“I think there should be very little said about what I did.”
“That is your choice. That might be the wisest course, but you will have to see what your father says.”
And how it affects Lephi. That could be another problem, one that Lerial has not considered.
“You’ll have some time to think about that on your return to Cigoerne. You’ll be leaving on twoday.”
“I will?” Lerial has not even thought about what he would do, or be required to do, after dealing with the Meroweyans.
“There’s nothing else you can do here now. You’ve certainly demonstrated your father’s and your commitment to Verdheln. Your father needs to hear what happened, especially from you. I’ll send a sealed and written report with you. Two copies. One for your father, and one to Majer Phortyn. I trust you also won’t mind carrying a letter to Maeroja … and the girls, of course.”
“Not at all.” Lerial understands that, especially since he will get to see Ryalah and Amaira, while Altyrn is still mired in Verdheln. Absently, he also wonders how Rojana is doing. Without the lodestone she had given him … He returns his attention to Altyrn.
“You’ll lead half a squad of mostly Verdyn Lancers. You’ll need some Mirror Lancers as well. We’ll go over who they should be tomorrow.”
“What about you?”
“I’m not done. We need to train more Verdyn Lancers, and give the ones who’ve survived more training. What do you think about Bhurl as acting undercaptain for second company?”
“He’d do better than Moraris or Fhentaar. You might think about putting Moraris in charge of procurement or supplies. I think he’s a born trader.”
“That might not be a bad idea … if he even wants to stay.”
“How long do you intend…?”
“Another season should see them well enough established that they can provide companies to help Cigoerne … if necessary. What’s important is that they have a core of Lancers who’ve been through skirmishes and battles.”
Lerial stifles a yawn. He is tired.
“You need some sleep, I can see. There’s one other thing.”
“Ser?”
“Did you ever think that, if something happened to me, you would be in command of the Verdyn Lancers?”
“No. Actually, I didn’t.” That is certainly true enough.
“I’m not chastising you. What you did was the right thing to do. I would be happier if you had made that decision after considering all the factors. Those are things you will need to weigh in the future.”
That, Lerial also understands.
“Go get some sleep.”
Lerial doesn’t protest. He just stands. “Good night, ser.”
After he leaves Altyrn’s study, thinking about returning to Cigoerne and carrying a report from Altyrn to Majer Phortyn, a thought strikes him. Outside of the letter from Emerya and the one dispatch from Phortyn to Altyrn, they have received nothing from Cigoerne. Because no one wants to spare men as couriers … or because Phortyn doesn’t consider Altyrn’s task a true Mirror Lancer mission and only sent the one dispatch because it cost him little to do so?
Another yawn comes over him. He is tired.
LXXIX
A good night’s sleep and some solid, if not particularly appetizing ghano-acorn hash for breakfast has Lerial feeling far better on oneday morning when he goes to meet with Altyrn to discuss who might be best to accompany Lerial on his return journey to Cigoerne.
When Lerial enters the small study, Altyrn seems preoccupied for a moment, then says, “I think we’d better go over my report.”
“I trust that you didn’t identify the ordermage who created those ground lightnings,” Lerial says evenly.
“I thought you might say that.”
“You hoped I would.” Lerial offers a lopsided smile as he sits down in front of the desk.
“That, too, but I’ve noticed that you don’t want much credit.”
“I like praise as much as anyone, but I like not being a target even more.”
Altyrn extends a sheaf of papers. “Then read.”
“You must have been writing all night.”
The majer shakes his head. “I’ve written each section as it happened. You forget less that way. You also have less temptation to revise occurrences in your favor.”
Lerial can see both points. He eases the report before him and begins to read. When he finishes, he says, “The only thing I’d suggest is to add something about the loss of not only Essiana, but also a chief archer who was the daughter of an elder on the High Council. And something about the number of hamlets burned and Verdyn killed.”
“I’d thought about the hamlets. Why do you want to mention Klerryt’s daughter?”
“It’s a way of pointing out that the Verdyn are similar.”
Altyrn nods. “You’re right. That will strengthen your father’s resolve to keep supporting them.”
Lerial hands the report back.
“For your return party, I’d thought to ask for four Mirror Lancer volunteers, well … three now, and six Verdyn Lancer volunteers.”
“Three now?”
“Bhurl has requested permission to return with you.”
“How does he know I’m going?”
The majer grins. “He doesn’t. He requested that he be allowed to return to Cigoerne whenever it was possible and in the interests of the Mirror Lancers. He has a family in Cigoerne, his consort and three children. Most of the other Mirror Lancers do not—or if they do…” Altyrn shrugs.
They’re in no hurry to return to that family … for one reason or another. “Will there be trouble getting volunteers?” Lerial is thinking that some of the rankers may prefer to remain as squad leaders in Verdheln, even if they are not being paid as such.
“We can order some of the Mirror Lancers to go, if necessary, but I doubt it will be. Out of six companies … five now, I’m certain we can get six Verdyn volunteers to escort the Duke’s son and to have a chance to see Cigoerne.” Altyrn’s lips quirk into a smile.
