Heritage of Cyador (saga of recluce Book 18)

by Modesitt, L. E. , Jr.

  “I added a little more order, trying to reduce the chaos, later on, as I felt he might be able to receive it. That was all.”

  “I think I can help him a little more. However you did what you did, it worked. He shouldn’t be able to feel anything much below his waist, but he does.”

  “Enough to do most things … except for riding and walking?”

  Emerya nods.

  “What about his leg?”

  “It will heal, but it will likely take longer because he can’t move the muscles around it.”

  Lerial takes a deep breath, then faces his aunt.

  “What is it?” A worried expression crosses Emerya’s face.

  “You can’t return to Cigoerne.”

  A bemused smile appears on her face. “You’re telling me where I can and can’t go? Your father couldn’t stop me from coming here, and…” Her smile broadens. “But that’s not what you meant, was it?”

  Lerial shakes his head. “It would be wrong for you to leave him. Even I can see that. And it’s not because you’ll keep him strong so that he can put Afrit back together, either.” Although Lerial knows that Emerya’s presence will help Rhamuel in more ways than one.

  “I know. Your father was likely most unhappy when he found I had left.”

  “You didn’t tell him?”

  “He would have forbidden it. I didn’t give him the choice. I’d already made arrangements with Fhastal’s people. They told me there was a message from you to your father. They also told me Rhamuel had been injured. I asked Kiedron what was in the message. Then, he had to tell me.”

  “Because you’d know if he lied.”

  “He wasn’t happy about that, either. He said he’d done enough in risking you. He wasn’t about to lose me, too. I didn’t argue. I just left. No one saw me.”

  “A concealment?”

  “What else?”

  “Does Amaira know?”

  “She begged me to go.”

  Lerial can understand that. Amaira would know why her mother needed to go, and unlike many young people, Amaira feels well beyond herself. But then, even young healers do. Mostly. You didn’t.

  After a moment of silence, he says, “We need to arrange for your quarters.”

  “That might be for the best.”

  Lerial understands that she doesn’t wish to say more. So he just leads the way to the door.

  LVII

  After Lerial makes certain that Emerya is settled, and that includes transferring a half squad of lancers to the palace to serve as her personal guards, he returns to Guard headquarters. He doubts that Emerya needs protection from anyone in the palace itself, but he is far less certain about whether there are other merchanters who might pose a threat to her, simply because they would prefer that Rhamuel not be physically strong. He hopes that perhaps Rhamuel will invite him to a private dinner, with Emerya, but such an invitation does not appear. Upon reflection, he suspects that the duke feels that such a “personal” dinner before the memorial might be seen less than favorably, if only by powerful merchanters, since Lerial doubts others in Afrit care that much about the duke’s personal habits.

  Lerial is still thinking over those matters, along with another, long after he has eaten in the officers’ mess at Guard headquarters and returned to his quarters. The other concern is the fact that the merchanters, and even Rhamuel himself, seem unaware of how they are regarded by the everyday people in Afrit, and that sense is reinforced when he thinks about the reaction of his rankers over the years and, more recently, the comments of the couple at the cloth factorage, and even the reaction of Immar the innkeeper. While he certainly understands that Rhamuel needs to remain highly wary of the powerful merchanters, it seems to him that doing a few more things that gain the confidence of the small merchants, crafters, and tradespople would be helpful. That was something his grandmere had been most aware of … and one of the reasons why there was a Hall of Healing in Cigoerne, one well away from the palace.

  Lerial is still half musing about that on oneday when he and a squad from Eleventh Company ride to the palace for the morning memorial to Mykel. Norstaan, wearing the crimson dress uniform of the Afritan Guard, meets Lerial at the stables almost as soon as Lerial has dismounted.

  “Good morning, ser.”

  “Good morning.” Lerial smiles. “What do I need to know about the ceremony?”

