Heritage of Cyador

XIV

For the remainder of threeday, Lerial busies himself with two main tasks: healing his wounded, as he can, and dealing with the mundane aspects of commanding three companies, from arranging for horses to be reshod and saddles to be repaired, to looking over the captured Heldyan weapons and gear, as well as arranging for the distribution of the coppers and silvers taken from the dead attackers.

All the time, one question remains unanswered. Now that the Heldyans have been repulsed … what do you do now? In theory, Lerial could claim his duties and responsibilities have been fulfilled and arrange for a return to Cigoerne. He hears nothing from Sammyl or the arms-commander, and since Rhamuel does not come to the officers’ mess on threeday evening, Lerial cannot even bring up the question indirectly. He does not want to press immediately for a meeting with the arms-commander, much as he would like to, feeling that, since his men and wounded, not to mention the horses, need time to recover, there is little to be gained by pressing and conceivably more to be lost by making the first move.

Nothing changes on fourday, a warm and blustery day that suggests spring is around the corner, except that it appears that all the wounded who have survived thus far will recover and will likely be able to return to full duty, if not for a season or so.

Breakfast and the senior officers meeting on fiveday are both uneventful, and Sammyl makes no reference at all to Lerial or his companies. After leaving the meeting and bidding a rather quiet Drusyn an uneventful ride to Swartheld, Lerial has turned to head out to report on events to his officers when a ranker approaches.

“Lord Lerial, ser?”

“Yes?”

“The arms-commander would like a word with you, ser … at your immediate convenience.”

Lerial withholds a smile at the oxymoronic terminology of “immediate convenience” and says, “Of course. Lead on.” He follows the ranker across the entry hall.

The guard outside Rhamuel’s private study nods politely to Lerial. “Ser, please go in.” He opens the door.

“Thank you.” Lerial smiles and enters, noticing how quickly and quietly the door closes behind him.

The arms-commander stands from behind the conference table, on which rests a large silver tray with what appear to be the remnants of his breakfast. “Please join me.”

“Thank you.” Lerial slips into the seat across from Rhamuel.

“How are your men?”

“The wounded who survived the first two nights all look as though as though they will recover completely. Given time, anyway.”

“And you?”

“I’m healthy enough.” Lerial isn’t about to admit how much the battles and the subsequent healing have drained him.

“You still look tired.”

“The healing takes effort,” Lerial admits, feeling that won’t reveal much.

“You accounted for the most Heldyan casualties, you know?” Rhamuel offers.

“I’ll take your word for that,” replies Lerial. “I didn’t see what happened anywhere else.”

He isn’t about to admit to the fact that he can sense what occurs beyond what he can see, if not in nearly the detail as with his eyes.

“Take it.” The arms-commander’s voice is dry. “Your success creates a slight problem for both of us.”

Lerial nods politely, fearing he knows what is coming next. “Commander Sammyl seemed almost displeased with our response to the Heldyan attacks.”

“The commander worries about the comparative effectiveness of the Afritan Guard. He has for some time.”

“I sense his concerns, but the duchy of Cigoerne has no desire to fight with Afrit. We never have wanted such a conflict.”

“I, especially, understand that.” Rhamuel pauses and presents a faint smile. “The duke insisted on the commander as my chief of staff. He puts great faith in him.”

“I can see that he must.”

“I believe you do. Like some of your more distant predecessors, you have talents beyond the obvious, much as you try to keep them very much unobvious. I presume you would prefer that they remain less obvious.”

Lerial manages a soft laugh. “You’re presuming I have such talents.”

“I’m presuming nothing.” Rhamuel’s voice is even. “I have not mentioned this to any, but I watched the Heldyan attack on the eastern wall from the midwall tower. My closeness to such a violent attack made Subcommander Valatyr very uneasy.”

“That would concern any officer in his position.” Especially if my thoughts about your brother are correct. “What about Commander Sammyl?”

“He was less concerned.”

Because he serves your brother?

“I think it would be in both our interests for you to accompany me back to Swartheld to be thanked personally by the duke. He will be informed only that you repulsed two of the four attacks on Luba.” Rhamuel holds up his hand. “There is no need to mention any specifics of how you managed to do so.”

Both our interests? Perhaps. “Wouldn’t my bringing three companies to Swartheld be viewed as … excessive?”

“Not at all. That is what is in my interest. If your companies escort me and my personal squad, then I can leave without further weakening the Afritan Guard in place here.” Rhamuel smiles. “We will not announce this until after Subcommander Ascaar departs tomorrow.”

“What about Commander Sammyl?”

“He is accompanying Subcommander Drusyn, and he believes I will accompany Ascaar. Commander Klassyn will accompany him, as Valatyr and my personal squad will accompany us. Sammyl does not like being in Luba, and so long as he is assured I will return shortly, he will be pleased. He will also wish to brief the duke.”

