Actually, Norstaan had told Lerial of Natroyor’s death, but Lerial nods.
“Both Norstaan and Sammyl saw the slash in his throat. I told them to say nothing, but…”
“That will out, sooner or later,” suggests Lerial.
“Later is better, I think. There’s no word on Mykel. I sent couriers to Lake Reomer, with word for him to remain there.”
“He didn’t go unescorted, did he?”
“He had a half squad of palace guards, and Oestyn had two personal guards supplied by his father.”
“That’s all?” asks Lerial.
“That was what my brother deemed appropriate. They were well provisioned. Jhosef always provides for their … journeys.”
“You’re still worried, aren’t you?”
“After all this, wouldn’t you be? This was well planned, and if Aenslem hadn’t gotten ill, most likely Haesychya and Kyedra would be laid out with Atroyan and Natroyor.”
“And you as well.” Lerial has to wonder about Aenslem’s “illness,” but perhaps the merchanter had truly been ill, and Lerial cannot see what Aenslem would gain by Atroyan’s death, or the death of his grandson. Still, it’s something to keep in mind. “Who would gain from all this?”
“Offhand, I can’t say. It could be Khesyn or Heldyan merchanters … or someone with a grudge against my brother.”
“Or someone who made an arrangement with Khesyn.” Lerial frowns. “It has to be someone with golds and resources. An unhappy merchanter.”
“Where do we start looking? Except for Aenslem and Fhastal, they’re all unhappy about something.” Rhamuel looks up at the knock on the door. “Yes?”
“There’s a dispatch from Subcommander Dhresyl, ser.”
“Bring it in.”
Sammyl immediately opens the door and, dispatch in hand, walks to the bedside.
Rhamuel takes the dispatch and reads it. Then he looks up. “Dhresyl thinks the Heldyans will attack in force tomorrow. Certainly no later than on eightday.” His eyes go to Sammyl. “Is there any other information?”
“No, ser. No signs of any other Heldyan forces. Not so far.”
Rhamuel looks to Lerial. “Do you think there will be others?”
“It’s always possible, but given the size of the two forces…”
“You think it’s unlikely. What about you, Sammyl?”
“I couldn’t say, ser. Who would have thought they’d attack Swartheld itself?”
Except that’s the logical place to attack, and Luba was likely half a feint.
“For now, at least, we need to get Drusyn’s battalions to join Dhresyl’s forces,” Rhamuel goes on.
Sammyl clears his throat. “Ah … ser…”
“You think you should be with the subcommanders?” asks Rhamuel.
“I am the chief of staff…”
“And that’s why I need you here, now. That does raise a question. Who do you think should be in overall field command—Dhresyl or Drusyn?”
“Drusyn is senior…”
“But you think Dhresyl is a better field commander.”
“Yes, ser.” Sammyl frowns. “I don’t know that, but he has a wider view.”
“Then you need to write up another dispatch appointing him as acting commander, with a copy to Drusyn. Immediately.”
“Yes, ser.” Sammyl does not move, but looks pointedly at Lerial.
“Lord Lerial,” asks Rhamuel, his voice almost formal, for all the hints of raspiness in it, “can we again count on your support?”
“We will be happy to support Afrit, especially in dealing with Heldyan mages and wizards. I fear any other use of a mere three companies would merely waste men.”
“In the dispatch to Dhresyl, also make that point about the use of the Mirror Lancers.”
“Yes, ser.”
“Now … go draft all those orders so that all the battalion commanders—and Dhresyl—know what they’re doing and who’s in charge.”
Sammyl nods. “Yes, ser.”
“And don’t look so glum. I happen to need someone who knows all the commanders and battalions and everything else. And that means you. If I weren’t confined to this frigging bed, it would be different. But I am, and you’re stuck here, Sammyl.”
“I just had thought … ser…”
“You saw how much better things were once Overcaptain Lerial got you here to take over. Do you think I want to go back to that chaos mess?”
“No, ser.”
“Good. Now … if you would get those orders drafted…”
“Yes, ser.” Sammyl actually smiles, if briefly, before he turns and leaves.
Even so, Lerial can see that Rhamuel doesn’t want Sammyl in the field. Because he’s not that good a strategist and field commander? Or for some other reason?
“Can you actually handle four chaos-wizards?” asks Rhamuel.
“Not all at once. Possibly only one at a time.” Lerial pauses, thinking of the power he had sensed when he had withdrawn from the forces south of the tileworks. “And … possibly … one of them might be strong enough to destroy me.”
“Then don’t confront one that strong. Use your abilities on the others. Even the strongest chaos-mage can’t remain in Afrit if we can defeat all the Heldyan armsmen around him.”