Cyador’s Heirs

by Jr. L. E. Modesitt

  “Order and chaos exist on two levels, if you will. One level is the one on which most of us who have some ability in manipulating order and chaos operate. Most order and chaos manipulation uses, for lack of a better way of saying it, ‘free’ order or chaos. These are bits or concentrations of order or chaos that are comparatively—comparatively, only comparatively, mind you—easy to bend to one’s ability and will. A fire creates a certain amount of free chaos. So does killing someone or something, or destroying something. A well-built structure tends to attract free order. People can attract either. You, by the way, do not. Most great chaos wizards or ordermasters don’t.” The elder offers another almost sad smile before continuing. “The world and all beyond it are composed of entwined order and chaos, but on a tinier level. What you did was to break apart a few of the most minute pieces of the world to release a great amount of order and chaos. Had you continued for even a few instants more, all that would have remained of you—and all the Lancers and all the Meroweyans—would have been a charred bowl in the ground that might have someday filled with water and have been known as one of the cursed lakes.”

  Lerial nods slowly, then says, “I could feel an upwelling of immense power, and I stopped and shunted as much as I could away from us.”

  “You did well at that, for which all of us, save Duke Casseon’s men, are most grateful. I can only beg of you to be most careful if and when you attempt that kind of order-chaos manipulation, although”—Klerryt smiles more cheerfully—“I think you have already found that you may not need such drastic measures that often in the future.” The smile vanishes. “You had best hope you do not. For most of great power, the more that power is used, the greater the impact on the user, until, at some time, it is used once too often, and it recoils on the user. When that happens…”

  Lerial can sense that Klerryt believes what he says. “You’re saying that I must measure what I do … that…” He frowns. “How can that be?”

  “Why do you think Essiana died?” asks the elder. “She asked too much of herself and her power. That is how most great ordermages die. That is also why the great ones who survive tend to learn more subtle uses of order.”

  “I admit that I have not attempted much since the last battle,” Lerial says cautiously.

  “I would suggest that you proceed cautiously, especially at first. I would also suggest you develop some sort of defense … shields or something that will protect you at all times. Not all order or chaos attacks with noisy and powerful firebolts.”

  “You’ve sensed much of what I’ve felt, haven’t you?”

  “Some. Not all. You hold enough order that it is … tiring … to try to sense everything.”

  Left unsaid, Lerial realizes, is the fact that, without shields—or something—he likely seems like a blazing fire on a dark night to other ordermages—or Magi’i—or, especially—white wizards and chaos mages.

  “I do need to speak to Majer Altyrn, since you will likely not be remaining in Verdheln long.”

  “Then we should walk back.”

  Klerryt nods.

  Once Lerial has escorted the elder back to Altyrn and slipped back to the small study that is his, for the next day, anyway, Lerial thinks about Klerryt’s last words. What happens if you don’t see or sense a chaos wizard? What can you do about that? Can you make an order diversion pattern that is part of the flow of order and chaos around you all the time? After a moment, he has an additional thought. If you want to survive, how can you not?

  Although Lerial feels tired as oneday wears on, he cannot ignore the advice and the warning that Klerryt has delivered. Nor can he ignore what he feels—that somehow he must learn greater control over his abilities so that nothing like what happened to Alaynara will happen to anyone else as a result of his lack of understanding or control.

  Isn’t that presumptuous of you—at your age? But the answer to that question is obvious enough. Whether he likes it or not, he has a certain power. Failure to gain greater control and understanding of that power could easily kill him … as he has come close to seeing … and that failure has already killed others.

  After begging—requesting, really—some acorn bread and the smelly blue cheese from the cooks, Lerial leaves the mess hall with it and walks slowly down to the open area where he and second company had practiced maneuvers so often—maneuvers that they had so seldom used. Is that always the way of it, that you don’t use what you know and you’re always confronted with what you don’t? He smiles ironically. That’s because those who oppose you will attack where you’re weakest … at least the best of them will, and you can’t count on often encountering the worst.

