Free Heritage of Cyador (saga of recluce Book 18) by Jr. L. E. Modesitt Page B

tent,” says Drusyn. “We weren’t certain whether you had twenty or twenty-five men to a squad. The smaller tent is for your company officers. The arms-commander has quarters for you and the other senior officers in the country house … at your discretion, of course.”
    “I’ll be the only one staying at the country house. Otherwise, it will be hard to meet with the other senior officers … besides you, of course.”
    “There are more than a few who would like to meet you. It’s been years since anything like that has happened.”
    “I did meet a squad leader some six years ago, north of Tirminya,” comments Lerial. “Never any officers.”
    “It’s said that Duke Kiedron insists that most of his junior officers be promoted from the senior rankers.”
    “Quite a number are, but there’s no requirement for that. Not that many young men of altage or Magi’i birth survived the fall of Cyador.”
    “Altage…?”
    “Families with a tradition of service as officers in the Mirror Lancers. Quite a number of the junior officers are the sons of former squad leaders. From your question, I would guess that many of your officers come from families who are well established in one fashion or another … but that’s just a guess on my part.” Lerial smiles apologetically.
    “That’s generally true, but the arms-commander has suggested to the senior officers that we should keep our eyes open for squad leaders who have the potential to be good officers, and I have several undercaptains in my battalion who came to rank that way.”
    “And you have one of the more effective battalions?”
    Drusyn laughs. “I’d like to think so … but doesn’t every commander?”
    “Of course,” replies Lerial with a wide grin.
    “It’s been said that you have a wider range of experience in combat than most other senior officers in the Mirror Lancers…”
    Lerial represses a knowing smile. He has been wondering when the probing questions might begin. “A wider range … that’s a polite way of saying that I’ve had a greater opportunity to make more mistakes in different places … and that’s certainly true. I was fortunate to serve under Majer Altyrn in the Verdyn rebellion, and I learned a great deal from him, more than I can ever repay.” And that is definitely true. “He died just two eightdays ago … I don’t know if word has reached Afrit.”
    Drusyn shakes his head. “Everyone in Hamor knew of him and his exploits. I never met him, although I was a junior undercaptain when … when the duke began to build Cigoerne.”
    “And you had your doubts about the wisdom of the duke’s sire in selling lands to my grandmere?”
    “I did. So, I understand, did a number of others.” The subcommander shrugs. “There’s nothing more dangerous for a junior officer to be right and say anything after something has already been decided. Even then, I knew that.”
    “It’s even more dangerous for senior officers,” replies Lerial dryly. Or junior heirs.
    “There is that. I often thought that might have been why Commander Orekyn asked to be stipended. He died rather suddenly after that. The arms-commander—well, he wasn’t arms-commander then—he was rather upset at that … or so it’s said. I didn’t know him then.” Drusyn’s words are blandly spoken.
    “Those things happen. Sometimes, it’s for the best.” Lerial could speak to that in the case of Majer Phortyn. He refrains. “Too often, it’s not.”
    Drusyn gestures ahead. “Here are your tents and corrals.” There are fifteen tents set within fifty yards of the south wall, if east of all the corrals. The nearer corrals are empty.
    Lerial surveys the heavy canvas tents. If this is a trap … He manages not to shake his head. The tents appear spacious and sturdy, far better than a mere bivouac. Given the preparations for his arrival, it’s most unlikely that Rhamuel intends direct treachery, which suggests Atroyan is truly desperate … or