Cyador’s Heirs (38 page)

What the majer says makes sense, and it reinforces some of what Saltaryn had tried to convey to Lerial, but with more real-life examples.

As they walk back toward the main gates of the post, Lerial realizes that the majer has not said a word about Captain Dechund … and is not likely to do so—not until they have left Tirminya well behind.

XLI

The remainder of oneday and twoday are far less eventful. Lerial spends more time studying maps. He also watches closely as the post rankers replace an axle on one of the post’s supply wagons. By the time he and the majer join the three other officers for dinner on twoday night, Lerial is more than ready to leave Tirminya post, and he can certainly see why Juist was not impressed with the time he had spent there.

When the five gather at the small table, with Altyrn at the head, and Dechund to his right, and Lerial his left, Dechund smiles broadly. “I did break out some of the better lager for dinner tonight. It’ll be a while before you see it’s like again, I’d wager.”

“I won’t be taking that wager,” returns the majer. “We do appreciate the lager.”

The meal is better than that of the previous two nights, if marginally, consisting of tenderized mutton cutlets and sliced boiled potatoes, both smothered in a brown cream sauce, with boiled turnips. There is more than enough, even though Sevier and Whalen take rather substantial helpings.

Lerial even finds the lager not bad at all, although he would not call it good, but, rather, adequate.

“What do you think you’ll be able to do with those forest types?” asks Dechund after taking what looks to be the last swallow of lager from his mug.

“Who knows?” replies the majer. “We have orders, and we’ll do the best we can. Predicting about what you don’t know isn’t a good idea for any officer.” He looks to Lerial. “For that matter, it’s not a good idea for anyone.”

“They said the women are beautiful,” says the captain. “That could be why the Meroweyans are thinking of moving north. You think that’s why you ran into raiders in the south valley? That they’re having to move out as more small growers move north?”

“That could be.”

“You never said much about what happened with the raiders. I mean with you and the raiders this last time.”

Altyrn clears his throat, then looks to Lerial. “There’s a dispatch I left on the table-desk in my quarters. I meant to give it to Captain Dechund before dinner. Would you mind? I’d rather not put that off until later. Especially not in the morning. Things get misplaced in dim light when you’re setting out.”

Lerial can sense that, again, Altyrn is telling the truth, but in a somewhat shaded way, and it puts him in an awkward position. As an undercaptain, he should immediately jump up. As the Duke’s son and potential heir … Lerial decides he’s still an undercaptain and likely will be for some years yet.

“I’d be happy to get that, ser,” he says as he rises.

“Thank you. I do appreciate that.” Altyrn lowers his voice and murmurs, “And take plenty of time.”

Lerial can tell that the majer truly does appreciate his fetching the dispatch, and that not only surprises Lerial, but concerns him as he leaves the small mess room and hurries toward the guest officers’ quarters.
Why does he need plenty of time?

The quarters that the majer has been occupying are not any larger than those in which Lerial has been sleeping, and scarcely any better furnished, save that the table-desk looks newer and the pallet firmer.

The dispatch that lies on the table-desk, weighed down by a small brown leather-bound book, is a single sheet of paper, not folded or sealed. Lerial reads it, since he assumes it is not that confidential. It is addressed to Captain Graessyr.

… pleased to inform you that we have arrived at Tirminya post without any untoward events, and that we are leaving on threeday morning of the fifth eightday of winter. We have delivered the paychest to post Commander Dechund, and have escorted his replacement Lancers to the post. We have seen no sign of raiders or of Afritan troops thus far.

The Mina River is running lower than in the past, and that may be a sign of difficulties in the seasons ahead, unless there is more rain …

When he finishes reading, Lerial lowers the dispatch. It is signed and sealed at the bottom, but not folded and sealed again. He can’t help but frown. Exactly why does the majer need such an innocuous dispatch so immediately? Or what does he want to tell Dechund and the two undercaptains without Lerial around?

His eyes go to the small volume, and he wonders what it might be. He does not pick it up, but does look at the front cover and the spine, but there is no title or other indication as to what the volume is. Lerial decides against opening it, but does take some time to survey the small room. There isn’t much to observe, except that the chamber is neat, and nothing is out of place, and not a piece of gear or clothing is visible. In fact, the only personal items in plain view are the dispatch and the brown book. All of that suggests that Altyrn had in fact planned to leave the dispatch and then send Lerial to fetch it.

