Read Online Cyador’s Heirs by L. E. Modesitt Jr. - Free Book Online
Authors: L. E. Modesitt Jr.
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grain will you need for a nine-day patrol?”
“Four hundred eighty one and a half baskets.”
“What about your mount?”
Lerial manages not to sigh. “I’d need another four and a half baskets.”
“What about grain for the horses pulling the supply wagon?”
“Eighteen more baskets for two supply wagons. That’s … five hundred four baskets.”
Saltaryn nods. “You look at the payroll ledger for a company of Mirror Lancers, and the weekly payroll shows payment of two hundred twenty silvers? How many Lancers understrength is the company?”
Lerial blinks. Understrength? Then he remembers that the payroll has to include the captain, an undercaptain, and a senior squad leader in addition to the rankers. “Seventeen rankers, or seven rankers and no undercaptain.” He pauses. “Most likely, seven without an undercaptain.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because my father wouldn’t allow a company to patrol seventeen rankers below complement.” Not when we’re usually outnumbered anyway, for all the companies stationed on the borders.
“I’ll accept that.”
Lerial waits for the next problem, understanding the necessity for being able to handle figures in his head, but not particularly caring for the exercises.
After another half glass of exercises, Saltaryn smiles. “You’re showing much more discipline in studying. Your father will be pleased to hear that.”
Lerial nods politely, thinking, Not pleased. That’s what he expects.
When Saltaryn and Lerial leave the study, Lerial wonders if he should seek out Woelyt for another round of sparring.
How will you get better and be able to best Lephi if you don’t keep trying? Especially after Woelyt told you that you needed to practice more . He takes a deep slow breath, then walks along the main floor corridor that leads toward the outer courtyard and the Lancers’ practice area.
Unsurprisingly, Woelyt is available, as if the undercaptain has expected Lerial to appear, and Lerial suspects that the officer just may have … or that Saltaryn has informed him when Lerial would likely be finished with his lessons.
Although the soreness in his leg turns out not to hamper him as much as he had feared, he still has difficulty in responding to anything new or different that the undercaptain brings to bear. After the second round of sparring, while he is catching his breath and trying to cool down somewhat, he turns to Woelyt and asks, “How long do you think it will take before I can defend against something I’ve never seen before?”
“When you’re first sparring it seems to take forever,” replies Woelyt with a smile. “The longer and harder you practice, especially with those who are better than you are, the sooner you’ll recognize and be able to defend against moves you haven’t seen. It’s mostly recognition in time to use defenses you already know.”
That doesn’t give Lerial much cheer, true as he suspects the officer’s words are. Still, he perseveres until Woelyt has to leave on his rounds. Then he trudges back into the palace and makes his way to the north fountain court, which he finds empty. He isn’t certain whether he’s relieved or unhappy to find no one else there, although he wonders where his mother and sister might be … or Amaira, for that matter.
After he feels cool enough that he won’t start sweating heavily after he washes up, he heads for the bath chamber. He needs to write another essay for Saltaryn, who was less than pleased with his last effort, and that is likely to take much of what is left of the afternoon.
That night, after dinner, he makes his way to his aunt’s chambers.
Emerya does not invite him in, but steps into the corridor. “Amaira’s fighting a little flux.”
“What about tomorrow?”
She smiles and shakes her head. “For now, Lerial, I think you’ve learned enough.”
“Has Father or Mother—or Saltaryn—said anything? Is that why you don’t want to teach me
“Four hundred eighty one and a half baskets.”
“What about your mount?”
Lerial manages not to sigh. “I’d need another four and a half baskets.”
“What about grain for the horses pulling the supply wagon?”
“Eighteen more baskets for two supply wagons. That’s … five hundred four baskets.”
Saltaryn nods. “You look at the payroll ledger for a company of Mirror Lancers, and the weekly payroll shows payment of two hundred twenty silvers? How many Lancers understrength is the company?”
Lerial blinks. Understrength? Then he remembers that the payroll has to include the captain, an undercaptain, and a senior squad leader in addition to the rankers. “Seventeen rankers, or seven rankers and no undercaptain.” He pauses. “Most likely, seven without an undercaptain.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because my father wouldn’t allow a company to patrol seventeen rankers below complement.” Not when we’re usually outnumbered anyway, for all the companies stationed on the borders.
“I’ll accept that.”
Lerial waits for the next problem, understanding the necessity for being able to handle figures in his head, but not particularly caring for the exercises.
After another half glass of exercises, Saltaryn smiles. “You’re showing much more discipline in studying. Your father will be pleased to hear that.”
Lerial nods politely, thinking, Not pleased. That’s what he expects.
When Saltaryn and Lerial leave the study, Lerial wonders if he should seek out Woelyt for another round of sparring.
How will you get better and be able to best Lephi if you don’t keep trying? Especially after Woelyt told you that you needed to practice more . He takes a deep slow breath, then walks along the main floor corridor that leads toward the outer courtyard and the Lancers’ practice area.
Unsurprisingly, Woelyt is available, as if the undercaptain has expected Lerial to appear, and Lerial suspects that the officer just may have … or that Saltaryn has informed him when Lerial would likely be finished with his lessons.
Although the soreness in his leg turns out not to hamper him as much as he had feared, he still has difficulty in responding to anything new or different that the undercaptain brings to bear. After the second round of sparring, while he is catching his breath and trying to cool down somewhat, he turns to Woelyt and asks, “How long do you think it will take before I can defend against something I’ve never seen before?”
“When you’re first sparring it seems to take forever,” replies Woelyt with a smile. “The longer and harder you practice, especially with those who are better than you are, the sooner you’ll recognize and be able to defend against moves you haven’t seen. It’s mostly recognition in time to use defenses you already know.”
That doesn’t give Lerial much cheer, true as he suspects the officer’s words are. Still, he perseveres until Woelyt has to leave on his rounds. Then he trudges back into the palace and makes his way to the north fountain court, which he finds empty. He isn’t certain whether he’s relieved or unhappy to find no one else there, although he wonders where his mother and sister might be … or Amaira, for that matter.
After he feels cool enough that he won’t start sweating heavily after he washes up, he heads for the bath chamber. He needs to write another essay for Saltaryn, who was less than pleased with his last effort, and that is likely to take much of what is left of the afternoon.
That night, after dinner, he makes his way to his aunt’s chambers.
Emerya does not invite him in, but steps into the corridor. “Amaira’s fighting a little flux.”
“What about tomorrow?”
She smiles and shakes her head. “For now, Lerial, I think you’ve learned enough.”
“Has Father or Mother—or Saltaryn—said anything? Is that why you don’t want to teach me
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