Cyador’s Heirs (18 page)

“Let’s see what you can do.” Shastan’s words carry a note of amusement, as if the sparring is a game whose conclusion is foregone.

Almost foregone,
thinks Lerial as he raises the blade and moves into the circle to meet the undercaptain. Shastan’s blade flicks out, casually, and Lerial slips the half feint–half attack, moving not to his right, but his left, trying to catch the undercaptain by moving to his strength, rather than away. Shastan moves with Lerial, coming back with a cut that Lerial has to parry backhanded, then scramble to his right.

The undercaptain starts a straight thrust … and Lerial dances to the side, but Shastan pivots quickly, with more grace than Lerial would have expected from a man so big, and his blade comes up and strikes Lerial’s with so much force that the entire blade shivers in his hand, and he can barely hang on … with the result that, although Shastan is open for a moment, by the time Lerial can regain full control of his sabre, that opportunity is gone.

“You needed to slip or slide that,” comments the undercaptain, launching another attack. “Trying to block an attack squarely will wear you out even if you succeed.”

Lerial tries an attack, and for a moment, Shastan retreats a step, but Lerial finds it hard to follow the order patterns when he is attacking, and he loses his concentration for a moment, then finds himself again on the defensive.

His arm is getting tired when he sees Shastan overreach himself.

Rather than take the obvious opening—too obvious—that the undercaptain has left him, Lerial feints as though he will, then drops not quite into a crouch and comes up under Shastan’s blade. Just as he is about to strike the Lancer officer on the thigh, Shastan makes a throwing motion, flinging sand and grit into Lerial’s eyes before he can close them. The combination of the burning and the blurring of his vision leaves Lerial largely blinded.

Even so, through the stinging of the sand in his eyes, for a moment, Lerial almost lashes out, but instead, uses his order-preception to sense what his watering eyes cannot show him. As he can see more clearly, he still wants to lash out at the dirty trick.
Never fight in a rage!
The words that Altyrn has pounded into him cool him enough, and he concentrates on following Shastan’s movements as much through the order flows as through his still blurry vision. Somehow, he manages to ward off the officer’s attacks, both with the moves Altyrn has drilled into him and by circling toward Shastan’s left side.

He keeps blinking, and finally his eyes clear, and he starts another attack.

“That’s enough!” Altyrn calls out.

Shastan backs away.

After a moment, so does Lerial, but he does not lower the blunted sabre until he is outside the circle. Absently, he sees that Captain Graessyr has joined the majer.

“You held a solid defense even when you could barely see,” observes Graessyr. “That’s good.”

When I couldn’t see at all.
“I just tried not to make any mistakes or give him an opening.”

“Sometimes, that’s all you can do,” says the captain.

Altyrn nods, then gestures for Lerial to head to the armory.

Lerial nods, blots his forehead with the back of his left hand, and heads for the equipment storage room. Behind him, he catches a few words.

“… not bad…”

“… not for an officer trainee … he has to do better…”

“… young still…”

“… doesn’t matter … Afritans don’t care about age. Raiders don’t either.”

Lerial frowns at the seriousness in both men’s voices, but he continues walking. He has just racked the padded armor and replaced the blunted sabre when Captain Graessyr enters the armory, holding a sealed envelope.

“This arrived for you late last evening.” The captain extends the envelope.

Lerial accepts the letter. “Thank you.” He will not open it until he is back at Kinaar and alone.

“You’re doing well with the sabre,” adds Graessyr. “You’re holding your own against Shastan, and that’s not easy.”

Need to do better than hold your own.
“I’ll be happier when I can hold my own against you and the majer.”

“That all depends on you, but you’ve made a good start.”

“Thank you, ser.”

Altyrn appears in the doorway. “Next eightday, you’ll start exercises in using that sabre from the saddle. That’s in addition to sparring.”

Exercises? Not sparring?

“Practicing bladework against another while mounted is too dangerous,” says the majer, adding after the briefest pause, “Even the Lancers don’t do it. It turned out that more of them were hurt in practice than on some patrols where they encountered raiders. The exercises will give you enough training.”