  “It will begin at eighth glass, but everyone except you, the lady healer, and the duke and his family will be in place before that…”

  After going over the arrangements, and allowing Lerial to inform his men of their duties, Norstaan adds, “This evening, there will be a family dinner at the palace. You and Lady Emerya are invited, and even the Lady Haesychya will be there.”

  As Norstaan continues, Lerial follows him into the middle section of the palace, where Emerya waits. She wears a black and white mourning head scarf over her healer’s head scarf, arranged so that both show, suggesting both her understanding of the memorial and her position in Swartheld.

  “I will leave you two here for a few moments,” Norstaan says. “The duke and his family will be here shortly.”

  Once the undercaptain is out of sight, Lerial asks, “Do you know who in the duke’s family is likely to be here? I can’t imagine Haesychya will be.”

  “I haven’t talked to him since we left his study yesterday.”

  “You haven’t?”

  “Propriety and concern, dear nephew.”

  “You mean that you’re concerned about his propriety?” banters Lerial. His voice is low. “Or … I’m sorry.”

  “I think you understand.” Emerya’s voice is cool.

  Lerial does. Emerya has made the first and dramatic move in coming to Swartheld. Now … the question is whether Rhamuel will reciprocate. Lerial knows Rhamuel wants to, but rulers do not and often feel they cannot do what they personally wish. Lerial also doesn’t know, not for certain, how strong an influence Sammyl will be. “I hope he has the sense to do what is right for both of you.”

  “He will do what he thinks is right.”

  Lerial understands what she means by that as well.

  Before long, Lerial sees four figures in dress uniforms approaching: Sammyl, Ascaar, Dhresyl, and Norstaan—the three senior commanders of the Afritan Guard and the duke’s personal aide.

  Norstaan hurries ahead to meet Lerial and Emerya. “If you two would follow the commanders out, and take your places … The duke and his family are on their way.”

  “We can do that.”

  After exchanging brief pleasantries with the commanders, Lerial and Emerya follow them along the corridor and out through a doorway on the east side of the palace, taking a position on the north side of the stone platform, with the timber framework holding Mykel’s coffin, under which is a mixture of fatwood and huge long-burning hardwood logs. They stand some four yards back and about three yards to the left of where the duke and his family will be, directly in front of the four Mirror Lancers who had taken positions earlier, with Emerya the one closer to the duke’s position, an arrangement, Norstaan has declared, that reflects Rhamuel’s wishes. An equal distance to the right from where the duke will be are Sammyl, Ascaar, and Dhresyl, representing the Afritan Guard, with four Afritan Guard rankers behind them. On the west side of the stone platform stand the palace retainers. Lerial understands that, for a more public memorial, prominent merchants and others would stand on the east side.

  Then they wait … and wait … for more than a third of a glass before the door from the palace opens once again. Norstaan walks beside Rhamuel, who wears the crimson Afritan Guard dress uniform, although one trouser leg has been slit from thigh to cuff to allow for the cast on his leg, as two palace guards guide the wheeled chair to a point just short of the middle of the north side of the stone platform Immediately behind the duke walk Kyedra and Aenslem, the only other family members present, both attired in black and white.

  Lerial manages not to look at Kyedra, although
he does use his order-senses to confirm it is indeed Kyedra.

  “You’re lingering with that order-sensing,” murmurs Emerya. “That’s a bit too familiar, even if she can’t sense it.”

  Lerial flushes. It’s been so long since he has been around other Magi’i that it has slipped his mind that his aunt can certainly sense what he does, at least when they are relatively close.

  After several moments of silence, the two palace guards ease Rhamuel’s chair forward a yard or so, and he begins to speak.

  “We are here to memorialize the life of my brother Mykel and to mourn his death. He was a good man, and he was taken from us far too soon by the greed for golds and the forces of chaos that serve that greed. Those who took him have paid. That is as it should be, but there will be no great revenge against those houses. Mykel would not have wished it, for what he desired most was harmony and prosperity for everyone in Afrit…”

  Rhamuel does not speak all that long. When he finishes the memorial itself, the palace guards wheel him to the base of the pyre, and Norstaan steps forward with a flaming torch, one that Lerial suspects is significantly longer than that usually employed. He hands the torch to Rhamuel.

