Cyador’s Heirs

by Jr. L. E. Modesitt

  “Third company! Withdraw now!” shouts Juist.

  “That means us,” says Altyrn.

  Now? Then Lerial sees that the flames are dying away, even those on the log barricade, and realizes that before long there will be no flame left and no barrier to the companies of armed riders on the other side of those dying flames … or the even more riders and footmen on the south side of the barrier. He also sees that two of the third company mounts are riderless and one archer lies motionless on the road, her neck at an odd angle.

  Lerial has to jolt himself into motion to turn the gelding and follow Altyrn. They ride for almost a kay before he and the majer reach a wide place in the road where third company has reformed, with Juist positioned at its head.

  “Ser!” announces Juist. “Third company stands ready.”

  “Casualties?” asks Altyrn.

  “Two dead, and the one boy who manned the catapult. Two wounded, neither seriously.”

  Altyrn nods. “Well executed, Undercaptain. Very well executed.”

  Lerial has to agree, wondering if he will ever be able to do that well, or do that well without using order-chaos skills.

  “We’ll put back to … Nevnarnia and hold there,” the majer adds.

  Lerial can sense that the majer has to struggle to remember the name of the hamlet that lies to the north of them on the road into Vernheln … and eventually to Verdell.

  Altyrn gestures to Lerial, then turns his mount, as does Lerial. They ride northward along the road for a time before the majer speaks. “They’ll make a good five kays today. With what we’ve already done and the various traps the locals are setting, we’ll cost them another company, or two, with luck.”

  “Will they keep burning the Verd, do you think?” asks Lerial.

  “Not now. There’s no point in it. They’ve breached the barriers, and a runaway fire could turn on them. Once they realize they’ve lost … that’s the time for worry.”

  Once they realize they’ve lost…? Lerial almost shakes his head. While the majer’s hastily trained Lancers and archers might have removed five or six companies—and maybe three white wizards, just possibly four—there are still something like thirty or thirty-five companies riding into Vernheln.

  LXIV

  Lerial did not even recall Nevnarnia from the time when he and Altyrn and the two Mirror Lancers squads had ridden through it on their way from Escadya, and his first glimpse of it at around midday, coming from the south, tells him why.

  “The main road doesn’t even pass through the hamlet,” he observes to Altyrn as they turn up a side road, certainly almost as wide as the route they have been following.

  “Don’t you imagine there is a reason for that?”

  “What? That they aren’t a trading town, or interested in that?”

  “That would be my guess.”

  “You don’t think the Meroweyans will just march by, then?” Lerial tries to inject a bit of levity into his voice.

  “Ignore the first hamlet or town inside the Verd after losing hundreds of men?”

  Lerial frowns, realizing that might well be what his father might do … but not if all the inhabitants had fought against him. But then, he wouldn’t have invaded if all the people were opposed to his being their ruler.

  “You don’t think so?” asks Altyrn.

  “No. I agree. I was just thinking that it seems a bad idea to invade another land if it hasn’t attacked you and the people don’t want you.”

  “It usually is,” replies the majer. “But Casseon thinks the Verd is his land, and the people don’t. Most rulers don’t take to that. Would you?”

  “I suppose not … but I think I’d try not to get into that position.”

  “What if a people believed in everything you hate, that they all wanted to kill every black ordermage who was anything more than a healer on sight, that they put anyone who didn’t pay the slightest debt in chains for life and made them work in quarries or on building roads for the rest of their life, and that they used chaos-fire to destroy anyone who might be a magus if he didn’t serve the ruler with absolute loyalty?”

  “I don’t think there could be a land like that, could there?”

  “You never know,” replies Altyrn dryly. “In your father’s position, what would you do?”

  “Avoid dealing with that land. I can’t see any good coming of fighting it—unless they attacked first.”

  “And if they did?”

  Lerial sighs. “I suppose I’d have to be ruthless to protect my own people.”

  “And how would that make you different from the ruler of that land?”

  Lerial doesn’t want to answer that question. Instead, he glances skyward, into a sky that has become almost completely cloudless, with a light and warm breeze coming out of the north.

  Altyrn laughs. “Be careful of simple answers, Lerial. Nothing … nothing for a ruler or those who serve him is simple.”

  At that point, Lerial sees ahead, on both sides of the road, where the Verdyn Lancers are setting up another camp.

  “We’re taking a position on the south side of the town,” Altyrn says. “That way, we can take the lanes north and use a back road to return to the main road, if necessary. Along the main roads are where we have to fight. They intend to follow this main road all the way to Verdell.”

  “You know that?”

  “If you don’t take the main city of a land, you haven’t won. Would anyone think that they had conquered your father’s lands without taking Cigoerne proper?”

  “But…” Lerial pauses and then goes on, “just because someone takes the capital city or palace doesn’t mean they’ve been successful. Not if that’s all they hold.”

  “You’re right about that.” Altyrn smiles. “I need to think more about tomorrow. If you’ll pledge not to use order-skills in fighting, I’ll return you to command. Can you do that?”

  Lerial has to think about that. Not to use … But Altyrn has so few experienced officers, and it’s incredible that Lerial has more experience than most. Finally, he nods. “Yes, ser.”

