Cyador’s Heirs (74 page)

“What about the bigger army?”

“We met them just south of Escadya. We had trenches across the open meadow. We’d cut down a few of them and put a gap in their shieldwall, but they were about to overrun us when the ordermage with us called on some lightnings, and that killed a bunch of them and disorganized the rest of them, and we were able to take most of them. One company or so fled, and I had to take second company and follow them. We caught them on the grasslands outside the Verd.”

“What happened?”

“None of them survived to make it back to Nubyat.” Lerial shrugs. “That was about it.”

“You make it sound easy. It wasn’t, not knowing the numbers and the majer.”

“No,” says Lerial quietly. “It wasn’t easy. Not at all. You’d know that.”

“What did it cost?”

“More than two companies worth of Lancers, several thousand Verdyn killed—maybe a lot more, but who will ever know?—three towns and maybe a dozen hamlets burned or destroyed, one of the senior elders killed … who knows how much of the Verd burned.”

“And Verdyn is now part of Cigoerne, and likely to stay so.” Seivyr nods. “Sounds like the majer. When he sets out to do something, it gets done.”

Lerial stiffens for a moment.
But did he set out to do that?
He manages to swallow as he realizes that, in fact, Altyrn has schemed and strategized to turn what might have been an armed annexation by Casseon into an all-out war … sacrificing the people of the Verd, or some of them, in order to so weaken and destroy a significant portion of Casseon’s armsmen that it essentially removed Merowey as an immediate threat to Cigoerne. By attacking the Meroweyans before they reached the Verd, he had ensured that they would attack in force … and everything else followed.

What if the Meroweyans had won?
Some of the same things would still have happened, except they would have taken longer. Even had the Meroweyans defeated the Lancers, they would have taken significant losses, and because of the size of the Verd, they would have been tied up for years in trying to hold and rule it, keeping them from threatening Cigoerne.

“He does have that ability,” Lerial finally says.

“Dechund didn’t understand that. Majer would do just about anything to preserve Cigoerne. But Dechund didn’t serve directly under the majer.” Seivyr takes a small swallow of lager. “How long will you be here?”

“I’d thought a day to rest the horses.” Lerial grins. “And maybe stock up on some decent travel food.”

“You think it’s decent, and you’re welcome to it.” Seivyr laughs.

“What can you tell me about Majer Phortyn?”

Seivyr raises his eyebrows.

“Besides the fact that he likes officers with clean uniforms and well-polished boots, and that he’s skeptical that Duke’s sons can handle a blade or perform in battle?”

The captain shakes his head good-naturedly. “You know that, and that’s what you’ve got.”

Lerial doesn’t press, and the two talk about Tirminya and the post, and the sightings of Afritan patrols for almost a glass before they leave for their respective quarters.

Lerial is sitting on the edge of the narrow bunk, pulling off his boots, when all the pieces fall into place, triggered by what Seivyr had said earlier about the Afritan arrows.
By the Rational Stars! Dechund didn’t die of a flux …
Lerial tries to recollect what exactly had happened in the mess the night before they had left Tirminya.
There was more than one reason why he wanted you out of the mess! And spilling that carafe when you came back was no accident.

But that meant Altyrn had suspected Dechund might be a traitor from before leaving Teilyn. Otherwise …

Lerial shivers.

Seivyr had said that the majer would do anything to preserve Cigoerne.

LXXXII

By second glass on oneday, after six long days after leaving Tirminya, even with quick glances at intervals at the jagged spurs of red rocks jutting along the Wooded Ridges to the south of the road, Lerial can easily recognize the landmarks and the most impenetrable-looking sections of the forest, although, after seeing the thornbushes of the Verd, the Wooded Ridges look far more open than he had once thought, and more familiar.
They should, after all the time that the majer had you learning the terrain.

He still hasn’t figured out a way to create lasting order-defenses, although he’s gotten quite proficient at creating a variety of defenses in instants, some of which he can also instantly link to his belt knife or sabre.
Which is fine for when you know that you’re being attacked, or going to be … but that won’t always be the case.

He smiles wryly. As in everything, it seems, being able to anticipate is vital.

Under the late afternoon sun of early summer, the mud-brick houses of Teilyn appear a faint orangish-pink as he and Bhurl ride through the town toward the Mirror Lancer post to the south. At the gate, the guards look from Lerial to Bhurl and then to the brown-clad Verdyn Lancers behind the other three Mirror Lancers in green.