After a time, during which he does nothing but stand and think about why the majer may have done what he did, Lerial takes the dispatch and steps out of the small quarters, gently closing the door and then walking from the quarters across the courtyard back to the mess.

When he nears the half-open door to the mess he slows and listens.

“… and that’s why I sent him off … Good lager … have to admit…”

“… better lager than you’ll get at most messes…”

“… we do appreciate it … knows what they drink in the hills?”

Lerial frowns at that statement by Altyrn, since he is more than certain that the majer knows full well what beverages are drunk by the hill people.

“… but you need more of your own lager. I’ll even pour it…”

Lerial coughs as he nears the door, then steps inside. “I’m sorry, ser, it took a few moments.” He offers an embarrassed smile as he extends the dispatch. “The lager…”

“It happens to the best of us.” Altyrn takes the dispatch and looks to the captain. “Didn’t even put the final seal on it. You can do that and send it, though.”

“I’d be happy to,” replies Dechund.

“Well … be up early tomorrow morning.” Altyrn stands abruptly, and his jacket sleeve catches the edge of the lager pitcher, but he grabs the pitcher with his other hand, catching it before it can tumble to the floor. Even so, most of the remaining lager, not that there was apparently much, sloshes out onto the wooden floor. “Sorry about that. There wasn’t much left, though, and I did save the pitcher.” The majer sets the pitcher on the table. “Our thanks again.”

Lerial is impressed at Altyrn’s quickness in catching the pitcher, but he can also sense a certain worry from the majer as they leave the mess, but he does not ask or speak, even after they are crossing the courtyard back to the officers’ quarters.

When the two are well away from any building, apparently alone, Altyrn says quietly, “I hope you didn’t mind, but I wanted to tell the others about what occurred in the south valley, without you present, because, if you were, they’d be skeptical about my version of events.”

That statement is clearly true and unshaded. Yet that leaves Lerial even more puzzled about Altyrn’s motives and why he needed Lerial out of the mess room, because Altyrn had definitely been concerned about something … and Lerial has his doubts about what that might be. All he says in reply is, “I can see that, ser.”

“We’ll talk more tomorrow.”

“Yes, ser.” One thing about which Lerial is certain is that the majer neither likes nor trusts Dechund … and from what Lerial has seen and sensed, he shares Altyrn’s concerns.

Still … it is a while before sleep finds him.

XLII

Altyrn and Lerial and their squads and wagons are up even earlier on threeday, preparing to leave well before sunrise.

“What about the lances, Majer?” asks Kusyl. “When should we start riding with them?”

“Not now,” replies Altyrn. “If we run across raiders, sabres should be enough. If things change, we can get to them quickly enough.”

“There won’t be many raiders near the Verd,” adds Seivyr, who has appeared from somewhere in the low light. “Came to see you off, Majer.”

“That’s appreciated, Seivyr.” Altyrn pauses, then adds, “You know … there have been reports of Afritan armsmen. I wouldn’t be surprised if you might not get some sort of night attack. I’m just an old careful majer, but it wouldn’t hurt to make sure the gates are closed at night for a while. And that they stay locked.”

“I’ve been thinking that myself.”

“You wouldn’t want any trouble that way. It’s easy to overlook an unbarred gate or one with a slipped bar.”

Altyrn looks from Seivyr to Lerial. “You’ll ride with Kusyl and his squad.”

“Yes, ser.”

As the majer has ordered, the squads ride out through the gates before the sun even peeks over the horizon, with Altyrn leading the way beside Juist. The road west from Tirminya looks no different from the road into the border town, just a dirt track running through barely rolling hills and paralleling the north side of the Wooded Ridges. While there are groupings of growers’ steads, either around springs or small streams, it appears to Lerial that most of those living at the south end of the grasslands that, according to the maps, stretch close to two hundred kays to the north–northwest are herders of some sort, mostly of sheep, although he does see an occasional herd of cattle, but no goats.