  “I’m glad you actually took a moment or two to think about it,” say Altyrn dryly. “Once you’ve seen to your company, take a little time and ride through Nevnarnia. It always helps to know where you may be fighting. Look for places and positions that will give you an advantage. We may not get that chance, but it’s better to be overprepared than not prepared because you didn’t think you’d have that opportunity.” Altyrn grins. “Besides, it’s good practice, and you need as much of that as you can get.”

  Lerial cannot dispute the majer’s words, and it only takes Lerial a little while, less than a tenth of a glass, to find second company, possibly because his men are setting up close to the east side of the road that leads to Nevnarnia. He reins up short of Korlyn.

  “You back, ser?” asks the first squad leader.

  “I’m back,” confirms Lerial. “But I won’t be able to protect anyone from firebolts for a while. We’ll have to avoid them by not being where they hit.”

  “Yes, ser.” Korlyn’s smile still seems to reflect relief, as if he definitely prefers Lerial to be in command.

  After speaking with Korlyn, Lerial also meets with each squad leader. He cannot help but notice that Alaynara watches him and Moraris closely.

  When he has finished with the squad leaders, he rides north to inspect and study the hamlet. The first dwellings in the Nevnarnia proper are less than four hundred yards from the Lancer encampment, and as Lerial rides closer he finds that the road splits into three forks. He takes the westernmost one that curves into a lane parallel to two others. He can see that hamlet is certainly modest, with perhaps fifty to sixty dwellings spaced carefully along the three narrow lanes. Lines of tall trees run between the houses set back to back on the lanes. As in the other towns he has observed, all the dwellings have plank siding and wooden shake roofs, with sturdy stone chimneys. Most of the dwellings are shuttered. That scarcely surprises Lerial. Outside
of the dwellings themselves, he sees no places that would shelter or offer any real cover to mounted Lancers—except in the woods to the west of the hamlet. Nor does he discover any ditches or depressions that would hamper a mounted charge or a foot advance.

  As Lerial nears the far end of the lane, or rather, the point where it curves eastward, he sees another small Kaordist temple. He reins up and studies the twin-spired structure with the one spire curved and rounded and somehow off-center and the other spire clean and straight.

  Can one really call chaos feminine and order male? From what Lerial has seen of life, little as it may be compared to someone like the majer, men are the ones who are more chaotic. But then, in most places, men make the rules, and it’s hard to argue with that. Just like it’s hard to argue with his father, the majer … or even Lephi.

  He continues onward, making his way down the middle lane, in the center of which are some shops and a small building that looks as though it is similar to a chandlery. There are a few people on the lanes, less than a handful.

  Near the northern end of the last lane on the east, or rather where it joins the curved extensions of the other lanes, and the combined road curves due east, most likely heading back to the main road to Escadya and, beyond there, to Verdell, just short of the last dwelling on the east side of the lane, he sees a man with a ladder. The man sets the ladder down and turns away from Lerial to talk to the woman who is following him. Neither is looking in Lerial’s direction.

  Lerial definitely wants to know what they’re talking about, especially since the few others he has seen have hurried on without looking at him..

  Can you raise a very small concealment? He decides to try, perhaps almost a blurring rather than a full concealment. He does not feel light-headed or dizzy and lets the gelding carry him slowly toward the couple, easing to a stop when he can hear their voices.

  “If you’re staying to fight the Meroweyans, so am I,” declares the muscular, graying woman.

  “You don’t know one end of a sword from the other,” declares the stout and half-bald older man in brown.

  “Neither do you. Besides, you don’t have a sword.”

  “I’ve got my bow and a score of good shafts.”

  “I have mine, and just as many shafts. And I’m a better archer. You know that in your heart, Kaleb.”

  “You’re a stubborn woman, Yasnela.”

  “Wasn’t that what led you to consort me? Least, that’s what you always said.” The woman puts her hand on her consort’s arm. “Together, we’ve got twice as many arrows.”

  “Still say you’re a stubborn woman.”

  “We’re going to lose everything, no matter what. You know that. We don’t do what we can, each of us, everyone’s going to lose everything. No sense in asking why it falls to us. It does, and that’s that. Now … we’ll go back to the house and plan this out sensible like.”

  Lerial does not move as the two turn and walk toward the small brick dwelling, the last one on the lane, away from him. He drops the concealment and smiles because he only feels slightly tired … and that might just be because he has had a long day. At least, that’s what you hope.

  He turns the gelding and starts his return south, riding back toward what is likely to be a very temporary camp, his smile vanishing as he thinks over the words of the couple, years older than even his own parents. He smiles wryly as he thinks that, in a way, in their own way, his parents are doing the same thing as the older couple he has overheard.

  LXV

  Later on twoday, the Lancers from second company join all the other Lancers and archers in creating a set of defenses for Nevnarnia, using shovels and mattocks from two carts that Lerial had not noticed earlier, and he wonders if they had come while he was inspecting the hamlet. Lerial glances into the skies to the south, where trails of smoke still wind into the skies, wondering why the Meroweyans don’t press, and watching as the scouts ride up and report to Altyrn, then ride back out.