  “With this torch, the symbol of chaos controlled by order, we return the mortal remains of Lord Mykel to the forces from which he was born that he may live in them and they in him.” After the last words, Rhamuel thrusts the long torch into the pyre, and the guards ease him and his chair back from the rapidly growing flames.

  Once the pyre is a roaring inferno, the duke passes a few words to the others, and the guards turn his chair and escort him back into the palace with his family. Lerial and Emerya are next, followed by the Mirror Lancers, and then by the commanders. After the mourners leave the courtyard, Lerial knows, they will be replaced by shifts of Afritan Guards until nothing is left on the stone platform but ashes.

  Once Lerial and Emerya are inside the palace, she says quietly, “We have some considerable time before the dinner this evening. I would appreciate learning from you the details of what has happened here in Afrit, and just what you have done that your father does not know. I’d also appreciate your letting me know what you do not wish him to learn. Knowing you, those are usually the details you tend to forget to mention.”

  “I still might forget some of those,” replies Lerial, half-humorously.

  “Forgetting a few ‘inconvenient’ facts is fine, if they aren’t ones that will cause me trouble if I don’t know them.”

  “I won’t skip over that kind.” Mostly, anyway.

  They make their way to Emerya’s quarters, on the second level of the west wing of the palace, but on the northwest corner, as far as possible from the duke’s sleeping quarters while still remaining on the same floor.

  “Definitely the appearance of propriety,” Lerial observes as he steps into the sitting room, furnished as a lady’s study.

  Emerya does not immediately reply, but walks to the window and opens it full wide, standing before it and looking to the north for a long time. Finally, she turns and takes one of the armchairs, more delicate than those in Rhamuel’s sitting room and upholstered in a muted dark blue velvet.

  Lerial takes the other chair. “Where do you want me to start?”

  “I won’t say ‘at the beginning.’ I would like to know how you accomplished so much destruction when you can’t draw much natural chaos from anything.”

  “I seem to have two talents. One is that, while I cannot draw much chaos or create it out of myself, I have become fairly adept at redirecting the chaos others muster, and the larger the amount, the more I can concentrate it into a focused force. That was mostly what I did at Luba. Duke Khesyn sent three or four chaos-wizards. He really didn’t intend to land there, I think. He just wanted to kill as many Afritan Guards as he could. Khesyn probably hoped that attack would force Rhamuel to retain forces there, while the Heldyan armsmen went downriver to swell the invasion force he was building at Estheld…” Lerial offers a brief summary of the battles around Luba and then the ride to Swartheld, including the dinner at Shaelt and the assassination of Valatyr. “That was the first indication I had that there was something fundamentally wrong in Afrit.”

  “The first indication … after all your patrols?” Emerya’s question is probingly ironic.

  “I mean, within the very structure of Afrit. I began to listen more carefully and ask a few questions. It didn’t take long to discover that there were no mages or wizards available in any fashion to the Afritan Guard. That bothered me a lot, and then that became a real problem when the Heldyans invaded and parts of the Harbor Post and the palace exploded and several commanders died in strange ways…” Lerial runs through all the events, including Aenslem’s poisoning and Maesoryk’s likely connection through the cammabark, and the expedition to Estheld … and the results.

  “Your summary is missing one very important detail. Just how did you manage all this devastation and destruction? The mages sent against you couldn’t have gathered that much chaos. No one could. Not that I know.”

  “I learned something in Verdyn. I was advised by a very wise nature mage not to use it unless all was otherwise lost … and to do so quite sparingly.”

  “Yes?”

  “Apparently, I have two abilities. The first is to create order patterns that can constrain and direct chaos, even large amounts, if I construct the patterns accurately. The second is to break things apart into order and chaos. Even the tiniest bits of things release…” Lerial stops as he sees the stunned expression on Emerya’s face.

