Heritage of Cyador (saga of recluce Book 18) (47 page)

“Is something the matter?”
More the matter, you should be asking.

“No, ser. Both Commander Sammyl and the arms-commander left word with the duty squad that you were to be escorted to see them immediately whenever you arrived.”

That doesn’t exactly reassure Lerial, although he can hope that the mention of Rhamuel in those orders is encouraging. He walks swiftly across the courtyard behind the ranker, into the part of the palace connecting the two sections, and eventually up two flights of stairs and to the rooms serving Rhamuel. Outside the doorway to the sitting room is a pair of rankers.

In the sitting room, Commander Sammyl is seated at a desk, maps on one side, and papers on the other. At Lerial’s entrance, he immediately rises, a slight frown on his face.

“Is he awake?” asks Lerial.

“He doesn’t sleep that much, and he wants to know everything.”

“Then I should tell you both at the same time,” replies Lerial.

“He’d appreciate that. There are a few questions…” Sammyl walks to the half-open door. “Lord Lerial is here.”

“You two come in. No one else.” Rhamuel’s voice is strong, if slightly raspy.

Lerial follows the commander, then closes the door.

Rhamuel is propped up in the bed at a slight angle, but he immediately looks at Lerial. “I hope
you
have good news.”

“The good news is that the Afritan Guard holds South Point—”

“We know that,” says Sammyl almost blandly. “We don’t know much more than that, except…” He pauses and looks to Rhamuel.

“Subcommander Drusyn forwarded Captain Grusart’s report on your confrontation with Majer Fhaet. It’s not pleasant reading.”

“I imagine not.” Lerial doesn’t know what else to say, but he is somewhat surprised at the calmness in Rhamuel’s voice. He is also astounded that both Grusart’s report and that of Drusyn are already in Rhamuel’s hands, except, if Rhamuel and Sammyl have that report and don’t know the details of the battles …
Then Drusyn didn’t wait to write his own report, except likely a few lines saying that the Afritans held the point. Did you upset them both that much?

“Drusyn intimates that you might have been more politic,” Rhamuel goes on. “According to what Grusart wrote, Fhaet was an arrogant and condescending idiot. What would you say to those comments?”

“They’re both right … and I’m not so certain that Fhaet was an idiot. I do wonder whether he was paid to try to slow down the attacks on the Heldyans.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because there’s been treason or betrayal, if you want to call it that, in more than a few places. Someone in the Afritan Guard, and that someone had to be a captain or of higher rank, enabled the placement of cammabark or something similar in the Harbor Post. Someone trusted had to have planted explosives in the palace.”

“Unhappily, I have to agree with you,” says Rhamuel.

“One rumor suggests a Cigoernean officer,” adds Sammyl.

“That would have been rather difficult,” Lerial says dryly, “since no Mirror Lancer has ever brought more than himself or a kit bag into the palace, and no Mirror Lancer has ever set foot in Harbor Post.” After a moment, he adds, “There were a number of barrels on the third level of the palace, though. Has anyone found Dafaal … or his body?”

“No,” replies Sammyl. “That was my question, but it could easily have been someone working on the repairs.”

“That would mean an even larger plot,” Lerial says.

Sammyl nods, almost reluctantly, it seems to Lerial.

“We can’t do much about the explosion right now. What happened at South Point?” demands Rhamuel.

“As we agreed, the Mirror Lancers and I immediately rode to meet with Subcommander Drusyn…” Lerial proceeds to relate the entire story, including his own failure to inform the battalion majers on fiveday.

When he finishes, Sammyl frowns, then asks, “You did tell Subcommander Drusyn exactly what you planned yesterday—before you took action?”

“Yes, ser. I told him. And I told Captain Grusart. I didn’t tell any of the three majers.”

“And you told Fhaet again this morning … and he received written orders from Drusyn?”

“I told Fhaet this morning. Subcommander Drusyn said he would send written orders. I never saw the orders, but all three majers confirmed that they received orders, and the other two indicated that they were aware of the attack. Fhaet said that he had received orders and that he was a good Afritan Guard officer. Because of the problems yesterday, I just indicated that we would be attacking and looked forward to his support if we were successful in removing the chaos-mages. He repeated that he was a good officer, or words to that effect.”

“What about the other two majers?”

“Both of them were receptive and cooperative, and Major Aerlyt’s forces moved on the Heldyans almost immediately after receiving word that we had removed the Heldyan mages.”

