Heritage of Cyador (saga of recluce Book 18) (46 page)

For several moments, Lerial just remains in his saddle. He swallows again, then forces himself to study the area before him. Still no one is moving. It is as if the rapid series of chaos-battles has frozen the Heldyans in place.

Lerial uses his order-chaos senses to seek out any signs that might remain of concentrated order or chaos. There are none.

“Mirror Lancers! Hold position!” He turns to Fheldar. “Send messengers to Third and Fourth Battalions that the chaos-wizards have been removed. They can handle the Heldyans from here on.”
We’ve already lost enough men dealing with the results of Afritan weakness and incompetence.
Even as he thinks that, he knows the losses will continue … and will likely get worse. But he needs to save his men for what only he and the Mirror Lancers can do.

He watches what remains of the barricades and the fort, takes another swallow of the watered lager, forcing it down, trying to ignore the stench of burned flesh … and waits for the Heldyan advance. Then he eats one of the hard biscuits he has brought, and swallows more watered lager.

Less than a tenth of a glass later, a Mirror Lancer rides toward Lerial and reins up.

“Ser … Undercaptain Kusyl wants you to know the Afritan battalion on the south and east side of the point is moving, but not the one to the north and west.”

Somehow, Lerial isn’t surprised. “Fheldar, hold the company here. If the Heldyans try an attack, charge them. Otherwise, just maintain the position here.”

“Yes, ser.”

Lerial raises the sabre he has not even been aware of drawing. “If the Afritans begin to advance, don’t get in their way. If they don’t, be ready.” He shrugs. “For what, I don’t know.”
Yet.

Lerial hates galloping down city streets. It’s hard on the mount, and it’s not all that pleasant for the rider. And, there’s always the possibility of running into or over someone darting out of a side lane or alleyway. Nonetheless, he urges the gelding into a gallop toward where he thinks Majer Fhaet will be. Two rankers, dispatched by Fheldar, follow closely.

Holding his shields close to his body, because that takes less effort, Lerial turns the gelding back toward the empty tinsmith’s shop on the side street where he had met Fhaet earlier. Fhaet is outside, mounted and flanked by several Afritan rankers. He is gesturing at the same captain who had followed Lerial’s lead the day before and then pulled back.

“… follow my orders, Captain…” Lerial overhears as he nears the pair. He can see that Fhaet is red in the face.

“I notice that the other battalion is advancing, Majer,” Lerial says loudly as he reins up facing the majer and escorts or guards.

“I don’t answer to you, Lord and Overcaptain. You’re not my lord, and I’ve the discretion not to follow orders if it would endanger my men.” Fhaet’s face turns redder.

The captain eases his mount away from the majer, then gestures to the two rankers, saying in a low voice, “This is between superiors.”

Fhaet glares at the captain and opens his mouth.

“Enough!” snaps Lerial. “You have verbal and written orders to attack. Are you going to order that attack?”

“No. You’re not the one who can order me around. You’re a foreign nobody.”

Lerial is the one whose mouth almost drops open. Instead, he smiles, lifting his sabre slightly. “Is that your final answer? That you won’t obey the orders issued by the arms-commander of Afrit and Subcommander Drusyn?”

“You wrote those orders for him.” Fhaet offers a crooked smile. “Everyone knows that.”

How do they know that?
Lerial doesn’t pursue that. Instead he rides toward Fhaet.

The majer’s eyes barely have time to widen before Lerial’s blade slashes across his throat. Lerial turns to the wide-eyed captain. “Since the majer was unwilling to carry out his orders, Captain, will you allow me to lead Third Battalion against the Heldyan invaders?”

The captain straightens. “Yes, ser!”

“Then we’d better get to it. The Heldyans tried to attack from the north side of the point, beyond the edge of the first line of defense. I suggest we attack there, since your men won’t have to climb over the barricade.”

“You lead, and we’ll follow, ser.”

“First, you have to get me where the battalion is,” Lerial says dryly.

“Just one street over, ser.”

The captain is as direct and accurate as the majer had failed to be, and in what seems moments, he and Lerial are at the head of a column of Afritan foot that stretches back more than a long block. The two Mirror Lancer rankers are drawn up directly behind Lerial.

