Rhamuel rises and turns to Lerial. “I’ll see what I can find out. I won’t be long.”
In moments, Lerial is left alone in the family dining room, looking down at a half-eaten platter of egg toast and mutton strips. You might as well finish breakfast. So he does, but then continues to think about matters, deciding, for better or worse, to head for Afritan Guard headquarters immediately after breakfast and to have his forces ready to move out on short notice.
He sips the lager and is still sipping it when Rhamuel returns. He stands as the arms-commander enters the room, but waits for Rhamuel to speak.
“He’s physically fine. I asked Haesychya also. She agrees. He just insists on being alone and thinking things over.”
“I take it that this isn’t unusual?”
“It’s not frequent, but not unusual. He does have … these moods. I did ask about your departure.”
“And?”
“He would like to have you at a family dinner tonight.”
“Then we’d leave tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow or sixday. He wants to think that over, too.”
Wonderful! Now you’re stuck in Swartheld for another day—or longer—by the whims of a moody duke!
“Last night he sounded like he’d be happy the sooner we departed.”
“That was last night. I’m sure Haesychya had something to say.”
“She was the one who said I was the wrong brother,” replies Lerial dryly.
“You might consider that there is more than one meaning to that phrase.” Rhamuel’s words are quiet but firm. “She respects you. She doesn’t respect many.”
That doesn’t totally surprise Lerial, but what concerns him is that Haesychya has to cloak her own words in double meanings. Or is she using the ambiguity to convey different meanings to different people? And for what purpose? “I’m surprised that she indicated that.”
“She danced with you twice, and she let Kyedra dance with you four times. She also told me that you were far more impressive than almost all men she’d met who were twice your age.”
Another comment with multiple possible meanings. Lerial nods, then says, “I’m still worried about what Khesyn has in mind.”
“So am I. I’ve also sent word to all commanders to have their forces ready to move out on a glass’s notice.”
“I’d thought about that with my companies.”
“That would be good.”
“Is there anything else I should know?”
“You know as much as I do at the moment. If I hear anything back while you’re at headquarters, I’ll let you know.” Rhamuel pauses, then adds, “Refreshments in the family salon at sixth glass, and dinner will follow.”
The two leave the dining room, and Lerial returns to his quarters to inform Polidaar, where he informs the squad that the entire half squad should accompany him to headquarters. If anything is about to happen, he doesn’t want any company shorthanded. Interestingly enough, Rhamuel has detailed only two Afritan Guards as escorts.
Because the townspeople are getting used to us being here … or because he feels he needs more protection? That’s the question Lerial ponders as he rides into the old Swartheld Post.
As has been the case for the past few days, Kusyl, Strauxyn, and Fheldar are waiting for him, although none say anything as he dismounts in front of the still half-empty ancient stables. He draws them aside. “We may be seeing some problems in the next day or so. Kusyl, I’d like to take all of Twenty-third Company on a tour this morning. Strauxyn, Fheldar, I’d like your companies ready to ride out at any time. Mounts saddled, but stabled for now. There’s something…” Lerial almost shakes his head. There isn’t that much he can point to, except a strange bank of fog and no ships to speak of in the harbor.
“Ser? Are we in danger?” asks Kusyl bluntly.
“Not from Duke Atroyan or the arms-commander, but I’m worried that Duke Khesyn may be on the verge of attacking. The harbor is empty, and it’s never been this empty. We know most of Khesyn’s forces are near Estheld. I’m concerned about what he may do.”
“Why don’t we just leave?” asks Fheldar.
“If necessary, we will. But the duke has said we’ll be able to leave by sixday, and I’d rather not create problems if we don’t have to.” Lerial knows he is stretching what Rhamuel has told him, but the last thing he wants to convey to his company leaders is the ambivalence and instability of the duke. That will serve no one well.
“Ser…” ventures Kusyl, “this is smelling like old fish. Again.”
Lerial manages a laugh. “You’re surprised? Do we ever get any assignments that don’t?”
His words and tone get resigned and sardonic expressions from the three.
“Our task is to deal with those fish. Again.” He grins. “Kusyl, how long before you can have your men out and ready to ride?”
“Third of a glass. Maybe less.”
“Do it.”