“They’re both right … and I’m not so certain that Fhaet was an idiot. I do wonder whether he was paid to try to slow down the attacks on the Heldyans.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because there’s been treason or betrayal, if you want to call it that, in more than a few places. Someone in the Afritan Guard, and that someone had to be a captain or of higher rank, enabled the placement of cammabark or something similar in the Harbor Post. Someone trusted had to have planted explosives in the palace.”
“Unhappily, I have to agree with you,” says Rhamuel.
“One rumor suggests a Cigoernean officer,” adds Sammyl.
“That would have been rather difficult,” Lerial says dryly, “since no Mirror Lancer has ever brought more than himself or a kit bag into the palace, and no Mirror Lancer has ever set foot in Harbor Post.” After a moment, he adds, “There were a number of barrels on the third level of the palace, though. Has anyone found Dafaal … or his body?”
“No,” replies Sammyl. “That was my question, but it could easily have been someone working on the repairs.”
“That would mean an even larger plot,” Lerial says.
Sammyl nods, almost reluctantly, it seems to Lerial.
“We can’t do much about the explosion right now. What happened at South Point?” demands Rhamuel.
“As we agreed, the Mirror Lancers and I immediately rode to meet with Subcommander Drusyn…” Lerial proceeds to relate the entire story, including his own failure to inform the battalion majers on fiveday.
When he finishes, Sammyl frowns, then asks, “You did tell Subcommander Drusyn exactly what you planned yesterday—before you took action?”
“Yes, ser. I told him. And I told Captain Grusart. I didn’t tell any of the three majers.”
“And you told Fhaet again this morning … and he received written orders from Drusyn?”
“I told Fhaet this morning. Subcommander Drusyn said he would send written orders. I never saw the orders, but all three majers confirmed that they received orders, and the other two indicated that they were aware of the attack. Fhaet said that he had received orders and that he was a good Afritan Guard officer. Because of the problems yesterday, I just indicated that we would be attacking and looked forward to his support if we were successful in removing the chaos-mages. He repeated that he was a good officer, or words to that effect.”
“What about the other two majers?”
“Both of them were receptive and cooperative, and Major Aerlyt’s forces moved on the Heldyans almost immediately after receiving word that we had removed the Heldyan mages.”
Sammyl nods again. “That’s one less Heldyan force to face.”
“Draft orders to Drusyn to move his forces to support Dhresyl,” declares Rhamuel, looking toward the door. “I want Lerial to see if he can discover more about what’s wrong with me.”
“Yes, ser.”
“And close the door.”
As Sammyl leaves, Lerial asks, “How do you feel?”
“How would you feel in overgrown swaddling clothes?” demands Rhamuel, who waits until the bedchamber door is closed before asking, “How long will I be like this?”
“The honest answer is that I don’t know. The fact that you’re awake and alert and feel some pain is a good sign, I think.” If Emerya were only here now. If the dispatch … if Father … if … if … But the dispatch had likely not even reached Ascar yet.
“You think?”
“I’m not a master healer,” Lerial points out. “Hold still, and let me—”
“What else am I going to do besides hold still?” interrupts Rhamuel.
Lerial ignores the question and concentrates on trying to sense all Rhamuel’s injuries.
While there is still a knot of wound chaos just above the end of Rhamuel’s backbone, Lerial can detect nothing else—except for the lighter and diffuse chaos of bruises almost everywhere. Finally, he steps back. “You’re in better shape than I thought you’d be.”
“This is better shape? I can’t move my legs. At least I’m not pissing myself.”
“You’re not? That’s good.” Very good. “How does your back feel?”
“The part just below my waist … Let’s just say it hurts more than I want to dwell on. Below my ass, I can’t feel anything.” Rhamuel looks at Lerial. “Don’t tell me everything will get better, either.”
“It looks like you will get better. Whether you’ll be as hale and hearty as you were … that’s less likely.”
“So I’ll be a weakling arms-commander or duke?”
“That’s a matter of judgment and will, not physical strength, and you know that more than anyone,” replies Lerial, not quite tartly.
“You sound just like your aunt. Do you know that?”
“I don’t think she’d agree.” Since there is little more he can say about Rhamuel’s condition at the moment, Lerial asks, “Have you any word on the rest of the family?”
“Haesychya and Kyedra are safe with Aenslem. They found Natroyor’s body in the rubble, but I think I told you that. Atroyan’s, too.”