Lerial shakes his head. Then he tries order-sensing, and is pleased to discover that he is finally much stronger, if not back to full strength. He is still thinking things over when he walks to the mess.
By half past seventh glass, he has eaten, met with his officers and Dhoraat, and is on his way to the palace under a blustery gray sky, accompanied by Fourth Squad from Eighth Company. They have barely covered half a kay before rain begins to fall—in large droplets that are almost warm. By the time Lerial has turned his gelding over to one of the palace stableboys, the air in the courtyard and likely across Swartheld is a mixture of moisture, mist, and fog … and the rain keeps failing.
For several moments, he stands under the edge of the stable roof, letting his order-senses range through the clouds, wondering if there will be strong thunderstorms that he can turn to his advantage—which would take much less effort than order-chaos separation. Yet he cannot sense the vortices of order and chaos that distinguish thunderstorms, just much milder flows and the heaviness of moisture.
He hurries across the courtyard in the rain, accompanied by two rankers, and makes his way to the west wing of the palace and Rhamuel’s sitting room. There he finds Norstaan, Sammyl, and Rhamuel.
“What have the scouts reported?” asks Lerial.
“The merchanters were prepared to load armsmen. It’s hard to tell.” Rhamuel looks to the closed window and the heavy droplets beating against it and the misty fog beginning to rise off the warm stone of the city’s buildings and streets. “But they cast off without doing so, from what the scouts saw before the rain closed in.”
“With rain and strong seas, they wouldn’t remain in Estheld,” adds Sammyl.
“If the storm dies down by midday,” asks Lerial, “how long before the merchanters could port?”
“Late afternoon, if the winds didn’t carry them too far east.”
“You had something in mind?” Rhamuel asks Lerial.
“I was thinking about asking for a fast sailing galley that could get me close to the harbor at Estheld late this afternoon. That’s if the storm does die down.”
“I don’t know … The sea might still be high by then.” Rhamuel frowns. “What do you have in mind?’
“I need to find out where those armsmen are, and how many they’ll be loading.” All that is true, but Lerial isn’t about to mention what else he has in mind. If it’s even possible … What else can you do? You’re outnumbered and on the defense … and if they bring another five battalions or more …
“How do you expect to learn that offshore in fog and mist?”
“It’s likely to be easier in the mist. I’d like to know just how many troopers Khesyn is sending.”
“Do we know he’s sending any?” asks Sammyl.
“Not really,” admits Lerial. “That’s what I’d like to find out … before they land at Baiet or somewhere closer.”
“That wouldn’t hurt,” says Sammyl. “But can you get closer than the scouts did? Close enough to learn that?”
“I’ve got a good chance at that.”
“Then I’ll send word to the Harbor Post. The sail-galleys leave from the small pier there. Don’t try to go if the galley master says it’s too dangerous. We can’t afford to lose anyone else at this point.”
“I won’t.” Lerial has no intention of drowning. “How many battalions do you have that can fight?”
“Right now?” Sammyl shakes his head. “Three at the most. That doesn’t include Ascaar, but he has less than three full companies left after the last attack, and it would take him at least three days to get here, and at that speed, they wouldn’t be in the best shape to fight. I’ve already sent orders for him to join us at deliberate speed.”
“Including your Mirror Lancers and his companies,” Rhamuel says, “that’s four battalions. If you’re as effective as before…”
“We might … just might … defeat Khesyn again. Is that what you think?” asks Lerial.
“It’s better than the alternative.”
None of the three mentions the difficulties Afrit will face with only what likely would remain after such a battle.
By the second glass of the afternoon, the rain has diminished to intermittent showers, but showers driven by strong winds, and Lerial, wearing a borrowed oiled leather waterproof, rides with his squad from the palace to the Harbor Post. He leaves the squad under cover and walks with one of the seamen assigned to the galleys down a tunnel corridor that opens onto a boatyard above the pier.
He has barely stepped out of the tunnel when another Afritan Guard, wearing an oilskin jacket, moves toward him.
“Squad Leader Elphred, ser. Commander Dhresyl assigned me to your reconnaissance voyage.”
“You’re the galley master?”