  “No one … I don’t know of any mage…”

  “Some of the Verdyn mages could. Doing it killed one of them. I liked her.” Lerial shakes his head. “Not that way. She was much older than you. I think that was because they didn’t have the patterning ability. That’s why I have to be very careful. If I get too tired, I can’t control the patterns, and doing any separation…” He frowns. “Klerryt—he was one of the mage-elders of Verdheln and the one who cautioned me about how dangerous it was. The first time, I almost did kill myself.”

  “I thought you came back from Verdheln rather subdued, if more within yourself. I wasn’t sure. Amaira was convinced you were different. So was Maeroja.”

  Lerial finds it interesting that Emerya does not mention his mother. “Anyway, that was how it happened. Then, after the fighting was all over, Rhamuel asked me to go to the lakes and look into what happened to Mykel…” Lerial finishes his tale with what happened at both lake villas, except he only uses the wasting-illness explanation for Maesoryk.

  “It will be interesting to see if Maesoryk survives long.”

  “We’ll just have to see.” As with many things. “Are you looking forward to dinner?”

  “It’s likely to tell us both much.”

  Lerial nods. “If you have no more questions…”

  “For now. I am supposed to look at the duke at second glass, with his other healer.”

  “That’s Jaermyd. More ordered than most people, but not enough to be an order-healer. He was very good at setting Rhamuel’s leg.”

  Another enigmatic smile crosses Emerya’s face. “I’ll see you at dinner.”

  Lerial wonders about that smile for a time, even as he rides back to Afritan Guard headquarters to check with his officers and senior squad leader.

  LVIII

  Lerial returns to the palace just before fifth glass, making his way first to Rhamuel’s receiving study, where he finds Norstaan, but not the duke, not that he has expected to see Rhamuel.

  “I neglected to find out where the dinner is…” Lerial explains.

  “That’s right.” Norstaan smiles. “I forgot to tell you. The Blue Salon on the third level will be serving as the family dining room for now. There will be refreshments there before dinner is served. Once the repairs and restoration on the east wing are completed that may change. The duke hasn’t said.”

  Most likely because he wants to see how well and how much he recove
rs. “Thank you.”

  “My pleasure, ser.”

  With a smile and a nod, Lerial departs, walking toward the north end of the palace. When he reaches Emerya’s quarters, he knocks, then waits until she admits him.

  “You’re early,” she says.

  “I finished what I needed to do with the Lancers.” As he waits for her to sit down, he notices that Emerya is wearing a pale green blouse, with a darker green vest and trousers that match the vest. Lerial has to admit that his aunt looks more attractive than ever … or perhaps he has just not looked at her in that way.

  “You have a questioning look,” she ventures.

  Rather than address exactly what he was thinking, he sits down and says, “When I left here, you had the strangest smile. I kept wondering why.”

  “You’ve changed more than you know … and that’s good.”

  “Why? Because I admitted Jaermyd was a better bonesetter? He is.”

  “That’s what I meant. He also told me that Rhamuel wouldn’t have lived without all you did.”

  “How is he? Really.”

  Emerya offers a faint, almost sad smile. “It’s early to tell.”

  “You don’t think he’ll walk again … or only barely, if that?”

  “If I had to guess. And if you hadn’t been there…” She shakes her head.

  “I’m sorry. I tried…”

  “Lerial … he should live for many years, and he’s still the same man he was, except he can’t walk. Not many can say that after having part of a wall fall on them. Now … I’ve told you three times how well you did. Accept it, and don’t give me that look that asks for reassurance ever again.”

  Lerial grins at the vinegar in her last words. “I won’t.” He doesn’t need to mention that part of how long Rhamuel will live depends on whether she decides to stay … or feels that she can.

  “Do you want to consort his niece?”

  “What?”

  “Oh … even I could sense the longing in your order-probe.”