“When you put it that way…” Lerial shakes his head.
“You’ll need to get used to things like that.”
Lerial supposes he will, but has another thought. “Fhentaar could handle second company … with guidance.”
“We’ll see. I’ll also be sending a request for weapons to train and outfit more companies of Lancers. The elders have agreed that more are necessary.”
“There were quite a few weapons recovered from the Meroweyans.” Lerial’s statement is bland.
“There were. Once we have them all gathered up, we’ll send some of those, the ones that aren’t suitable for Lancers. Your father or Majer Phortyn can arrange for their sale or their reforging into sabres or lances.” A faint smile crosses Altyrn’s lips. “There is one other matter. Klerryt and I will be riding with you to Verdell. The full Council of Elders wants to meet with both of us to go over an agreement they wish you to present to your father.”
“What sort of agreement?”
“Something to bind him and his heirs to allowing the people of the Verd to retain their own customs in return for their allegiance and tariffs.”
There is something about that idea that bothers Lerial. He has no problem with the Verdyn wanting to retain their customs, yet …
“You have a problem with that?” asks Altyrn pleasantly.
“I have no problem at all with them retaining their own customs.”
“Then why are you looking so concerned?”
“There’s just something…” Lerial knows there is, but it is a matter of feeling, or more of the fact that what is wrong is so obvious, and yet he cannot put his finger—or his thoughts—on what that is.
“There is indeed. It’s only symbolic,” Altyrn says. “At one time, Casseon’s predecessors promised the same thing. It’s very hard for a ruler to bind his successors to a promise, even one in writing, made by a man long dead.”
Lerial feels stupid for not se
eing the obvious, but he’s not about to admit that, except to himself. “They hope that if I agree…” He shakes his head. “Lephi’s the heir, not me, and I can only try to persuade him.”
“They know that, but if you and your father agree, it will be harder for him to ignore the promise, and it may not even come to that.”
Lerial can see the elders’ point. “That raises another question. I assume I should report to Majer Phortyn immediately upon my arrival in Cigoerne.”
“If you still consider yourself a Mirror Lancer.”
“Why shouldn’t I? I’m not the heir. As an undercaptain, I should report to the majer.” Even if I won’t be telling him everything.
“As an undercaptain … that’s true.” Altyrn’s voice is level.
“I’m certain that the majer would prefer that I report initially through the chain of command,” adds Lerial. “He doesn’t have to know I carry a personal communication from the High Council.”
“He could command you to reveal it to him and to remain at headquarters while he reports to your father.”
Is he that great an idiot? “Then I would just have to tell him that my orders from his superior—that’s my father—were that I should report to the majer first, but that I should then report to the Palace. I would prefer not to have to say that.”
“You likely won’t have to, but it’s best to decide how you would deal with such a situation.”
Another not-so-veiled suggestion to anticipate and prepare for all possibilities.
For another half glass, Altyrn goes over the details of Lerial’s return to Cigoerne and what he should expect, including what to say to the post commander when he reaches Tirminya. To Lerial, the fact that Altyrn does not refer to Dechund by name suggests just how little the majer thinks of the captain.
When Altyrn finishes, he adds, “By the way, you won’t have to write Elder Klerryt.”
“Oh?” Lerial is immediately on guard.
“He came to Escadya yesterday to represent the council. Donnael has been ill and has returned to Verdell to recover.”
“I should talk to him, then.”
“You should. He’ll be here by eighth glass.”
“That won’t be long. I might as well go out and wait for him.” While you think about what you should say about Alaynara.
“He would appreciate that courtesy.”
“By your leave, ser?”
“Of course. I also appreciate the courtesy.”
Lerial stands and then makes his way to the hitching rail outside the barracks building that holds the officers’ quarters and their studies. There are no riders coming down the lane from the main road, and he turns his thoughts to Alaynara. He is still thinking about what he should say when he sees two riders on the lane. The elder rides in accompanied by a wayguide who looks familiar, but it takes Lerial a moment to recognize and recall Yulyn, who had guided them from the northeast side of the Verd to Apfhel and then to Verdell and Escadya.
“Greetings, Elder, Wayguide,” offers Lerial.
“The same to you,” returns Klerryt as he dismounts.
From what Lerial recalls, there is far more white in the elder’s red hair than there was a season ago, not to mention the dark circles under his eyes. “I thought we might talk for a bit … if you have some time.”
“I always have time to talk to Duke Kiedron’s son.”
Lerial stiffens inside at the formality of Klerryt’s words and tries to offer his reply in a gentle tone. “I would hope you would also have time to talk to Undercaptain Lerial, ser.”
“I would and do.” After a slight hesitation, Klerryt adds, “I’d prefer to walk while we talk.”
“We can do that.” Lerial gestures toward the green in the center of the rows of barracks buildings, then steps up beside the elder, who is just a digit or so taller than Lerial is.
“What did you have in mind?”
“I wanted to talk about Alaynara.”
“To offer some trite comments or explanations?” Klerryt’s words are softly tart.
“No. To tell you what I learned about her and exactly what happened … without justifications or elaborate explanations or rationalizations.”
