Cyador’s Heirs

LIII

The first eightday of spring arrives, along with more cold winds … and no rain … and it passes, and Lerial keeps working on blade skills with new Lancers in the morning. In dealing with some of the less-skilled Lancer recruits, he has begun to instruct them using his wand left-handed, and no one has remarked upon it. But then, transferring a skill from one hand to another seems easier, far easier, at least to Lerial, than learning it completely anew. In the afternoon, he works with and continues to learn about mounted maneuvers and tactics with Juist, and more and more often, with Altyrn. In the evening, he strengthens his abilities to deal with chaos, chaos-fire, hoping that what he is doing will work with mage-created chaos.

Chaos is chaos, he tells himself, even as he wonders whether that is indeed true, much as Saltaryn had once told him that.

Most times, the majer is more than approachable … and yet, in some ways, Lerial feels that he does not know Altyrn at all. But then, he has felt the same way about his own father, especially when he had seen him laughing and joking with Altyrn’s daughters. Could he do that just because they were daughters … or because they aren’t his own children? He also recalls the great respect that Rojana and her sisters have for their father. Or is it that there is always a certain distance between strong parents and their children?

All those thoughts remind him of Ryalah, and the guilty pleasure she and Amaira take in playing with their dolls when Kiedron is not around-and Ryala’s almost secretive smile. Lerial can only hope that she is indeed as well as Emerya had written.

More and more, he has come to meet with Altyrn at the end of the training workday, just before dinner, and this fourday is no exception.

“We have a new report from the scouts,” declares the majer even before Lerial finishes closing the study door. “The Meroweyans are assembling in Yakaat. They’re also readying their forces for what looks like an advance on Verdheln.”

“Without building the fort?”

“They’ve put the people to work on the fort. The armsmen are gathering supplies.”

“Raiding the local people?” Lerial does not disguise the contempt he feels.

“Lerial…” Altyrn’s voice is low, almost tired, but there is iron in that single name.

“Yes, ser?”

“There is great danger in feeling superior to one’s enemy. That is especially true of moral superiority. Being a better person-or a better land-by itself does not make one more likely to prevail in battle … or in the events that follow a battle. The one who prevails is the one who destroys the enemy’s ability to fight. One can win a battle by every measure … and lose. But … almost never can one lose a battle … and still win. There are two ways to lose, and only one to win. All too often it may be the land that we would deem more worthy that loses, because moral worth in itself does not win battles. What wins battles and wars is the ability to prevail and the willingness to do whatever is necessary, however distasteful that may be. There are no moral victories in defeat; there are only ashes and suffering.”

Lerial is so taken aback by the iron in the majer’s voice that he does not speak as Altyrn continues.

“There are also ashes and suffering in victory, but with victory comes the opportunity to rebuild. Most times.” After the slightest pause, Altyrn continues. “If a land is willing and able to raise and train armsmen or Lancers without equal, to forge and sharpen weapons to supply them, and to appoint leaders who are able, perceptive, and determined, that land will prevail … even if it engenders suffering, all manner of evils, and the enslavement of much of its people.”

“You make it sound as though power obtained through evil will always prevail,” Lerial replies slowly.

“It often does.” Altyrn offers a bitter smile. “Until that evil makes it impossible for there to be wise and able leaders, and those who have been enslaved revolt or are so beaten down that they can no longer work effectively. History seems to show that power alternates between those who are worthy and neglect their strengths and those who are less wise, often evil, and preoccupied with gaining power at all costs.” He pauses. “The people of the Verd are wise in the ways of governing themselves, but they have been too trusting of those around them for too long, and one way or another, what they have been will be destroyed.”

“Even if we beat back the armsmen of Merowey?”

“Matters will be better for them if we do, but what was here before will never be again.” A sad smile follows. “Now … we need to go over what we can do. Once we know for certain that they are on the march, we need to take the road south and take a position outside the Verd.”

“Outside?” Lerial cannot help but feel that it is less than wise to abandon the protection of those thick and twisted massive trees that stretch a hundred yards deep around the Verd.

“It is better to choose where to fight than to allow one’s enemy to make that choice,” Altyrn says dryly. “We may indeed use the trees as a fortress, but if Casseon brings a number of white wizards, any of our forces within those trees could be turned to ashes.”

“Old trees don’t burn that easily,” ventures Lerial, then stops for a moment. “He might actually send white wizards? The Afritans and the Heldyans almost never send them against the Mirror Lancers, do they?”

“Not since the early days,” replies Altyrn. “Remember, Casseon like as not doesn’t even know we’re here. If he does send white wizards, he’ll be sending them to subdue a rebellion of his own people … and to make it easier by burning into the Verd.”

“He’d do that?”

Any ruler is likely to do what he feels necessary. As for burning trees … any tree will burn if enough chaos is used, as you should know, and the thornbushes among them will burn hot, especially before their leaves turn from gray to green. The other problem is that those same trees that might offer protection will not allow us to deploy our forces quickly. Remember how narrow the forest road entry to Apfhel is?”

“Couldn’t we create another entry point?”

“I already have inquired of the elders as to whether other hidden entrances exist, ones that we could use for attacks, if it appears possible … or for a withdrawal, if matters develop otherwise.” The majer stands and spreads a map on the narrow table-desk. “This shows the approach road from Yakaat. You can see the hills here … and here. We may be able to conceal archers in the trees here, and have them attack the Meroweyan column if it holds to the road. The scouts report that Casseon may be dispatching as many as twenty companies.”

“And we have six, and two barely into training,” says Lerial, hoping to get a reaction from the majer.

“We also have a stronger defensive position-unless the Duke sends a number of white wizards. I can’t believe he won’t send some, because it will be far easier for them to burn their way into the Verd than to fight their way in. By the way, that’s another reason for assembling outside the Verd. If we don’t, they won’t even need wizards to start fires everywhere. You’re going to have to command a company and one with an assignment of moving to deal with outlying forces. Since you can sense weather, you can sense general forces from a distance, can’t you?”

“I don’t know how far, ser.” That’s because you’ve never tried.

“Then you’d better find out in the next few days.”

“Yes, ser.”

“Another thing. Some of the members of various councils might be joining us. They have some order or chaos talents. That could make matters … interesting, but we’ll need every talent they can bring…”

Lerial continues to listen, wondering how he has ended up where he’s likely to be in the middle of a war, while his brother just rides patrols and deals with raiders.