Cyador’s Heirs

by Jr. L. E. Modesitt

  “Yes, ser.”

  “There’s also the problem that the rankers saw what I did … and what I didn’t. You had to draw the sabre before he loosed that shaft. You have good reflexes, but they’re not that good.” The majer looks at Lerial and raises his eyebrows in inquiry.

  “I did. I sensed danger, but I worried that I was deceiving myself…”

  “I can understand that, but … officers are supposed to be cautious if they feel something is not right. That caution doesn’t help your men if you don’t warn them as well.”

  Lerial can see that. He can also see that he is not used to thinking about the responsibilities even a junior undercaptain has to others.

  “Just keep that in mind.”

  “I will.”

  “There’s one other thing. You wondered why I didn’t try to chase the fellow who shot at us. That’s a typical ambush trap, the kind the Afritans use. You shoot at someone. If you kill them, you succeed. If you miss, you run like you’re fleeing the dark angels and hope that some idiot will follow helter-skelter and get shot by a second group of archers.” The majer shrugs. “It could have been either way, and it’s hard to tell in a small town like Tirminya. You did the right thing by not chasing down that alley. It’s not always possible … but think before you pursue.”

  Lerial can sense that there is more the majer is not revealing. “Is there anything else?”

  “Not about that at the moment.”

  Lerial ponders what Altyrn has said about the archer behaving the way Afritan archers do, but earlier reporting the archer as an idiot with a bow to Dechund.

  The majer continues to stroll along the path that parallels the north side of the Lancer post, his eyes apparently on the wall. He says nothing.

  After a time, Lerial ventures, “Ser?”

  “Yes?”

  “Isn’t it strange that there are Afritan Guards or scouts out here at the same time that Duke Atroyan has forces stationed just north of Penecca?”

  “Why do you think that?”

  “Well … are the ones here to draw men away from Penecca … or is it the other way around? Or could Duke Atroyan be planning an attack on all of Cigoerne?”

  “What do you think?”

  “I don’t think he wants to spend the golds and the armsmen to fight against us. Not from what you’ve said.”

  “Then why would he station men on our northern borders? Or appear to be ready to attack?”

  Lerial considers, then says, “Perhaps to keep Lancers in the north of Cigoerne so that the ones in the south will be outnumbered by the Heldyans?” He frowns. “But if that is the goal, wouldn’t that cause a problem if Duke Khesyn sends more armsmen and we’re defeated?”

  “It would indeed. Since Duke Atroyan doesn’t want that to happen, why might he be doing what he appears to be doing?”

  “To weaken both Khesyn and us?”

  “That would be my guess. I’d judge it’s your father’s as well. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s moving some of the more experienced companies south and replacing some of the more experienced companies in the north with less experienced ones … or perhaps rotating less experienced troopers or squads into the fighting in the south so that they’re amid more experienced Lancers.”

  “To give more rankers experience in fighting trained armsmen, rather than raiders or poachers?”

  “I would, and I would think that Majer Phortyn would consider it. That is, if your father has not done so already.” Altyrn shrugs. “Right now, I don’t know, and I’m in no position to advise.”

  Let alone command.

  The majer points to the walls. “How high are they?”

  “Three yards, perhaps three and a cubit.”

  “Could they withstand a siege?”

  “Not for long.”

  “Then why have such walls?”

  “They protect the men from surprise attacks … and if anyone did want to attack, they’d have to bring more armsmen and equipment out here. And a whole lot of wagons with supplies. It probably wouldn’t be worth it.”

  “Good. Just remember. Anything that ties up great numbers of an enemy’s forces and resources with little expense on your part is valuable.”

  “But, ser … there’s a whole company here.”

  “There is, indeed, but what else does a company in a place like this do besides patrol and train?”

