Heritage of Cyador

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  From what he is hearing, Lerial almost wishes he had not asked.

  Xeranya glances at Amaira and then to Ryalah. “Girls, it’s time to finish your breakfast. You can go to the courtyard until it’s time for your lessons.”

  Lerial takes the quiet time while the girls eat to finish his own breakfast, suspecting that he would rather not be caught with a mouthful of food during whatever is coming after the girls leave the breakfast room.

  Once Ryalah and Amaira have departed, Kiedron clears his throat. “You all realize that Lerial will have to be the one to head the force we send to Luba.”

  “What about Lephi?” asks Emerya politely.

  “Lerial is better suited to this.” Kiedron glances at Xeranya, then continues. “Because of what happened in Verdheln … and Ensenla, Lerial has more experience in avoiding great losses if he must deal with overwhelming forces. There is also the considerable problem of timing. Lerial can reach Luba almost in the time it would take Lephi to get to Cigoerne, and that doesn’t include the time for the fastest dispatch rider to get to Sudstrym. I doubt we can afford almost an additional two eightdays.”

  Lerial can sense that, while his father is telling the truth, if exaggerating the time for dispatch riders, it is likely that there are other things he is not saying at all, but what those might be, Lerial has no idea.

  “Should you go?” asks Emerya.

  Lerial knows that those are not questions Emerya would normally ask. Why is she doing it? After just an instant’s thought, he realizes just why. Father asked her to.

  “If I go … then there is too much temptation for Khesyn to attack with an even larger force at Luba, and there is too great a risk that even I could not save Atroyan. I suspect that is exactly what Khesyn hopes for. With Lephi at Sudstrym, Cigoerne is much less vulnerable.”

  “That is if you remain in Cigoerne … or near it,” concludes Emerya.

  “I still don’t like it,” says Xeranya. “How will Lephi get any experience in dealing with Atroyan?”

  “He’ll be getting more experience in dealing with Khesyn’s forces, and they’re going to be the far greater danger in the future.” Kiedron looks to Lerial. “Because of the timing, you’ll need to take Eighth and Eleventh Company. You can also take Kusyl’s Twenty-third Company. You’ve worked with him before. That will give you three companies. Commander Jhalet can pull together enough lancers to protect the palace, until another new company can be formed and trained.”

  “Are we spread that thin?” Lerial has his doubts.

  “We’ve been forced to place more than fifteen companies along the Swarth to deal with Heldyan raiders,” admits Kiedron. “There are another ten companies across the northern border west of Ensenla, and that doesn’t count the fifteen companies of Verdyn Lancers keeping Casseon in check, nor the various outposts throughout the duchy. We can likely pull some of the northern companies now, but that will take time.”

  Almost fifty companies … and they’re not enough? When we had less than twenty six years ago? And you feel you can only spare three companies to aid Atroyan? Three companies—not enough to weaken Cigoerne if you lose—and enough to strike fear into both Khesyn and Atroyan if you win. That assumes that there will be any fighting at all, and it’s possible that there will not be … but then again.

  “Khesyn has been raising armsmen for ten years now, and that doesn’t count what he pays the raiders to attack us.”

  Lerial nods. He had no idea matters are that dire.

  Little more is said other than pleasantries, few as they are, for the remainder of breakfast, and, as he stands and leaves, Lerial ponders over the clearly scripted exchange between Emerya and his father. Why had his father felt it necessary? Did his mother really want Lephi … or even his father … to go to Luba?

  Lerial suspects she had … and that bothers him. Still, his father has brought up the issue before most of the family, and Lerial has no doubts that he is being sent because he is the most expendable, and because sending an heir, even the most junior, allows his father not to commit more Mirror Lancers. His father also expects him to use his order-chaos skills, if discreetly.

  After deciding to wait in the north courtyard until Commander Jhalet arrives, Lerial makes his way into the early-morning sunshine there.

  “Lerial!” Ryalah runs toward him, then stops and walks the last yards much more sedately, allowing Amaira to join her. “Why did Mother get so angry? I just asked.”

