He wonders if Rhamuel has received any information from Ascaar, since Sammyl had not returned when Lerial had left the palace on oneday evening and there had been no dispatches from Shaelt. The lack of dispatches bothers Lerial. Ascaar isn’t the sort who would neglect to report, whether he did well … or poorly. Unless he’s dead or severely wounded.
Lerial washes, shaves, and dresses quickly, and his stomach reminds him that he needs to eat. The two rankers outside Lerial’s door stiffen as he steps out into the hallway. He can read the question on their minds and lips. He smiles. “Yes. I’m feeling much better this morning.” Not enough to handle much in the way of order and chaos, but enough not to fall over with minor healing. At that thought, he wonders how Aenslem is doing, but pushes that away. You did what you could, and likely more than you should have. Except … He almost shakes his head, before realizing that the rankers will misinterpret the gesture. “I’m ready for something to eat.”
Dhoraat, Kusyl, and Strauxyn are waiting at the mess. All look intently at him.
“I’m fine. Really.”
Kusyl raises his eyebrows. “Begging your pardon, ser…”
“Did I have to try to heal Aenslem? Yes. If the most powerful merchanter in Afrit died because I refused to try to save him, we’d be in almost as bad a shape as if we’d lost the last battle.” Lerial pauses. “Maybe not quite that bad, but close.” He manages a grin. “I need to eat. You can sit down and ask any questions while I do. And no, there isn’t any word on what happened at Shaelt.” Lerial takes a seat near one end of the table. “That’s why I’ll have to head out to the palace once I eat.”
Immediately, two Afritan Guard servers appear, one with a beaker and a pitcher, the other with a platter that he sets before Lerial. On the platter are two large slices of egg toast covered in berry syrup, along with ham rashers on the side, and a quarter of a ripe melon, its interior a pale shade of green, a type that Lerial has not seen. He tries not to eat too quickly, but he finishes the first piece of egg toast in about three bites, along with a deep swallow of lager.
“What about the Heldyans?” asks Kusyl.
“They may have more troopers in reserve. It’s possible they’ll try another attack. Commander Sammyl’s sent scouts out to see what’s happening in Estheld.”
“More troopers, ser?” asks Dhoraat.
“I’m guessing that Khesyn made some sort of agreement with the Tourlegyn clan leaders. That’s why so many of the Heldyan troopers fought to the death. They weren’t Heldyans, but Tourlegyns…”
In between mouthfuls, Lerial answers more questions. After he finishes, while Strauxyn readies a squad to accompany Lerial to the palace, Lerial immediately walks to the section of the barracks holding the Mirror Lancer wounded.
“Ser?” asks Kusyl. “Do you think…?”
“I’m stronger today, and I need to see to the men.” Fortunately, of the twelve wounded, Lerial finds wound chaos in only two, and in both cases, it is minor, and something with which he can deal without even feeling light-headed. He tries not to think about the three who died when he was unable to even take care of himself.
From the barracks he then walks to the headquarters building, where he seeks out Captain Dhallyn.
“What can I do for you, ser?” Dhallyn stands from behind the duty desk and smiles warmly.
“I’m curious. Do you keep records of dispatch riders … when they leave for where or when they arrive from where?”
“Yes, ser. Failure to do so would get any officer on duty in great trouble.”
“Would you mind if I looked at the records for the past few days?”
“No … why?”
“We haven’t heard anything from Shaelt.”
“I don’t recall any dispatch riders from the south, but we can check. There are two records. One at the gates, and the one here. Every morning the duty officer has to check both to make certain they agree. I can’t recall when they haven’t.” Dhallyn turns and lifts a leather-bound folder, attached to a bracket on the wall with a thin chain, then opens it. He studies it and says, “Just four riders since sixday. Three from Harbor Post, one from the palace.” He holds the book so that Lerial can read the entries … which are exactly as Dhallyn has described them.
“Thank you.”
Dhallyn frowns.
Before the captain can speak, Lerial goes on, “It struck me that there are several reasons why we haven’t heard. The first is that Subcommander Ascaar has been defeated or killed. I have my doubts about that. The second is that whatever dispatch was sent did not reach the arms-commander. That leaves open where it went astray. The only thing we can check here is whether there were any dispatch riders from the south.”
“They might have gone straight to the palace.”
Lerial smiles. “That’s where I’ll make the next inquiry.”
“They keep the dispatch record at the guardhouse at the outer gate.”
“Thank you.”