Heritage of Cyador (saga of recluce Book 18) (12 page)

Lerial can indeed. The east wall of Lubana is the riverbank, although stone riprap perhaps three yards in width extends from the base of the wall then drops another two yards to the water’s surface. The marshes begin less than twenty yards south of the corner tower, largely rushes and reeds with only small patches of open water, and extend a good thirty to fifty yards out into the river. A graveled lane, with a low hedgerow—trimmed to a height of two yards—separating the lane from the park proper heads south along the western edge of the reed marshes, and Valatyr gestures. “The lane has been well maintained.”

“It looks like parts of the marsh were filled to make sure the lane is straight.”

“Duke Natroyan’s doing. Even then, when Heldya was far less strong, he wanted roads along the river.”

“All of the good roads along the Swarth were his doing?”

“Most of them,” Valatyr admits, turning his mount.

Lerial eases the mare alongside Valatyr. “You were a battalion commander once, I take it.”

“For a time.”

“Where, might I ask?”

“Here. Drusyn was my successor.”

“Does that mean that Ascaar’s forces are normally posted somewhere between Luba and Swartheld?”

“They are. At Shaelt. It’s a small river city, perhaps twice the size of Luba. It’s about seventy kays north.”

Lerial nods, his eyes taking in the marshes to the east and to the south. He can see the gradual turning of the river more toward the south and southwest, and his maps show that it actually flows from the west to the east before returning to its general flow from the southeast to the northwest, much as it does near Cigoerne, except the shift is larger there. Before long, the lane swings to the southwest, and the reed marshes give way to a shallow backwater. Across the grayish water he can see Vyada. At first, he has to wonder if it is as large as others have said, but then he realizes that the buildings and dwellings on the other side seem smaller because the Swarth is wider than at Cigoerne or Ensenla, close to three-quarters of a kay.

“The new piers are farther west.” Valatyr points. “There. Just below the point of that bluff that extends into the river.”

“I’d say they’re almost two kays from here.”

“That’s about right.”

Lerial studies the river. The current doesn’t look that strong.
It’s usually not as fast where the land around the river is flat and the river is wide … but that would make crossing it here easier and possible in a shorter distance.
His eyes go to the hunting park to his right. The ground is more open, with fewer trees than closer to the south gate. “If they landed here at night, they could make it to the main road without getting much nearer to Lubana.”

“They could. That’s why we have scouts posted there.” Valatyr points ahead to what appears to be a small timber house on piles set between the lane and the river. “They wouldn’t do that. They’d attack us. They might even wait for us to attack them.”

“To defeat and destroy the duke’s forces … and then begin to take and occupy every town and city along the river as they move toward Swartheld.”

“That’s my opinion. The arms-commander’s, too.” Valatyr makes a gesture to the rankers following them, but keeps riding until they are a good fifty yards ahead.

Lerial checks and reinforces his shields, but says nothing, doubting he will be attacked, but wondering what the subcommander might have to say that he does not wish overheard.

Valatyr reins up and looks appraisingly at Lerial for several moments before he finally speaks. “You know you’re not anything like anyone pictured.”

“I couldn’t say. I’ve never thought about it.”

“I should have said, ‘Anyone but the arms-commander.’ He did say right after you arrived that you were close to what he expected.”

“That’s not surprising. He has good sources in Cigoerne.”

For a moment, Valatyr is silent, as if Lerial has offered an unexpected comment. Then he smiles, faintly. “You know his sources?”

“At least one of them.”

“And your sire does as well?”

“Of course. It’s to our interest that he receives accurate information.” Lerial shrugs, although he knows his next words must be carefully chosen. “To my knowledge, neither of us has ever said a word to a source about their communications, or even hinted that we knew.” That is stretching matters slightly so far as Lerial is concerned, and more than that for his father, yet certainly his words do reflect the underlying truth.

Valatyr frowns for a moment. “Begging your pardon, Lord Lerial, but I have great difficulty in accepting that.”

“I can understand that, but what I said is true and reflects everything I know.”

“Yet you conceal all that you are.”

