Cyador’s Heirs (75 page)

“Father never said. Neither has Mother. I thought you might know.”

“He said that it took some effort and special pipes for them.” That is certainly true enough.

“You won’t say, will you?”

“It’s not my place to say.”

“You’ve changed.”

Lerial can hear a trace of sadness in her voice as he looks into her gray eyes and says softly, “War, for the first time, must change everyone, don’t you think?” He pauses. “I never truly thanked you for the lodestone. What I’ve learned from it saved my life … more than once.”

“I’m glad … I thought it might help.”

“It did. More than you know.”

“I wanted…”

“I know.”

Neither speaks for a moment. Then Rojana looks away.

“Do you think she’s through reading now?” asks Tyrna, hurrying toward them.

“We should walk around the fountains once,” suggests Rojana.

“I don’t want to. I’m cold,” declares Aylana as she joins the others.

“You’ll feel warmer if you keep moving,” says Lerial, reaching out and taking Aylana’s hand. “We’ll go this way.”

Lerial and Rojana manage to coax the other two into two tours of the courtyard before returning to the salon.

Maeroja looks to Lerial and Rojana and mouths, “Thank you.” Then she says, “Your father assures us that he is healthy and well. I’ll let you all read it later. He also wrote that things would have gone badly without Lerial. He says we mustn’t ask Lerial about it. That’s because he will insist that your father and the elders and everyone else did it. That’s not true, but it has to remain our secret.” Maeroja pauses. “We should have refreshments. Lerial has waited long enough.”

“Can I have lager?” presses Tyrna.

Maeroja shakes her head. “Not yet. You and Aylana can have a little watered wine, if you like. Rojana, only half a beaker of lager.”

“When can I have lager—” begins Aylana.

“When you’re the age Rojana is now,” says Maeroja firmly.

Aylana’s pout is only momentary, perhaps because of the stern look bestowed on her by her mother.

Lerial moves to the refreshment table, then nods to Maeroja. “Wine or lager?”

“Lager, please.”

Lerial fills one beaker—that is, two-thirds full—and another one-third full, handing the second to Rojana and the full one to her mother, before returning to the table and serving himself. Then he takes the armchair to Maeroja’s left, the one not usually occupied by the majer. After a slow sip from the beaker, he smiles. “This is the best lager I’ve had, ever, and it’s made better by the fact that they don’t brew anything like it in Verdheln.”

“I’m glad you like the lager,” says Maeroja. “Dinner will be simple. We didn’t know we’d have company.”

“Whatever it is will be far better than anything I’ve eaten in over a season.”

“Could you tell us something about the Verd?”

“Trees and more trees,” he begins, “and where the trees end they have grown special trees with such trunks that they form a tree-wall around the forests that comprise the Verd…” From there Lerial does most of the talking for a good half glass … until he sees a serving girl standing in the entrance to the salon.

“It is time for dinner.” Maeroja rises.

Lerial does as well.

“You didn’t finish,” declares Aylana.

“I’ll finish at dinner,” Lerial promises.

The main dish—in fact really the only dish—except for fresh-baked bread and pickled carrots, not his favorite, but acceptable—is a large platter of lamb biastras, seasoned with far less chili than at the Palace, with a brown sauce that has a slight fruity taste, rather than the white cream sauce that Lerial associates with biastras. The sweet peppers are an orange brown also. He has four of the tubular biastras, and could have eaten more, except he feels that would be excessive … and he has promised to finish telling about Verdheln. He cannot, or should not, talk while eating. So he contents himself with sips of the excellent lager and describes everything he can remember.

“I hope you don’t mind,” says Maeroja, “but we hadn’t planned sweets…”

“Stars, no! The biastras and the lager are treat enough.” Lerial means every word. Simple as the meal may have been, he has not had anything that good since leaving Kinaar the last time.

Maeroja glances to Rojana. “If you would help your sisters ready themselves for bed…”

Lerial can tell that is the last thing Rojana wants to do, but she nods politely and ushers the other two from the table.

“And make sure you wash your hands and faces,” adds their mother as the three leave.

“I’ve truly enjoyed being here, and the biastras and bread were delicious.” Lerial knows he needs to be leaving soon.

“Thank you. It was our pleasure, and we cannot thank you enough for the news and for the letter.”

“That was my pleasure,” Lerial insists.

After a moment of silence, Maeroja fixes her eyes on Lerial. “How much danger does he face in Verdheln? Truly?”

“Very little, if any … now.”

“You are being truthful, I trust.”

“Very truthful. There are only a few handfuls of Meroweyans in Verdheln, mostly wounded and all held captive … and no mages or wizards—not Meroweyan ones. There are at present no other Meroweyan armsmen near the Verd, and I doubt that there will be for some time to come.”

“What you say suggests that he was in great danger earlier.”

“He was in danger. He was most careful. He sent others on the most dangerous missions. He led no charges, but we were greatly outnumbered. He planned thoroughly and well. What he did was brilliant.”