Lerial surveys the formation. “A five-man front might be better.”

“Yes, ser! Five men front!”

Once the column is re-formed, Lerial does not wait. “Third Battalion! Forward!” Lerial uses order to boost his voice, then urges the gelding forward at a quick walk, letting the front rank of the Afritan foot take the lead once they have emerged from the side street and crossed the shore road. Surprisingly, Third Battalion does not lag the Afritan Fourth Battalion by all that much, perhaps because Lerial’s chaos-war had inflicted far more damage on the north end of the stone barricade, where there are few Heldyans remaining.

By circling slightly to the north, Lerial avoids marching the Afritan Guards through either Eighth or Eleventh Company … and while scattered Heldyan shields and bodies remain from what had been a shielded column, the Afritans meet little resistance until they reach what remains of the walls of the old fort. Once there, Lerial lets the Afritans storm over the low rubble that is all that remains of the west wall, and takes a position just short of the wall.

The Afritan captain details four rankers to remain with Lerial and the pair of Mirror Lancers, then urges his company into the old fort proper. The other four companies follow.

A glass later, the slaughter is over, and there are less than a hundred Heldyan survivors, mostly wounded. The only person who has felt Lerial’s sabre was Majer Fhaet. Before long, the captain returns.

“Now what, ser?”

“Are you the senior captain?”

“Yes, ser.”

“Then you’re in command until Subcommander Drusyn relieves you or promotes you. I’d suggest that you and Majer Aerlyt keep a force here for a time. I’d also suggest that you write up what occurred between me and Majer Fhaet as accurately as possible. Make two copies, one for the subcommander. Keep the other. And I’d suggest you write it immediately, before someone hints you write it in a way that shades matters one way or another.”

“But…”

Lerial smiles sadly. “Five people saw what happened. Usually two have trouble hushing something up. Tell what happened as it happened.”

“Yes, ser.”

“I need to talk to Majer Aerlyt. Have you seen him?”

“He’s at the south entrance to the old fort.”

“Good. Thank you, Captain. I appreciate your doing your duty well and effectively.”

“Thank you, ser.”

Lerial inclines his head, then rides, followed by the rankers, to the south end of the fort, where Aerlyt rides to meet him.

The older majer reins up beside Lerial and gestures toward the bodies in Heldyan bluish-gray and black, then shakes his head. “Stars, what a waste of armsmen.”

“It wouldn’t have been a waste if it kept us from reinforcing the battalions in the north,” Lerial points out. “Or if they had defeated and scattered all the battalions from South Post. If they prevail in the north and conquer Afrit, all this will be forgotten. It’s only a waste when you’re defeated.”

“You’re cynical for one so young.”

Lerial shakes his head. “Perhaps for one so young, but not for one responsible for so much death.”

Aerlyt appears likely to say something, but then, after a moment of looking at Lerial, he merely nods, then says, “Is there anything else you need from us?”

“Just keep any other Heldyans from landing and hold the South Point until you get other orders from Subcommander Drusyn. We need to report what happened to him and then move north to deal with the other Heldyan force.”

“We wish you well, Overcaptain.”

“Thank you.” Lerial nods and turns the gelding.

By the time he returns to the Mirror Lancers, all three companies are in traveling formation, with Eighth Company in the lead and Twenty-third bringing up the rear. But Fheldar, Strauxyn, and Kusyl are at the head of the column, waiting for his orders … and most likely his report, reflects Lerial.

“Ser…?” ventures Strauxyn.

“Why did I lead the Afritan Third Battalion? Because their majer was unable to, and I wanted to make certain they attacked so that we wouldn’t have to do this all over again a third time.”

“That frigging majer, again,” mutters someone.

“We won’t have trouble with him again,” Lerial says mildly.
With the reason we won’t, we likely will, and that’s what you’ll have to explain to Drusyn … and Sammyl … and Rhamuel.
He almost sighs. “We need to get moving.”

“Yes, ser.”

Less than a fifth of a glass later, Lerial is walking into the former factorage that serves as Drusyn’s command post.

Drusyn hurries toward Lerial, then stops.

“Your battalions hold South Point. Most of the Heldyans are dead. There might be a hundred survivors, most of them wounded.”

“You’re hard on your enemies,” observes Drusyn.

