The guard slides the timber out from the iron brackets that appear to have been bolted in place in the last few glasses, given the wood chips and scraps on the stone floor, then opens the door. The undercaptains and guards remain outside as Lerial and Dhresyl enter.
The Heldyan majer lies on a straw pallet, his back against the wall of the storeroom, a rough splint around his right leg. He glares at Dhresyl, but his eyes widen as he takes in Lerial’s uniform.
“What heavy cavalry battalion did you command, majer?” Lerial asks evenly.
“That’s something I’ll keep to myself.” The officer replies in Hamorian, but with an accent that is so thick that Lerial has to concentrate to understand his words.
“You can do that. It doesn’t matter. Most of your men are either dead or prisoners. It was a well-planned invasion, though. Very costly to Duke Khesyn in the end.”
“You didn’t have to slaughter my rankers.”
“You didn’t have to invade Afrit,” replies Dhresyl mildly.
“You didn’t have to invite it.”
“Invite it?” asks Dhresyl.
“All you Afritans care about is golds. You sell yourselves to the highest bidder.”
“So you come from a merchanter family yourself, then?” suggests Lerial.
“Keep that to myself.”
“You know the terms … better than a mere majer would,” Lerial pursues.
“A strong land doesn’t have to bribe its men to fight.”
“That’s a strange comment,” muses Lerial. “Especially since it appears that we’ve beaten you on all three attempts.”
“Can’t see why Cigoerne supports fat Afritan traders…”
Because they’re less of a danger than Heldyan traders and a ruthless duke. Lerial just smiles.
“You won’t … get away with this,” mutters the wounded majer. “You think we’re all that the duke has … you’re wrong.”
“Were we wrong at Luba? Or South Point? Or here?”
“Anyone can be lucky a few times. Especially against…” The majer breaks off his words, shaking his head.
“Against what?”
The Heldyan officer offers a ragged smile, but does not speak.
“A few times?” presses Lerial. “What happened to your battalion?”
The majer does not answer, but tightens his lips.
“Even if Duke Khesyn can scrape together another ten battalions, what difference will that make?” Lerial tries to look honestly puzzled.
“Wouldn’t you like to know.”
“It won’t make any difference. He’s sent almost twenty against us … and how many of you do you think are still alive?”
The majer does not answer, his expression between a glower and a smirk.
“There might be two Heldyan battalions remaining, mostly of wounded men. Three at the outside.”
“… butchers…”
“You were trying to do the same,” Dhresyl points out.
“You’ll see … you will.” The majer turns his head to the wall.
Neither Lerial nor Dhresyl can get another word out of the Heldyan officer, and after another tenth of a glass, they leave. Lerial knows that he didn’t handle the majer that well. But he is tired … and sore … and he has the feeling that whatever Khesyn has planned isn’t over yet, even though it would seem as though it should be.
He says nothing as they walk back to the space serving as the commander’s study, again shadowed by Kusyl and Strauxyn.
Once they are alone with the door closed, Dhresyl looks at Lerial. “Your officers are rather protective.”
It’s a good thing they are. “They’re very good … and very loyal.”
“I can see that.” Dhresyl purses his lips, then shakes his head. “I don’t think the majer was bluffing.”
“I don’t think so, either. Do we have any word on whether there are merchanters moored or anchored off Estheld?”
“We don’t.” Dhresyl frowns. “You think Khesyn will try another attack?
“He just might. You might want to find out about the merchanters. In the meantime, I’ll be moving the Mirror Lancers back to the Afritan Guard headquarters. That will give you more space to deal with any Heldyan prisoners and to begin repairs to the post.”
“After what you’ve been through … do you think…”
“I’m certainly well enough to ride for a glass, and you don’t need to worry about the additional burden of another three companies. Oh … and if that false healer shows up again … you might want to hold him and try to find out who hired him.”
“He won’t show his face.”
“Most likely not … but you never know. We’ll be leaving as soon as we can.”
“That might take some doing.”
“We’ll manage.” Lerial smiles politely. “Until later.” Whenever that may be. He turns and opens the door.
XXXVIII