  “I still think it’s awful that no one wants to consort you,” adds Amaira shyly. “Why can’t you consort Rojana?”

  “What gave you that idea?” asks Lerial, half amused and half concerned … and wondering where Amaira came up with that idea.

  “When she and her father and mother visited the palace last year. We talked, both of us. She talked a lot about you.”

  They visited last year … and no one told me? “They were here?”

  “Just for a day,” replies Amaira. “I thought you knew.”

  “Perhaps Father mentioned it, and it just skipped my mind.”

  “Rojana’s very nice,” says Ryalah.

  “She’s very intelligent and very attractive,” Lerial admits. “But it wouldn’t be a good thing for her to consort me.”

  “So you’ll have to consort whoever Father says?”

  “Most likely.”

  “That’s awful.”

  “It’s necessary. So will you, when you’re older.”

  Ryalah grimaces. “What if I don’t like him?”

  “You shouldn’t worry about that now. It’ll be years before you’re old enough.”

  “What about Amaira?”

  “That’s up to Aunt Emerya.”

  “You mean she doesn’t have to, and I do? That’s not fair.” Ryalah looks to her cousin.

  “Sometimes, life isn’t fair…” With the thought of fairness, Lerial thinks about Emerya … and Maeroja, or Korlyn, or Alaynara, or even the lancer who died on Lerial’s first riding expedition with Altyrn.

  “It should be,” declares Ryalah.

  “People are the ones who can make life fair,” says Amaira.

  Your mother said that, didn’t she? Lerial is certain of that, especially now that Amaira has taken to accompanying her mother to the Hall of Healing, but he only says, “That’s true, and sometimes it’s very hard to be fair to everyone at the same time.” He can order-sense riders coming into the palace courtyard and smiles at the two. “I have to go meet with Father and Commander Jhalet. I’ll see you later.”

  “You won’t go until you do?” asks Ryalah.

  “No … I won’t.”

  Lerial walks briskly to his father’s study, nods to the guard, and enters.

  Kiedron looks up from behind his desk. “Is the commander here?”

  “There are lancers in the courtyard. I imagine he’ll be here shortly.”

  “You didn’t greet him?”

  “I heard them enter,” Lerial lies. “I was in the center courtyard. So I came here.”

  Kiedron frowns momentarily, then nods.

  Several moments later, the guard opens the study door, and Commander Jhalet enters. Kiedron rises, and he and Lerial move to the circular conference table, where the three seat themselves.

  “Have you discovered anything new?” asks Kiedron.

  “The Heldyans have stepped up attacks along the Swarth, and there appear to be more troopers moving to Amaershyn.”

  “Then we’ll need to pull some of the companies from the northern border with Afrit and use them to reinforce Sudstrym.”

  “What if that’s what Khesyn intends?” asks Jhalet.

  “I’m certain that he wants us to be reluctant to do so. That way he can overmatch the forces already there and either create great damage or inflict great losses. That will ensure that the reinforcements will be overmatched … and he will do the same thing again.”

  Jhalet’s brow furrows. “If that is so … can we afford to send any companies north to ass
ist Atroyan?”

  “If we assist Atroyan, we won’t need as many companies in the north. Not for a time. I’d wager that other Afritan Guard companies in addition to those in Ensenla have been recalled. Leave the company in Tirminya, but call in the other seven.”

  The commander frowns.

  “Lerial will be taking Eighth and Eleventh Company from Ensenla. Also Twenty-third Company from the palace. You can detail some headquarters squads here until you can raise another company.”

  “Begging your pardon, ser … but three companies…”

  “Duke Atroyan cannot very well object to three companies being commanded by Lord Lerial … either for being a threat … or not being a proper response to his request. And with the companies from the north, that should provide you with adequate lancers to deal with the Heldyans.” After a deliberate pause, Kiedron adds, “Should it not?”

  “Yes, ser.… But do you trust Duke Atroyan?”

