“Better than any new companies, and some old ones, a lot better than what we had to do in Verdheln. Four solid squad leaders. Maylat—he’s Third Squad—might be a touch too solid, if you know what I mean.”
“He’ll carry out any order just the way you order it?”
“If he has doubts … yes, ser.”
“What else?” prompts Lerial.
“We’ve got maybe two or three rankers with some fighting experience in each squad. That’s helped.”
“But they’re usually not the brightest ones?”
“Half of each, I’d say.”
“How long have you been working them?”
“A couple of eightdays less than a season.”
“How are they doing?”
“Half as well as your company, if that.”
“You’ve never seen Eighth Company.”
“Don’t have to. You were in Verdheld. I saw what you did there with troopers as green as saplings.”
“I was almost as green.”
“Begging your pardon, ser … you weren’t. Young … but never green. You spent years learning from the majer.”
Not years … a year at most, even if it felt like years.
“Also heard watertalk about what you did at Ensenla four years back.”
“You can’t believe all you hear,” replies Lerial with a genial laugh.
“No, ser. That’s not so with you. Have to figure you did a lot more than anyone knows. It was that way in Verdheln, and you’re likely better at keeping things quiet.”
“It’s usually better that way.”
“Most times. Not always.”
Lerial nods. “I’d agree to that.”
They ride almost another third of a glass before Kusyl speaks again. “Tell me, ser. Is this going to be as bad as Verdheln?”
“How can you say something like that?” Lerial laughs. “Didn’t we win a great victory there?”
Kusyl grins. “Except we lost every battle except the last two … and pretty near half our lancers. That’s the kind of victory every old lancer dreads.”
“I have no idea, except that it won’t be good. We’re supposed to help Atroyan and keep Khesyn from even thinking about taking Luba when he’s been eying it and Afrit for years.”
“Worse than Verdheln, then.” The not-quite-wizened undercaptain gives a theatrical groan. After a moment, he asks, “Why Luba … and not Swartheld?”
“The ironworks, I’d guess. Also, taking Luba would split Afrit in two, if not so much in terms of people, and there’s a paved highway from Luba to Swartheld that Khesyn could use. If Khesyn can take and hold Luba, that would make things more difficult for us, too, because he’d control both sides of the river there, and we’d lose access to the traders who come upriver from Swartheld, especially the outland traders.”
“You’re not making this old lancer feel any younger, ser.”
“You’re not that old, Kusyl.”
“Maybe not, ser, but we’d all like to get older.”
Lerial can definitely agree with that, but he says, “Tell me more about Twenty-third Company. Start with more about your squad leaders.”
“I can do that. First Squad leader is Elsyor. Quiet type. Thinks things through. Better with a blade than a lance…”
Lerial listens intently.
VII
By midafternoon on sixday, Lerial is more concerned than ever about what faces them in Luba. They have followed the river road for five days since leaving Ensenla, except, after the first two days, the road cannot truly be called a river road, as it has moved farther and farther from the river, presumably to avoid the sandy desert-like ground along the river that is periodically interrupted with marshy areas. They have come across no towns to speak of, just poor hamlet after poor hamlet, set amid browned and overgrazed grasslands, and scattered plots too small to be proper fields set next to creeks, with triangle-pole waterlifts … and not even proper irrigation ditches, let alone canals. Almost all the dwellings are of wind-worn mud brick with branch and reed-grass roofs.