“Yes, ser.”
“Fheldar, Strauxyn, wait until Twenty-third is out of the courtyard. Then do what you need to do to have your men ready to ride out, if necessary.” After a moment, Lerial adds, “Or to defend the post, if that seems wiser.”
“Yes, ser.”
It is indeed less than a glass later when Lerial and Twenty-third Company, escorted by a rather nervous Jhacub and a half squad of Afritan Guards, ride out through the post gates, headed north along the shore road.
“Ser … might I ask why you and the arms-commander have everyone in readiness?” asks Jhacub, riding on Lerial’s left, while Kusyl rides on his right.
“Because we don’t like what we’re seeing, or not seeing. The number of ships in the harbor has dwindled, and there have been far too many merchanters porting in Estheld. We don’t know where ten Heldyan battalions are.” Except we really don’t know where any of them are.
“I see, ser.”
Jhacub’s tone suggests that he doesn’t see at all, but Lerial doesn’t answer.
When they reach a point where Lerial can see the harbor, he immediately scans the piers that had held more than a score of vessels three days earlier. Now they are four, and two look to be preparing to cast off. Is a storm coming? He looks eastward across the bay toward Estheld, but he can only see a foggy mist that shrouds the shore. There are gaps in the mist or fog, as if the morning sun is burning it off, but those gaps are not wide enough or deep enough for him to make out either Estheld or the piers, although, given the distance, he doubts that he could discern much in any case. Other than the area around Estheld, he can see no signs of clouds or fog anywhere else.
No matter what Rhamuel has said, the fog around Estheld bothers him.
“Have you ever seen the harbor this empty, Jhacub?”
“No, ser.”
“Look across the bay to Estheld. Can you tell me why the only place that has any fog at all is there?”
“No, ser.”
“Smellier and deader fish,” murmurs Kusyl under his breath, but just loud enough that Lerial can hear his words.
Lerial turns his eyes upon the merchanters’ buildings facing the harbor. They do not look abandoned, although there are not nearly so many people or wagons on the street or sidewalks as he has seen before. Still … that is most likely because there are so few ships in the harbor. When they ride past the side road leading up to the Harbor Post of the Afritan Guard, Lerial studies the gates and walls, but can discern no difference in the gate sentries. Nor does he see anyone posted on the lookout tower facing the harbor.
“We’ll ride across the point.” Lerial hopes that, once north of the short peninsula, he will be able to see any ships that may have left Estheld earlier, although he has doubts that most masters would set to sea through a fog. He glances at the Afritan squad leader. Jhacub looks as much puzzled as worried.
There is no fog immediately north of the point, either at sea or over the shore, but as Twenty-third Company reaches that section of the road that affords a clear view along the shore to the northwest, Lerial immediately sees another band of fog and mist that begins some distance to the northwest, just along the shore of the bay, possibly four kays or so ahead. The mist or fog is thick enough that Lerial cannot even make out Maesoryk’s tile factorage and kilns, or the long pier there. The fog appears to be less than two kays wide, half over the water, and half on land.
That can’t be natural, and no matter what Rhamuel says, neither is that fog shrouding Estheld.
Due north, to the east and north of the isolated band of fog, Lerial sees a merchanter, all sails set, moving almost due east as if headed for a port farther east, Dolari or Sanclar, or perhaps even Atla.
But why so far north? Because he can’t pick up the winds as well closer to land?
Lerial looks at the band of fog and the clear air around it. Then he turns to Kusyl. “What do you think of that fog up there?”
“I’m not a sailor, ser, but I never saw anything like that.”
“What do you think, Jhacub?”
“No, ser. I haven’t seen anything like that.”
“We’ll keep riding.” Lerial leans toward Kusyl and says in a lower voice. “I may order you to ready arms.”
“Yes, ser.”
They continue riding for close to a half glass when Lerial begins to sense an imbalance in order and chaos forces ahead, although he cannot see anything but fog and mist, which now appear more like a wall with a clearly defined border that is less than a kay away.
“Never seen anything like that, ser,” says Kusyl.
Lerial looks to Jhacub.
“No, ser. That’s no fog I’ve ever seen.”