Cyador’s Heirs

by Jr. L. E. Modesitt

  “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.

  “Lord Lerial … We hadn’t expected you.”

  “We traveled from Teilyn almost as fast as a dispatch rider could have.” While the undercaptain looks familiar, Lerial doesn’t recognize him. “I’m sorry. Our paths have crossed, but I don’t believe we’ve been introduced…”

  “Haentur, ser. Lauxyn told me all about you. We all wondered where you’d gone.”

  “To Verdheln … with Majer Altyrn to train Verdyn Lancers. We just returned with four Mirror Lancers and six Verdyn Lancers … and two packhorses. That’s for the duty book. Oh … there’s one thing. One of your gate guards, Ruefyl, didn’t want to let us in. I was perhaps excessive in chastising him when he told me that there were no Mirror Lancer detachments in Verdheln.”

  Haentur frowns. “I didn’t know that, either.”

  Phortyn hasn’t let many of his officers know? “Majer Phortyn’s the one who sent us off.”

  “The majer’s not here at present, ser. He’s having dinner with Magus Scarthyn.”

  “He keeps in contact with a number of the Magi’i, I understand. That’s not surprising, I suppose, since some have sons in the Mirror Lancers. Isn’t Veraan from a Magi’i family?”

  “Yes, ser. Magus Apollyn is his father.” Haentur glances toward the area behind Lerial. “Be hard not to know that.”

  “I suppose the majer dines with him often as well.”

  “I don’t know about often, ser.”

  That is all the answer Lerial will get … and all he needs to know. “Well … since the majer isn’t here, I’d appreciate it if you would leave word for him that I’ll be reporting to him first thing in the morning.”

  “Yes, ser. I can do that.”

  “And if I don’t see Lauxyn before you do, give him my best.”

  “It’s not likely either of us will see him soon, ser. He’s riding patrols in the north. Near Penecca, I hear.”

  “Have there been more raids there?”

  “No more, but no less, either. Afritans just like to make trouble.”

  “I can understand that. Oh … Since I’ll be borrowing a mount, and taking two rankers as an escort to the Palace, I’ll return all three early tomorrow.”

  “Yes, ser. I’ll note that in the duty book also.”

  “I appreciate it, Haentur.”

  When Lerial returns to the stables, Bhurl has two rankers Lerial has never seen before mounted and waiting.

  “Hope you don’t mind, ser. Khersett and Lavoyt are with the duty company. Khersett’s the short nasty one. Lavoyt’s taller and nastier. Thought that our men had ridden enough, and I’ve known these two a while. They’ve never seen the Lancer quarters at the Palace, either.”

  “So long as I’m not taking them from other duties…”

  “Ser…” Even in the dim light cast by the lantern outside the stable, Bhurl’s wide grin cannot be missed. “Don’t know that many duties outweigh accompanying you. One thing to face danger in battle. Can’t help that, but last thing we’d want is having one of the heirs needing to dispatch a bravo here in Cigoerne.”

  Lerial grins in return. “Your point is taken.” He turns to the two. “I appreciate your willingness to spell some rather tired Lancers.”

  “Our pleasure, ser,” returns Khersett.

  Lerial notes that his gear has been shifted to the black mare. He opens one of the saddlebags and slips Phortyn’s copy of Altyrn’s report back inside, then mounts.

  Once they leave the headquarters compound, Lerial asks, “Have either of you heard about what’s happened in the south, with raiders and Heldyan attacks?”

  “They keep attacking, but not very often, ser,” replies Khersett.

  “Most of the raiders aren’t raiders,” adds Lavoyt. “They fight too well, and they know when to back off.”

  “So we haven’t taken that many casualties?”

  “Some, ser,” replies Lavoyt. “Mostly green rankers who make mistakes.”

  “Are meals in the taverns and cafés getting dearer?”

  “Ser?”

  “Are you paying more for lager or ale?”

  “Well…,” Khersett draws out the word, “the Blue Beaker added a copper to the price of lager … maybe an eightday ago. Fhasyl said that was because brewers’ grain was costing more. Still think he didn’t need to.”

  Lerial doesn’t learn much more by the time they near the Palace, but he can barely see, and only because of the mirrored lantern below, that his father’s banner flies from the main guardhouse by the gate. So he is here in Cigoerne.

  Unlike at Mirror Lancer headquarters, the guards immediately recognize Lerial. But then, they’re from Woelyt’s company … or are they? Hadn’t Emerya written something about Woelyt being posted to Narthyl?

