveys the formation. “A five-man front might be better.”

  “Yes, ser! Five men front!”

  Once the column is re-formed, Lerial does not wait. “Third Battalion! Forward!” Lerial uses order to boost his voice, then urges the gelding forward at a quick walk, letting the front rank of the Afritan foot take the lead once they have emerged from the side street and crossed the shore road. Surprisingly, Third Battalion does not lag the Afritan Fourth Battalion by all that much, perhaps because Lerial’s chaos-war had inflicted far more damage on the north end of the stone barricade, where there are few Heldyans remaining.

  By circling slightly to the north, Lerial avoids marching the Afritan Guards through either Eighth or Eleventh Company … and while scattered Heldyan shields and bodies remain from what had been a shielded column, the Afritans meet little resistance until they reach what remains of the walls of the old fort. Once there, Lerial lets the Afritans storm over the low rubble that is all that remains of the west wall, and takes a position just short of the wall.

  The Afritan captain details four rankers to remain with Lerial and the pair of Mirror Lancers, then urges his company into the old fort proper. The other four companies follow.

  A glass later, the slaughter is over, and there are less than a hundred Heldyan survivors, mostly wounded. The only person who has felt Lerial’s sabre was Majer Fhaet. Before long, the captain returns.

  “Now what, ser?”

  “Are you the senior captain?”

  “Yes, ser.”

  “Then you’re in command until Subcommander Drusyn relieves you or promotes you. I’d suggest that you and Majer Aerlyt keep a force here for a time. I’d also suggest that you write up what occurred between me and Majer Fhaet as accurately as possible. Make two copies, one for the subcommander. Keep the other. And I’d suggest you write it immediately, before someone hints you write it in a way that shades matters one way or another.”

  “But…”

  Lerial smiles sadly. “Five people saw what happened. Usually two have trouble hushing something up. Tell what happened as it happened.”

  “Yes, ser.”

  “I need to talk to Majer Aerlyt. Have you seen him?”

  “He’s at the south entrance to the old fort.”

  “Good. Thank you, Captain. I appreciate your doing your duty well and effectively.”

  “Thank you, ser.”

  Lerial inclines his head, then rides, followed by the rankers, to the south end of the fort, where Aerlyt rides to meet him.

  The older majer reins up beside Lerial and gestures toward the bodies in Heldyan bluish-gray and black, then shakes his head. “Stars, what a waste of armsmen.”

  “It wouldn’t have been a waste if it kept us from reinforcing the battalions in the north,” Lerial points out. “Or if they had defeated and scattered all the battalions from South Post. If they prevail in the north and conquer Afrit, all this will be forgotten. It’s only a waste when you’re defeated.”

  “You’re cynical for one so young.”

  Lerial shakes his head. “Perhaps for one so young, but not for one responsible for so much death.”

  Aerlyt appears likely to say something, but then, after a moment of looking at Lerial, he merely nods, then says, “Is there anything else you need from us?”

  “Just keep any other Heldyans from landing and hold the South Point until you get other orders from Subcommander Drusyn. We need to report what happened to him and then move north to deal with the other Heldyan force.”

  “We wish you well, Overcaptain.”

  “Thank you.” Lerial nods and turns the gelding.

  By the time he returns to the Mirror Lancers, all three companies are in traveling formation, with Eighth Company in the lead and Twenty-third bringing up the rear. But Fheldar, Strauxyn, and Kusyl are at the head of the column, waiting for his orders … and most likely his report, reflects Lerial.

  “Ser…?” ventures Strauxyn.

  “Why did I lead the Afritan Third Battalion? Because their majer was unable to, and I wanted to make certain they attacked so that we wouldn’t have to do this all over again a third time.”

  “That frigging maj
er, again,” mutters someone.

  “We won’t have trouble with him again,” Lerial says mildly. With the reason we won’t, we likely will, and that’s what you’ll have to explain to Drusyn … and Sammyl … and Rhamuel. He almost sighs. “We need to get moving.”

  “Yes, ser.”

  Less than a fifth of a glass later, Lerial is walking into the former factorage that serves as Drusyn’s command post.

  Drusyn hurries toward Lerial, then stops.

  “Your battalions hold South Point. Most of the Heldyans are dead. There might be a hundred survivors, most of them wounded.”

  “You’re hard on your enemies,” observes Drusyn.

  “This time, your men did much of it, once we removed the two chaos-wizards and perhaps a company or two of Heldyans protecting them. We did have one major problem.” Lerial does not smile at his own pun.

  “Yes?”

  “Majer Fhaet refused to attack, even after all the chaos-wizards had been removed.”

  Drusyn frowns. “You said that my battalions held South Point.”

  Lerial nods.

  “But if…”

  “I told him to follow your written orders. He refused. I asked him why. He declared that he didn’t have to obey a foreign officer he outranked. I asked him why he didn’t follow his own commander’s orders. He said he didn’t have to follow orders written by a foreign officer.” Lerial shrugs tiredly. “So I cut him down for insubordination and led his battalion myself.”

  Drusyn’s mouth drops open. “You…”

  “I don’t know about you, Subcommander, but in a war, I believe that the objective is to win as quickly and as decisively as possible, when possible. When it is not possible, the objective is to force as many casualties on the enemy as you are able to do with the smallest possible loss of life, before withdrawing and doing the same thing until you can defeat and destroy the enemy. Sitting around South Point only would have tied up more than three battalions when the arms-commander may need every battalion he can muster in the north. Sitting there neither inflicted losses, nor would it have destroyed the attackers.”