Sammyl nods again. “That’s one less Heldyan force to face.”

“Draft orders to Drusyn to move his forces to support Dhresyl,” declares Rhamuel, looking toward the door. “I want Lerial to see if he can discover more about what’s wrong with me.”

“Yes, ser.”

“And close the door.”

As Sammyl leaves, Lerial asks, “How do you feel?”

“How would you feel in overgrown swaddling clothes?” demands Rhamuel, who waits until the bedchamber door is closed before asking, “How long will I be like this?”

“The honest answer is that I don’t know. The fact that you’re awake and alert and feel some pain is a good sign, I think.”
If Emerya were only here now. If the dispatch … if Father … if … if …
But the dispatch had likely not even reached Ascar yet.

“You think?”

“I’m not a master healer,” Lerial points out. “Hold still, and let me—”

“What else am I going to do besides hold still?” interrupts Rhamuel.

Lerial ignores the question and concentrates on trying to sense all Rhamuel’s injuries.

While there is still a knot of wound chaos just above the end of Rhamuel’s backbone, Lerial can detect nothing else—except for the lighter and diffuse chaos of bruises almost everywhere. Finally, he steps back. “You’re in better shape than I thought you’d be.”

“This is better shape? I can’t move my legs. At least I’m not pissing myself.”

“You’re not? That’s good.”
Very good.
“How does your back feel?”

“The part just below my waist … Let’s just say it hurts more than I want to dwell on. Below my ass, I can’t feel anything.” Rhamuel looks at Lerial. “Don’t tell me everything will get better, either.”

“It looks like you will get better. Whether you’ll be as hale and hearty as you were … that’s less likely.”

“So I’ll be a weakling arms-commander or duke?”

“That’s a matter of judgment and will, not physical strength, and you know that more than anyone,” replies Lerial, not quite tartly.

“You sound just like your aunt. Do you know that?”

“I don’t think she’d agree.” Since there is little more he can say about Rhamuel’s condition at the moment, Lerial asks, “Have you any word on the rest of the family?”

“Haesychya and Kyedra are safe with Aenslem. They found Natroyor’s body in the rubble, but I think I told you that. Atroyan’s, too.”

Actually, Norstaan had told Lerial of Natroyor’s death, but Lerial nods.

“Both Norstaan and Sammyl saw the slash in his throat. I told them to say nothing, but…”

“That will out, sooner or later,” suggests Lerial.

“Later is better, I think. There’s no word on Mykel. I sent couriers to Lake Reomer, with word for him to remain there.”

“He didn’t go unescorted, did he?”

“He had a half squad of palace guards, and Oestyn had two personal guards supplied by his father.”

“That’s all?” asks Lerial.

“That was what my brother deemed appropriate. They were well provisioned. Jhosef always provides for their … journeys.”

“You’re still worried, aren’t you?”

“After all this, wouldn’t you be? This was well planned, and if Aenslem hadn’t gotten ill, most likely Haesychya and Kyedra would be laid out with Atroyan and Natroyor.”

“And you as well.” Lerial has to wonder about Aenslem’s “illness,” but perhaps the merchanter had truly been ill, and Lerial cannot see what Aenslem would gain by Atroyan’s death, or the death of his grandson. Still, it’s something to keep in mind. “Who would gain from all this?”

“Offhand, I can’t say. It could be Khesyn or Heldyan merchanters … or someone with a grudge against my brother.”

“Or someone who made an arrangement with Khesyn.” Lerial frowns. “It has to be someone with golds and resources. An unhappy merchanter.”

“Where do we start looking? Except for Aenslem and Fhastal, they’re all unhappy about something.” Rhamuel looks up at the knock on the door. “Yes?”

“There’s a dispatch from Subcommander Dhresyl, ser.”

“Bring it in.”

Sammyl immediately opens the door and, dispatch in hand, walks to the bedside.

Rhamuel takes the dispatch and reads it. Then he looks up. “Dhresyl thinks the Heldyans will attack in force tomorrow. Certainly no later than on eightday.” His eyes go to Sammyl. “Is there any other information?”

“No, ser. No signs of any other Heldyan forces. Not so far.”

Rhamuel looks to Lerial. “Do you think there will be others?”

“It’s always possible, but given the size of the two forces…”

“You think it’s unlikely. What about you, Sammyl?”

