“I tend to forget to be politic when facing treason or incompetence, Subcommander, especially when I’m risking my life and the lives of my men to defend another land from an invasion also enabled by treason. Under such circumstances, you might feel less inclined to be politic as well.” Lerial softens his voice. “Except, unhappily, you can’t afford to be less than politic, and I understand that. So feel free to blame me for whatever’s necessary.”
“For the sake of all of us,” Drusyn says evenly, “try to be a bit more politic in dealing with Sammyl.”
“I will … and thank you.”
As he leaves the subcommander, Lerial knows that Drusyn is right, but that doesn’t make him feel any better, not given the scale of incompetence and outright treason he’s already encountered. That thought engenders another, one even more stark in some ways—Was that the way it was in Cyador at the end?
From the hints he received from Altyrn, both when the majer had been training him, and in the last letter Maejora had delivered, he fears that it was … and that is not the heritage that Altyrn wanted Lerial to remember … or continue.
And he still has to report to Sammyl and Rhamuel. At the thought of Rhamuel, he can only hope that Norstaan has been successful in getting his dispatch on its way.
XXXII
Third glass is ringing out across Swartheld when the Mirror Lancers enter the Afritan Guard headquarters post. It takes almost a glass to get everything settled before Lerial can again ride out, this time to the palace, accompanied by a squad from Eleventh Company, so that he can report to Sammyl and Rhamuel. Although the latest reports indicate that Heldyans continue to build up their forces less than three kays north of the Harbor Post, they have not yet begun to attack. For his part, Lerial can only hope that Rhamuel remains strong enough to function as arms-commander … and that Subcommander Dhresyl is successfully reorganizing and commanding the Afritan Guards from the Harbor Post.
What strikes Lerial as he rides toward the palace is that the streets and ways are only slightly less crowded than they have been in the past. Doesn’t anyone know how close the Heldyans are? Or is that because Swartheld has never been attacked so no one really believes it will happen? He would like to know what the people he rides past on the streets really think. But now is not the time to ask … as if you even had that time.
On the other hand, a full squad of Afritan Guards is posted at the outer gates to the palace and nearly as many at the gates to the inner courtyard. None attempt to stop Lerial and his squad, although there are only two Afritan rankers leading the way. Once inside the courtyard, Lerial and his squad ride around the rubble—now roughly stacked piles of stone that have been set against the lower walls of the palace—to the stables. By the time Lerial is dismounting, an Afritan ranker is hurrying toward him.
“Is something the matter?” More the matter, you should be asking.
“No, ser. Both Commander Sammyl and the arms-commander left word with the duty squad that you were to be escorted to see them immediately whenever you arrived.”
That doesn’t exactly reassure Lerial, although he can hope that the mention of Rhamuel in those orders is encouraging. He walks swiftly across the courtyard behind the ranker, into the part of the palace connecting the two sections, and eventually up two flights of stairs and to the rooms serving Rhamuel. Outside the doorway to the sitting room is a pair of rankers.
In the sitting room, Commander Sammyl is seated at a desk, maps on one side, and papers on the other. At Lerial’s entrance, he immediately rises, a slight frown on his face.
“Is he awake?” asks Lerial.
“He doesn’t sleep that much, and he wants to know everything.”
“Then I should tell you both at the same time,” replies Lerial.
“He’d appreciate that. There are a few questions…” Sammyl walks to the half-open door. “Lord Lerial is here.”
“You two come in. No one else.” Rhamuel’s voice is strong, if slightly raspy.
Lerial follows the commander, then closes the door.
Rhamuel is propped up in the bed at a slight angle, but he immediately looks at Lerial. “I hope you have good news.”
“The good news is that the Afritan Guard holds South Point—”
“We know that,” says Sammyl almost blandly. “We don’t know much more than that, except…” He pauses and looks to Rhamuel.
“Subcommander Drusyn forwarded Captain Grusart’s report on your confrontation with Majer Fhaet. It’s not pleasant reading.”
“I imagine not.” Lerial doesn’t know what else to say, but he is somewhat surprised at the calmness in Rhamuel’s voice. He is also astounded that both Grusart’s report and that of Drusyn are already in Rhamuel’s hands, except, if Rhamuel and Sammyl have that report and don’t know the details of the battles … Then Drusyn didn’t wait to write his own report, except likely a few lines saying that the Afritans held the point. Did you upset them both that much?
“Drusyn intimates that you might have been more politic,” Rhamuel goes on. “According to what Grusart wrote, Fhaet was an arrogant and condescending idiot. What would you say to those comments?”