  After a time, well after the fourth glass of the afternoon, he makes his way to where Altyrn has set up his table under the trees to the east side of the road.

  “Ser?”

  “Yes, Lerial?”

  “Why aren’t they pushing forward?”

  “Because they can’t.” The majer smiles at Lerial’s puzzled expression, then goes on. “The larger a force is, the more difficult it is for it to move swiftly. The roads here in the Verd are narrow, at least for thousands of riders and armsmen on foot. If they try to move quickly, they’ll have to form a narrow column, most likely more than two kays long. That would allow us to attack anywhere, and they would lose the advantage of having a much larger force. They’re proceeding deliberately, clearing a wider area on each side of the main road. They’re using their wizards to do that, and that slows them more, because they don’t want them worn out.”

  Lerial can see that, but that raises another question. “So why are we—”

  “Building a barrier instead of attacking them from the woods? That’s because they’re still too close to the edge of the Verd.”

  Abruptly … Lerial understands. “This is only to give them the impression that we will stand and fight.”

  “Not exactly. This is likely to be one of the last times we can inflict large numbers of casualties at one time … and we need to do it in a way that will anger their commanders to the point that they will vow to destroy us to the last Lancer and officer.”

  That takes Lerial aback.

  “We can’t afford to fight Merowey more than once in a generation.” Altyrn’s smile is both sad and weary. “That’s also why you are not—under any circumstances—to attempt to use order until the healer says you can. We will need that skill far more in the eightdays to come than we will now. Your task as captain is to inflict what casualties you can while losing as few rankers as possible. If you and the others can do that, in the end we will win. Now … here’s what you’ll be doing tomorrow…” The majer goes on to explain. When he is finished, he says, “I’ll give you your final orders tomorrow morning, once we know more about what the Meroweyans plan.”

  “Yes, ser.”

  “Eat what you can, and get some sleep. See that your rankers do, too.”

  By the time the sun has set and darkness has crept across Nevnarnia, the defenses that Altyrn has designed are in place … and all the Lancers are tired, but not tired enough that all the companies except second and fifth company mount up and depart, leaving Lerial and Shaskyn and their companies to hold the road and bar the Meroweyans from the hamlet.

  A barricade two yards high and woven out of branches and greenish thorns, as well as anchored to sturdy posts at regular intervals, runs across the road and into the trees, extending a good fifty yards beyond the road on each side until it is lost in the thick underbrush, much of it gray-leafed and thinner than would have been the case later in the year. The branches and thorns are of the greenest vegetation available so that the chaos-fire will not spread easily or quickly.

  Behind the barricade is an open ditch some three yards wide running from the trees on the east to those on the west. It is only a yard deep, but is filled with sharpened stakes protruding a third of a yard from the base of the trench. Little more than a yard behind the first trench is a second, and deeper trench, also staked, but covered with branches and leaves and then with road clay where the road would have been and grass from the shoulders to the trees. The earth dug from the trenches is piled and packed behind the barricade, more than a yard high. South of the barricade, exactly one hundred yards out, the upper limbs have been stripped from the road side of two tall trees, one east of the road, and one west.

  Even though the evening meal is more cold ghano-acorn hash, Lerial is glad for it. He also has no trouble falling asleep.

  He is more than surprised not to be awakened early on threeday, although he does wake before sunrise. He washes up from a bucket of water … and wishes he could shave. He and second company eat quickly and are making re
ady when Altyrn strolls from somewhere.

  “There’s not that much hurry. They’re still a kay and a half away, and they’re still breaking camp. They’ve sent scouts this way, and that’s suggesting that they’ll march on Nevnarnia. If they do, you’re to follow the battle plan we went over last night. Second and fifth company will form up about fifty yards back of the barricade. Once the Meroweyans are in range, you’re to start shooting the fire arrows into them…”

  Lerial understands the reason for fire arrows. They don’t require the iron heads of war arrows, but the flame can cause damage and often can spook mounts.

  “… there’s still always the possibility that the Meroweyans will decide not to attack, but continue on the main road, looking for a back lane to take you from the rear. If that happens, I’ll send a messenger with a wayguide who will show you the other lane that will allow you to rejoin the other companies. There will be more than enough time if they try that. We have a few more surprises if they head that way. We’ll have other surprises if they don’t.” With that, Altyrn turns and heads in the direction of fifth company.

  Lerial can’t help but wonder if his father knows that the majer would be forced to fight a war in the Verd … or if he even thought it would come to an all-out fight. Was that why he picked the majer? But then, if he’d known or suspected that training Verdyn Lancers would cause a fight, why would he have said what he did to Lerial, and Lerial had known his father had not been either lying or withholding information. Besides, Casseon had to have made plans before Lerial’s father had even decided to send Altyrn and the two squads of Mirror Lancers. Or was the majer supposed to have withdrawn once he knew the Meroweyans were sending so large a force?

  The more Lerial experiences in dealing with the majer and the Meroweyans, the more questions he has. He has only pondered matters for a few moments before Altyrn returns.

  “Any last questions?”

  “No, ser.” Lerial thinks he probably should, but he can’t think of any.

  “You know where to meet us?”