  “Only to act in his obvious self-interest. It is not in his interest to destroy three Mirror Lancer companies, especially when it is likely to cost him at least twice as many companies of his own. Nor is it in his interest to undertake actions that could result in Lord Lerial’s death at his hands or those of his Guards.”

  “That much is true.”

  “Good! Then we are agreed. You will have orders for Undercaptain Kusyl shortly and three supply wagons ready to accompany Twenty-third Company at dawn tomorrow. And you’ll have two squads here at the palace by then.” Kiedron pauses. “You probably ought to send a squad to hold Ensenla Post as well in the absence of Eighth and Eleventh Company.”

  “Yes, ser.”

  Kiedron rises from the table and bestows a warm smile on the commander. “Excellent! I’ll walk with you to the courtyard.” As he moves toward the door, he looks back and gives Lerial a glance that indicates he should remain in the study.

  While he waits for his father to return, Lerial considers the possibilities. Even with further thought, he doesn’t like any of them.

  “What do you think?” are the first words from Kiedron’s mouth when he returns to the study.

  “There’s one possibility you overlooked,” ventures Lerial.

  “Only one?”

  Lerial ignores the jocular question and says, “Atroyan could place me and my companies in a position where Khesyn’s forces could accomplish what he dares not.”

  “I’m sure that’s exactly what he’ll attempt, hoping that you’ll die a glorious death while wiping out most of Khesyn’s forces and thereby saving him. And that’s what you must avoid.”

  “You’re asking—”

  “That’s something you can do. Lephi can’t. He doesn’t think the way you do.” He pauses, then goes on. “There are risks in everything, but there are also great opportunities. If you succeed in Afrit and Lephi succeeds in beating back the Heldyans along the Swarth, then that tells all of Hamor that you are both capable and to be feared and respected. It also makes it clear to Khesyn that attacking either Afrit or Cigoerne is not in his interest.”

  “And you expect him to stop being what he is?”

  Kiedron shakes his head. “I cannot guess what he will do, but if he is wise, he will turn his attentions to the east, or to the south … east of the river. He could gain great territory and some riches and goods with far less cost. And I’d rather have a ruler who ostensibly believes in the God of the Balance than deal with the Tourlegyns and their Chaos Demon. He shrugs. “We don’t have the men or the wealth to do that, and we’d have to cross his territory or Casseon’s even to try. It will be a strain to send you off with fifty golds for what you may have to purchase.”

  “If we succeed…”

  “When you succeed.” Kiedron smiles. “Go on.”

  “When we succeed, that will show how weak Atroyan is … and how much he needs us.”

  Kiedron nods.

  “You’ve had that in mind all along, haven’t you?”

  Kiedron smiles wryly. “I have, but it was your grandmere who pointed out that possibility. She saw it first.”

  Grandmere. Of course.

  Kiedron looks at Lerial. “There is one thing I want to be very clear about. You can lose almost all your force—if you have to—but I do not want you to make a needless sacrifice of yourself. It is not necessary, and it is anything but wise. We are so outnumbered that no one will think less of you if you have to withdraw, provided you inflict substantial casualties upon any who attack you and your forces.”

  Lerial cannot help but wonder if Maeroja and his father have talked about him, but, given the edginess that her name brings up, he does not ask, because it does not matter in this case. Both Maeroja and his father share the same view, and that suggests that they’re likely right. Except … all those lancers trust you, and that means you have to bring most of them back or, before long, you won’t be followed with any great loyalty. And Lerial suspects his father knows that as well.

  “I trust you understand, Lerial.”

  “Yes, ser.” I understand exactly what you want.

  VI

  After Lerial mounts up in the dim light before dawn on sevenday, he checks the dispatch pouch once more to make certain that he has the “request” from Atroyan inside it as well as his father’s response authorizing one Overcaptain Lerial, his son, to act in reply to Atroyan’s communiqué … and, of course, the golds hidden in slots in his belt. Then he rides to the north entrance to the palace where Emerya and the girls stand, the only ones to see him off.

  Ryalah looks up at her brother. “Be careful.”

