Cyador’s Heirs

by Jr. L. E. Modesitt

Not without accomplishing far more than Lephi has. “You’re saying that we’re only recognized because of our parentage.”

  “At present … isn’t that true?” Emerya responds. “Isn’t that always true of the children of those with power until they come close to or exceed the accomplishments of their parents?”

  “Sometimes,” adds Xeranya quietly, “that’s true even when a child accomplishes more than the parent.”

  Lerial understands what she means all too well. His grandfather, from what he has learned in recent years, apparently took actions that led to the destruction of Cyador while his father has built a duchy from almost nothing.

  “What people believe is often not true,” Emerya agrees, “and sometimes it is most unfair.”

  “People believe what they wish to believe.” Xeranya’s words are cool, almost dismissive, yet Lerial senses a weariness behind them. Then she smiles. “We do have a warm dinner, a very gentle burhka, one that even Kiedron would like.”

  “Will we have snow, do you think?” asks Lerial.

  “What do you think?” counters Emerya.

  Lerial frowns. Emerya is asking as if he were a weather magus. “I don’t know. I’ve heard that some ordermages and healers can sense what the weather will be. That’s why I asked.”

  Xeranya shakes her head. “Not me. Sometimes your aunt can.”

  “How do you do that?”

  “If a storm is strong enough or near enough, I can feel the patterns of order and chaos.” Emerya shrugs. “It’s still a bit of a guess, because I’ve never been able to figure out all the patterns. I do know that when the conflicts between order and chaos are, I’d guess you’d call it ‘level,’ and the clouds are flatish … we usually get a gentle rain … and when there are towering white and black clouds, especially white at the top and dark at the bottom and there’s a chaotic swirl that’s a dull whitish red, that’s often going to be a strong thunderstorm. Now … the clouds are too far away.”

  “There are high gray clouds,” ventures Lerial.

  “High can also be far away.”

  That makes sense to Lerial, and he sits back slightly and takes a swallow of the lager he has not even sipped.

  Lerial is more than happy to have a quiet dinner with his mother and aunt and the girls … and then to read in the salon before a fire … because a cold rain has begun to fall, and his own chamber will be chill and damp—fine for sleeping, but not for reading—and he only has a single lamp.

  That night, after he closes the book on the history of eastern Candar, with the puzzling entry on Duke Heldry, who supposedly stood and challenged a massive thunderstorm, and was thereafter called “Heldry the Mad,” he returns to his chamber and opens the shutters. Standing at the window, he tries to sense the clouds above. They do not feel all that “flat” to him, not in the order-sense, but then, the icy rain seems to come and go in gusts and spurts. After that, he tries to see just how far he can extend his reach in feeling what the order currents above are doing. After less than a fifth of a glass, he is exhausted.

  Finally, he closes the shutter and climbs under the blankets he so seldom needs.

  On eightday, Lerial rises late, for him, at seventh glass. In time, he makes his way down to the breakfast room, which his mother and Emerya are already leaving. Doubting that Lephi will be up any time soon, he takes his time with the bread, cheeses, and the late melon that have been left for him. After eating, he finds Ryalah and Amaira playing with their dolls next to the low fire in the salon. Emerya is using a lap-desk to write something and looks so intent that Lerial does not interrupt her, but amuses himself by listening to the two girls at their play.

  How much time has passed he has no immediate idea when Lephi enters the salon carrying a pair of wands.

  “There you are. I thought we were going to spar. That is, if you’re up to it. It is a bit chill compared to in here.”

  Lerial stands and stretches. “I suppose we could do that. The south courtyard or outside by the stable … where the Lancers practice?”

  “The south courtyard might be better. It’s … less obvious.”

  “You’re right about that.” Lerial does not smile, but follows his older brother from the salon along the main front corridor south to the side hall leading to the courtyard. He thinks he can sense someone behind him, but when he glances back, he can see no one.

