“Lord Natroyor?”
“Yes, ser. His skull was crushed by stone blocks. It was even hard to see it was him.”
Meaning that there’s likely no way to tell if his throat had been cut as well. “What about that functionary … Dafaal?”
“No, ser. There’s no sign of him, but there’s no way to get to most of the third level. That must have been where the explosion was.”
Where all the repairs were going on! Lerial nods. The only question is whether Dafaal was part of the plot, or whether someone used Dafaal’s insisted-upon repairs as a way to smuggle whatever exploded into the palace. Certainly, Lerial himself had seen plenty of barrels. Who knew what might have been in some of them?
A guard raps on the study door and then peers in. “Commander Sammyl has just arrived, and he’s on his way here.”
“Thank you. Have him come here.”
“Yes, ser.”
Once the outer door closes, Lerial says, “I’d like to hear what he has to say.” He would not only like to hear, but would like to know why Sammyl hasn’t sent any reports on what has been happening in the battle around South Point. The scouts Norstaan has sent have only been able to determine that the Heldyans have continued to land flatboats and troopers, that Drusyn appears to have contained the attackers, if temporarily, and that the Heldyans have chaos-mages who have occasionally sent chaos-bolts against the defenders. Matters to the north of Swartheld appear clearer, but not necessarily better. The short dispatch from Subcommander Dhresyl stated that he was in command because the explosion at the Harbor Post killed Commander Nythalt and Subcommander Klassyn, as well as other subcommanders, and that the remaining four battalions had managed to repulse an initial attack from the north. And Haesychya and Kyedra are safe at Aenslem’s villa.
After some time, and food, Lerial only feels a dull aching in his skull, rather than the intense throbbing pain he had felt earlier. He has considered moving to support the Afritan Guard, but Rhamuel has suggested he wait until matters become clearer. Except … you’ve likely been waiting too long.
Moments later, the outer door opens, and Sammyl steps through. “I’m surprised to see you here, Overcaptain.”
“Oh? Why might that be?” replies Lerial.
“With attacks in the north and south … one might even accuse you of … excessive discretion.”
“That’s always possible when people make erroneous assumptions, Commander.”
“Erroneous?”
“Such as believing the Mirror Lancers have not fought.”
“Perhaps I should have suggested that remaining in the field might have shown less excessive discretion…”
“Perhaps you should have, but then, after we stopped the first advance from the north, with but a single company, had we remained and been obliterated by four chaos-wizards and four more battalions, who would have been able to report on the matter … or come back here and coordinate communications once the southeast part of the palace was destroyed and the arms-commander injured?” Lerial smiles. “Now … I’m certain that the arms-commander wishes to hear your report.” He turns and gestures toward the door to the bedchamber.
“Why wasn’t I summoned sooner?”
“You were. Undercaptain Norstaan sent a squad, and the squad leader delivered the dispatch to your hands.”
“That was after midday.”
“There was the small matter of fighting a battle with the Heldyans, riding almost ten kays back to Swartheld, while informing Subcommander Dhresyl about the Heldyans, then coming to the palace to heal the arms-commander after discovering it had suffered an explosion. You might consider, Commander, that I have no authority to issue commands over the Afritan Guard. I sent a messenger to the Harbor Post immediately, and as soon as the arms-commander received your report, he replied. That was as soon as he was able.”
Sammyl lowers his voice. “How badly is he injured?”
“They had to move stone blocks to move him from the rubble. His left leg is broken, but the bone has been set, and it should heal properly. His entire body is bruised … and he has little feeling in his legs. His mind and voice are unimpaired.”
The commander nods abruptly. “I apologize. You must understand…”
“I understand. The Heldyan attack, the lack of communications, the likely death of the duke, the fact that Natroyor is missing and likely dead in the rubble, and that no one knows for certain where Lord Mykel might be…”
“Did you … heal…?” Sammyl looks toward the bedchamber.
“I did what I could. I think he will largely recover. He may not ride or walk unaided again, but that is too early to tell.”
“Without you…?”
“Without Lord Lerial,” interjects Norstaan, who has been so quiet that it has skipped Lerial’s mind that the undercaptain is in the chamber, “the arms-commander would not recover. You also would not have received orders and information as soon as you did.”