“But you went on missions, didn’t you? Why?”

“I’m a junior undercaptain, and he’s the majer in command. Also, he is more valuable to Cigoerne than I am.”

“He would not say that.” She purses her lips.

Lerial smiles pleasantly and waits.

“He
knows
how things should be,” she finally says. “He claims he doesn’t see what will be … but he has … a certainty.”

“He had that about you, didn’t he?”

For one of the very few times he has seen, there is a momentary expression of surprise and consternation on Maeroja’s face. Then she laughs softly. “I should have expected that. I imagine you know the answer. He also believes that you are … let us say that…” She shakes her head. “Let us say nothing.”

By saying she would say nothing, she has said what she wished to convey, Lerial knows. Since he senses someone—Rojana—nearing and stopping just short of the open doors to the dining chamber, he decides against pursuing that. He is also amused, since there is no way that Rojana could have completed her task in that short a time, which means that she likely turned the task over to one of the servants in order to hurry back and eavesdrop. “I am just the younger son, doing what I can to support my father.”

“Doing it rather well.”

“Only because of your consort, and all he has done for me,” he replies. “I cannot thank him—or you—enough.”

“You have already. You can tell me what you will, but you kept him safe.” She holds up a hand. “Please … no argument. I can see—it is plain to see, for those who observe with more than eyes—that you are not the youth who left here more than a season ago.”

“Rojana said I’ve changed.”

“You will change more. We live in a time of great change.” A faint smile crosses Maeroja’s lips. “You may come in, Rojana.”

“The girls are in their rooms and ready for bed,” Rojana announces as she steps through the doors.

Lerial looks to Maeroja. “I should be going. It’s a bit past two glasses.” He stands.

“We’ll walk you out to the outer courtyard.” Maeroja rises from the table and nods to her daughter. “We’re so glad you could stay for a while.”

“So am I. And I’m glad that I could bring you good news.”

When they reach the north entrance, Lerial can see that one of the villa stable boys has brought the borrowed mare from the stable and holds her reins. Beside the mount, the two Lancers wait, still mounted.

“I hope you haven’t been waiting long,” Lerial says. “I didn’t mean to keep you.”

“No, ser. Less than a tenth of a glass. Young fellow here just brought your mount.”

Lerial turns back to Maeroja and Rojana. “Thank you both. I can’t tell you how much I appreciated the dinner and the company.”
Especially since it will be a long time before I’m back here.

“It was our pleasure.” Maeroja smiles.

Rojana’s smile is fainter, as if it is an effort, and Lerial wants to comfort her … and knows that would be a mistake, because it would give her the wrong impression. Instead, he returns the smile and then mounts.

He can sense Rojana’s eyes on his back as he rides down the lane toward the yellow brick posts and the main road.

LXXXIII

Lerial leaves Teilyn before dawn on twoday so that they can reach Cigoerne in one long day. Even so, the sun has set before they ride into the city proper, and the twilight is lengthening into a deep greenish purple when they reach the gates of Lancer headquarters. Lerial frowns. The main gates are actually closed, although the small personnel gate is ajar.

“Detachment returning from Verdheln,” he announces.

The shorter gate guard looks hard at Lerial. “Begging your pardon, ser. There are no detachments in Verdheln.”

For an instant, Lerial is disconcerted. “Then Majer Altyrn and two squads of Mirror Lancers will be somewhat concerned to learn that they don’t exist. And Duke Kiedron will be most upset to think that he dispatched his son with a detachment that doesn’t exist.” Even Lerial is surprised at the dry and withering tone with which the words come forth.

“Ser…”

Lerial surveys the guard, with his crisp greens and polished sabre and almost comments on that, but instead says mildly. “You can let us enter, and lose a bit of face. Or you can deny us and face the consequences tomorrow.” Lerial can’t help but think about the number of Verdyn Lancers who died fighting off the Meroweyans, especially compared to the guards standing gate duty in Cigoerne.

The other guard peers at Lerial, then swallows, finally saying in a low voice, “Ruefyl … that’s Lord Lerial you’re denying.”

“But…” Ruefyl looks totally flustered.

“Yes, I am wearing the uniform of an undercaptain. That is because I am one. So is my older brother, who is riding patrols in the south along the river. You might recall that my father the Duke still commands patrols. Or have you forgotten that as well?”

Lerial realizes that he’s already said too much and adds quietly, “Just open the gates. It’s been a long ride from Verdell.”

“Yes, ser.” Ruefyl looks totally dejected as he steps back and signals. “Open the gates. Incoming detachment.”

After several moments, the gates swing inward, and the eleven riders and two packhorses move through.

As they ride toward the stables, Lerial turns to Bhurl. “I’ll need to talk to the duty officer. We’ll need bunks for the Lancers, and food, as well as feed…”

“We can take care of the mounts, ser.”

“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…”