  The courtyard doesn’t feel that cold to Lerial, certainly no colder than does the practice area at Lancer headquarters at seventh glass in the morning.

  “Take your pick.” Lephi extends both wands.

  Lerial hefts one, then the other, just to make sure that neither is terribly out of balance. Neither is, and he takes the one that is slightly heavier, then walks to the circle and waits for Lephi to join him. He doesn’t have to worry about the sun because there is still a high overcast.

  “You ready?” Lephi steps into the circle and raises his wand.

  “When you are.”

  “Then start.”

  Lerial feints an attack, but just enough of one to encourage Lephi to try a counter. Lephi does, and Lerial slips it, leaving Lephi slightly out of position. Rather than take that advantage, Lerial circles toward Lephi’s uncovered side, forcing his brother to retreat and turn. Then Lerial engages Lephi’s wand, sliding it up before dropping and starting an underthrust, but waiting just long enough that Lephi can recover.

  Lephi charges forward, almost spinning his wand in a circle, but Lerial has already anticipated the attack and slipped past it, striking Lephi’s wand on the back edge and forcing his brother into another quick recovery.

  The pattern continues for a good half glass, until Lephi steps back. He is breathing heavily. “It was a long night last night. You should have come. There were some young ladies there who would have been very pleased to appreciate you.”

  Stepping back himself, Lerial replies, “There will be other times, I’m sure. It’s been a long week for me as well.”

  Lephi lowers his wand. “You’ve got a good defense, but you never attack. That’s not the way to kill raiders or win battles.”

  “I’m sure, with more practice, I’ll learn better attacks.” As he stands there, Lerial realizes something else. He has barely raised a sweat. Part of that may be due to the colder weather … but not all of it.

  “You don’t even have any attacks.” Lephi’s tone is not quite scornful.

  “Then I must have a great deal to learn.”

  “Yes, you do.”

  Lerial does not reply for a moment because, again, he has the feeling someone is watching, but he sees no one.

  “Here. You can take the wands. I got them out.” Lephi extends his wooden wand.

  “That’s only fair,” Lerial agrees.

  Abruptly, Lephi turns. “I’ll see you later.”

  As his brother hurries off, Lerial senses that Lephi likely drank more watered lager that morning than he had realized. With a faint smile, he heads for the western door to the south courtyard, since that’s the closest one.

  He is not totally surprised when Emerya steps out of the gloom of the archway. “You were watching, weren’t you?”

  “The last part. You’ve gotten a great deal better … and much older.”

  Lerial suspects he knows what she means, but only says, “I’ve tried to learn as much as I can from the Lancers.”

  “You’ve learned more than that. I wonder how Lephi will react if he ever discovers just how good you’ve become.”

  “I’ve had more time to practice. He’s been on patrols.”

  “He’s three years older, and he certainly had the time to practice before he was old enough to go on patrols.” Emerya smiles. “But you wanted me to say something like that.”

  Lerial finds himself flushing. “I suppose I did.”

  “You’re bright enough to know that showing up your older brother is unwise, but still young enough to want praise.”

  “Doesn’t everyone want praise … or to be apprecia
ted?”

  “We all want it. I don’t think it’s a desire we ever outgrow … but it’s dangerous to need praise when you have power, especially if you’re a ruler or close to a ruler, because you can be manipulated by those who provide the praise. You can feel that they’re the only ones who truly appreciate you. Your father understands that. He doesn’t like it, but he understands.”

  Lerial can see what Emerya is not saying. She is worried that both Lerial and Lephi will always be governed by the need for praise … and possibly that Lephi is even more desirous of such praise. Or is that what you want to believe?

  “By the way, that comment of yours last night was masterful. Unfortunately, Lephi is so preoccupied with himself that he missed it.”

  “The one about recognition? It was perfectly true.” Except for the last few words.

  “You know that it’s possible that Lephi just might think over your sparring and realize that you were playing with him?”

