Cyador’s Heirs

XXXII

When Lerial returns from the Hall of Healing late on a cloudy and cool sixday afternoon and is preparing to lead the gelding into the stable, he sees Undercaptain Woelyt standing by the stable door, apparently waiting for him.

Why? Is there some problem with the rankers who’ve been escorting you? Or have you done something wrong?

He stops. “Good afternoon, Undercaptain. Is there something…?”

“Not exactly, Lord Lerial…”

Lerial nods. “But…?”

“I notice that you’ve not asked me to spar with you for some time,” ventures Woelyt.

“I’m sorry. I hadn’t meant to offend you, ser,” replies Lerial. “I’ve been working with Captain Chaen at headquarters, and I really didn’t wish to impose upon you.”

“I can understand that, Lord Lerial, but since your father will likely ask me what I think of your progress…”

Lerial immediately understands the position in which his thoughtlessness has placed the undercaptain. “If you are free, Undercaptain, I would be more than happy to spar with you at present … as soon as I can stable my mount. I do understand, and I would not wish my thoughtlessness to reflect unfavorably upon you.”

“If it would not be an imposition…”

“Not at all.” And Lerial means that completely. He also realizes that his father, upon his return, will indeed most likely talk to the undercaptain. Another thing you didn’t consider. “I’ll only be a few moments. If you’d see to the wands…”

“Yes, ser.”

Lerial unsaddles and grooms the gelding quickly, then hurries out of the stable to the courtyard exercise circle where the Lancers practice.

Woelyt is waiting. He extends a wooden wand.

“Thank you.” Lerial takes the wand, realizing that it feels much lighter than he recalls. Is that because he is used to a heavier blade? He runs through several moves, then nods as he takes his position.

Woelyt does not bother with a feint, but begins with a direct thrust attack, one that Lerial parries easily, realizing almost immediately that the order flows around the undercaptain reveal his intent even before his wand moves, more so than with most of those against whom Lerial has sparred in recent eightdays. Rather than press, Lerial takes a guard position and waits for the next attack, which comes after a feint toward his shoulder. This time, Lerial slips the attack and comes in low and strikes the undercaptain on the thigh, returning to a guard position almost before Woelyt can react.

“You’ve gotten faster…”

“I’ve had more practice,” replies Lerial.

For almost a half glass, the same pattern repeats itself, but Lerial is not about to call a halt to the sparring, not until Woelyt is satisfied.

Finally the undercaptain steps back. He offers a rueful smile. “You’ve gotten so much better that it’s hard to believe.”

Lerial smiles in return. “You’ve had to do all the duties of a Lancer officer. All I’ve had to do is concentrate on learning things.” Not all of them having to do with sabres and tactics, but learning all the same. “And I’ve had the advantage of working against a lot of different officers.”

“It shows.” Woelyt inclines his head. “I appreciate the sparring, ser.”

“Thank you. I do apologize for not thinking about keeping you apprised of my progress.” Lerial grins. “You did suffer through my awkward sessions and gave me a good start, and I do appreciate that.”

“Thank you, ser.”

By the time Lerial leaves the outer courtyard, the slight sweat he had worked up, given the winter air and the breeze, has vanished. He is already cool by the time he reaches the Palace proper and heads up to his chambers to wash up before meeting with his mother and aunt in his mother’s salon. He is still surprised at how much he has progressed with the use of the sabre. While he knew he was better, especially after sparring with Lephi, he had felt that Woelyt was better than his own brother. And perhaps he is.

He smiles at the thought.

After washing, as he is walking down the hall toward the staircase to the salon, he hears high voices.

“It’s not fair! You always win, except sometimes you let me!”

He recognizes Ryalah’s voice immediately.

“I do not,” Amaira replies. “I win when you make mistakes. You win when I make mistakes.”

“It’s still not fair!” Ryalah’s voice rises into a shriek.

“Girls!”

Lerial does not recognize the older voice, but assumes it must be that of their nurse.

As he nears the next door, it opens, and Ryalah runs out. Tears are streaming down her face, so much so that she runs right into Lerial-or would have had, except that he reaches down and scoops her up.

“Now … now … you almost knocked me down.”

“Put me down!” Her small fists pound on his shoulders. “Let me go!”

Lerial can sense the fury within her, almost like a grayish chaos. After a moment, while he continues to hold her, he tries to soothe her by creating what feels like mist of order, holding his affection for her, and letting it settle. The fists stop pounding, and heaving sobs follow.

“She … makes … mad … not … fair … never fair…”

He says nothing, knowing that nothing he says will matter at the moment.

The nurse stands in the doorway, looking at him.

Lerial can sense her fear as well. “It’s all right. She’ll be fine in a bit.”

“… will … not!”

“All right,” he says reasonably, “you won’t be.”

“You’re making fun of me!”

Lerial says nothing and keeps holding her.

Finally. Ryalah looks at Lerial, their faces almost touching. “Please…”

“If you’ll be good.”

“She isn’t fair…”

Lerial continues to wait, still holding her.

“I’ll be good.”

“Good.”

“I don’t have to like it,” Ryalah adds as Lerial sets her on her feet.

“No, you don’t,” he agrees.

For a moment, a look of puzzlement crosses her face. Then she smiles at him. “You’re funny.”

“Sometimes. Not very often. It’s even harder to be funny than good.”

Ryalah turns to the nurse. “I’ll be good.”

As the little blond heads back into the playroom, the nurse murmurs, “Thank you, ser.”

“You’re welcome.”

Lerial hurries down the steps and finally reaches the salon.

“You returned to the Palace some time ago,” observes Xeranya, almost tartly, as he enters.

“I had to spar with Undercaptain Woelyt. He hasn’t worked out with me for some time, and Father will wish to hear his judgment on my progress as well as that of Captain Chaen.” Lerial does not wish to mention the time he has spent with Ryalah and Amaira. He walks to the sideboard for a lager.

After a moment, Xeranya nods. “Of course. Of course. It’s good that you’re realizing the impact your actions have on others … or should I say the impact the failure of your actions might have on them?”

“We all realize that sooner or later,” adds Emerya from the settee. “Later for some of us.” A ruefully amused smile flits across her lips and face and vanishes. “How did the sparring go?”

“The undercaptain was pleased with my progress.”

“Excellent,” says Xeranya. “Your father has been worried about that.”

“Some of us take longer … or at least it seems that way,” replies Lerial.

Emerya, her head turned toward Lerial and facing away from Xeranya, lifts an eyebrow in warning.

“Anything worth doing is worth doing well,” Xeranya continues, “and that takes time and effort.”

“I’ve discovered that.” Lerial seats himself in the armchair nearer to Emerya, then takes a swallow of his lager. “What might we be having for dinner?”

“A green goat curry, I think. I told the girls to finish up the meat we had.”

Lerial thinks about commenting on green goats and decides against it.

“I hope you told them to make it mild,” says Emerya.

“I did.”

“Thank you,” replies Emerya.

Lerial is thankful as well. He takes another small swallow of lager and fixes a pleasant smile upon his face, ready to listen … although his mind is on concealments … and raiders and patrols.