“I’m listening.”
“She was very professional. She was the best archer I’ve ever seen, and she could estimate a distance and put an arrow down almost on a point on the darkest night. That is no surprise to you, I’m certain.”
“I can’t say it is.”
“She was also very perceptive. She once suggested, very tactfully, except it was really a rhetorical question, when no one else was around, that I’d hadn’t been allowed to be a child long.”
“I don’t imagine you were. What did you tell her?”
“That it didn’t matter now … that what mattered was that other children would have that chance. Somehow … that surprised her. At least, I think it did.”
“It may well have. Why did you think so?”
“Her voice softened, and she said she was sorry.”
Klerryt shakes his head, but there is a wry smile on his face as he looks at Lerial. “That would have been Alaynara. Is there anything else?”
“She was excellent at knowing where the archers should be, and in letting me know in a way that was firm without being challenging.” He pauses. “I didn’t talk to her that much, but…” He shakes his head. “She had picked the position for the archers in the battle at the stream, but we didn’t have the chance to see how effective they would be. We were ordered to pull out and move north along the east side of the stream to delay some Meroweyan companies so that Donnael and Ruethana—I think—could call a storm to block the chaos wizards…” Lerial goes on to explain how he had positioned the squads. “… I misjudged the speed of the Meroweyan advance, but Alaynara had fourth squad cutting down a great number of the leading ranks. There had not been any chaos-bolts thrown. I was prepared for that, and when one came, I redirected it back at their wizard. He did something I hadn’t seen before, and it came back at us twice as strong. I must have done something wrong, because when I sent it back, just a tiny blast of chaos flared back—right in the middle of fourth squad. It only hit three archers. The middle one was Alaynara.” Lerial swallows slightly, then says. “I had the company withdraw immediately, or they would have overrun us.”
Klerryt does not speak for a long moment. “You surprise me.”
Lerial waits, unsure of what the elder will say, worried that Klerryt will offer some withering remark, and knowing he has every right to do so.
“You have not offered a single word to mitigate or justify what happened.”
“How could I, ser? It was a small miscalculation on my part. That is true, but some under my command died because of that mistake.”
“How many others died?”
“None, ser. Not there.”
“Were you attracted to my daughter?”
Lerial blinks. What? For a moment, he can say nothing. Finally, he says, “I admired her. I didn’t think of her in any other way.”
“A fair and honest answer. You’ve worried about her death and talking to me … have you not?”
“Yes, ser.” Many times.
“So here we are. An older man and a younger man. You have risked your life to save our people, and you made a small error of judgment that required your taking an action that led to my daughter’s death, but preserved the lives of almost a hundred other young people.”
“Then,” Lerial is forced to add.
“Then,” agrees Klerryt. After another painfully long silence, he continues. “You have not resorted to excuses. You understand more fully than most far older than you would your responsibility. I can mourn the circumstances. I can and do grieve for my daughter. I cannot fault you, especially given the burdens you bear. No leader, no ruler, no officer can protect all of those in his charge from all eventualities. All we can ask is that they have the greatest skill possible and carry out their duties to the best of their abili
ties. You are what, perhaps eighteen?”
“I’ll be seventeen on threeday after the turn of summer, ser.”
Klerryt almost stops in his tracks, then shakes his head slowly. “Alaynara was indeed right.” His smile is close to bitter. “And so were we.”
“You? The elders?”
Klerryt nods. “Your father leads the Mirror Lancers on many occasions, does he not?”
“He does.”
“Your brother serves as a Mirror Lancer officer, does he not?”
“He’s an undercaptain, too.” Or he was.
“What of your mother … the women of your family?”
“They’re healers.” Lerial thinks he understands what Klerryt needs to know. “My mother and my aunt serve as healers in Cigoerne. My aunt is the head healer at the Hall of Healing.”
Klerryt nods brusquely. “Then you understand why we were right.”
“I think I understand that you believe you made the best choice of those available.”
“You don’t think so?”
Lerial allows himself a wry smile. “I think so, but to say that you made the best choice would sound more self-serving than I’d care to be.”
Klerryt laughs softly. “It is indeed a pity…” Then he breaks off his words and shakes his head. “We need say no more about what happened … at the stream.”
Lerial nods, relieved, but still concerned and wondering what may come next, because Klerryt begins to resume his former pace.
“I saw the battlefield … you were most fortunate.”
“We were. They could easily have overrun us.”
“That is true.” Klerryt smiles sadly. “But that is not what I meant.”
Lerial nods for the elder to continue.
“Pardon me, Lord Lerial, if I sound as though I were a tutor lecturing a pupil, but I know no other way to convey what I must say. It is most important that you understand what you did and what you can do … and what could happen if you do not understand.”
Lerial does indeed think that Klerryt sounds more like Saltaryn than Saltaryn himself, but the almost gentle way in which the elder speaks suggests that Lerial should indeed listen carefully. You don’t have to agree, but after what you did to his daughter, even unintentionally, you need to listen to him … for the rest of your life, if necessary. “Please go on.”
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