  “It’s possible,” Lerial concedes, “but then he’d have to admit that I’m better. As long as no one else knows it, and I don’t say anything … One way or another, he probably won’t want to spar with me again. Even if he thinks he’s better, and he might cling to that feeling, he knows that I’ve gotten better, and that the next time might turn out worse.”

  Emerya nods. “You’re sounding like Grandmere.”

  “Is that bad?”

  “Not with me.”

  But it might be with others. “Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “Do you want to ride down to the healing hall with me? I just want to make sure there’s no one who needs a strong healer.”

  “I can do that. I’d like to.”

  “Good.” Emerya smiles.

  Before that long, they are riding northwest on the boulevard.

  After a time, Lerial asks, “How do you do a concealment?”

  “Why are you asking me?”

  “Because I sensed someone was following and watching me … and I didn’t see anyone. But you were there all along, weren’t you?”

  “I might have been.” Emerya glances back.

  “The Lancers always give us space.”

  “It’s a matter of controlling the flow of order and chaos around you.” Her voice is so low that Lerial can barely hear it. “Light is a mixture of order and chaos. If you can keep the light from touching you, then no one can see you. If you don’t keep the flows smooth, though, people will know something is wrong because where you stand will look like everything is wavering … or worse. I can’t tell you how … not exactly. I just worked at it until I could. Oh … there’s one other thing. When you’re in a concealment, you can’t see. You can only order-sense. If you’re not good at it, it’s better if you stand in the shadows.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Is being good with a sabre just holding a blade and waving it around?”

  Lerial laughs, if softly, then says, “Yet another thing for me to work on.”

  Emerya nods. “That’s life. Working on one thing after another.”

  Lerial senses that there is much left unsaid, but he does not press. Not now. For a moment, he wonders why she has told him so easily. Only for a moment. Because she knows it will not be long before you will be riding patrols … and she thinks you need more skills than you have with the blade.

  That thought chills him … more than the icy wind blowing out of the south.

  XXXI

  Lerial once more rises with the dawn on oneday and rides to the Lancer headquarters, and then after practicing with the officers, to the Hall of Healing. Over the next eightday, he seldom sees Lephi, except every so often at dinner, when the two brothers are polite and cheerful, but not especially close. Lerial continues to try to sense the currents in the air and the sky, but without clouds or storms, it is hard for him to determine what the flows of order and chaos he does sense might mean, although he has the feeling that he can sense flows farther away than he could at first. He also tries to work out how to manipulate the flow of order and chaos around himself … but cannot seem to manage it, because when he affects one part of the order or chaos, everything else changes. At times, he wants to yell in frustration, but even that is not possible within the Palace, not without raising more questions he certainly does not wish to answer.

  On threeday, Lerial returns from the healing hall to find Lephi in the salon. “How was your day today?”

  “He’s had quite a bit to do,” says Xeranya.

  “I’ve had to make a number of arrangements. I’m heading out again on patrol. Father is dispatching me to Fourth Company. They’re posted at Sudstrym.”

  Fourth Company? Lerial frowns, then nods. “The one that patrols the river opposite Amaershyn? Are the Heldyans gathering forces there … or does Father want you to have more experience in watching them?”

  Lephi shrugs. “His dispatch didn’t mention either. I’d judge he just wants me to have experience in all kinds of patrols.”

  “He’ll need that,” says Xeranya, quickly adding, “So will you, Lerial, once your father starts sending you on patrols.”

  “At least, you won’t have to worry about rain,” Lerial comments.

  “Now you’re a weather magus, as well as a healer?” asks Lephi sardonically.

  “The skies are clear. It’s cold, and there’s no wind. You don’t have to be a weather magus to see that it’s not likely to rain any time soon.” Lerial isn’t about to admit that he has tried to sense the order flows in the skies above, trying to feel what the weather might be. But then, there have been no storms since he began trying.

  “Wait until it rains tomorrow, and I get soaked on the ride to Sudstrym.”

  “You won’t get soaked tomorrow. As you said, I’m no weather magus. So I won’t even guess about what will happen on fourday.”

