“Yes, ser.”
Once the ranker has moved away, Dhresyl asks, “Why don’t you think the barrels were labeled as flour?”
“Flour dust can explode. The cooks would know that. They’d only keep what they needed.” Lerial pauses. “Most cooks wouldn’t keep anything close to the ovens unless they were going to use it soon.”
“There’s not much else that comes in barrels—mutton, some dried beef, pickled root vegetables, dried fruit, but we only get a few barrels of that—too costly, you know.”
The ranker returns with Lerial’s lager, then departs. Lerial takes a swallow, sets down the beaker, and says, “The headquarters building couldn’t have been that badly damaged from an explosion in the kitchens.”
“No … and that’s troubling. Both Commander Nythalt and Subcommander Mhorig were there, and, of course, Cythern and Varndyr, for the morning commanders’ meeting. I should have been, but the scouts were briefing me on the fog and the fact that they insisted merchanters were porting north at the tileworks. That was so unusual that I took some time to arrange for another scouting party. That made me late. I was just leaving the front gates when everything exploded.”
“So who else was missing, from the battalion commanders, I mean, besides you?”
“Subcommander Shaerthyn. He had violent flux.”
How convenient.
Before Lerial can say more, Dhresyl goes on, “He’s so ill that his consort fears he may not live. I visited him yesterday. He’s in great pain. There’s some thought he was poisoned.”
“Poisoned? How? Does anyone know?”
“He and his consort went to a consorting ceremony last threeday evening. I remember thinking that threeday was an odd day for that…”
Lerial agrees. Almost all consortings are on sixday or sevenday. He takes another bite of the egg, cheese, and ham. It’s hot and passable.
“… and he sent word that he was ill the next morning. He’s been worse every day.”
“Is Commander Shaerthyn considered a good field commander?”
Dhresyl takes a swallow of greenberry juice and nods. “Perhaps not as good as Ascaar, but good. Certainly better than I am.”
Dhresyl’s last words surprise Lerial, but he manages to reply, “You’re being modest, I’m sure.”
“I wouldn’t call myself a poor field commander, but outstanding?” Dhresyl shakes his head. “I’m better with logistics.”
“And now you find yourself in command?”
“I’d relinquish command to Ascaar, if he were here, but he’s not.”
Almost the entire command structure wiped out, with the known most effective field commander poisoned, the duke and his family largely wiped out, and the only two survivors are Rhamuel through quick action and luck and Dhresyl through sheer chance. Lerial is staggered by the apparent combination of advance planning and treachery behind the Heldyan invasion.
Dhresyl takes another swallow of greenberry. “Not much we can do about what’s already happened. I’ve asked Commander Sammyl to send for Subcommander Ascaar and his battalions.”
“He only has one at Shaelt. The other is still at Luba,” Lerial says.
“Another battalion will help, but Ascaar will help more. Right now, Drusyn is the only battalion commander with any experience at all…”
Again, Lerial hears the implications behind Dhresyl’s words.
“… and you have more battle experience than any commander in all of Afrit.”
“What do you plan for today?” Lerial asks, afraid that another officer will intrude before he can get to the point he needs to make, although he has not pushed, because he is trying to make the matter come up in the course of conversation.
“If they attack, reinforce the battalions in position south of them.” Dhresyl raises his eyebrows. “The way you ask that … Do you have another idea?”
So much for indirection and subtlety. “I was thinking about an attack from the west.”
“Any attack in force from there would leave too few battalions between them and the city.”
“I wasn’t thinking about an attack in force,” Lerial replies. “Just one strong enough that they couldn’t afford to ignore it.”
Dhresyl frowns.
“That would give them pause, perhaps more,” Lerial suggests.
“You think that will delay them?”
“If we can surprise them even a little, we might cause them unanticipated losses. Or, as you say, it might delay them. I think it’s worth the effort, and we might be able to do some damage with an attack from a direction that they don’t expect.”
“What sort of attack?”
“Mounted, with lances. The Mirror Lancers aren’t a large enough force by themselves, though, for enough of an effect.”
“I couldn’t divert more than a battalion, and there are only a few trained in lances.”