While Sammyl again looks appalled, Rhamuel laughs ironically. “It won’t come to that. Khesyn will be hard-pressed to maintain his borders against the Tourlegyns, especially when the spoils he most likely promised didn’t materialize.”
“There’s one other item,” Lerial says. “On our way out to Estheld, and then on the way back, I noticed several things. First, all the ships in the harbor here were loading goods on board. None were offloading. Second, almost half flew a maroon ensign with a golden key in the center.”
“Those had to be Alaphyn’s ships…” muses Rhamuel.
“It is suggestive,” points out Lerial. “Along with Maesoryk…” And possibly Jhosef …
“There’s no proof…” declares Sammyl. “Without that … all the other merchanters will refuse to pay their tariffs if you act against Maesoryk and Alaphyn.”
We just might have to see about that, thinks Lerial, if without speaking those words.
“There’s no proof, yet.” Rhamuel smiles. “It may not even come to that.” He looks to Sammyl. “I need a few words with Lord Lerial, about my healing … and a few other matters.”
“Yes, ser.” Before he turns and leaves the sitting room, Sammyl’s momentary glance at Lerial is one of a very worried man.
“Jaermyd tells me that my broken leg is healing, not quite so fast as I’d like, obviously.”
Lerial considers what Rhamuel has said, then realizes that, for all that has happened, not that much time has passed. “It’s been less than two eightdays. You’d probably have felt the pain diminish…” Lerial immediately regrets those words.
“If I could feel any pain, you’re doubtless right.” Rhamuel uses his hands and arms to shift his weight in the wooden armchair behind the table desk. “I’m not going to get the use of my legs back, am I?”
“It’s still too soon to tell. If you have no feeling in a season … then…”
“You aren’t putting me off, are you?”
“No … Emerya might be able to tell you, but I don’t have her skills. Nor do I have her years of knowledge.”
“Jaermyd is convinced my injuries would have been fatal without you.”
“He’s too kind. I’d agree that they’d have been worse, but I suspect you still would have survived.”
“He says no … that the chaos around the broken bone would have spread, and no one would have known in time.”
Lerial had not even thought of that, he realizes.
Rhamuel laughs. “Sometimes, you don’t even realize how much the little things you do ending up mattering.”
“I imagine that’s just as true of you.”
“Not quite as much. I do have a few more years of observing people.”
“I grant you that. What else did you wish to discuss?” Lerial definitely wants to change the subject.
“Your remaining in Swartheld for a time longer. Cigoerne certainly doesn’t need you at the moment. The dispatch from that majer, most likely penned for him by your father, shows that Khesyn doesn’t have any armsmen there. The Tourlegyns have lost too many warriors to raid Cigoerne. But … matters here are far from settled. They’ll get worse once it is known that I am crippled, and there will be muttered demands for a duke who can have offspring.”
“You’re not that crippled.”
“People will say that. That’s what matters. I can’t, obviously, require you to stay. First, you’re not an Afritan. Second, I doubt there’s any power left in Afrit that could force you and your lancers to remain. At the same time, I’d appreciate your presence and support until I am officially duke of Afrit.”
“Who else could be duke?” asks Lerial. “You’re older than Mykel … if he’s even alive, and you’ve already pointed out that Kyedra cannot rule in her own name.”
“But the lineage runs through her.”
“It also runs through you.”
“There will always be doubts if I am duke.”
“That’s absurd. You almost died. You could have.”
“It doesn’t matter. People will still believe that I had a hand in my brother’s death.” Rhamuel shakes his head. “I’ve never wanted to be duke. I’ve wanted other things … but never that.”
Even as Lerial wonders what those “other things” might be, he replies bluntly, “You don’t have any choice. Neither does Afrit.”
“Not now,” admits Rhamuel. “That brings up another question. You’ve been the one in the midst of all the battles. What do you suggest I do with the Afritan Guard … and its officers?”
“Keep Sammyl as your chief of staff. Praise him publicly for his firm hand and loyalty in a time of crisis. Promise him something … you’d know better than I what is possible and acceptable. Make Commander Dhresyl the one in charge of supplies and logistics, but let him remain a commander. Promote Ascaar to commander and make him the overall field commander. There’s a young majer named Paelwyr. Make him a subcommander and a battalion commander. Review all the other majers who need to be promoted to subcommander with Paelwyr and Ascaar. From what I’ve seen, possibly Majer Aerlyt might be a decent subcommander, but I’d defer to Ascaar on that.”