  All that is fine, but how is he going to create shields or defenses of some sort, that is, the kinds that work all the time?

  He begins by creating a simple coil pattern. That is easy enough. The next step is to link it to the flow of order around himself … and that is where he runs into trouble.

  No matter what he tries, the moment he stops thinking about the pattern, it dissolves back into free order. What he does discover, though, is that there is a great deal more free order around than he recalls. Except that Klerryt had said—and he doesn’t think the elder was deceiving him—that he doesn’t attract free order … or chaos. So why…?

  Because you now sense “deeper” levels of free order?

  That makes sense, but whether it’s correct is another matter.

  By late afternoon, Lerial is no further than he was when he began, not in terms of being able to create shields or defenses that will remain in place when he is not thinking about them … although he has developed defense patterns that provide—he thinks—a stronger defense with less effort on his part. He can definitely gather and concentrate more order, and with it, more chaos, but even small concentrations of chaos make him feel very uneasy, even when that chaos is surrounded and shielded from him by order.

  In the end, he goes to bed early—worried and tired—on oneday night.

  He wakes up more rested, but no less worried, or at least concerned, about his inability to figure out a defense that he doesn’t have to maintain actively.

  Then again, you didn’t have any defenses a season ago. While true, that thought doesn’t console him terribly, although it remains in the back of his mind as he is packing his gear and grooming the gelding to be ready to leave the training compound with Altyrn by seventh glass. The early morning sky is hazy, not that the haze will make much difference for the ride, since most of the way is shaded by the tall trees of the Verd.

  He does not bother to mount the gelding, but walks him to the north end of the stables where Bhurl, selected by Altyrn as the acting squad leader because he is the most senior, is forming up the Lancers who will accompany Lerial all the way to Cigoerne, as well as those who will ride to Verdell with the majer and then escort him back to Escadya. One of the other three Mirror Lancers is Moraris. That doesn’t surprise Lerial at all, because Moraris has always struck him as the kind of man who is more comfortable where there are more people and more opportunities to trade things to an advantage. The other two Mirror Lancers are Taendalk and Khillen, men Lerial scarcely knows except by name. Except for Vominem, he knows none of the Verdyn Lancers by name, although most of their faces are vaguely familiar.

  “Morning, ser,” Bhurl calls out cheerfully.

  “Good morning,” Lerial replies with a smile, then mounts the gelding quickly as he sees Altyrn and Klerryt both riding toward the formation.

  As the column moves from the training compound, Lerial is riding at the head of the column beside Bhurl, with Vominem a good hundred yards before them as scout, and Klerryt and Altyrn behind Lerial and Bhurl.

  “You glad to be headed back?” Lerial asks the squad leader.

  “Relieved. Glad to be riding back in one piece. Always the chance that it can happen to you the way it did to Ferragn and Alaarn.”

  “I was a little surprised to see Moraris…” Lerial is not at all surprised, bu
t wants to hear what Bhurl will say.

  “He’s close to the end of his term. Wants to try his hand as a trader. That’s what he says.”

  “I did overhear him trying to trade for more arrows for his archers.”

  “Leastwise…” Bhurl breaks off with a laugh. “He did a good job with the archers. Had some help from the chief archer. Shame about that.”

  “A great loss.” In so many ways. Lerial lets the silence draw out before he asks, “What can you tell me about Taendalk and Khillen?”

  “Good men. Taendalk’s almost as senior as me…”

  Lerial listens, trying not to think too much about Alaynara … or his own failure to create defenses.

  LXXX

  The column turns up the paved street in Verdell on fourday afternoon just before third glass, heading toward the octagonal green that holds the black stone building, also octagonal in shape, where Lerial and Altyrn will once again meet with the High Council of Verdheln. This time Bhurl and Klerryt ride at the head of the Lancers, followed by Altyrn and Lerial. After they rein up outside the single-level octagonal building with its low, domed slate roof, Lerial, Altyrn, and Klerryt dismount, and the elder leads the way into the building, through the open area, and then into the council chamber where three others are waiting, rising from their places around the circular table.

