“Besides appointing you arms-commander?” Rhamuel’s voice is both wry and dryly raspy.
“Getting you a little lager or something to drink.” Lerial turns to one of the Afritan Guards.
“I’ll see what we can do, ser.”
“I’d like to know what’s happening. Lying here and worrying…”
“I’m certain we’ll hear before long.” Whether we’ll like what we hear is another matter. “I doubt that the force to the north has reached the Harbor Post yet. They may not have even begun an advance. There were more merchanters heading for the tileworks pier.”
“Four battalions and they’re sending more?”
“They might be sending more horses,” Lerial points out. “There might be more than four battalions. That was what we could see.” Not that I actually saw that much.
Before long, one of the Afritan Guards approaches Lerial. “Ser, there’s a messenger here from South Post. He insists on seeing the duke.”
Lerial walks out into the courtyard, where another Afritan Guard stands, with two others mounted behind him. “You have a message for the duke?”
The guard looks puzzled as he takes in Lerial.
“I’m Lord Lerial, overcaptain in the Mirror Lancers.”
“I’m supposed to deliver the message to the duke. If he is not here, then the arms-commander. No one else, ser.”
“Come with me, then.” Lerial doesn’t even consider objecting.
“Ser…?”
“Look at the palace. The part that was destroyed included the duke’s quarters and study. The arms-commander is resting inside this building. He was injured.”
Once the messenger enters, Lerial says, “There’s a messenger here from South Post.”
The courier steps forward, extending a rolled sheet.
“Give the dispatch to Lord Lerial. He can read it to me.”
Lerial takes the dispatch, breaks the seal, and scans the single sheet quickly, taking in the important points. Then he says, “It’s from Commander Sammyl. The Heldyans have landed about twenty companies on South Point, as you had said they would. Drusyn has them surrounded. He can’t attack without losing too many men because they have at least two chaos-wizards there. Sammyl is requesting more forces to enable Drusyn to advance. He doesn’t say whether the Heldyans are still landing forces. Now … I’ll read it word for word.”
“I suppose you must.”
Lerial skips the salutation and begins, “‘The battalions stationed at South Post are engaged in a holding action against superior Heldyan forces in a battle at South Point. Sometime before dawn, Heldyan flatboats began to land on the river side of South Point…’” When he finishes, he asks, “Do you want me to read it again?”
“No.” Rhamuel turns his head very slightly toward the courier. “Thank you. You may go. You can stand by for a reply.”
“Yes, ser.”
“What do you think?” Rhamuel asks Lerial once everyone else has left the small room.
“It’s hard to know what to do. We don’t know how many battalions of those remaining at the Harbor Post are able to fight. We don’t know what else might be happening, either, or whether anything has happened to Haesychya, Kyedra, or Mykel. What about Natroyor?”
“I don’t know. He usually sleeps late…”
“We’ll have to assume the worst, then.”
“Send out scouts to see where the Heldyans are,” insists Rhamuel. “And if they’re trying to land at the harbor. And have someone find out who’s in charge at the Harbor Post and how many men are able to fight.”
“I can do that. We need to move you—carefully—to the west end of the palace.”
“I should be at headquarters.”
“You shouldn’t travel that far … and you certainly can’t ride.”
“Not yet.”
Looking at Rhamuel, Lerial has his doubts as to whether the arms-commander will ever ride again.
Slightly less than a glass later, with the messengers and couriers on their way, and Rhamuel moved to a large guest bedchamber on the third level of the west wing of the palace, Lerial is still worrying. He glances at the arms-commander, eyes closed and lying in the large bed, his back supported not only by the brace, but by a flat and wide frame, once a cabinet door, padded with quilts and slightly inclined. At the near silence, Lerial stiffens, but then sees Rhamuel’s chest rising and falling.
What should you do now? Go and support Drusyn? What if the Heldyan attack from the north presents the greater danger? Why hasn’t Nythalt or whoever is in charge reported back to the arms-commander?
He feels he needs to do something, but he recalls all too clearly his father’s advice about the folly of action for the sake of action—and the majer’s cautions about the uselessness of needless sacrifice.
None of that makes him feel any better.
XXVIII
Just before fourth glass of the afternoon, Norstaan hurries into the study adjoining the bedchamber where Rhamuel is resting. At least, Lerial hopes he is resting.
“Have the men found any more survivors … or bodies?”
“Ah … yes, ser. Several more servants … and … the heir.”