“Conceal, not lie. I certainly am not denying anything to you. I know as well as you do that, should Khesyn attack, I will not be able to conceal whatever abilities I may have. No officer can do that and survive.”
Either the enemy or his commander.

“Why are
you
here?”

“Because Cigoerne cannot afford to have Afrit fall to Duke Khesyn.”

“Then why did your sire not send a greater force?”

“Because, had he done that, Khesyn would have attacked Cigoerne instead of Afrit. He might still.”

“And you will make the difference?” The subcommander’s voice is only faintly ironic.

“I have pledged to do all that I can.”
Without giving up your own life … and trying not to lose your entire command.

Valatyr’s laugh is both harsh and soft. Then he shakes his head. “Come. Let me show you the rest of this end of the hunting park, and the various lanes and roads.”

Once more Lerial nods. He can sense that that his very presence in Afrit has unsettled the other officer, and that the subcommander is disturbed, but that he has not lied. All that reinforces the concerns that Emerya had once suggested about Afrit’s weaknesses.
And you’re supposed to do something about that … with merely three companies?

Almost two glasses later, Valatyr and Lerial return to the “country house” and the salon, where they have a lager and some slices of bread and cheese before setting out again.

As the two ride toward the north entrance to Lubana, whose iron-grille gates are closed and guarded by at least a half a squad of Afritan troopers, Valatyr says, “We’ll just follow the river road north until we get to the hills and the north bluff. You can tour Luba proper on your own later.”

Three of the Afritan Guards hurry forward and swing open the heavy gates, then close them behind the two officers and the half squad of rankers escorting them. The lane beyond the gates is paved and extends due north for another kay through well-tended fields and pastures before it intersects the wide road that heads westward to the ironworks and eastward to Luba proper, seemingly less than a half kay away, assuming that the rows of houses that begin just ahead represent the town boundary.

Valatyr turns his mount eastward. “We’ll take the river road.”

The river road is almost exactly a half kay away, as it should be, reflects Lerial, given the dimensions of the wall surrounding Lubana, and the riders turn north on it, not that it extends south into the duke’s estate, although there is a narrow lane south along the river, but access is blocked by a gate set in a short stretch of wall, and a longer hedgerow extending westward.

There is a low rough-stone wall, no more than a yard high, perhaps two yards east of the road, and beyond it is a narrow strip of marshes and reeds.

For the first several blocks after they enter Luba, there are only small houses on the west side of the road, mostly of mud brick, with walls almost up to the road forming courtyards. From the trees Lerial can see, there are apparently walled gardens behind even the meanest and smallest of dwellings.

Just ahead Lerial spies a stone bridge over a canal.

“That’s the first canal. You’ll find cafés and shops beyond it … and the southern trading piers on the river side.”

Because it is eightday, many of the shops are shuttered, but most, generally with quarters above or behind them, do not look all that different from those in Cigoerne, except that a number are clearly older, with weathered wood and fading paint. The chandlery, directly across from the pair of river piers, at which only a single flatboat is tied, boasts new—and newly oiled—shutters and front door and has otherwise been recently refurbished, at least on the outside. It is open, as evidenced by a man entering as Lerial rides past, and two others standing under the roof of the narrow front porch and talking. Only one of the pair even glances in Lerial’s direction.

“The market square is just ahead. It won’t be quite as busy as on sevenday, but there will likely be some carts and peddlers there.” Valatyr laughs. “I’ve never seen a day when someone wasn’t here. Drusyn says there’s always someone here.”

That reminds Lerial of a question he’d meant to ask. “Are Drusyn’s battalions stationed at Lubana?”

“Just one of them. The other is split up. He has four companies at Guasyra, and one north of here at Haal. The barracks buildings will hold two battalions, but except at times like this, they’re half empty. Ascaar’s forces are usually more spread out, all across the western woods and hills.”

The river road runs through the middle of the paved market square, actually an oblong running north some hundred yards and perhaps twenty-five east to west. Many of the worn red stones are cracked, and in a few places, missing entirely. Lerial makes a rough and quick count of the small stalls and wagons scattered almost at random and comes up with some thirty sellers. He also uses his order-senses to try to pick up some of the comments from those in the square.

