“But our Lancers have proven better than theirs,” Lerial points out.
“Casseon would say that the people of the Verd are not fighters from the heritage of Cyador. I hope that is what he and his commanders believe. And he will lose men if it will gain him Verdheln and a better position from which to attack Atroyan, should the opportunity arise in the future.”
“You’re saying that Cigoerne has effectively saved Afrit from conquest. So why is Atroyan attacking us now?”
Altyrn laughs softly. “Who would come to Afrit’s aid if your father-or in years to come, your brother-decided to turn on Afrit? If Atroyan defeats your father, now, and is merciful, and he would be a fool not to be, and he’s not that much of a fool, who else could the people of Cigoerne support?”
“So that’s why Khesyn doesn’t want to commit many men to attacking us … so that if there’s a real war between Afrit and Cigoerne, at the end he can sweep down on Swartheld and take it?”
“Were I in his boots, that’s the way I’d plan it.” Altyrn stands. “We can’t do anything about any of that at the moment, and I’m hungry. I imagine you are, too.”
Lerial tucks the letter inside his riding jacket and follows the majer.
LII
Over the next several days, something nags at Lerial, but not until twoday, as he has finished his sabre instruction with the Verdyn recruits, who, he has to admit, are actually able to practice moves with real sabres, although they still spar with wands, does he finally realize what has been bothering him. He almost stops in midstride as he walks toward the stable as it hits him.
Altyrn’s near matter-of-fact attitude toward the death of Captain Dechund.
The majer hadn’t liked or respected Dechund, but the total indifference-or was it the underlying lack of surprise in Altyrn’s feelings? — that was what has nagged at Lerial, without his even realizing it. But you didn’t like Dechund, either, and he was keeping information from Lancer headquarters. That was clear enough, although Altyrn has avoided talking about it, despite saying that they would later. But “later” had never come … and the majer isn’t one to forget anything.
“You’re looking serious. Very serious,” offers Altyrn, standing beside his mount. “What are you pondering?”
Lerial halts, caught off-guard. What can you say … that makes sense without being obvious? Or too obvious? “Captain Dechund’s death. It seems so … odd. Maybe ‘ironic’ is a better word. You can ride out against raiders or armsmen, and nothing happens, and then, something stupid, like a flux, hits you, and it does what armsmen couldn’t.”
“Life is like that.” Altyrn laughs, a sound as much sardonic as humorous. “So is death.” He pauses. “I’m sure you’ve noticed that I didn’t exactly express sorrow at his death. I don’t know why he wasn’t reporting the Afritan patrols, or why he was ignoring the raids close to the border, but those aren’t the acts of a good or loyal officer. And to have a situation where an Afritan archer took a shot at two officers in a Cigoernean town next to his post … that’s not an indication of an effective post commander.”
“An Afritan archer?”
“I kept the shafts. Those shafts are only used by Afritan armsmen. The arrowheads were those used on Afritan war arrows.” Altyrn shook his head. “Given all that, I trust you can see why I was actually relieved that he died. I’d cautioned Majer Phortyn, but…” The majer shrugs. “I could have sent him the arrows, but they just would have disappeared.”
The revelation about the arrows stuns Lerial. The majer is implying that Dechund was worse than incompetent … and that Phortyn isn’t much better.
“There’s nothing more to be said,” Altyrn goes on, almost genially. “Seivyr will make a good post commander, and most people will forget or feel sorry for Dechund. In a way, he was fortunate, I suppose, because if we brought the arrows to your father with all the Lancers who saw it happen … well, we still behead traitors, but that would have just created bad feelings among the Magi’i toward the Lancers, and that’s not something the Duke needs.”
Another thought strikes Lerial, one at which he has the feeling of both laughing and being totally appalled. “Majer Phortyn assigned Seivyr to Tirminya under Dechund? After his comment about uniforms?”
“He did indeed. That’s his prerogative as Lancer Commander. You should know that, but I wouldn’t mention it to anyone. Not for a while.”
“Yes, ser.” Lerial desperately wants to ask why he shouldn’t, but decides that he needs to think that over before asking the question. So far, the majer has been right in everything about which he has advised Lerial. But this?
An ostler walks Lerial’s gelding from the stable. “Seeing as you’ve been occupied, ser…”
“Thank you.” Lerial takes the reins and then mounts, his thoughts scattered and less than organized.
Altyrn rides beside Lerial toward the cleared area where the recruit squads-and now companies-practice maneuvers. After several moments, he asks, “What do you think of the Verdyn Lancers, such as they are?”
“They can charge and do basic movements.” Lerial pauses. “But, with those brown uniforms, the Meroweyans will know they aren’t Mirror Lancers.”
“That’s likely, but Casseon’s men will be surprised to find six companies of any sort of Lancers.”
“What about the other two hundred recruits?”
“They’re supposed to arrive on fiveday.”
“I can’t imagine they’re all that happy about it all. They work with a will, but there’s a … something…” Lerial shakes his head.
“Fatalism, perhaps? It doesn’t matter,” replies the majer. “They’d have to fight Casseon anyway, or have most of their young people in slavery or servitude. He’s the sort that wants everyone to believe in the same things as he does, and in the same way.” Altyrn pauses. “I hope you don’t mind my saying this, but that was one of your grandsire’s worst faults.”
“I couldn’t say, ser. I understand he was far from perfect.”
The majer nods. “Do you know what one of your father’s greatest strengths is? As a ruler, that is?”
“I wouldn’t want to guess, ser.”
“He doesn’t believe that people should all think or believe in the same way, just so long as they follow the laws of the land. None of the other Dukes think that way, and it’s one of the reasons why Cigoerne has grown. It’s why the elders of Verdheln came to him, and it’s also why the other rulers are trying to unite against him.”
“Won’t that help over the long run?”
“Who can tell? When people are different, and there’s no danger, they argue. Sometimes, even when there is danger, they argue more. It’s always about whose ways are right. That’s one of the clarifying things about a battle … or a war. No matter what the mages and philosophers say, whoever wins is right. That’s because dead men can’t argue, and most historians belong to the winner.”
As the winter has waned, and spring is approaching-as is the likely attack of Casseon’s armsmen-Lerial can see the growing cynicism of the majer … and that too troubles him.
As they rein up on the north side of the maneuver field, Lerial turns to Altyrn. “Do the Meroweyan armsmen wear breastplates the way the Afritans do?”
“Only the heavy cavalry of the Afritans wear armor, and that includes greaves and helmets. The Afritan ceremonial guards wear breastplates. I have no idea why. Casseon might have heavies, but I’ve not heard of any. Khesyn has at least three heavy cavalry companies.”
“Will our archers be able to slow or stop any, if Casseon brings them?”
“That’s the idea. Not that all ideas work out.”
Lerial decides to stop asking questions for the moment. It’s clear that Altyrn’s thoughts are elsewhere.
LIII
The first eightday of spring arrives, along with more cold winds … and no rain … and it passes, and Lerial keeps working on blade skills with new Lancers in the morning. In dealing with some of the less-skilled Lancer recruits, he has begun to instruct them using his wand left-handed, and no one has remarked upon it. But then, transferring a skill from one hand to another seems easier, far easier, at least to Lerial, than learning it completely anew. In the afternoon, he works with and continues to learn about mounted maneuvers and tactics with Juist, and more and more often, with Altyrn. In the evening, he strengthens his abilities to deal with chaos, chaos-fire, hoping that what he is doing will work with mage-created chaos.