By the third glass of the afternoon they are approaching Merchanter Jhosef’s villa, set on the west edge of the lake near its northern tip. Even from over a kay away, the size of Jhosef’s grounds and summer villa are impressive, the villa itself a white structure set facing the lake, with lawn running down to a sandy beach. Walls a good three yards high run from fifty yards out into the water up each the side of the lawn past the villa and its outbuildings to a point a half kay higher on the long gentle slope leading down to the lake. The west wall, the one high on the hill, appears to be closer to four yards tall. The road leads to an entry gate in the north wall.
Flanking the gate, inside the walls, are several white stone buildings, and out of those buildings a white stone-paved lane leads due south, passing directly beside stone retaining walls, on the top of which are extensive terraces, before curving south and uphill around the villa, presumably to an uphill entrance on the west side.
Lerial cannot help but wonder why the entry road does not just angle directly across the slope to the entry on the west side of the villa, but then realizes that the existing approach is far more artistic. Oestyn’s idea? Or someone else’s earlier? Lerial cannot imagine it being Jhosef’s. As he rides closer to the gates, he continues to study the walls and the grounds, and the paved lanes connecting the gates and all the outbuildings, certainly enough outbuildings to quarter several companies of private guards.
“How do you plan to get in to see the merchanter, ser?” asks Strauxyn, riding on Lerial’s left. “Those walls are high and stout.”
“First, we’ll ask. Then we’ll see.”
“I can’t imagine them defying you, ser,” says Norstaan.
Lerial can, unhappily, given all he has witnessed since entering Afrit more than a season before, and especially after seeing the small stone fortress set beside Jhosef’s dam and above the water gates. He carries full shields as he rides up toward the stout timbered gates, iron-bound and set into massive stone posts.
“Lord Lerial to see Merchanter Jhosef.”
“Merchanter Jhosef is not receiving visitors. He never receives unannounced visitors here.”
Lerial can sense … something beyond the walls—well beyond—almost a swirl of order and chaos. A very good shield! So Jhosef has a strong mage … something no one has ever mentioned, not that Lerial is especially surprised. He finds that he is angry. Aenslem had a low-level chaos-mage; Maesoryk had or has two or more. Jhosef has one … And you had to deal with the Heldyans and the traitor mages without any magely support because not a single merchanter would even admit to having mages or white wizards.
Except, Lerial realizes, he had never asked for such support, nor had he learned about who had any mages, until after most of the Heldyan attacks were over—and neither Atroyan nor Rhamuel had mentioned such a possibility, except in general terms, and none of the merchanters had volunteered their mages. Lerial knows why, or what they would have said—that they could not afford to give up any advantage to other merchanters. And that, too, feeds his anger.
“Then I suggest that you announce us. He will receive us,” Lerial states calmly. One way or another.
“I think not, ser.” Whoever is behind the iron-framed peephole closes it.
“We’ll move back,” Lerial says to Strauxyn, gesturing. “Around that curve in the lane.” He waits as Strauxyn gives the necessary orders, and the entire force withdraws a good quarter kay.
Lerial then concentrates and attempts what he hopes will be two very small order-chaos separations, one on each side of the heavy gates.
Crumppt!
Powdered stone cloaks the gates. Then there is a huge thud, and the paving stones under Lerial’s mount’s hoofs shudder. As the dust and stone subside, Lerial can see that the gates have toppled forward, leaving a narrow passage between the gateposts and the buildings directly behind them.
“Lances ready!” orders Strauxyn.
“Lances, ready, ser!”
“Forward!”
Lerial holds back slightly, letting the first rank of lancers precede him, although he does strengthen his shields, as well as mentally readies an order-line pattern in case the mage beyond the gates should attempt some sort of attack. A squad of men in white tunics and brown trousers is still forming up in the narrow stone-walled passage behind the entry gates to the villa, but at the sight of the lancers bearing down on them, most drop their pikes and attempt to flee. Those who are not quick enough are cut down. In moments, Twenty-third Company sweeps through the narrow space and up the paved lane. Lerial glances ahead, studying the approach to the villa, still almost half a kay away.
“Deliberate advance!” Lerial orders.
They have covered almost half of that distance at a fast walk when from out of nowhere comes a warm and comforting feeling … the sense that everything is fine. Then a voice says, You don’t need that knife among friends … just unstrap it … you’ll feel so much better without it … so much better …
Lerial feels his hand going down to his belt, even though he has not willed it to do so.