“It looks clear, ser. The other fast galley headed back south.”
“Good,” murmurs Lerial. He slumps over the spray shield of the sail-galley, the sea and sky spinning slowly around him, his guts churning, and his eyes burning, light flashes searing through closed eyes. Despite the wind from the north, he can smell smoke and all manner of acrid odors … and he can imagine, if not sense, the silver-black death mists flowing out across the burning debris that had once been ships and piers.
At least you didn’t pass out this time. After a long moment, a second thought strikes him. But you barely managed not to.
XLIV
Just after third glass of the afternoon, Elphred eases the sail-galley alongside the Harbor Post pier. From what Lerial has seen on the last part of the return to Afrit, the merchanters in Swartheld Harbor are continuing to load various cargoes. He wonders exactly what the ships’ masters, or owners, will do now that the immediate threat from Heldya has been removed.
Immediate threat? More like any threat for several years, if not longer.
Lerial still has flashes across his vision when he climbs out of the galley and looks back toward Estheld, still marked by towering clouds of gray and black smoke. After a moment, he turns and walks back to the stern of the sail-galley, where he stands beside Toeryn and waits for Elphred to finish giving orders to his crew.
Once the galley master is on the stone pier, Lerial says, “Thank you.”
“Yes, ser,” replies Elphred. His eyes do not quite meet Lerial’s.
“Would you have preferred to have another ten battalions of Heldyans marching down from Baiet in a few days?” asks Lerial quietly. “We have less than three battalions remaining. I am grateful to you and your men.” He smiles sadly, because he does understand the galley master’s feelings, then turns and walks toward the tunnel, Toeryn beside him. He carries the empty water bottle in his left hand. “We’ll need to head to the palace once I give a brief report to Commander Dhresyl. The arms-commander needs to know immediately.” Or as close to immediately as you can manage.
The cool and the darkness of the tunnel up to the Harbor Post are welcome, but the squad leader waiting at the end of the tunnel is less so.
“Ser, Commander Dhresyl would hope you might spare him a few moments.”
Lerial doubts that Dhresyl had been quite so deferential in his wording, but merely says, “Lead the way.”
When they reach the senior officers’ mess, Lerial hands the water bottle to Toeryn. “If you wouldn’t mind, while I talk to the commander … I could use some lager.”
“Yes, ser.”
Lerial walks into the small chamber, closes the door, and settles himself into the chair across from the commander. “You wished to see me?”
Dhresyl does not speak for a moment, his eyes studying Lerial. Finally, he says, almost pensively, “The lookouts report a great deal of smoke and fire around Estheld. Do you think that will delay the Heldyans that much?”
“It might,” replies Lerial, “that is, if they can find a way to replace something like fifteen merchanters, all their piers, most of the city of Estheld, and at least several thousand trained armsmen … if not more.”
The commander frowns. “There’s that much damage?”
“It appears that almost everything in Estheld was built of wood. So are ships. Wood burns. There was so much fire, and it spread so quickly, that many could not escape, especially the armsmen already loaded onto the merchanters.” Lerial smiles, then stands. “I thought you’d like to know. I need to report to the arms-commander.” Without another word Lerial turns and leaves the makeshift study.
Toeryn hurries up as Lerial walks out of the study. “That didn’t take long, ser.”
“I told the commander what he needed to know.”
“Ser … I filled the water bottle, but the cook is bringing some bread and cheese and a beaker of lager…”
Lerial offers a crooked smile. “That is a very good idea.”
“I also persuaded one of the cooks’ boys to take a message to Squad Leader Fhuraan, that you’d be there shortly. That way, you can eat while they’re readying the horses.”
“Thank you.” Lerial doesn’t need any more urging to sit down at the end of the long mess table. As soon as the lager and the bread and cheese arrive, he takes a long swallow and then begins to eat, slowly and methodically.
Toeryn stands by the door to the mess, his hand on his sabre, the entire time that it takes Lerial to finish what is before him. He is no longer even in the slightest light-headed when he finally stands, but he cannot order-sense, and occasional flashes of light flicker across his eyes. Still, he feels much better as he walks from the mess to the stables, where Fhuraan waits with Fourth Squad.
“We saw smoke,” offers the squad leader. “Were you able…?”