“Quieter now,” says Kusyl. “Last night…” He shakes his head.
The three walk quickly to the senior officers’ mess. When Lerial enters the chamber, the odors of overcooked meat and burned cheese strike him, almost turning his stomach. He hasn’t even considered that it is breakfast time. The second thing is how the four majers in the mess look at the three of them, but do not quite meet his eyes, before looking away.
Lerial crosses the end of the room, avoiding the lower end of the long table, and opens the door to the small chamber off the mess.
“What is it?” Dhresyl looks up, clearly irritated, as Lerial steps inside. Lerial glances back at the undercaptains.
“We’ll wait, ser,” says Kusyl.
Lerial closes the door and then takes the chair across the desk from Kusyl.
“That healer must have done you some good,” offers Dhresyl. “But, you still look like shit.” Lerial is surprised that the commander is that blunt, but it’s a sign of just how tired the man is.
“Where did you find him?”
“I didn’t. I was having enough trouble just trying to straighten out the battalions and arrange for the Heldyan prisoners. He said the arms-commander had sent him. I figured any healer might help.”
From Dhresyl’s appearance, harried look, and reaction, Lerial doubts that the false healer was the commander’s doing. “Are there any Heldyan forces unaccounted for?”
“It depends on what you mean. We’ve gathered up close to a thousand captives, mostly wounded. Some likely won’t make it. It’s been a mess. We’re not equipped for taking prisoners. The damage to the post makes it worst, but we can’t leave them loose. Heldya’s too close. One mounted group—almost a battalion—turned north right after whatever it was you did. By the time we could do anything about it, they’d boarded the merchanters at the tileworks pier and sailed off. They made for Estheld. They did leave almost three hundred decent mounts behind.”
“What about Afritan Guard casualties?”
“They’re heavy. We’ve lost another two battalions, maybe more, what with deaths and wounds.” Dhresyl looks sadly at Lerial. “That’s nothing compared to the Heldyans. I’d judge there are more than six thousand bodies out there. More than half were your doing.”
“Would you have it the other way?” asks Lerial.
Dhresyl shakes his head.
“Have you heard from the arms-commander or Commander Sammyl? What about Ascaar?”
“Nothing yet this morning … or yesterday.”
“I heard Drusyn was killed.”
“Barbed arrow through the throat.”
Lerial frowns.
“My thought exactly. The Heldyans don’t use barbed arrows, and neither do we. It might have been poisoned as well, but they didn’t need that. He bled to death in moments. There were several fired. Two rankers in his personal guard also died, early this morning, apparently from the poison. They were wounded as well by barbed arrows.”
“Who…?”
“Whoever doesn’t want Afrit to have any effective commanders left alive. That’s all I can say. We’d have lost everything if you weren’t here.”
“They tried for me last night,” Lerial says.
This time Dhresyl is the one to frown. Finally, he asks, “The healer?”
“My men didn’t let him near me. His description doesn’t match the only healer at the palace.”
“Starshit…” Dhresyl shakes his head again, almost despondently. Then he looks up. “How did they know?”
“They didn’t. They just didn’t trust his looks. They felt better leaving me to one of our field healers.”
“You’re fortunate.”
Fortunate to have good and loyal undercaptains. “I am.” After a moment, Lerial asks, “Do we have any Heldyan majers or subcommanders who are prisoners?”
“I’ve been asking that already. Right now, we’ve only found one majer. He’s got a broken leg and some broken fingers. There might be others, but…”
“With a thousand wounded … it may take a while…”
“Especially if they don’t want anyone to know.”
“I’d like to talk to the majer.”
“Would you mind if I listened in?”
“Not at all.” At this point, Lerial is inclined to believe that Dhresyl isn’t a part of the plot, although any form of treachery is beginning to appear possible in Afrit.
The commander stands. “He’s in a guarded chamber on the other side of the kitchens. It’s not far.”
Both Kusyl and Strauxyn follow the two as they walk through the kitchens. The guarded chamber turns out to be a windowless storeroom off a back corridor. Two Afritan rankers are posted outside the door.
“Sers, you want to talk to him?” asks the broader ranker.
Lerial wonders if the stocky and muscular man might have once been a loader capable of hoisting large flour barrels and the like.
Dhresyl nods.