  Lerial recognizes Ruethana and Donnael, but not the other woman, who, while certainly not young, is strikingly exotic, with an almost silver-white skin, and short hair that is a shade Lerial could only have described as silver blond. Her eyes are black, and chaos radiates from her.

  As Lerial and Altyrn move to the far side of the table Klerryt stops beside Donnael, who offers a few words that Lerial cannot make out. Klerryt shakes his head and replies, also in a low tone, then asks something.

  Donnael frowns quizzically and murmurs, “Are you certain?”

  At least, that is what Lerial thinks he asks.

  At Klerryt’s reply, Donnael hands the younger elder something wrapped in a brown cloth. Klerryt nods, and moves to stand behind his seat.

  “Welcome to Verdell,” says Ruethana, in a voice that is but a shade warmer than perfunctory.

  “Welcome, indeed,” adds Donnael in a far warmer tone, although his voice is raspy and Lerial can see that his one hand, gesturing for them to take the vacant seats at the table, is shaking slightly, while the other hand, on the back of the chair, steadies him. After a pause, the senior elder inclines his head to the silver-blond woman. “This is Khalya, the newest elder.”

  Khalya inclines her head.

  Klerryt takes his seat, and so does Altyrn. Again, Lerial finds himself between the majer and the youngest elder, in this case, Khalya.

  As he settles into his seat, Lerial gathers in what his order-senses tell him about the elder who has succeeded Essiana. While she radiates chaos, there is no free chaos actually within her, nor any free order, either. It is almost as though she attracts chaos and then repels it, but that it never becomes a part of her. That may be so, but he cannot determine how she does that, or why there is no more order around her than the usual amount in a living person. Certainly, he has never seen or sensed anything like her. He tries not to look too obviously in her direction and waits for what the elders may say.

  “Lord Lerial, Majer Altyrn,” begins Ruethana, “you and your Mirror Lancers have accomplished something we doubted was possible. Your efforts have also left the High Council with certain concerns. It is clear that Duke Kiedron prefers a Verd that is part of Cigoerne. It is clear as well that both of you do. Duke Casseon had the same preference, but he did not wish us to continue in our way of life. The concern we have is whether, in the future, Cigoerne will continue to allow us our ways … or whether, in time, some future Duke will decide to force the issue the way Duke Casseon did.”

  Lerial is tempted to suggest that what Ruethana has said is not even a question, but instead he looks to Altyrn.

  The majer nods politely back at Lerial.

  “Elders,” begins Lerial, cautiously, “no one can foresee the acts of future generations. I can only say that my father the Duke has let those people who have asked to be governed by him continue in their old ways, if with several exceptions. He has insisted that girl children be treated as equals with boys”—At least until they’re grown—“and that the punishments for violation of the laws be the same throughout Cigoerne … or no harsher than those levied in Cigoerne. I do not foresee that he will change his views in those regards. Nor would I, were I in a position to do so.” But trying to speak for Lephi is something Lerial isn’t about to do, nor will he even bring up the matter of his brother being the primary heir.

  “We understand that,” says Donnael smoothly, although his voice remains hoarse. “We would like you to take a proposed agreement between the High Council of Verdheln and your sire, as Duke of Cigoerne, which, with his signature beside ours, would affirm his agreement with those principles.”

  “I can certainly convey that agreement.”

  “Perhaps you should read it,” says Ruethana dryly.

  “We would be happy to do so,” replies Lerial.

  Ruethana hands a large envelope to Klerryt, who passes it to the majer.

  Altyrn slides the single sheet from the envelope, reads it, and then passes it to Lerial with a pleasant smile.