“Verdyn Lancers detailed to escort duty,” Lerial explains. “That leaves more Mirror Lancers to assist with training in Verdheln.”

“Yes, ser,” replies the gate guard, his tone suggesting he’s not quite convinced.

Word must travel quickly, or the lookout has already reported, because Captain Graessyr stands waiting by the time Lerial rides to the stables and reins up. Behind him looms Undercaptain Shastan, as massive as ever, also looking concerned.

“Returning from Verdell with dispatches and Verdyn Lancers as additional company,” Lerial announces.

“Not that we’re not glad to see you, Lord Lerial,” declares the captain, “but I was hoping that we’d also be seeing the majer.”

“He’s fine, but he says he needs another season training the Verdyn Lancers. We took some heavy losses in defeating the Meroweyans.”

Graessyr frowns. “I thought you were just training them.”

“The Meroweyans didn’t wait until we’d finished training the Verdyn Lancers. The majer took command. We fought. We won. It was a mess, and it was costly. I’ll be happy to fill in the details after we settle the men. I also need to carry a letter from the majer to his family.”

Graessyr smiles, if slightly sardonically. “Spoken like a Lancer. I’ll be in my study.”

Settling the Lancers doesn’t take all that long, and since the duty ostler volunteers to groom and feed the gelding, in little more than a half glass, Lerial is sitting in front of Captain Graessyr’s desk, explaining what had happened in Verdheln, in much the same way as he had to Seivyr in Tirminya. When he finishes, he waits for any questions Graessyr may have.

“You took a single company after the fleeing Meroweyans … and didn’t leave any survivors.”

“That was partly because things got out of control with their last chaos wizard,” Lerial replies, “but I didn’t want there to be any effective fighting forces returning to Nubyat.”

Graessyr nods slowly. “Most would say that was carrying matters to excess.”

“They might. But with so few trained Lancers remaining and even fewer ordermages, it seemed prudent to do everything possible to reduce the possibility of another attempt to take the Verd any time soon.”

“There’s one other thing I don’t understand,” says the captain, smiling as he adds, “or maybe more. If the Verdyn had all those ordermages, why did they need the majer and you to train Lancers?”

“They didn’t have that many, and they lost at least one that I know of, and I’m not certain how long the senior elder, who is also an ordermage of some kind, will live after the strain the war put on him. What made the difference was the way the majer deployed the Lancers we had. Even before the Meroweyans managed to burn through the tree-walls to get into the Verd, we’d killed or wounded almost five companies worth of their armsmen … well … maybe four. Every skirmish or battle, they lost at least five or six times what we did. And the people, they killed or wounded quite a few with their traps and their hunting arrows. But none of it would have worked without the majer holding it all together.”

“And you just led a company? That’s all?”

Lerial pauses for just an instant, then says, “I’m just a young undercaptain, acting as a captain. That’s the way it’s reported, and the way it should be.”

After a moment, Graessyr nods. “I hadn’t thought of it that way. You’re right, though. Might I ask…”

“I requested that it be that way. The majer had drafted the report along those lines before I read it.”

“Is there anything else you would care to tell me?”

Lerial thinks. “I don’t know if you heard, but Captain Dechund suffered some sort of flux and wandered off in a brain fever and died. Majer Phortyn promoted Seivyr to post captain.”

“Dechund … oh … he was the one with the clean uniforms and bright boots. Sorry to hear it. Seivyr’ll do well, though.”

Graessyr’s matter-of-fact comments confirm that he has the same opinion as Altyrn does, and that tends to reinforce some of Lerial’s skepticism about Majer Phortyn.

“Now, ser, I have a question. What can you tell me about raids by the Heldyans, especially along the river?”

Graessyr snorts. “Not much has changed since you and the majer left. We hear that they kept testing the patrols, but they withdraw if we show any force. I haven’t heard anything about your brother. Were there anything wrong, I’m certain we’d know.”

“Thank you. Now … if I might borrow a mount?”

“I told the ostler to have one ready for you. I’d thought to have four men as an escort…”

Lerial wants to deny the escort, but then thinks about Graessyr’s position in dealing with the son of the Duke. “I think two would be more than adequate.”