“Especially with the majer directing you,” adds Graessyr, with a laugh. “We’ll see you tomorrow.”

“That you will,” replies Altyrn as the captain leaves the equipment chamber.

Lerial and Altyrn walk without speaking to the stable.

“Why did he throw that grit at my face?” asks Lerial, once they are in the saddle and well clear of the Mirror Lancer post.

“I told him to,” Altyrn says.

“Why?”

“Why do you think?”

Lerial considers, if but for a moment, before replying, “To surprise me … to show me what could happen.”

“That was part of it. It wasn’t the only reason.”

“Oh … because I don’t always react well when I come up against something new?”

“You’re getting a lot better at that. I thought you would with more experience.”

“I was still angry.”

“You will be for a while if you fight much. When men are losing or want a quick victory, they’ll try anything. You surprised me, though. You were deliberate, more than I expected.”

“I surprised you, ser?”

“You’re always well mannered, but beneath it all, you’re carrying a lot of anger…”

You’d be angry, too, if your parents threw you out and stuck you two days’ ride away with almost no interest in what you were doing.

“… but you held yourself in check.” Altyrn smiles. “That’s good, because I think anger runs in your family. Your grandfather was always angry. Might have been one of the reasons he brought down Cyador.”

He brought down Cyador?
“What?”

“That wasn’t what he meant. He wanted to rebuild Cyador, but he was impatient. He tried to do too many things at once. He wanted to build fireships. He wanted to push back the Accursed Forest. He wanted to reclaim the lands the barbarians had overrun. That was because the copper mines in the west were mined out, and Cyador needed the copper near Lornth. Everything he tried took longer than he thought it should. That made him angry. Then the wards that held back the Accursed Forest weakened, and more and more Magi’i were sent to contain the Forest. So were too many Lancers, and many died. The Lancers fighting in Lornth were defeated because there were too many barbarians and not enough Lancers. That angered your grandsire more, and he took the white wizards who were holding back the Accursed Forest and sent them to conquer the barbarians. That made the Forest stronger, and the dark angels called on it to help them. They destroyed most of the powerful Magi’i, and then there was no one to hold back the Accursed Forest when the dark angels called upon it to destroy Cyador.”

Lerial is silent for a time. He knows that the dark angels and the Accursed Forest called upon the very earth and the seas to bring down Cyad and Cyador, but he has never heard the story told the way the majer tells it.

“Mind you,” the majer goes on, “that’s not the way you should tell the story, but that’s the way it happened. You and your brother need to know what really happened. Trying to do too much too fast is bad enough. Doing too much too fast and doing in anger always leads to trouble. You can’t afford that.”

What am I supposed to do? Wait until I’m as gray as you are?

When the two rein up outside the stable back at Kinaar, the majer looks to Lerial. “I need to ride out to the woodlot. When I get back, we’ll have something to eat, and then we’ll ride up to a place on the Wooded Ridges. You need to do some thinking about how trees and hills lie and what to do in various places.” Altyrn smiles. “That way you can read your letter, and you won’t be thinking about it when you should be looking and listening.”

“Ah … yes, ser.”

The majer is riding off even before Lerial has finished dismounting. Since it will be a while before he rides out again, Lerial leads the gelding to his stall and unsaddles him, giving him a quick brushing. Then he makes his way to the villa and finds a corner well away from the fountains where he breaks the seal and opens the letter. The handwriting is not his father’s, but his mother’s.

Dearest Lerial—

I hope this finds you in health and enjoying life away from Cigoerne. Ryalah and I miss you. So does your aunt Emerya. She asked me to tell you not to forget your lessons, especially when you practice with wands.

There have been more attacks by Heldyan armsmen coming across the Swarth River to the southeast of Narthyl, and your father has been gone from Cigoerne most of the time since you left …

Lerial lowers the letter. He has been gone more than two seasons, and his father has been in Narthyl or south of it most of that time? That doesn’t sound good.

