Cyador’s Heirs

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.”

“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.”

Some of what the two are discussing, Lerial has heard before-many times-but not the business about the hill towns and hamlets. “Then … those raiders … the ones that attacked the majer and me … they had to be from the south and not the west.”

“I’m sure they were,” replies Emerya. “The forest people are mostly peaceful. The fact that they’re starting to trade with us is good.”

“Some of the factors are complaining about tariffs, again,” ventures Xeranya.

“Kiedron has to pay the Lancers. Even Atroyan recognizes that. It’s why he’s relatively honest in remitting tariff shares. It’s less costly for the merchanters in Swartheld that way. All they care about are golds.” Emerya’s tone is between sardonic and scornful.

“Does Atroyan recognize that … or his brother?”

“Atroyan still listens to Rhamuel. How long that will last…” Emerya shrugs.

Lerial cannot help but wonder how Emerya knows that, but before he can ask, his aunt looks at him with an expression that clearly suggests he should not. Much as he would like to know, he decides he will pursue that question in private with her, rather than antagonize her in front of his mother.

“Do you think,” Lerial asks, looking to his aunt, “that Duke Khesyn will risk sending whole companies of armsmen across the river?”

“Khesyn is usually shrewd,” replies Emerya, “but like all shrewd men, he is also capable of incredibly foolhardy acts. While I would judge he would not, it isn’t beyond possibility.”

At that, Lerial feels a chill, for while he finds Lephi insufferable at present, he doesn’t like the idea of his brother and the Lancers facing Heldyan armsmen, especially given Lephi’s unrealistic views of his own abilities. Yet, especially with his mother present, he can’t say that, either. So he takes a swallow of his lager and nods, deciding to listen to what his mother and aunt may say before dinner.

He also thinks that he had best find a way to learn to do a concealment … and anything else that he can do with order.