“To be the first to brief him?”

“Of course.”

“You think this was just the first battle of the attack against Afrit?”

“In one way or another. When and where the next attack will come is another matter. But if another attack comes soon, I would like to have you in Swartheld. Even if it does not, your presence will do much to improve relations between Afrit and Cigoerne.”

Again, Lerial suspects he knows what Rhamuel means but does not wish to say, and the implications suggest that he may have no choice but to escort the arms-commander. The fact that Rhamuel is willing to place himself in Lerial’s hands, so to speak, also suggests the gravity of the situation.

“There is also the problem of the Tourlegyns.”

“Oh?”

“The fact that there were a number in the Heldyan forces suggests that Duke Khesyn has reached some sort of … accommodation with them. That is not the best of news. They love to fight.”

“And fighting us means they don’t fight Heldya?”

“That was my thought. We will see. It is something to keep in mind.”

“What do you want from me?” asks Lerial.

“Your presence, that of your Mirror Lancers, and your best judgment about what will benefit Cigoerne … and your heritage.”

The last three words bother Lerial, because they imply far more than the first three desires expressed by Rhamuel. “My heritage?”

“A man with your background can be present and act with what he thinks is his best judgment and be mistaken. If he is also true to his heritage that is far less likely.”

“What about your heritage?”

Rhamuel laughs. “I would trust your heritage far more than mine. That is another reason why I would like you to see Swartheld, whether or not Khesyn attacks or refrains.”

“You make Swartheld sound so inviting.”

“I’m being honest, or as honest as I dare. I would say that your presence is necessary for your sake and for that of your heritage.”

“And if I don’t find it so?”

“You may leave. I have no intention of forcing you to remain, only to have you see Swartheld and meet my brother the duke … and a few others.”

Lerial offers a wry grin. “How can I refuse such an invitation?”

Rhamuel smiles in return. “You can’t. Or you shouldn’t.”

“I’ll need to send back some of my rankers, perhaps with a few of the riding wounded, with a dispatch detailing my acceptance of your invitation.”

“I can spare a squad to escort them to Ensenla.”

“That would be helpful.”

Rhamuel nods, and Lerial knows there is nothing else that needs to be said.

When Lerial leaves the country house, he can see Drusyn’s battalions of Afritan Guards already formed up and beginning to ride out of Lubana. He makes out a banner he has not seen before and wonders if that signifies Sammyl’s presence or just that of a battalion overcommander. He can’t say that he is unhappy to see Sammyl depart, but he has his doubts about what impressions Sammyl will convey of him and the Mirror Lancers. But then, that is exactly why you’re going to escort Rhamuel and why Sammyl isn’t being told that Lerial will be coming to Swartheld.

As he walks toward the Cigoernean encampment, another fact strikes Lerial. In a way, his own heritage and that of Rhamuel have been entwined for years. You just haven’t thought of it in that way. But does Rhamuel?

Even when he reaches the officers’ tent where his officers wait, Lerial doesn’t have an answer for that question.

“What is it, ser?” asks Kusyl. “You have that look.”

“We may be in Afrit for a time.”

“Another frigging Heldyan attack?”

“Not yet.” Lerial smiles wryly. “We’ve been invited to escort the arms-commander back to Swartheld … and he wants the duke to thank me personally for our supporting them.” He holds up a hand. “For the moment, you’re not to tell the men or the squad leaders anything except that we’ll be here for a few more days, and especially don’t say anything but that to anyone else, either.” While Rhamuel has not specifically asked for that silence, Lerial feels that, at present, some caution is wise, especially from what he has seen of Sammyl, and even possibly Drusyn.

Strauxyn and Kusyl exchange glances. Fheldar shakes his head. Then all three look to Lerial.

“I could refuse … but I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

“Ser?” asks Strauxyn after a moment.

“Think about it. Duke Khesyn wants to rule all of Hamor, and Duke Casseon still hasn’t forgotten what we did to him in Verdheln.”

“So we really don’t want to piss off Duke Atroyan, do we?” says Kusyl. “Frig!”

Lerial has no doubt that the two undercaptains would say more with even less complimentary language if they knew what he suspects. “We’ll leave on sevenday. We can send some of the riding wounded back to Ensenla with our letters and dispatches, along with the other wounded. The arms-commander will provide an escort squad that far.”

“That’s even worse,” comments Kusyl. “He’s got something even tougher in mind for us.”

“Most likely,” agrees Lerial. “But if we don’t stay allied against Khesyn…”

“Fragging mess,” mutters Kusyl.

Absolutely. Lerial shrugs … and then smiles. “We might as well go over what we’ll need.”