“This time, your men did much of it, once we removed the two chaos-wizards and perhaps a company or two of Heldyans protecting them. We did have one major problem.” Lerial does not smile at his own pun.

“Yes?”

“Majer Fhaet refused to attack, even after all the chaos-wizards had been removed.”

Drusyn frowns. “You said that my battalions held South Point.”

Lerial nods.

“But if…”

“I told him to follow your written orders. He refused. I asked him why. He declared that he didn’t have to obey a foreign officer he outranked. I asked him why he didn’t follow his own commander’s orders. He said he didn’t have to follow orders written by a foreign officer.” Lerial shrugs tiredly. “So I cut him down for insubordination and led his battalion myself.”

Drusyn’s mouth drops open. “You…”

“I don’t know about you, Subcommander, but in a war, I believe that the objective is to win as quickly and as decisively as possible, when possible. When it is not possible, the objective is to force as many casualties on the enemy as you are able to do with the smallest possible loss of life, before withdrawing and doing the same thing until you can defeat and destroy the enemy. Sitting around South Point only would have tied up more than three battalions when the arms-commander may need every battalion he can muster in the north. Sitting there neither inflicted losses, nor would it have destroyed the attackers.”

Drusyn says nothing, clearly appalled.

“Oh … and by the way, he apparently forgot, did not notice, or did notice and failed to inform you that the Heldyans landed another three companies—and another chaos-wizard—sometime late yesterday or during the night. That didn’t make anything any easier for anyone. You can take your pick on whether that was incompetence, willful neglect, or treason.” Lerial inclines his head politely. “You now have three battalions free to move to support the Harbor Post. I will so inform Commander Sammyl and the arms-commander.”

“You’re not exactly…” Drusyn shakes his head.

“I tend to forget to be politic when facing treason or incompetence, Subcommander, especially when I’m risking my life and the lives of my men to defend another land from an invasion also enabled by treason. Under such circumstances, you might feel less inclined to be politic as well.” Lerial softens his voice. “Except, unhappily, you can’t afford to be less than politic, and I understand that. So feel free to blame me for whatever’s necessary.”

“For the sake of all of us,” Drusyn says evenly, “try to be a bit more politic in dealing with Sammyl.”

“I will … and thank you.”

As he leaves the subcommander, Lerial knows that Drusyn is right, but that doesn’t make him feel any better, not given the scale of incompetence and outright treason he’s already encountered. That thought engenders another, one even more stark in some ways—
Was that the way it was in Cyador at the end?

From the hints he received from Altyrn, both when the majer had been training him, and in the last letter Maejora had delivered, he fears that it was … and that is not the heritage that Altyrn wanted Lerial to remember … or continue.

And he still has to report to Sammyl and Rhamuel. At the thought of Rhamuel, he can only hope that Norstaan has been successful in getting his dispatch on its way.

XXXII

Third glass is ringing out across Swartheld when the Mirror Lancers enter the Afritan Guard headquarters post. It takes almost a glass to get everything settled before Lerial can again ride out, this time to the palace, accompanied by a squad from Eleventh Company, so that he can report to Sammyl and Rhamuel. Although the latest reports indicate that Heldyans continue to build up their forces less than three kays north of the Harbor Post, they have not yet begun to attack. For his part, Lerial can only hope that Rhamuel remains strong enough to function as arms-commander … and that Subcommander Dhresyl is successfully reorganizing and commanding the Afritan Guards from the Harbor Post.

What strikes Lerial as he rides toward the palace is that the streets and ways are only slightly less crowded than they have been in the past.
Doesn’t anyone know how close the Heldyans are?
Or is that because Swartheld has never been attacked so no one really believes it will happen? He would like to know what the people he rides past on the streets really think.
But now is not the time to ask … as if you even had that time.

On the other hand, a full squad of Afritan Guards is posted at the outer gates to the palace and nearly as many at the gates to the inner courtyard. None attempt to stop Lerial and his squad, although there are only two Afritan rankers leading the way. Once inside the courtyard, Lerial and his squad ride around the rubble—now roughly stacked piles of stone that have been set against the lower walls of the palace—to the stables. By the time Lerial is dismounting, an Afritan ranker is hurrying toward him.