“Well … we’ll see how well he does in the days ahead.” Drusyn’s voice holds a certain forced cheer.
“That’s true for all of us,” replies Lerial. “Speaking of the days ahead, I need to meet with my captains and pass on what Dhresyl told us.”
“Me, too.” With a nod, Drusyn turns toward the northwest corner of the Harbor Post, walking steadily toward the tents that shelter his battalions.
Lerial turns toward the small barracks.
Over the next tenth of a glass, he gathers Fheldar, Strauxyn, and Kusyl into the cramped narrow space that barely holds a bunk, a table desk, and the four of them. He relays all that he has learned from Dhresyl, then asks, “Have any of you heard anything?”
Strauxyn shakes his head.
“I had my squad leaders nose around,” says Kusyl. “What they heard seems pretty much like you heard from the subcommander. There was one thing, though. We saw lots of chaos when we ran into the Heldyans up north. No one here has seen any. The Afritan battalions don’t even have anyone who passes for a hedge wizard, begging your pardon, ser. The Afritans have to know they’re facing chaos … and there are no mages.”
“I’ve asked about that,” Lerial replies. “I’ve been told that mages are rare in Afrit. The few that there are work for the wealthy merchanters.”
“They can’t spare them to defend Afrit?” asks Kusyl. “Doesn’t seem that bright to me.”
Fheldar nods.
That raises another question that Lerial does not ask. If the Heldyans have mages and have had them for a time, and the Afritans don’t, then why have they waited so long to attack Afrit? Or is it just because it has taken Khesyn this long to unite his land and raise enough armsmen? Lerial has another thought. Have all the attacks on Cigoerne been just a way of giving the Heldyans experience and training to deal with Afrit? He finally says, “I can’t answer that, not really, but I’d guess that Khesyn has been planning this for a very long time, and he didn’t want to attack Afrit until he was certain that he wouldn’t have trouble with the Tourlegyn nomads and all their clans. From what I know, that’s the only thing that makes any sense.” And even that doesn’t make that much sense.
“Doesn’t matter, one way or another,” says Kusyl. “They got mages and wizards, and the Afritans want the overcaptain and us to deal with them.”
“And if we don’t here,” adds Lerial, “we’ll end up doing it again outside Cigoerne before long.”
Kusyl offers a patently false long and doleful face. “More summer-old dead fish.”
Even Lerial has to smile, if only for a moment.
After the three leave, he hopes he is not making a mistake by not telling the undercaptains the fundamental problem created by Dhresyl’s and Rhamuel’s defensive strategy … and the reason for his scouting trip. If we wait until they hit us with four chaos-mages or more … He shakes his head, recalling how he and Twenty-third Company had been forced to withdraw from even the initial invasion force. And if they’ve added more mages … You definitely need to talk to Dhresyl … early tomorrow.
Somehow he needs to persuade the commander to allow him to do what he has in mind. Whether he can or not, he will have to do it, or risk death or an ignominious retreat in a huge pitched battle. But persuading Dhresyl would be better. Much better.
XXXIV
Lerial is up before dawn on sevenday, finishing sketching out a clearer version of the map of the Heldyan camp he had made the night before. Then, before he heads to the senior officers’ mess for breakfast, Lerial walks across the large courtyard to the east side, where he studies the ruins of the main mess hall and the headquarters building some fifty yards west of the mess. He frowns. Although the undercaptains he encountered the night before insisted that the explosions began in the mess-hall kitchens, Lerial cannot see how that explosion could possibly have destroyed the headquarters building. With a nod, he turns and makes his way to the makeshift officers’ mess. Since there is a vacant chair beside Dhresyl, in fact, several on each side, Lerial takes the one to the commander’s right.
“Good morning, Overcaptain.”
“Good morning, ser. Are there any reports yet?”
“Only that there were no cookfires this morning. The Heldyans haven’t formed up … or hadn’t less than a fifth of a glass ago.”
“Speaking of fires, do you know what caused the explosion here?”
“It had to be cammabark. I’d guess it was brought into the post in barrels, labeled as flour or something else, and put in the kitchen near the ovens so the heat would dry it out … and then it would have only taken a single flame, maybe even just a candle beside a barrel…”
“It couldn’t have been labeled as flour,” muses Lerial.
Both wait as a ranker places platters in front of them, containing some form of eggs, cheese and thin slivers of what Lerial hopes is ham.
“Lager, if you have it?” Lerial requests.