  Lerial only gathers his gear and leaves the mare to the ostler. There are times when he doesn’t feel guilty about others grooming his mount … and this is one of those times. He has barely walked away from the stable when he sees and order-senses someone headed toward him. As the other nears, he recognizes Undercaptain Woelyt.

  “Good evening, Woelyt.”

  “I’m glad to see you, ser. I thought I might not before we left.”

  “Your company is being posted to Narthyl?”

  “No, ser. I mean, we were going to Narthyl, but Majer Phortyn decided we were needed more in Tirminya. I’m being promoted to captain, and we’re headed out next oneday. The captain there and his entire company are being sent to a new post east of Narthyl, I understand. That’s where I think we were going, but the majer wants a company with more field experience there. That’s to deal with the Heldyan incursions.”

  “I just came from there. You’re likely to be just as busy in Tirminya as you would have been in Narthyl. The Afritans have at least a company just north of there, and they could be a problem. They also have sent some archer assassins to Tirminya … and they tried to bribe rankers to open the gates to raids. You’ll have to be vigilant. Certainly, my father and I will be counting on you to make sure nothing like that happens again.” Lerial smiles. “I can fill in some of the details later.”

  “I’d like that, ser.”

  From what Lerial sees and can sense, Woelyt knows nothing about the intrigue involving the late Captain Dechund—and that may well mean that a ranker or a squad leader in Woelyt’s company does … or has certain instructions. He also wonders just when Phortyn changed his mind. “We’ll do that. It may be a day or so, since I need to report to Majer Phortyn in the morning.” Lerial pauses. “Do you know who your replacement here at the Palace is?”

  “Undercaptain Veraan, ser. He’s been assigned a new company … some seasoned squad leaders and a few solid rankers, but mostly recent recruits.”

  Lerial manages not to stiffen. He nods. “I’ve met him. Have a pleasant evening, or what’s left of it. Oh … and congratulations on the coming promotion.”

  “Yes, ser. Thank you, ser.”

  “You’ve earned it, and you certainly will at Tirminya.” Lerial offers a smile and starts across the courtyard toward the Palace proper.

  Someone must have hurried to inform the Palace staff, because a messenger boy runs up to Lerial as he nears the guards at the west end of the north wing entrance.

  “Lord Lerial, ser?”

  “Yes?”

  “The Duke would like to see you. He is in his main floor study, ser.”<
br />
  “I’ll go right there.” Lerial hands the kit bag to the messenger, then extracts the dispatches from the saddlebags before handing the saddlebags to the messenger as well. “Please put my gear in my chambers, if you would.”

  “Yes, ser.”

  “Thank you.”

  Lerial nods to the guards and then enters the Palace after the messenger, heading for the study where his father handles duchy affairs.

  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.

  LXXXIV

  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.”

  “Women in battle as archers.” Xeranya gives the tiniest shake of her head, and not a single strand of blond hair moves. “Barbaric.”

  “But obviously necessary,” adds Emerya from the door to the breakfast room. “Welcome back.” Behind her are Ryalah and Amaira.

  Ryalah grins at her brother.

  “Thank you. I have to eat and leave. I need to make my report to Majer Phortyn.”

  “Aren’t you the fortunate one.”

  Lerial gulps down three more mouthfuls, some lager, and bolts for the stable.

  “… and now you’re leaving…”

  “He is a Lancer officer who has to report.” Emerya’s voice is soothing and reasonable in Lerial’s ears as he slips from the breakfast room

  He hurries through saddling the mare, but it is almost half a glass later before he, Khersett, and Lavoyt are riding along the avenue toward Lancer headquarters. With them are two rankers from Woelyt’s second squad to accompany him back from headquarters. As he rides he thinks about Phortyn … and what he should do about the majer. Everything is so suggestive, but there’s no real proof. He considers the points—Phortyn’s excessive secrecy about Lerial and Altyrn’s mission, the assignment of Dechund to Tirminya and the events that followed, not to mention the punitive transfer of Seivyr to Tirminya in the first place, the recent assignment of Seivyr to Narthyl, the last-moment reassignment of Woelyt’s company to the northern border, and Veraan’s assignment to the Palace, Phortyn’s dinners with influential Magi’i … some of whom are less than esteemed for their integrity, not to mention the impressions he has gotten from more than a few people. Lerial doesn’t like what he sees, but then there’s been a lot he hasn’t cared for in the last season or so.