“How do you get around those trees?” asks Lerial, thinking about Dhresyl’s comments about scouts.
“There’s a trail just below the top of the next ridge. Must go a good five kays before it runs into the shore road. Wouldn’t want to ride the last kay though. Heldyans have patrols there.”
“Where does it go to the south?”
“There’s another lane off the shore road.”
“Good.” Lerial nods. “You can show us that on the way back. I think I’ve seen enough.”
“Yes, ser.”
Lerial can sense a certain puzzlement from the scout, but that’s fine with him. The fewer people who can guess exactly what he is thinking, the better.
A glass later, Lerial is meeting with acting commander Dhresyl and Drusyn in a tiny room adjoining a small chamber off the south end of what had been the auxiliary troopers’ mess hall. The larger of the two small chambers clearly serves as both headquarters and the senior officers’ mess since the destruction of the headquarters and main messing buildings.
Dhresyl is scarcely imposing physically—stoop-shouldered and slight of build, with short shaggy brown hair and a receding hairline—but his eyes are an intense hazel-yellow that reminds Lerial of a predatory vulcrow, and his voice is firm, but somehow mellow as he continues his briefing. “… been rotating battalions holding the hills overlooking shore road a mille to the north … saw no sense in having everyone out there when we can be there in less than a glass…”
“How far between your battalions and their advance forces?” asks Drusyn.
Lerial refrains from commenting, allowing Dhresyl to answer the question.
“About a kay and a half. They’re set up in that hamlet. It’s so small it doesn’t have a name. They’re keeping something like two battalions in reserve at the tileworks. Might be three.”
“And they’ve made no advances south of the hamlet?” presses Drusyn.
“No. Not a one.”
“Have they sent scouts or small forces south and west as though they might make an encircling move?” asks Lerial.
“I’ve worried about that. I’ve kept more than a company, squads and single scouts, patrolling to the west, and even to the north. I wanted to see if they’d invested Baiet. They haven’t. Not as of yesterday.”
“And you think that they’ll attack tomorrow because they built large cookfires today?” Drusyn’s voice is skeptical.
“Tomorrow or the next day. You don’t want to be fixing warm meals when you’re on the march. They also haven’t landed any more men and mounts in the last two days, and there aren’t any merchanters tied up at the tileworks pier.”
“Did your scouts find out anything about the merchanters porting there?”
Dhresyl shakes his head. “For the most part, the scouts couldn’t get that close. Those few they could spy had canvas over their names and ports and flew no colors.”
“So they were likely hired and possibly not even from Hamor,” says Drusyn.
“Hired, but some might be from Hamor,” suggests Lerial. “If all names were covered, how could we tell?”
“Sailors talk, sooner or later,” replies Dhresyl. “If they were Hamorian, someone would find out. If they’re outlanders, with their names covered and no colors, even if they ported here later and talked in the inns or taverns, if they spoke other than Hamorian, who would understand?”
“Why would outlanders do that?”
“For golds and a chance to ruin Afritan traders at the same time,” Dhresyl points out.
Lerial understands that. And you should have thought about sailors talking. You’ve listened to lancers talking often enough. Is his slowness because he’s tired and the last days have been long? He can only hope that is the reason.
After several more questions from Drusyn, more about billeting and messing, there is little more to be discussed, and Lerial and Drusyn leave the temporary headquarters. Once outside, he glances at the evening sky. It is clear, with no sign of rain. Even his order-senses suggest that the next few days will be fair … and that also suggests Dhresyl is correct about the coming attack.
“Do you know why Commander Sammyl and the arms-commander decided to put Dhresyl in overall command?” asks Drusyn in a low voice once they are well away from Dhresyl and the mess chamber.
“No, I don’t. They didn’t ask me. I hope you don’t take offense, but they shouldn’t have. I’ve seen your battalions fight, and they’ve been effective both times,” when Fhaet didn’t get in the way, “but I know nothing about any of the other subcommanders besides you and Ascaar.”
“I can see that, but Dhresyl…”
“He’s junior to you and doesn’t have any more experience?” says Lerial gently.
“That’s … the best way of putting it.”
“I have no idea on what they made their decision,” Lerial says, and that is certainly truthful.