… has sent word that he and the Mirror Lancers have been able to deal with the armsmen from the east without serious casualties so far. He has ordered Majer Phortyn to raise and begin to train another two companies. Lephi is riding more patrols now. Those are mostly to the west and south of Bartheld …

Riding patrols and glorying in it, no doubt.
Lerial forces himself to concentrate on the letter.

… Your aunt has been conducting the tests for apprentice healers. She said that you have the talents for that, even if men are not usually healers. She also said that those Lancers who serve under you will be fortunate because you will be able to do field healing when the time comes.

With all the hot weather we have had, the olives from our older lands are ripening sooner, and it is likely that the amount of oil pressed will be more than last year, and that is good, because food will be scarce in parts of Cigoerne …

Lerial reads the rest of the letter impatiently, but all it contains is news about crops, weather, and the low state of the Swarth River. He frowns as he sees his mother’s initial at the bottom of the next to last page. Did she add something else?

The last page is from Ryalah, each word painstakingly written.

My dear brother—

I miss you. I wish you were here. Amaira wishes you were here, too. We both think you should come home. Mother says you will. She says it will be a while.

Your sister Ryalah

Lerial can’t help but smile at the simple words. He also wonders just how long “a while” might turn out to be.

XVII

Over the next several eightdays, Lerial continues to receive sabre instruction and bruises from both Captain Graessyr and Undercaptain Shastan … followed by a glass or more of instruction and exercises in handling a sabre while mounted. The one matter about which he is certain is that he sleeps well, possibly because the nights are cooler, but mainly because he is worn out by dinner.

At perhaps a half glass past midmorning on a cool but sunny fourday, when Lerial and Altyrn ride back to Kinaar from the Lancer post, Altyrn clears his throat, then says, “Tomorrow, we’re going to take a short journey west, for several days. You and me, and several Lancer rankers I’ve persuaded the captain to let accompany us.”

“Is something the matter?” asks Lerial.

“No. You need to know more about the Wooded Ridges and terrain than you can learn near Teilyn. I have some maps in the study I want you to learn this afternoon. Memorize as much as you can before dinner.”

“No sabre practice on horseback, ser?”

“You’ve had more than enough to know what to do if you get attacked. Your defense is better than most. It’s your attacks that are weak, but you’re not likely to be attacking much.”

On this trip … or any time?
Lerial suspects it is the latter, but there is little point in asking, because Altyrn would point out that, either way, it makes little difference, something that Lerial already knows.

Once they are back at the villa, Lerial unsaddles the gelding, grooms him, sees to his water and feed, and then makes his way to his chamber. There he washes up and heads down to the lower level and the majer’s study.

Altyrn is seated behind his table-desk, but rises immediately and walks to the circular table. Spread there is a large map. Beside it are several sheets of paper which appear to contain smaller maps. The majer gestures. “These are the best maps we have of the lands to the south and west of Teilyn. Learn everything you can before dinner.”

Lerial frowns, thinking about all the details a map can hold.

“When you command Lancers, and it’s likely you will at some time, you may not even have maps. If you do, you will have little time to study them, and you won’t take them on a patrol or into a skirmish with raiders. They’re too valuable to risk losing. At times, the details on them may have been discovered and paid for with blood.” After a slight pause, Altyrn adds, “I’ll be back in a while.”

Lerial seats himself at the table. He begins by looking at each of the maps briefly. The large map is one of all of Cigoerne and only shows Cigoerne and the towns, but not the smaller hamlets. The hills and woods are outlined, but not in any detail. The smaller ones show the streams and hills around various towns, some of which Lerial has never heard. He concentrates on the map that shows the lands around Teilyn, making an effort to mentally picture where each is in relation to Teilyn and the Lynaar River, even if it is little more than a stream. Then he attempts to picture the Wooded Ridges, which have a shape almost like an “L” with the lower shorter part running north–south, beginning less than two kays south of Kinaar, and with the longer leg running west for well over a hundred kays, perhaps as far as two.

Hearing footsteps in the hallway and sensing someone approaching, Lerial looks up, but Rojana enters the study, not Altyrn.