Heritage of Cyador (The Saga of Recluce, #18)

“Yes?”


“There’s a messenger from Arms-Commander Rhamuel, ser. He would appreciate your coming to the palace at your earliest convenience.”

“Thank you.” That doesn’t sound good. “If you’d ask Squad Leader Dhoraat to select a squad to accompany me, I’d appreciate it. I’ll be at the stables shortly.”

“Yes, ser.”

Lerial jots a note to himself to check on grain for mounts. Given that it’s late spring, just about as far as possible from most grain harvests, supplies are likely to be short in many places on their return, and he’d prefer to carry more with them, just in case. Then he takes all his papers back to his quarters before making his way to the stables, where Eighth Company’s Third Squad and his own gelding are already forming up.

A half glass later, just before the first glass of the afternoon, he and Third Squad rein up outside the palace stables. Lerial does notice that white and black mourning drapes have been hung on the gates and the main entrances. From the stables, he makes his way to the west wing of the palace, but before he can turn toward the sitting room Rhamuel has been using, an Afritan Guard ranker hurries up to him.

“Overcaptain, ser, the duke is now in his receiving study. This way, if you would, ser.”

Lerial follows the ranker to another door, still on the second level, but overlooking the west entrance to the palace. Inside the door is an anteroom, with two table desks. A palace guard sits at the table desk set directly facing the door, while Norstaan is seated at the other desk, set well to one side.

“For the moment, Commander Sammyl and I are sharing this one,” Norstaan explains. “Go on in. He’s expecting you.”

Lerial opens the door to the inner chamber and steps into a much larger room. At one end is a circular conference table with six chairs around it, and at the other is a large table desk, behind which Rhamuel is seated, with stacks of papers arrayed around him. In the corner of the study is a chair on wheels, essentially a chair fastened to a frame to which small cart wheels or the like have been attached.

“You’ve moved, I see.”

“Norstaan pointed out that, now that I’m duke, I’ll need to see more people at one time, and that I needed a more proper receiving study. The wheeled chair was his idea. One person can push it, and I can even move the wheels sitting in it. For a short distance, anyway. It’s a great improvement, even if it does squeak and squeal. Sit down.” The pleasant expression on Rhamuel’s face vanishes.

“Trouble?” asks Lerial.

Rhamuel nods. “The palace guards I sent looking for Mykel and Oestyn…”

“Yes?” replies Lerial cautiously.

“They’ve found the bodies of some of his escort guards—what’s left of them.”

“What about Mykel and Oestyn?”

“There’s no trace of them.” Rhamuel shakes his head. “Ghersen—he’s the squad leader I sent—he’s very methodical. He stopped at every village and hamlet along the way. He found the inn where they stayed the second night … and the innkeeper said that they had left very early, before dawn.” Rhamuel offers a sardonic smile. “Neither Mykel nor Oestyn would leave that early. Not willingly, and Ghersen knew that. I imagine he was rough on the innkeeper. He’s now convinced that the innkeeper had nothing to do with it—especially since his son was found at the bottom of the well the next morning, and one of the serving maids was missing. The innkeeper said that everyone slept late that morning. Ghersen questioned some locals, and several said that the inn wasn’t open until midmorning.”

“That sounds like someone put sleeping draughts in the food or lager.”

“My thought as well.”

“Didn’t Oestyn have some personal guards?’

“That thought has also already crossed my mind.” Rhamuel shakes his head. “I still have trouble believing Oestyn … he was so devoted to Mykel…”

“There are two possibilities,” Lerial suggests.

“I’ve thought of both. One is that Jhosef set it all up, using Oestyn, who had no idea of what was happening. The second is that Oestyn has been playing his father’s plaques all along. In the end, it doesn’t matter at all.” Rhamuel takes a deep breath. “Ghersen questioned people all around there, but no one would admit to seeing anything. Maybe they didn’t. He went to a little place a good kay off the main road because someone had said something about seeing a strange wagon coming back from a swampy lake in a hill valley where there are stun lizards and mountain cats. When he was going through the hamlet, he saw a little girl in a gray shift, and that made him curious.”

“A gray shift?”

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