Lerial hates galloping down city streets. It’s hard on the mount, and it’s not all that pleasant for the rider. And, there’s always the possibility of running into or over someone darting out of a side lane or alleyway. Nonetheless, he urges the gelding into a gallop toward where he thinks Majer Fhaet will be. Two rankers, dispatched by Fheldar, follow closely.
Holding his shields close to his body, because that takes less effort, Lerial turns the gelding back toward the empty tinsmith’s shop on the side street where he had met Fhaet earlier. Fhaet is outside, mounted and flanked by several Afritan rankers. He is gesturing at the same captain who had followed Lerial’s lead the day before and then pulled back.
“… follow my orders, Captain…” Lerial overhears as he nears the pair. He can see that Fhaet is red in the face.
“I notice that the other battalion is advancing, Majer,” Lerial says loudly as he reins up facing the majer and escorts or guards.
“I don’t answer to you, Lord and Overcaptain. You’re not my lord, and I’ve the discretion not to follow orders if it would endanger my men.” Fhaet’s face turns redder.
The captain eases his mount away from the majer, then gestures to the two rankers, saying in a low voice, “This is between superiors.”
Fhaet glares at the captain and opens his mouth.
“Enough!” snaps Lerial. “You have verbal and written orders to attack. Are you going to order that attack?”
“No. You’re not the one who can order me around. You’re a foreign nobody.”
Lerial is the one whose mouth almost drops open. Instead, he smiles, lifting his sabre slightly. “Is that your final answer? That you won’t obey the orders issued by the arms-commander of Afrit and Subcommander Drusyn?”
“You wrote those orders for him.” Fhaet offers a crooked smile. “Everyone knows that.”
How do they know that? Lerial doesn’t pursue that. Instead he rides toward Fhaet.
The majer’s eyes barely have time to widen before Lerial’s blade slashes across his throat. Lerial turns to the wide-eyed captain. “Since the majer was unwilling to carry out his orders, Captain, will you allow me to lead Third Battalion against the Heldyan invaders?”
The captain straightens. “Yes, ser!”
“Then we’d better get to it. The Heldyans tried to attack from the north side of the point, beyond the edge of the first line of defense. I suggest we attack there, since your men won’t have to climb over the barricade.”
“You lead, and we’ll follow, ser.”
“First, you have to get me where the battalion is,” Lerial says dryly.
“Just one street over, ser.”
The captain is as direct and accurate as the majer had failed to be, and in what seems moments, he and Lerial are at the head of a column of Afritan foot that stretches back more than a long block. The two Mirror Lancer rankers are drawn up directly behind Lerial.
Lerial surveys the formation. “A five-man front might be better.”
“Yes, ser! Five men front!”
Once the column is re-formed, Lerial does not wait. “Third Battalion! Forward!” Lerial uses order to boost his voice, then urges the gelding forward at a quick walk, letting the front rank of the Afritan foot take the lead once they have emerged from the side street and crossed the shore road. Surprisingly, Third Battalion does not lag the Afritan Fourth Battalion by all that much, perhaps because Lerial’s chaos-war had inflicted far more damage on the north end of the stone barricade, where there are few Heldyans remaining.
By circling slightly to the north, Lerial avoids marching the Afritan Guards through either Eighth or Eleventh Company … and while scattered Heldyan shields and bodies remain from what had been a shielded column, the Afritans meet little resistance until they reach what remains of the walls of the old fort. Once there, Lerial lets the Afritans storm over the low rubble that is all that remains of the west wall, and takes a position just short of the wall.
The Afritan captain details four rankers to remain with Lerial and the pair of Mirror Lancers, then urges his company into the old fort proper. The other four companies follow.
A glass later, the slaughter is over, and there are less than a hundred Heldyan survivors, mostly wounded. The only person who has felt Lerial’s sabre was Majer Fhaet. Before long, the captain returns.
“Now what, ser?”
“Are you the senior captain?”
“Yes, ser.”
“Then you’re in command until Subcommander Drusyn relieves you or promotes you. I’d suggest that you and Majer Aerlyt keep a force here for a time. I’d also suggest that you write up what occurred between me and Majer Fhaet as accurately as possible. Make two copies, one for the subcommander. Keep the other. And I’d suggest you write it immediately, before someone hints you write it in a way that shades matters one way or another.”
“But…”
Lerial smiles sadly. “Five people saw what happened. Usually two have trouble hushing something up. Tell what happened as it happened.”
“Yes, ser.”
“I need to talk to Majer Aerlyt. Have you seen him?”
“He’s at the south entrance to the old fort.”
“Good. Thank you, Captain. I appreciate your doing your duty well and effectively.”