  Lerial begins to read, almost skimming over the prefatory politeness and formality of the greeting to his father, referred to as “Duke of Cigoerne, heir of the Rational Stars,” before concentrating on the text that comprises the key section of the agreement. To his surprise, the agreement is almost as direct as Ruethana’s words. The last paragraph lauds Kiedron under the notation that the signatories for the High Council freely acknowledge the Duke’s aid and assistance without which there could have been no agreement.

  After rereading the agreement to make certain that he has not missed anything, Lerial slips the agreement back into the envelope, then says, “I see no problems with conveying this to Cigoerne for my father’s consideration.”

  “Then that is settled,” says Ruethana, nodding to Donnael.

  “Lord Lerial,” offers Donnael, “I will be frank. We appreciated the gesture of your sire in sending his youngest son. We thought that his dispatching you was merely a commitment to good faith. We did not anticipate that you would actually command a company in battle. Nor did we think that the Duke would have sent someone so young…”

  Barely more than a boy, is what Donnael means, Lerial suspects.

  “… who turned out to be so powerful.” Donnael coughs several times, then wheezes.

  Lerial cannot help but sense the faint red of sickness chaos in Donnael’s chest, but manages a polite smile, rather than the concerned frown that is more like what he feels.

  “… we would like to convey our appreciation, both personally and as representatives of the High Council, for your efforts, one of which brought you as close to death as is possible without dying…”

  Even with the chaos radiating from Khalya, Lerial can sense some disruption of the flow. Surprise? Consternation? Anger? He cannot tell, only that something affected her.

  “… likewise, Majer Altyrn, without your expertise, experience, and capabilities in training and employing the Verdyn Lancers, all would have been lost from the beginning. For those reasons, we would like to present you each with a small token of appreciation.” Donnael nods to Klerryt.

  Klerryt swallows before he speaks. “The past few eightdays have been difficult … for me. You all know why. I asked to go to Escadya. It was not only to relieve Donnael. It was to find an answer. I did not find the answer I sought, but another. That is why I have asked Donnael to allow me to present these to you.” Klerryt leans forward and hands Altyrn two objects wrapped in soft brown cloth. “The top one is yours, Majer.”

  Altyrn takes the top bundle and hands the other to Lerial.

  Lerial discovers that the soft cloth is a winter scarf, but it is wrapped around
something else—a belt knife in a tooled leather scabbard. The tooling on the front of the scabbard displays an ornate “L” flanked on each side by a cloud, with three stars in an arc above the “L.” The hilt is of black lorken, textured with a diamond pattern. He eases the knife from the scabbard, and he can feel the order within the iron. The blade is simple, with a full lower cutting edge, and a double-edged point. The knife itself is older than the scabbard, but certainly not ancient. He looks up. “Thank you. It’s beautiful and most effective, I suspect. I hope I will do justice to it and to whoever last carried it.”

  Klerryt nods. “You already have.”

  There is little Lerial can say to that except nod.

  “We will not keep you,” Ruethana says, not quite curtly. “We know Lord Lerial has to prepare for a long ride back to Cigoerne.” She rises, as do the other elders, although Donnael is slightly slower.

  “Thank you,” offers Altyrn as he stands.

  After rising, Lerial walks over to Donnael, where he sets the envelope holding the agreement on the table, along with the scarf and knife, then takes Donnael’s hand with his own, placing his other hand on the older man’s forearm and letting a flow of order go from him to Donnael, directing some of it into the other’s chest and lungs. “I do appreciate your understanding, Elder Donnael. I will take the agreement you are requesting and present it to my father with my support for what it contains.”

  Donnael looks surprised, and murmurs, “You do not have to do that.”

  Lerial knows he is not referring to the agreement on the table. “I do, as my father’s son, for good and trustworthy allies are not often found.” He releases the elder’s hand and arm, then retrieves the knife, scarf, and envelope, steps back and smiles.

  Klerryt escorts the two out of the council building, then stops at the bottom of the low black stone steps and turns to Lerial. “You healed him, didn’t you?”

  “I hope so. I tried.”