“I couldn’t say, ser. Who would have thought they’d attack Swartheld itself?”

Except that’s the logical place to attack, and Luba was likely half a feint.

“For now, at least, we need to get Drusyn’s battalions to join Dhresyl’s forces,” Rhamuel goes on.

Sammyl clears his throat. “Ah … ser…”

“You think you should be with the subcommanders?” asks Rhamuel.

“I am the chief of staff…”

“And that’s why I need you here, now. That does raise a question. Who do you think should be in overall field command—Dhresyl or Drusyn?”

“Drusyn is senior…”

“But you think Dhresyl is a better field commander.”

“Yes, ser.” Sammyl frowns. “I don’t know that, but he has a wider view.”

“Then you need to write up another dispatch appointing him as acting commander, with a copy to Drusyn. Immediately.”

“Yes, ser.” Sammyl does not move, but looks pointedly at Lerial.

“Lord Lerial,” asks Rhamuel, his voice almost formal, for all the hints of raspiness in it, “can we again count on your support?”

“We will be happy to support Afrit, especially in dealing with Heldyan mages and wizards. I fear any other use of a mere three companies would merely waste men.”

“In the dispatch to Dhresyl, also make that point about the use of the Mirror Lancers.”

“Yes, ser.”

“Now … go draft all those orders so that all the battalion commanders—and Dhresyl—know what they’re doing and who’s in charge.”

Sammyl nods. “Yes, ser.”

“And don’t look so glum. I happen to need someone who knows all the commanders and battalions and everything else. And that means you. If I weren’t confined to this frigging bed, it would be different. But I am, and you’re stuck here, Sammyl.”

“I just had thought … ser…”

“You saw how much better things were once Overcaptain Lerial got you here to take over. Do you think I want to go back to that chaos mess?”

“No, ser.”

“Good. Now … if you would get those orders drafted…”

“Yes, ser.” Sammyl actually smiles, if briefly, before he turns and leaves.

Even so, Lerial can see that Rhamuel doesn’t want Sammyl in the field.
Because he’s not that good a strategist and field commander? Or for some other reason?

“Can you actually handle four chaos-wizards?” asks Rhamuel.

“Not all at once. Possibly only one at a time.” Lerial pauses, thinking of the power he had sensed when he had withdrawn from the forces south of the tileworks. “And … possibly … one of them might be strong enough to destroy me.”

“Then don’t confront one that strong. Use your abilities on the others. Even the strongest chaos-mage can’t remain in Afrit if we can defeat all the Heldyan armsmen around him.”

“I’ve thought of that,” Lerial admits.

“Think some more about other ways, if necessary.”

Rhamuel’s firm words convey something close to desperation … and the unspoken point that Afrit has no chaos-mages worthy of the name … and that raises yet another question.
Why not?
And another.
If not, why has Khesyn not known and not invaded sooner?
Lerial has the definite feeling that, if he ever discovers the answer, he won’t like it.

“I will, but I’d better leave. We need to make some preparations, and I need to move the companies to the Harbor Post.”

“Then go. But be as careful as you can.”

“I will.” Lerial appreciates the thought, but he has his doubts. Somehow … Nonetheless, he manages a smile.

As he walks from the bedchamber, he is already thinking about what will be necessary. The first thing that crosses his mind is that he needs to make certain all the Mirror Lancer companies are carrying lances, especially after what he has seen so far about the Heldyan companies and their tactics. Then there is the problem of feeling out Subcommander Dhresyl … and his thoughts and tactics … and the ever-present feeling that he has overlooked or missed something very obvious … and that such an omission will prove deadly.

XXXIII

By half past sixth glass of sixday evening, Lerial and his three companies of Mirror Lancers are as settled as they can be into a single battered barracks in the southeast corner of the Harbor Post. After reaching the post and reporting to acting Commander Dhresyl, and asking for and receiving a sheaf of blank paper, Lerial almost immediately departs with Kusyl, Strauxyn, a squad from Eighth Company, and an Afritan scout familiar with the deployment of the Heldyan forces.

They only ride about a kay before turning west on a dirt lane. Less than two hundred yards from the shore road, the scout reins up. “You can see how they’re set up from here, ser. They’ve lined up companies from the shore to the hill over there.” The scout points. “The hamlet—that’s where their headquarters are. Leastwise, that’s where everyone rides to.”