Read Online Heritage of Cyador (saga of recluce Book 18) by Jr. L. E. Modesitt - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Jr. L. E. Modesitt
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ranker, reins up some five yards from Lerial. “Parley banner? A hundred kays into Afrit? Isn’t that stretching things, Overcaptain?”
“No,” replies Lerial pleasantly. “We’re here at Duke Atroyan’s request.”
“It would be helpful if you had some way of proving that…”
Lerial can sense no surprise, almost as if the undercaptain has expected them but has to fulfill an unpleasant duty. “We can do that.” Lerial extracts the two documents from the dispatch case fastened to his saddle, then turns to Fheldar. “If you’d have someone convey these…” Lerial could do that himself, perfectly safely, but that would reveal too much, besides compromising his position.
“Lystr, forward,” orders Fheldar.
A heavyset but young-faced ranker eases his mount forward, up beside the senior squad leader, to whom Lerial has handed the documents. In turn, Fheldar passes them to Lystr.
“Convey these to the Afritan undercaptain. Let him read them, and then return them.” Fheldar speaks loudly enough—his words in Hamorian, since most rankers, even in the Mirror Lancers, are more comfortable speaking it, rather than Cyadoran—that his words carry to the undercaptain.
“Yes, ser.” Lystr nods, then urges his mount forward, halting beside the Afritan officer and tendering the documents.
The hard-faced undercaptain reads both, slowly, as if he has to struggle with the words, and then finally looks up. “It looks like the duke’s seal.” He stares at Lerial. “But it would, wouldn’t it?”
“It would,” admits Lerial, “but why in the world would we be more than a hundred kays from our border with only three companies if it weren’t real?”
“That does pose an interesting problem.”
“The other problem,” adds Lerial, “is that you’ve already sent most of your forces to Luba, and you couldn’t stop us if you wanted to. And, if you try, you’ll lose men that Duke Atroyan desperately needs, while denying him our assistance.”
“You don’t know about my forces.”
“But I do. You have an outpost a little more than three kays north of here, just out of sight. It’s largely empty, since I’d judge you have two squads at most—the one with you and possibly one you left there, if that. What forces you have are still here because the duke or his arms-commander doesn’t want to give the people the idea that they’ve been totally abandoned.”
“You’re Overcaptain Lerial, ser?” The undercaptain obviously doesn’t wish to dispute Lerial’s observations.
“I am.”
“Welcome to Afrit. I’d prefer that you take over our post for the night. It’s quite a nice post. We’ll ride to Luba and inform the duke of your arrival. The other squad will remain at the post. We’ll also pass the word to the hamlets along the way to expect you.”
Lerial can sense none of the chaos that usually accompanies lies, but he still frowns.
“It’s simple, Overcaptain. First, you’re here at the duke’s invitation. Even if you weren’t, we couldn’t fight you. You pointed that out. I still would like to protect the people, and I’m willing to wager that if you have a place where you feel safer and have provisions, then both you and the townspeople will feel better.” A sardonic smile follows. “Besides, I was ordered to make the offer.”
“We accept your offer with thanks.”
The undercaptain nods and returns the documents to Lystr, who accepts them and rides back to Fheldar, who takes them back.
“The guards at the post will be expecting you.” With that, the undercaptain turns his mount. In moments, the Afritans are riding north, the hooves of their mounts raising dust once more.
“Friendly sort, ser,” observes Fheldar dryly.
“I don’t know as I blame him.” Lerial’s brief smile fades. “We’ll wait a bit and let the dust settle.” One of the great advantages of having officers with him who were once rankers is that all of them speak Hamorian, while quite a number
“No,” replies Lerial pleasantly. “We’re here at Duke Atroyan’s request.”
“It would be helpful if you had some way of proving that…”
Lerial can sense no surprise, almost as if the undercaptain has expected them but has to fulfill an unpleasant duty. “We can do that.” Lerial extracts the two documents from the dispatch case fastened to his saddle, then turns to Fheldar. “If you’d have someone convey these…” Lerial could do that himself, perfectly safely, but that would reveal too much, besides compromising his position.
“Lystr, forward,” orders Fheldar.
A heavyset but young-faced ranker eases his mount forward, up beside the senior squad leader, to whom Lerial has handed the documents. In turn, Fheldar passes them to Lystr.
“Convey these to the Afritan undercaptain. Let him read them, and then return them.” Fheldar speaks loudly enough—his words in Hamorian, since most rankers, even in the Mirror Lancers, are more comfortable speaking it, rather than Cyadoran—that his words carry to the undercaptain.
“Yes, ser.” Lystr nods, then urges his mount forward, halting beside the Afritan officer and tendering the documents.
The hard-faced undercaptain reads both, slowly, as if he has to struggle with the words, and then finally looks up. “It looks like the duke’s seal.” He stares at Lerial. “But it would, wouldn’t it?”
“It would,” admits Lerial, “but why in the world would we be more than a hundred kays from our border with only three companies if it weren’t real?”
“That does pose an interesting problem.”
“The other problem,” adds Lerial, “is that you’ve already sent most of your forces to Luba, and you couldn’t stop us if you wanted to. And, if you try, you’ll lose men that Duke Atroyan desperately needs, while denying him our assistance.”
“You don’t know about my forces.”
“But I do. You have an outpost a little more than three kays north of here, just out of sight. It’s largely empty, since I’d judge you have two squads at most—the one with you and possibly one you left there, if that. What forces you have are still here because the duke or his arms-commander doesn’t want to give the people the idea that they’ve been totally abandoned.”
“You’re Overcaptain Lerial, ser?” The undercaptain obviously doesn’t wish to dispute Lerial’s observations.
“I am.”
“Welcome to Afrit. I’d prefer that you take over our post for the night. It’s quite a nice post. We’ll ride to Luba and inform the duke of your arrival. The other squad will remain at the post. We’ll also pass the word to the hamlets along the way to expect you.”
Lerial can sense none of the chaos that usually accompanies lies, but he still frowns.
“It’s simple, Overcaptain. First, you’re here at the duke’s invitation. Even if you weren’t, we couldn’t fight you. You pointed that out. I still would like to protect the people, and I’m willing to wager that if you have a place where you feel safer and have provisions, then both you and the townspeople will feel better.” A sardonic smile follows. “Besides, I was ordered to make the offer.”
“We accept your offer with thanks.”
The undercaptain nods and returns the documents to Lystr, who accepts them and rides back to Fheldar, who takes them back.
“The guards at the post will be expecting you.” With that, the undercaptain turns his mount. In moments, the Afritans are riding north, the hooves of their mounts raising dust once more.
“Friendly sort, ser,” observes Fheldar dryly.
“I don’t know as I blame him.” Lerial’s brief smile fades. “We’ll wait a bit and let the dust settle.” One of the great advantages of having officers with him who were once rankers is that all of them speak Hamorian, while quite a number
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