Heritage of Cyador

II

By fourday morning, just before muster, Lerial has still heard nothing from headquarters, not that he expected a dispatch in the morning, but he had thought there might have been one on threeday afternoon. He’d even sent lancers to check the lone pier that serves Ensenla, and the scouts had talked to more of the Afritan herders and growers, but none of them knew anything more than Lerial and the scouts. A delay in response from the commander means nothing in itself, but Ensenla post is less than a day’s ride north of Cigoerne-though a fast ride to make in that time-and Lerial sent out the dispatch on oneday.

There’s no helping that, he thinks as he steps out of headquarters to receive the morning reports. Both officers are waiting on the narrow porch.

“Eleventh Company stands ready, ser,” reports Undercaptain Strauxyn.

“Eighth Company stands ready, ser,” reports Senior Squad Leader Fheldar, who handles the muster for Lerial, since Lerial is both Eighth Company captain and post commander.

“Good.” Since Eleventh Company is the duty company for the day, Lerial turns to Strauxyn. “Keep up the scouting runs on the Afritan post … and to the west, just in case the withdrawal was some sort of feint. If anything changes, let me know. Keep someone posted at the pier as well.”

“Yes, ser.”

At the inquiring looks from the two, Lerial shakes his head. “You’d have already heard if we’d gotten a dispatch from the commander. He may not know anything more than we do.” In fact, he might not even have known what we know. Lerial understands the need for following the chain of command, but there are times when not following it might result in better information … and sooner, and this might be one of those times, since it is just possible that either his father or his aunt might have information that would be useful.

“Yes, ser,” replies Fheldar blandly.

Lerial manages not to smile, knowing exactly what Fheldar’s blandness signifies. At the same time, having served under Phortyn, the previous commander of the Mirror Lancers, Lerial would far rather have the not terribly imaginative, and very honest and loyal, Jhalet in that position. “I’ll be riding out on my own inspection in half a glass, Strauxyn. If you’d have four rankers…”

“Yes, ser.”

It is closer to a third of a glass later when Lerial rides out through the post gates on the brown gelding that has been his primary mount for almost six years, accompanied by four lancers. The post stands on high ground to the west of Ensenla, ground not quite so high as that of the rise along which the border between Cigoerne and Afrit runs, but with a swale between it and the border rise.

As always, but especially when he leaves the post, Lerial has created an order-shield that will repel chaos-bolts and iron weapons-and linked it to his belt knife. Even after five years of trying, for reasons he cannot fathom he has been unable to create shields directly linked to himself, and that could pose a problem at times, because the linked shields have a tendency to fade, unless renewed, roughly two glasses after being created. He can create momentarily larger shields, enough to protect a company, for a short time, but holding them for any longer than a tenth of a glass quickly exhausts him.

You should count yourself fortunate, he reminds himself. And he should, because his father, for all his Magi’i bloodline, has no ability to shield himself at all, and his brother Lephi’s shields, although based on chaos rather than order, are far weaker than Lerial’s.

Lerial turns the gelding onto the main road from the post through the town and to the river pier. Less than half a kay from the post gates is a dwelling under construction, its walls of sun-dried mud bricks that will be covered with a mud plaster when the house is completed and roofed and then whitewashed with numerous coats until the walls are almost a shimmering white. The walls of the older dwellings, not that any are more than four years old, are beginning to take on a faint pinkish shade from the reddish dust that is all too prevalent in summer.

As he rides into the center of the town, and across the small square, he sees that the small walled and roofed terrace of the inn on the south side of the square is vacant, as it usually is in winter, but that two men watch from the narrow front porch.

“Good morning, Captain!” calls Carlyat, the taller of the two, and the son of Harush, who owns the inn and tavern.

“The same to you,” returns Lerial cheerfully.

Carlyat grins and shakes head.

Beyond the square are a handful of crafters’ shops, and the only chandlery north of the city proper of Cigoerne. More than once when he was young, Lerial had questioned his father about why the city that held the palace and the duchy itself were both called Cigoerne, and the answer was invariably the same: “Because that is the way it has to be.”

Now … it doesn’t have to be that way, but the habit is so ingrained that it’s unlikely to change, at least not anytime soon. Beyond the crafters’ shops is the single factorage in Ensenla, and it is, given the herders, a wool factorage that sits almost at the foot of the single brick and stone pier extending some twenty yards from the shore out into the gray-blue water, which also holds a touch of brown. At the moment, no craft are tied there, as is usually the case. Lerial glances across the river toward the marshes on the far side, but he sees no fishermen or bird hunters there, nor any flatboats or trading craft.

While he has never measured the width of the river, it is more than half a kay across when it reaches Swartheld, according to Emerya, and from Lerial’s own best judgment it is not that much narrower at Ensenla or even Cigoerne, although it narrows considerably upstream of Cigoerne. That, he does recall from the few journeys he had taken with his father when he was much younger.

After a short time, he turns the gelding away from the pier and rides north along the river road, which quickly turns into little more than a trail, well before it reaches the faded green post that marks the boundary between the two duchies. He takes his time as he heads west along the border. Almost three glasses after he set out, Lerial rides back into Ensenla Post, his winter jacket loosened because the sun and the still air have made the day almost pleasant. He has seen no sign of any Afritan troopers or raiders … and he has been able to sense no bodies of men within more than five kays of Ensenla … and that worries him.

He is still worrying, sitting behind his desk and looking at maps, two glasses later when the duty ranker calls out, “Ser! There’s a dispatch rider coming through the gates.”

Lerial does not quite bolt to his feet, but he is waiting by the duty desk as a dispatch rider he does not recognize hurries into headquarters.

“Captain Lerial, ser?”

Lerial nods. “Yes?”

“These are for you, ser.” The rider hands over two sealed dispatches and a small leather pouch. “They’re from Commander Jhalet, ser.”

“Thank you.”

“My pleasure, ser.”

“If you’d arrange for food…” Lerial looks to the duty ranker.

“Yes, ser.”

Lerial turns and takes the dispatch and pouch back into his small study, closing the door behind himself. Then he breaks the seal and unfolds the first dispatch, a single sheet, and begins to read.

The message is brief, and the key sentence is simple and direct: “In view of your service and ability to keep the north border secure, you are hereby promoted to Overcaptain, effective immediately.” The signature at the bottom is that of Commander Jhalet.

The small pouch that has come with the dispatch contains the insignia of an overcaptain.

The unexpected promotion troubles Lerial greatly, because in the normal course of events he would not have been considered for promotion for roughly another year and a half, and also because his older brother Lephi has been an overcaptain for less than a year, having spent the full five years as a captain.

Lerial looks at the second dispatch, then opens it. The substance of that dispatch, also from Jhalet-and, unlike the first, written in the commander’s own hand-is equally brief and direct.

You are hereby temporarily recalled to Mirror Lancer headquarters for consultation, to leave no later than fiveday morning and to make deliberate speed. Undercaptain Strauxyn will act as temporary post commander in your absence.

The two dispatches could easily have been written on a single sheet, but Jhalet had not done so, most likely because a duplicate of the promotion dispatch would be in Lerial’s files, and that means that the recall dispatch is not something that Jhalet wishes to share with anyone at the moment.

An early promotion and a recall for consultations, whatever that means? Lerial has grave doubts that it means anything good. The only question is how bad the trouble is and where.