Kiedron takes a deep breath, one of the few times Lerial has ever seen him do so, a sign that his father is anything but pleased.
Is that because you question him … or because you’ve really displeased him?
“I’ll excuse that question. The fact that you asked it is reason enough, although your question is another indication of why we feel this is necessary. This is not my decision alone. I’ve talked it over with your mother and even with your aunt. All three of us agree that this will be good for you.”
Even Emerya? Lerial can sense the truth of his father’s words. The fact that his aunt agrees with his father to send him away feels like a betrayal. Why would she agree to that? Why?
“Lerial … it is never good to act out of anger. Nor to learn out of anger. What one does and what one learns are colored by anger. You are of the elthage, and you would be Magi’i even if you were not my son. Using chaos with a clear mind is difficult enough. Trying to master even a modest ability with anger and rage will lead to trouble and more trouble … and most likely an early death.”
But I’m not angry at everyone, just at Lephi … and that you don’t see how he manipulates everyone … just because he’s older and handsomer and charming when he wants to be.
“You’re angry now. I can see that. Anger isn’t good for a magus. It isn’t good for a Mirror Lancer, and it’s even worse for a man who will give commands or orders to either. Unless you come to understand that, you won’t be very good at anything. That’s another reason why you need to be away from the palace.”
Lerial does not reply.
“Lerial … have you nothing to say?”
“No, ser.” Not anything you want to hear.
“Young man … with every moment your actions show why you need to leave. I won’t say more, except that I hope you think over why this is so.”
“Yes, ser. I promise to think it over.” Except that I’ve thought it over more than you can imagine, and it still comes out the same way.
“Good.” Kiedron nods toward the sideboard, where melon slices have been set out on a platter, as well as fresh bread, and some cheese. “Get yourself some breakfast. After that, pack up some of your garments. You’ll need riding gear, and work clothes and your heavy boots. Two sets of good green tunics and trousers should be more than enough. In addition to learning from Majer Altyrn, you’ll be doing the duties a son would be doing. The experience will be good for you.”
“Yes, ser.” And you and Lephi will be happy that troublesome Lerial is out of sight and out of mind. Lerial stands, inclines his head politely, and then makes his way to the sideboard. The melon slices are pomats, juicy but small and not quite bitter, and definitely not his favorites, and the fresh bread is rye, rather than the dark sweet loaves he prefers, but the molasses has to be saved for other uses. That, he knows. There are a few slices of ham, though, and he takes one. He isn’t all that hungry anymore.
When he turns back to the table, his father is standing by his chair.
“I have to leave, Lerial. We need to inspect the irrigation works on the West Branch, and that will take all day. I want to get back in time for dinner, though.”
“Lephi’s going with you?”
“He is. Assuming you learn something in the next year or so, you’ll be doing the same when you’re his age.”
Next year or so? Lerial tries not to swallow. Exiled for a year because you don’t like Lephi’s arrogance?
“Believe me, son. This is for the best.”
Best for whom? Lerial manages a nod. “I hope all goes well with the irrigation works.”
After his father leaves the breakfast room, Lerial seats himself and looks at his platter. Belatedly, he realizes something else. It wasn’t what he’d done the evening before. His father has said he’d talked matters over with his mother, Emerya, and that he’d made arrangements with the majer. All that couldn’t have been done since yesterday. Teilyn is a two-day ride.
They’ve been planning this for days … weeks. He looks toward the empty doorway. Could Lephi have maneuvered it all? From what Lerial had seen, that wasn’t impossible. Far from it.
Finally, he takes one of the melon slices. It tastes bitter, but he doubts that is just the melon.
VIII
Lerial wakes early on oneday and immediately washes and dresses for the ride to Teilyn. Given that the town is at the foot of the Wooded Ridges, more than thirty kays away, he and his father, and their escorts, will be in their saddles a good day and a half. He has already laid out the most comfortable riding clothes he possesses. He eats quickly, alone, and hurries to the stables with the kit bag he has packed. There, he immediately saddles the brown gelding and ties the bag behind his saddle before leading his mount out into the courtyard.
His father is mounted and talking with an undercaptain whom Lerial has not met, and a squad of Lancers is drawn up behind them. Lerial mounts and guides the gelding to within a few yards of the two men and waits. After a time, Kiedron motions for Lerial to join him, and they ride out of the palace grounds behind two Lancers. Behind them are the undercaptain and the rest of the squad. Once outside the walls, the outriders immediately turn south, past the Ministry and across the square to take the southern boulevard that will eventually become the southwest road that leads to Teilyn … and not all that much farther, at least according to the maps Lerial has studied.
Since the sun is barely above the horizon and below the roofs of Cigoerne, Lerial cannot see it, except when they ride past the east-west streets that run toward the river. He wants to ask his father what he had been talking over with the undercaptain, who had looked rather concerned, but decides against that. Instead he asks, “Who is the undercaptain? I’ve only seen him from a distance, and I don’t recall meeting him.”
“That’s Undercaptain Helkhar. Majer Phortyn thinks most highly of him.”
“He seems most diligent.”
“That he is. He is perhaps overconcerned with our safety.”
Lerial immediately understands and keeps his voice low as he asks, “That the Duke of Cigoerne is riding so far with only one squad of Lancers?”
Kiedron nods. “We’re well within the duchy, and having a larger escort would only reduce the number of Lancers available to deal with raiders and poachers.”
“Are there more because of the poor harvests in Merowey and Afrit?”
“There seem to be more. That might be the reason.”
From his father’s tone, Lerial can tell that Kiedron has said all that he is likely to, and the last thing Lerial wants to do is upset him again. “Thank you, ser.”
“You’re welcome.”
Lerial wonders what else might be happening, especially with Afrit, but he decides against doing so until they have ridden well away from the city. Instead he concentrates on observing the road, since he has only ridden for little more than a glass along it in the past. Perhaps three kays beyond where the city seems to end, if the end of close-set houses and the beginning of small cots on plots of land marks such a point, the road roughly follows the western side of a large stream or very small river, no more than six or seven yards across. If the maps are correct, the river is the Lynaar, and Teilyn sits north and west of where it flows out of the Wooded Ridges.
It is well past midmorning, after two brief stops to water the mounts and take a break, before Lerial asks another question. “Might I ask what I should know about Majer Altyrn besides the fact that he was the officer in charge of the Mirror Lancers who accompanied you and Grandmother, and Aunt Emerya on the Kerial from Cyador to Cigoerne?”