LXII
Fydel and Captain Reaz had reined up on the last low rise before the road dipped southward in a gradual slope toward the red walls of Hydolar, circled on three sides by those walls and on the fourth by the River Ohyde. Beside the road, stretching toward the walls, were browned fields, so brown Cerryl couldn’t be certain whether they were grain fields or meadows burned brown by the unseasonably hot sun that had baked the land through the late summer and the past autumn. Only a handful of peasants’ cots were scattered across the fields, marked as much by the taller gray-leaved and wilted trees around them as by the huts’ earth-brick walls and thatched roofs.
Cerryl studied the city’s high stone walls. To the southwest, beyond those walls, the River Ohyde glittered in the late-afternoon winter sun. On the far side of the river Cerryl thought he saw trees, even a patch of woods on a hill, but of that he was uncertain.
“They’ve closed the gates,” observed the captain.
“That’s not terribly welcoming. Do you think they plan to attack if we approach?” asked Fydel.
Reaz shrugged. “I could not say.”
Fydel turned in the saddle and addressed Anya. “Can you and Cerryl cast chaos fire at the gates if they open them to attack?”
“Not from this far. That’s more than a key from here,” answered the redhead.
Fydel looked at Cerryl.
“Anya’s right. We might be able to loft a few fireballs that far, but it would be hard to hit the gate.”
“Fydel,” Anya said quietly, “it’s not likely that any duke would attack a force of White Lancers unless he had to. Why don’t we ride closer and ask for the return of the healer? Cerryl and I will be ready to cast chaos fire if you need it.” She smiled crookedly.
“We ride on!” called Reaz. “Be ready to lift lances.”
“Ready to lift lances… Ready to lift lances…” The command echoed down the lancers behind Cerryl.
Reaz dropped his hand, and the column started forward again.
Anya edged her mount closer to Cerryl. “Be ready to offer me assistance.”
Cerryl raised his eyebrows. “I thought we were going to request the healer’s return.”
“We are. We also need to show Duke Ferobar that Fairhaven will not be mocked.”
“How?” asked Cerryl, honestly curious as to what the redhead had in mind for humbling the new Duke of Hydlen.
“How might Duke Ferobar feel if the east tower-there-collapsed?” Anya pointed.
Cerryl followed her finger. “He might send all his lancers after us.”
“He might,” Anya said, with a smile.
“We’re to request the Lady Leyladin first, Anya,” snapped Fydel, again turning in the saddle. “Once we have her, then you two can carry out whatever Jeslek laid upon you.”