“… looks like a Mirror Lancer type…”

“… never thought I’d see that…”

“… duke must be worried…”

“… not enough brains left to be worried … his brother’s the one worried…”

“… three for the bag … not a copper less…”

“… sshh … high-ranking types…”

“… ignore ’em … never stop to buy anything…”

“… one in the strange uniform … younger than most…”

“… any potatoes not winter-soft…?”

Lerial wonders about the potatoes … cool sand in a root cellar should prevent softness.

Beyond the market square is a second canal, and immediately to the north of it and west of the river road, Lerial notes an area of much larger dwellings—also set on larger pieces of property with higher walls surrounding the mansions, mansions at least in comparison with anything else he has seen in Luba. “The more affluent merchants and others live just north of this next canal?”

“So I’ve heard,” replies Valatyr. “I can’t say that I’ve met any of them.”

“Are you usually posted in Swartheld?”

“Most of the time, but I go where the arms-commander wants me.”

“I’ve never been to Swartheld, but it must be filled with wealthy traders.”

Valatyr laughs. “More than you can believe, and they all want something, either to sell the Guard something or a favor for some relative.”

“Do you get many young officers from the merchanters?”

“Some. Usually second or third sons. Often from smaller merchanters. They’re usually very good or very bad.”

“And the ones from the wealthiest families are generally the very worst—except for the one that’s outstanding?”

“You’re obviously familiar with that problem.”

“I’ve seen it.”
And Magi’i sons can be even worse.

Even before they approach the third canal, Lerial can smell the odors rising from the water. He glances toward Valatyr.

“It does smell,” replies the subcommander to Lerial’s quizzical look. “All the smiths—blacksmiths, tinsmiths, silversmiths, coppersmiths—must be located along the north canal. Most people live on the canals or lands upstream of here … for obvious reasons.”

Lerial represses a frown. He has not thought Cigoerne particularly advanced, especially after his aunt’s comments about all that she and his father lost when Cyad fell, but his grandmere and father had insisted that all factoring or smithing wastes be carted to the disposal ponds west of the city, ponds ringed with special lilies, or to a dryland gully to the northwest. Nightsoil also has to be collected, although it can be used to fertilize fields that grow fodder.

“You look skeptical,” observes Valatyr.

“We don’t have enough smiths for their waste to fill an entire canal,” Lerial temporizes.

“I’m sure that those who live near here wished that were true here.”

Roughly a third of a kay beyond the third canal, the dwellings come to an end. They continue riding, but to the west of the road is a gentle rise half covered with brown grass, with sandy ground between the patches of grass. Lerial can sense more rises farther west, but has the impression that they have even less grass. Ahead the road angles to the northwest as it climbs the west end of a bluff that the river curves eastward around before seemingly returning to its north-northwesterly course.

Valatyr finally reins up short of where the road steepens. “You can see how steep the incline is between the road and the river from here north. It’s at least that steep for a good fifteen kays. That’s why Khesyn will attack somewhere between the south end of the hunting park and here. That is, if he chooses to attack here at all.”

“Could he just be mustering forces from the south here before sending them downstream for an attack on Shaelt or Swartheld?”

“That’s possible. That’s why there are battalions being held in both places. But we can’t afford to lose the ironworks, either, and that would certainly happen if we didn’t have forces here.”

“I can see that.”
And you’d have the dark angels’ time if they ever got a sizable force established on this side of the river.

“Now that you’ve seen what there is to see of Luba by the river, so to speak, we’ll head back.” Valatyr turns his mount.

So does Lerial.

X

The remainder of eightday goes without event, as do oneday, twoday, and threeday. On all of those days Lerial takes his companies to the grasslands southwest of the hunting park and conducts maneuvers. He also uses some of that time to study the land and the area farther south along the river, and insists that Fheldar and the undercaptains do as well. While he sees several more empty flatboats arriving, and Subcommander Drusyn and Valatyr report that at the morning meeting of the senior officers on threeday, the Heldyan piers south of Vyada remain filled with apparently empty flatboats.