Graessyr starts to say something, then shakes his head. “You’re sounding like your sire.”

Before long, Lerial and two Mirror Lancers are leaving the post and heading south toward Kinaar. He is glad that the majer’s villa is close. Less than a fifth of a glass later, he turns the borrowed mount onto the packed clay lane leading off the main road. The lane is just as smooth as he recalls as it passes through the yellow brick posts toward the villa. They have barely covered half the three hundred yards from the posts to the villa when Lerial sees several figures hurry out of the villa and wait by the north entrance.
How long has she had someone posted and watching?

As he rides nearer, he sees, standing with Maeroja, Rojana, Tyrna, and Aylana. Even before he reins up, Lerial can see the worried expression on Maeroja’s face, and he quickly says, “He’s fine. The fighting is over, and the Meroweyan force was destroyed. He said he had to stay another season to complete the training necessary so he wouldn’t have to go back.” Altyrn had never actually said the last words, but Lerial feels that is what he meant. “I have a letter for you. He asked me to deliver it personally.” Lerial keeps his eyes on Maeroja, although he can feel Rojana looking at him.

Rojana murmurs something to her mother, and Maeroja smiles. “Can you stay for dinner? I would have asked anyway, but I was prompted.”

“I’d hoped that would be possible. I’d very much appreciate that.” Lerial turns in the saddle. “You can return to the post.”

“Ser…?” ventures one of the Mirror Lancers.

“Give him a good two glasses,” says Maeroja.

Lerial laughs. “You can see I’m in good hands. Two glasses, it is.”

“Thank you, ser.”

As the two Lancers leave, Lerial says, “Can I just stable the mare in an empty stall?”

“We could summon the ostler…”

“I can do it, and it’s likely to be faster.” Lerial rides to the stables, where he dismounts, stalls his horse, then walks back to the north entry, where Tyrna and Aylana are waiting.

“Mother took Rojana with her,” announces Aylana.

“They’re getting refreshments,” adds her older sister. “We’re to take you to the salon.”

“It’s still cold in the courtyard,” declares the youngest daughter.

“Have you started this year’s worms?” asks Lerial.

“Not yet. Mother says they’ll be late.” Tyrna turns.

Before she can open the outer door, Lerial steps forward and opens it. “After you, ladies.”

“We’re not ladies yet, mother says,” declares Aylana.

“Rojana almost is,” adds Tyrna.

Lerial keeps his smile to himself, thinking of Ryalah and Amaira as he follows them all the way to the salon. Maeroja and Rojana rise as the two younger sisters and Lerial enter the chamber. For a long moment, Rojana looks at Lerial, then drops her eyes.

“Before I forget…” Lerial steps forward and withdraws the sealed envelope from his Lancer jacket, extending it to Maeroja. “I might take a walk in the courtyard while you read it.”

Maeroja cannot conceal a frown.

“There shouldn’t be anything disturbing in it,” Lerial says quickly. “I just thought you’d appreciate it without…”

“If you wouldn’t mind…”

“I wouldn’t have suggested it.” Lerial looks down to Aylana. “Would you care to come with me?”

Aylana looks to her mother.

“I’ll read it all to you later.”

“We’ll all walk in the courtyard,” announces Rojana, with a firmness that sounds much like her mother.

Once the four have left the salon, Rojana glances to Lerial. “Thank you. She’s been so worried.” She pauses. “Father is all right, isn’t he?”

“He was fine when I left. He wasn’t wounded or injured at all. He was brilliant in the way he defended the Verd—and Cigoerne.”

“Cigoerne?” asks Tyrna. “I thought you were in Verdheln. That’s what Mother said.”

“We were. But we were fighting to keep the Meroweyans from threatening Cigoerne.”

“Oh.”

Lerial walks toward the nearest fountain, realizing, suddenly, that he had not seen a single fountain anywhere in Verdheln.
Is that because they have plenty of water?
“I like your fountains.” He glances back to see that Aylana has stamped her foot and is glaring at Tyrna.

Rojana glances back at her sisters, shaking her head and smiling, then says, “The arrangement was Mother’s idea. You won’t tell her I said that, will you?”

“No. Not if you don’t want me to.”
Why would she say that?
“Is that because … she missed having fountains?” Lerial barely manages to keep from having said something about Maeroja missing things from home, remembering what Emerya has said about her.