  Lerial doesn’t understand, and his face must betray his confusion, because Altyrn laughs, not sardonically, but generously. “First, the Lancers reinforce the image of your father’s power here. Second, they spend their coppers and silvers here. Would there be taverns and the like here if there were no post? Third, they buy provisions here, and that makes the people more prosperous. When they’re more prosperous, some of those golds spent on the Lancers come back to your father in tariffs. Fourth, most posts away from the larger towns pick up recruits because there are usually younger sons who have few prospects.”

  What the majer says makes sense, and it reinforces some of what Saltaryn had tried to convey to Lerial, but with more real-life examples.

  As they walk back toward the main gates of the post, Lerial realizes that the majer has not said a word about Captain Dechund … and is not likely to do so—not until they have left Tirminya well behind.

  XLI

  The remainder of oneday and twoday are far less eventful. Lerial spends more time studying maps. He also watches closely as the post rankers replace an axle on one of the post’s supply wagons. By the time he and the majer join the three other officers for dinner on twoday night, Lerial is more than ready to leave Tirminya post, and he can certainly see why Juist was not impressed with the time he had spent there.

  When the five gather at the small table, with Altyrn at the head, and Dechund to his right, and Lerial his left, Dechund smiles broadly. “I did break out some of the better lager for dinner tonight. It’ll be a while before you see it’s like again, I’d wager.”

  “I won’t be taking that wager,” returns the majer. “We do appreciate the lager.”

  The meal is better than that of the previous two nights, if marginally, consisting of tenderized mutton cutlets and sliced boiled potatoes, both smothered in a brown cream sauce, with boiled turnips. There is more than enough, even though Sevier and Whalen take rather substantial helpings.

  Lerial even finds the lager not bad at all, although he would not call it good, but, rather, adequate.

  “What do you think you’ll be able to do with those forest types?” asks Dechund after taking what looks to be the last swallow of lager from his mug.

  “Who knows?” replies the majer. “We have orders, and we’ll do the best we can. Predicting about what you don’t know isn’t a good idea for any officer.” He looks to Lerial. “For that matter, it’s not a good idea for anyone.”

  “They said the women are beautiful,” says the captain. “That could be why the Meroweyans are thinking of moving north. You think that’s why you ran into raiders in the south valley? That they’re having to move out as more small growers move north?”

  “That could be.”

  “You never said much about what happened with the raiders. I mean with you and the raiders this last time.”

  Altyrn clears his throat, then looks to Lerial. “There’s a dispatch I left on the table-desk in my quarters. I meant to give it to Captain Dechund before dinner. Would you mind? I’d rather not put that off until later. Especially not in the morning. Things get misplaced in dim light when you’re setting out.”

  Lerial can sense that, again, Altyrn is telling the truth, but in a somewhat shaded way, and it puts him in an awkward position. As an undercaptain, he should immediately jump up. As the Duke’s son and potential heir … Lerial decides he’s still an undercaptain and likely will be for some years yet.

  “I’d be happy to get that, ser,” he says as he rises.

  “Thank you. I do appreciate that.” Altyrn lowers his voice and murmurs, “And take plenty of
time.”

  Lerial can tell that the majer truly does appreciate his fetching the dispatch, and that not only surprises Lerial, but concerns him as he leaves the small mess room and hurries toward the guest officers’ quarters. Why does he need plenty of time?

  The quarters that the majer has been occupying are not any larger than those in which Lerial has been sleeping, and scarcely any better furnished, save that the table-desk looks newer and the pallet firmer.

  The dispatch that lies on the table-desk, weighed down by a small brown leather-bound book, is a single sheet of paper, not folded or sealed. Lerial reads it, since he assumes it is not that confidential. It is addressed to Captain Graessyr.

  … pleased to inform you that we have arrived at Tirminya post without any untoward events, and that we are leaving on threeday morning of the fifth eightday of winter. We have delivered the paychest to post Commander Dechund, and have escorted his replacement Lancers to the post. We have seen no sign of raiders or of Afritan troops thus far.

  The Mina River is running lower than in the past, and that may be a sign of difficulties in the seasons ahead, unless there is more rain …

  When he finishes reading, Lerial lowers the dispatch. It is signed and sealed at the bottom, but not folded and sealed again. He can’t help but frown. Exactly why does the majer need such an innocuous dispatch so immediately? Or what does he want to tell Dechund and the two undercaptains without Lerial around?