Is the absence of goats because they tend to destroy the grass?
Lerial doubts that, suspecting that the reason is merely that either sheep or cattle pay more for the herders.

Once the column is on the road west, and all the Lancers and wagons are in order, Lerial turns in the saddle and says to Kusyl, “I haven’t seen that many Lancer posts. Just Lancer headquarters and the posts at Teilyn and Brehaal … and now Tirminya. How does Tirminya compare to others?”

“Some are better. Some worse. Both Seivyr and Whalyn are good undercaptains. Seivyr’d make a good post captain. Rankers are mostly solid, even the replacements that rode with us.” Kusyl pauses, seeming to gnaw at his upper lip for a moment. “Place like Tirminya is hard on the rankers. Have to watch the men close.”

Especially the squad leaders do.
Lerial doesn’t say that, knowing it wouldn’t be right, in some fashion. “Because it’s so far from everywhere?”

“Partly. Also because there’s no real backup. That’s one reason why a post like Tirminya has five squads instead of four, and two undercaptains instead of one.”

“Did any of the squad leaders at the post say much about raiders or poachers … or Afritan armsmen?”

“They’ve seen some, mostly to the north, but sometimes to the west. Usually not more than a squad.” Kusyl paused. “Come to think of it, Gaehorn said he’d never seen more than a squad at a time.”

Lerial asks questions intermittently for almost a glass before Altyrn rides back and orders him, if quietly, to ride forward and take the lead position with Juist and his squad. That alone tells Lerial that the majer doesn’t expect trouble any time soon.

Once Lerial has ridden beside Juist for a time, he asks the same sorts of questions of the older squad leader as he had of Kusyl, and then listens. The answers are similar, except in one case.

“… got the feeling that there haven’t been as many poachers and raiders from the north lately,” Juist says. “Might be because the Afritans have some patrols going. More than they used to.” He looks to Lerial. “You have any thoughts on that, ser?”

“I do know that there have been more Afritan armsmen lately just north of Penecca. They might be trying to weaken us by keeping Lancers from being moved south to deal with the raiders from Heldya. There are more Heldyan forces on the east side of the river recently.”

“Friggin’ Heldyans…” murmurs Juist, almost under his breath. “Begging your pardon, ser.”

“I don’t think the majer’s all that fond of them, either. He hasn’t said anything, but I’ve gotten that impression.”

“No one with brains would care for them, not from what I’ve seen.”

“Have you had to fight them?”

“Only once. Saw one of them cut the throat of his own wounded. Man had a broken leg, and his mount was down. Could have lived. Grabbed his wallet, too.”

“That sounds like a raider.”

“It wasn’t. Heldyan squad leader.” Juist shakes his head.

After another half glass, Altyrn returns, then motions for Lerial to ride with him, well ahead of the squad. Lerial eases the gelding forward, wondering what the majer has in mind.

“I’ve not been neglecting you,” Altyrn says. “I wanted to learn what Juist and Kusyl saw and learned while we were at Tirminya post. Did you talk to them about that?”

“Yes, ser. I mean, I asked what they thought of the post because I hadn’t seen that many…” Lerial goes on to relay what he has learned.

When he finishes, the majer nods. “Good. You need to talk to them often, but not just for the sake of talking. Never be familiar, and never condescending.”

Lerial does not point out that the majer has said that to him before. Several times, in fact, but that indicates to him how important Altyrn feels that advice is.

“What did you think of Captain Dechund?” Altyrn’s voice is pleasant.

Lerial detects no strain or chaos around the majer and decides on an accurate, but cautious reply. “There’s something about him that concerns me, but I couldn’t say why exactly. Then, it might just be the business about his not knowing about Afritan patrols. Both Kusyl and Juist heard about patrols from the squad leaders at the post.”

“You’re being cautious.”

“Yes, ser. I don’t have the experience to take risks about things I don’t know enough about. Especially when I don’t have to.” He manages a rueful grin as he looks at Altyrn.

“You’re right. For now. But you won’t always be in that position, you know?”

“I know, ser, but I can hope I’ve learned more by the time I have.”

“You just might.” Altyrn chuckles. “Now, let me tell you what I know about the land and the people in this part of the north valley…”