Heritage of Cyador (saga of recluce Book 18) by Jr. L. E. Modesitt
Authors: Jr. L. E. Modesitt
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officer …
Drusyn immediately motions.
Lerial takes the chair beside him and across from Ascaar, offering a friendly “Good morning” to both.
“You may not think so after morning meetings every day for a season,” says Ascaar.
“Ascaar doesn’t care much for mornings.” Drusyn grins.
“Demons know why I put up with you in the morning.” Ascaar’s grumble is more genial than gruff.
“Because you need a friendly voice to cheer you up.”
“Ser?” offers the servitor standing almost at Lerial’s shoulder. “Juice or lager?”
“Lager … please,” Lerial says.
“Man after my own heart,” declares Ascaar. “How did you find your quarters?”
“More than adequate, but it’s a long walk to my companies.”
The two subcommanders exchange a quick glance, but neither speaks as the servitor arrives with a platter and a beaker of lager. On the platter are eggs, seemingly scrambled with a cheese so pungent Lerial can immediately smell it, along with some yellow peppers. There are thin strips of meat, fried crisply—mutton, Lerial suspects—and a small loaf of whitish bread. He takes a swallow of the lager, then says pleasantly, “I’m assuming that each of you commands two battalions, but I don’t know your command structure.”
“That’s right,” replies Drusyn. “Majers command battalions, subcommanders two to three battalions, and commanders four or more battalions. There have been exceptions.”
“Does anyone know exactly how many companies Khesyn has in Vyada?”
“Word is twenty-five.” Drusyn frowns. “I’d wager more than that. No offense…” He pauses as if unsure exactly how to address Lerial.
“‘Lerial’ here. ‘Overcaptain’ in the field.”
“No offense, Lerial,” adds Drusyn, “but the arms-commander wouldn’t have been able to persuade the duke to invite you to join us if we weren’t outnumbered.”
“The arms-commander told me that Khesyn also has more than fifteen companies held at Estheld, possibly five battalions.”
“Frig…” mutters Ascaar. “No wonder Rhamuel can’t pry any of the other companies from Swartheld … as if Khesyn would risk crossing almost a kay of water in flatboats … and some merchanters might help the duke.”
Might? That definitely concerns Lerial.
Drusyn glances around, then murmurs in a low voice, “The duke doesn’t want to be more indebted to them.”
“Whereas he feels Cigoerne might … just might … feel indebted for other reasons … or unwilling to exact repayment for helping him out?” asks Lerial lightly, if also quietly.
Drusyn laughs softly. “There might be something to that, but we won’t know that until after it doesn’t matter. One way or the other.”
Lerial takes a bite of the eggs, discovering that they taste better than they smell, followed by one of the mutton strips, which tastes exactly like mutton fried and heavily peppered. The bread is warm and slightly doughy.
“I take it that one of the reasons you were sent,” says Ascaar dryly, “is to limit the number of companies your sire felt he had to commit.”
“You can see why Ascaar isn’t on the arms-commander’s staff proper,” adds Drusyn.
“And why he must be a very good field commander?” returns Lerial as soon as he swallows.
“He is. He doesn’t like to admit it,” replies Drusyn.
“And so are you.”
“Why might you say that?” There is a hint of a smile around the corners of Drusyn’s mouth.
“Because you’re in command of battalions where it’s most likely that Khesyn will attack.” And it’s far more important that whoever commands the forces left in Swartheld be loyal to Rhamuel than be the best commander.
“That brings up the other reasons why you were sent,” says Drusyn.
“He’s the most effective field commander Duke Kiedron has,” interjects the subcommander sitting several chairs away.
Lerial hopes the two subcommanders with whom he is sitting don’t catch the slightest
Drusyn immediately motions.
Lerial takes the chair beside him and across from Ascaar, offering a friendly “Good morning” to both.
“You may not think so after morning meetings every day for a season,” says Ascaar.
“Ascaar doesn’t care much for mornings.” Drusyn grins.
“Demons know why I put up with you in the morning.” Ascaar’s grumble is more genial than gruff.
“Because you need a friendly voice to cheer you up.”
“Ser?” offers the servitor standing almost at Lerial’s shoulder. “Juice or lager?”
“Lager … please,” Lerial says.
“Man after my own heart,” declares Ascaar. “How did you find your quarters?”
“More than adequate, but it’s a long walk to my companies.”
The two subcommanders exchange a quick glance, but neither speaks as the servitor arrives with a platter and a beaker of lager. On the platter are eggs, seemingly scrambled with a cheese so pungent Lerial can immediately smell it, along with some yellow peppers. There are thin strips of meat, fried crisply—mutton, Lerial suspects—and a small loaf of whitish bread. He takes a swallow of the lager, then says pleasantly, “I’m assuming that each of you commands two battalions, but I don’t know your command structure.”
“That’s right,” replies Drusyn. “Majers command battalions, subcommanders two to three battalions, and commanders four or more battalions. There have been exceptions.”
“Does anyone know exactly how many companies Khesyn has in Vyada?”
“Word is twenty-five.” Drusyn frowns. “I’d wager more than that. No offense…” He pauses as if unsure exactly how to address Lerial.
“‘Lerial’ here. ‘Overcaptain’ in the field.”
“No offense, Lerial,” adds Drusyn, “but the arms-commander wouldn’t have been able to persuade the duke to invite you to join us if we weren’t outnumbered.”
“The arms-commander told me that Khesyn also has more than fifteen companies held at Estheld, possibly five battalions.”
“Frig…” mutters Ascaar. “No wonder Rhamuel can’t pry any of the other companies from Swartheld … as if Khesyn would risk crossing almost a kay of water in flatboats … and some merchanters might help the duke.”
Might? That definitely concerns Lerial.
Drusyn glances around, then murmurs in a low voice, “The duke doesn’t want to be more indebted to them.”
“Whereas he feels Cigoerne might … just might … feel indebted for other reasons … or unwilling to exact repayment for helping him out?” asks Lerial lightly, if also quietly.
Drusyn laughs softly. “There might be something to that, but we won’t know that until after it doesn’t matter. One way or the other.”
Lerial takes a bite of the eggs, discovering that they taste better than they smell, followed by one of the mutton strips, which tastes exactly like mutton fried and heavily peppered. The bread is warm and slightly doughy.
“I take it that one of the reasons you were sent,” says Ascaar dryly, “is to limit the number of companies your sire felt he had to commit.”
“You can see why Ascaar isn’t on the arms-commander’s staff proper,” adds Drusyn.
“And why he must be a very good field commander?” returns Lerial as soon as he swallows.
“He is. He doesn’t like to admit it,” replies Drusyn.
“And so are you.”
“Why might you say that?” There is a hint of a smile around the corners of Drusyn’s mouth.
“Because you’re in command of battalions where it’s most likely that Khesyn will attack.” And it’s far more important that whoever commands the forces left in Swartheld be loyal to Rhamuel than be the best commander.
“That brings up the other reasons why you were sent,” says Drusyn.
“He’s the most effective field commander Duke Kiedron has,” interjects the subcommander sitting several chairs away.
Lerial hopes the two subcommanders with whom he is sitting don’t catch the slightest
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