  His eyes go to the small volume, and he wonders what it might be. He does not pick it up, but does look at the front cover and the spine, but there is no title or other indication as to what the volume is. Lerial decides against opening it, but does take some time to survey the small room. There isn’t much to observe, except that the chamber is neat, and nothing is out of place, and not a piece of gear or clothing is visible. In fact, the only personal items in plain view are the dispatch and the brown book. All of that suggests that Altyrn had in fact planned to leave the dispatch and then send Lerial to fetch it.

  After a time, during which he does nothing but stand and think about why the majer may have done what he did, Lerial takes the dispatch and steps out of the small quarters, gently closing the door and then walking from the quarters across the courtyard back to the mess.

  When he nears the half-open door to the mess he slows and listens.

  “… and that’s why I sent him off … Good lager … have to admit…”

  “… better lager than you’ll get at most messes…”

  “… we do appreciate it … knows what they drink in the hills?”

  Lerial frowns at that statement by Altyrn, since he is more than certain that the majer knows full well what beverages are drunk by the hill people.

  “… but you need more of your own lager. I’ll even pour it…”

  Lerial coughs as he nears the door, then steps inside. “I’m sorry, ser, it took a few moments.” He offers an embarrassed smile as he extends the dispatch. “The lager…”

  “It happens to the best of us.” Altyrn takes the dispatch and looks to the captain. “Didn’t even put the final seal on it. You can do that and send it, though.”

  “I’d be happy to,” replies Dechund.

  “Well … be up early tomorrow morning.” Altyrn stands abruptly, and his jacket sleeve catches the edge of the lager pitcher, but he grabs the pitcher with his other hand, catching it before it can tumble to the floor. Even so, most of the remaining lager, not that there was apparently much, sloshes out onto the wooden floor. “Sorry about that. There wasn’t much left, though, and I did save the pitcher.” The majer sets the pitcher on the table. “Our thanks again.”

  Lerial is impressed at Altyrn’s quickness in catching the pitcher, but he can also sense a certain worry from the majer as they leave the mess, but he does not ask or speak, even after they are crossing the courtyard back to the officers’ quarters.

  When the two are well away from any building, apparently alone, Altyrn says quietly, “I hope you didn’t mind, but I wanted to tell the others about what occurred in the south valley, without you present, because, if you were, they’d be skeptical about my version of events.”

  That statement is clearly true and unshaded. Yet that leaves Lerial even more puzzled about Altyrn’s motives and why he needed Lerial out of the mess room, because Altyrn had definitely been concerned about something … and Lerial has his doubts about what that might be. All he says in reply is, “I can see that, ser.”

  “We’ll talk more tomorrow.”

  “Yes, ser.” One thing about which Lerial is certain is that the majer neither likes nor trusts Dechund … and from what Lerial has seen and sensed, he shares Altyrn’s concerns.

  Still … it is a while before sleep finds him.

  XLII

  Altyrn and Lerial and their squads and wagons are up even earlier on threeday, preparing to leave well before sunrise.

  “What about the lances, Majer?” asks Kusyl. “When should we start riding with them?”

  “Not now,” replies Altyrn. “If we run across raiders, sabres should be enough. If things change, we can get to them quickly enough.”

  “There won’t be many raiders near the Verd,” adds Seivyr, who has appeared from somewhere in the low light. “Came to see you off, Majer.”

  “That’s appreciated, Seivyr.” Altyrn pauses, then adds, “You know … there have been reports of Afritan armsmen. I wouldn’t be surprised if you might not get some sort of night attack. I’m just an old careful majer, but it wouldn’t hurt to make sure the gates are closed at night for a while. And that they stay locked.”

  “I’ve been thinking that myself.”

  “You wouldn’t want any trouble that way. It’s easy to overlook an unbarred gate or one with a slipped bar.”

