Once Lerial is convinced that nothing is amiss at the headquarters, he immediately leaves the post, accompanied by the Fourth Squad from Eighth Company—the one that has suffered the fewest losses out of all three companies. Again, on the way to the palace, he notices that very little is different from when he had first arrived in Swartheld. You’d think that there might be some change when there was a battle less than ten kays north of here, especially after an explosion at the palace.
The one thing that has changed is that there are more Afritan Guards stationed at both the inner and the outer gates to the palace. As Lerial turns to ride to the stables, he notices a platform built of stones, obviously from the rubble of the damaged section of the palace, and the hint of soot and ashes on top of the stones. A private memorial to Atroyan and Natroyor?
Something was probably necessary, given the heat. Still, Lerial worries. Also, Dhallyn must have dispatched a messenger immediately, because Lerial has barely reined up outside the inside west entrance to the palace when Norstaan hurries to meet him.
“Good morning, ser.”
“Good morning, Norstaan. Are Commander Sammyl and the arms-commander in the same chambers as before?”
“Yes, ser. They’re expecting you.”
“I take it Captain Dhallyn sent a messenger.”
Norstaan looks puzzled for a moment. “No, ser. Commander Dhresyl did. He told the commander that you were returning to Afritan Guard headquarters.”
Lerial nods. You should have thought of that. Dhresyl wouldn’t want Sammyl surprised. He dismounts and hands the gelding’s reins to the ranker beside Fhuraan, the squad leader. “I need to see them.”
“Yes, ser. The commander thought you would. Will you and your squad be staying at the palace?”
“I think that’s unlikely, but I won’t know until after I meet with the arms-commander. They could use a bite to eat and water for the mounts.”
“We’ll take care of it, ser.”
“Thank you.”
“Oh … do you know if that dispatch reached Subcommander Ascaar?”
“No, ser. Might be a day or two…”
Lerial nods.
Norstaan gestures, and an Afritan Guard ranker walks toward them. “Seilyn will escort you, ser.”
Fhuraan gestures, in turn, and two older rankers immediately dismount and join Lerial.
Norstaan blinks, but says nothing.
“Everyone will feel better this way,” Lerial says blandly. Especially you, since you can’t hold shields for more than a moment or so.
“Ser … it was Commander Sammyl’s order that everyone have an escort.”
“And I do.” Lerial smiles. “Shall we go?”
The Afritan trooper leads the way, and the two lancers flank Lerial. When they reach the guards outside the sitting room, all three remain in the corridor as Lerial enters.
“How is the arms-commander?” asks Lerial, looking at Sammyl, who has stood as Lerial enters the sitting room.
“Tired of being confined to a bed or a star-fired chair!” comes Rhamuel’s voice from where he is seated at a table desk in the corner of the sitting room, one that has been added to the chamber.
Lerial turns. “How are you feeling?”
“I’d feel better if my leg hurt.”
“So would I,” admits Lerial, walking toward Rhamuel and studying him. From his limited order-senses, the arms-commander seems to be better. Even the knot of chaos at the end of his backbone seems smaller … but not that much smaller. There is no trace of wound chaos around the break in his leg.
“You look worse for the wear,” Rhamuel observes.
“The last few days have been hard.” Lerial pauses. “I noticed a stone platform…”
“We had to have a memorial for Atroyan and Natroyor … It’s been five days. I sent word to Haesychya, but she declined, saying that her father needed her. He’s still not well.”
“You didn’t attend?”
“I did. Norstaan found an old sedan chair, and they carted me down. I had all the officers I could find witness the memorial, but I’ve held off sending out any proclamations yet.”
Lerial isn’t certain of the wisdom of that, but then, refraining from making public pronouncements while the Heldyans are still attacking might be for the best. “Have you heard anything from Ascaar?”
Sammyl shakes his head.
“That’s not good.”
“His second dispatch said that there were three Heldyan battalions—all foot.”
“Were they well trained?” asks Lerial. “Or did Ascaar say?”
“He did say that they weren’t the best of Khesyn’s forces, but the numbers made it difficult. He didn’t say much more, except that he had the better position, if he could hold it.”
“We can’t do anything about that yet,” says Rhamuel.
“Did you send a healer to the Harbor Post last night?”
Immediate puzzled looks cross both men’s faces.
“No, why?” asks Rhamuel.
“One showed up, claiming the palace sent him, then vanished when my men tried to question him.” Lerial watches Sammyl closely, with both eyes and order-senses, but the commander seems as disconcerted as Rhamuel.
“Trying to get to you, then?” asks the arms-commander.
“It would seem so. I was still unconscious then.”
“Unconscious?” asks Sammyl.