  Lephi rises from the armchair and picks up his Lancer cap, then nods to Xeranya. “I’ll be late tonight, but I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “Take care this evening.”

  “I will.” Lephi turns to Lerial. “I’m going over to Submajer Jhalet’s. You’re welcome to come.”

  “I’ll pass, thank you,” replies Lerial.

  “You won’t always be able to pass, you know?”

  All the more reason to do it now. “I know. But I lack your sociability, and I wouldn’t wish it to reflect upon you.” Lerial smiles politely.

  Lephi shakes his head. “You’ll never get consorted to the right kind of girl if you don’t practice.”

  “There are a few other kinds of practice that are more important at the moment … as you pointed out the other morning.”

  “So I did. Those are more important, particularly if you can only handle a few kinds of practicing at a time.” Lephi ignores the pointed glance from their mother.

  “If I don’t see you in the morning”—And I’ll be demon-cursed if I will—“have a good and safe journey to Sudstrym.”

  “I’m sure I will, rain or no rain.” With a nod to Lerial and a smile for his mother, Lephi leaves the salon.

  There is a long moment of silence, during which Lerial walks to the sideboard and pours himself a glass of amber lager, then seats himself in a straight-backed chair, rather than the armchair Lephi had vacated. He takes a swallow of the lager.

  “You haven’t been very warm toward your brother,” says Xeranya. “Especially since he is going back on patrol. He could be hurt, you know?”

  “I think Lephi can take care of himself, Mother.” He certainly thinks he can. “Besides, it’s unlikely the Heldyans will send forces across the river when they haven’t done that in years.”

  “They did once. They could again.”

  “Was Majer Altyrn in charge of the force that caught them?”

  “He was. He had to cross the Swarth to do it. He burned part of Amaershyn.”

  “I didn’t know that.”

  “It was before you were born. He also destroyed several other towns.”

&nbs
p; “Why did they cross the river?” Lerial has an idea, a vague recollection.

  “They were angry that he’d turned the firecannon on their ships. They wanted to teach your father a lesson. He hadn’t been Duke long at that time.”

  “And the majer ended up teaching them a lesson?”

  “Duke Khesyn’s father didn’t want to lose more men attacking Cigoerne at that time. Matters have likely changed.”

  “Why? Because Khesyn has learned that Father is tied up dealing with Afritan armsmen and raiders in the north?” Lerial looks up as Emerya enters the salon, readjusting her head scarf so that it is merely a scarf and not a head covering.

  “That’s right,” says Lerial’s aunt. “Khesyn would be a fool not to have realized that as Cigoerne has gotten stronger, Afrit has continued to decline. If he can destroy us, then there’s no bar to his taking over Cigoerne … and in a few years, or sooner, he can march north along the river and push back Atroyan’s forces until they only hold Swartheld.”

  “Father must know that.”

  “He’s known it for years. That’s why he’s kept expanding the Mirror Lancers.”

  Xeranya shakes her head. “I still worry about his doing it with so many outland rankers.”

  “They’re more loyal than some of those born here in Cigoerne.” Emerya pours herself a lager, then moves to the armchair and seats herself. “Being a Lancer is a far better life than they’d have had as a goatherd or a raider. Besides, they tell others, and more people want to be ruled by Kiedron than Atroyan or Duke Casseon of Merowey, not that he really rules the northern part of the lands he claims. He can’t even collect tariffs. His tariff-farmers won’t enter the woods, and Casseon won’t send armsmen to collect them.”

  “Some of the people to the west are already trading with our factors. But…” Xeranya frowns. “I still worry.”

  “Those elders of the forest towns to the west can see how Khesyn treats those who don’t bow to his beck and call. They also see that Kiedron is the only thing that stands between Khesyn and them.” Emerya takes another sip of lager. “The southern types … they don’t understand. They just like to raid, and Casseon has never done anything about it, so long as they raid us or Heldya.”