  Altyrn looks from Seivyr to Lerial. “You’ll ride with Kusyl and his squad.”

  “Yes, ser.”

  As the majer has ordered, the squads ride out through the gates before the sun even peeks over the horizon, with Altyrn leading the way beside Juist. The road west from Tirminya looks no different from the road into the border town, just a dirt track running through barely rolling hills and paralleling the north side of the Wooded Ridges. While there are groupings of growers’ steads, either around springs or small streams, it appears to Lerial that most of those living at the south end of the grasslands that, according to the maps, stretch close to two hundred kays to the north–northwest are herders of some sort, mostly of sheep, although he does see an occasional herd of cattle, but no goats.

  Is the absence of goats because they tend to destroy the grass? Lerial doubts that, suspecting that the reason is merely that either sheep or cattle pay more for the herders.

  Once the column is on the road west, and all the Lancers and wagons are in order, Lerial turns in the saddle and says to Kusyl, “I haven’t seen that many Lancer posts. Just Lancer headquarters and the posts at Teilyn and Brehaal … and now Tirminya. How does Tirminya compare to others?”

  “Some are better. Some worse. Both Seivyr and Whalyn are good undercaptains. Seivyr’d make a good post captain. Rankers are mostly solid, even the replacements that rode with us.” Kusyl pauses, seeming to gnaw at his upper lip for a moment. “Place like Tirminya is hard on the rankers. Have to watch the men close.”

  Especially the squad leaders do. Lerial doesn’t say that, knowing it wouldn’t be right, in some fashion. “Because it’s so far from everywhere?”

  “Partly. Also because there’s no real backup. That’s one reason why a post like Tirminya has five squads instead of four, and two undercaptains instead of one.”

  “Did any of the squad leaders at the post say much about raiders or poachers … or Afritan armsmen?”

  “They’ve seen some, mostly to the north, but sometimes to the west. Usually not more than a squad.” Kusyl paused. “Come to think of it, Gaehorn said he’d never seen more than a squad at a time.”

  Lerial asks questions intermittently for a
lmost a glass before Altyrn rides back and orders him, if quietly, to ride forward and take the lead position with Juist and his squad. That alone tells Lerial that the majer doesn’t expect trouble any time soon.

  Once Lerial has ridden beside Juist for a time, he asks the same sorts of questions of the older squad leader as he had of Kusyl, and then listens. The answers are similar, except in one case.

  “… got the feeling that there haven’t been as many poachers and raiders from the north lately,” Juist says. “Might be because the Afritans have some patrols going. More than they used to.” He looks to Lerial. “You have any thoughts on that, ser?”

  “I do know that there have been more Afritan armsmen lately just north of Penecca. They might be trying to weaken us by keeping Lancers from being moved south to deal with the raiders from Heldya. There are more Heldyan forces on the east side of the river recently.”

  “Friggin’ Heldyans…” murmurs Juist, almost under his breath. “Begging your pardon, ser.”

  “I don’t think the majer’s all that fond of them, either. He hasn’t said anything, but I’ve gotten that impression.”

  “No one with brains would care for them, not from what I’ve seen.”

  “Have you had to fight them?”

  “Only once. Saw one of them cut the throat of his own wounded. Man had a broken leg, and his mount was down. Could have lived. Grabbed his wallet, too.”

  “That sounds like a raider.”

  “It wasn’t. Heldyan squad leader.” Juist shakes his head.

  After another half glass, Altyrn returns, then motions for Lerial to ride with him, well ahead of the squad. Lerial eases the gelding forward, wondering what the majer has in mind.

  “I’ve not been neglecting you,” Altyrn says. “I wanted to learn what Juist and Kusyl saw and learned while we were at Tirminya post. Did you talk to them about that?”

  “Yes, ser. I mean, I asked what they thought of the post because I hadn’t seen that many…” Lerial goes on to relay what he has learned.

  When he finishes, the majer nods. “Good. You need to talk to them often, but not just for the sake of talking. Never be familiar, and never condescending.”