  “I’ll be as careful as I can. You, too.” Lerial offers a smile, then looks to Emerya.

  “The more charming anyone is, the less you should trust them.”

  “Honesty doesn’t require charm?” he quips back.

  “Desperate rulers in debt can’t afford honesty.” Emerya reaches up and hands Lerial a small object heavily wrapped in cloth. “You’ll know what to do with this when the time comes.”

  He takes the object, seemingly oval beneath the cloth padding and not even quite the size of his hand, then slips it into the inside pocket of his jacket. He glances toward Amaira and then back to Emerya, raising his eyebrows, knowing that the metal oval must hold a miniature portrait of her daughter.

  His aunt nods.

  “I’ll make certain. Is there anything else?”

  “Nothing else that I haven’t already told you.”

  Lerial looks to Amaira. “Take care.”

  “I always do. Mother insists on it.”

  Lerial offers a last smile, then turns the gelding back toward Twenty-third Company, almost formed up, with the three supply wagons in the rear.

  “Twenty-third Company mounted and ready, ser,” declares Kusyl as Lerial reins up beside him.

  “Then let’s head out.”

  “Yes, ser.” Kusyl calls out, “Company! Forward!”

  Once the company has left the palace gates and is riding smoothly on the boulevard that leads toward the Hall of Healing, the two officers riding side by side behind two outriders ten yards ahead of them and the main body, Lerial turns to Kusyl. “Tell me more about the company, if you would.”

  “Better than any new companies, and some old ones, a lot better than what we had to do in Verdheln. Four solid squad leaders. Maylat—he’s Third Squad—might be a touch too solid, if you know what I mean.”

  “He’ll carry out any order just the way you order it?”

  “If he has doubts … yes, ser.”

  “What else?” prompts Lerial.

  “We’ve got maybe two or three rankers with some fighting experience in each squad. That’s helped.”

  “But they’re usually not the brightest ones?”

  “Half of each, I’d say.”

  “How long have you been working them?”

  “A couple of eightdays less than a season.”

  “How are they doing?”

  “Half as well as your company, if that.” />
  “You’ve never seen Eighth Company.”

  “Don’t have to. You were in Verdheld. I saw what you did there with troopers as green as saplings.”

  “I was almost as green.”

  “Begging your pardon, ser … you weren’t. Young … but never green. You spent years learning from the majer.”

  Not years … a year at most, even if it felt like years.

  “Also heard watertalk about what you did at Ensenla four years back.”

  “You can’t believe all you hear,” replies Lerial with a genial laugh.

  “No, ser. That’s not so with you. Have to figure you did a lot more than anyone knows. It was that way in Verdheln, and you’re likely better at keeping things quiet.”

  “It’s usually better that way.”

  “Most times. Not always.”

  Lerial nods. “I’d agree to that.”

  They ride almost another third of a glass before Kusyl speaks again. “Tell me, ser. Is this going to be as bad as Verdheln?”

  “How can you say something like that?” Lerial laughs. “Didn’t we win a great victory there?”

  Kusyl grins. “Except we lost every battle except the last two … and pretty near half our lancers. That’s the kind of victory every old lancer dreads.”

  “I have no idea, except that it won’t be good. We’re supposed to help Atroyan and keep Khesyn from even thinking about taking Luba when he’s been eying it and Afrit for years.”

  “Worse than Verdheln, then.” The not-quite-wizened undercaptain gives a theatrical groan. After a moment, he asks, “Why Luba … and not Swartheld?”

  “The ironworks, I’d guess. Also, taking Luba would split Afrit in two, if not so much in terms of people, and there’s a paved highway from Luba to Swartheld that Khesyn could use. If Khesyn can take and hold Luba, that would make things more difficult for us, too, because he’d control both sides of the river there, and we’d lose access to the traders who come upriver from Swartheld, especially the outland traders.”

  “You’re not making this old lancer feel any younger, ser.”

  “You’re not that old, Kusyl.”

  “Maybe not, ser, but we’d all like to get older.”