Before long, Lerial and Norstaan ride at the head of the Afritan squad, immediately behind First Squad. They encounter no one along the sweeping and gently rising stone-paved lane that curves around the south end of the villa, past low gardens and private terraces outside several rooms. Before long they rein up short of a columned portico in the middle of the west side of the villa. Lerial still sees no one. Nor can he sense exactly where the chaos mage might be, other than in the villa, somewhere near the entrance, he feels, although he cannot be certain.
As Lerial and the two squads wait for Strauxyn and the remainder of Twenty-third Company to secure the grounds, Lerial continues to check his shields and use his eyes and order-senses, wondering whether he is being too cautious. Except there are the “small” problems that, first, despite the fact that Lerial knows Josef has to be behind whatever happened to Mykel and Oestyn, he has no proof, and, second, if Mykel is still alive, as Josef has indicated, simply storming into the villa might not be the best approach, especially with a chaos-mage in waiting. On the other hand, not storming the villa, given the mage, might be more than a little dangerous for Lerial personally. Either way, he’s not about to take any action until Strauxyn reports that the estate grounds are secure.
As he waits and considers, and reconsiders, no other guards or armsmen attempt to flee from the villa, nor from the outbuildings near the villa, from what he can see and sense. Before that long, Strauxyn returns with two of his three remaining squads, reins up, and reports, “All of the merchanter’s guards are taken care of.”
“Casualties?” asks Lerial.
“None from our side, ser. We had to kill three more of them, and several others are wounded. That doesn’t count a handful or so who fled. Fourth Squad has the others under guard.”
Lerial glances at the columned entrance to the villa. Finally, he smiles wryly. “I think I’m going to have to take Josef’s invitation.”
“Ser … after…?” Strauxyn breaks off before he can say more, but the concern is written across his face.
“We broke the gates to enter, but once we entered, the merchanter himself has not opposed us. Besides, we don’t know what has happened to the heir. I will take half a squad as personal support, and Undercaptain Norstaan should accompany us.” We just might need an Afritan officer as a witness. “Have another squad ready to follow immediately, just in case.”
“You’re certain, ser? You don’t want to have the Lancers go in first?”
“That wouldn’t be wise,” replies Lerial. “First, there’s a chaos-mage somewhere. If he’s hostile and attacks, without me there, that’s sentencing the lead rankers to certain death. I’d prefer not to lose any more Lancers in Afrit than we already have. Second, it’s not polite to honor an invitation with a Lancer squad preceding the invitee.”
Strauxyn nods reluctantly. After a moment, so does Norstaan, if with a slightly puzzled expression.
“First Squad, then, sir?” asks Strauxyn.
Lerial nods.
“First Squad! First ten men! Dismount!”
Lerial waits until the rankers are in position with their sabres out before he dismounts. He does not draw his own sabre, that cupridium-plated, iron-cored weapon that has served him so well for so many years, but his hand rests on its hilt. Then, he walks toward the door, abruptly halting and stepping back as he senses the faintest hint of chaos somewhere ahead to his left.
After a moment, Lerial takes another step, then opens the door, stepping inside past another short line of columns, with Norstaan immediately behind him, and the Lancers behind Norstaan. Lerial holds his shields wide enough to protect them. No one approaches as he leads the way past the columns into the hexagonal entry hall, but he gains a feeling that the chaos-mage is close … perhaps even at the other side of the hall, a space a good fifteen yards across, floored with alternating tiles of shimmering white and lustrous golden brown. Lerial advances just far enough into the hall that Norstaan and the ten Lancers are fully clear of the columns and directly behind him before he halts and sends out the slimmest probe of pure order.
A flash of light flares, and when it fades, Jhosef stands on the other side of the entry hall. Beside him stands Mykel. “You see? Mykel is quite alive.” He turns his head toward the heir. “Aren’t you, Mykel?”
“Of course, I’m alive. Why would I not be?”
With Mykel’s words, words that are somehow slightly stilted and flat, comes a sense of peace, of cool reassurance … and the thought that we’re all reasonable men … we can work this out … we all have the same goal in mind.
Lerial almost finds himself agreeing, but catches himself. The same kind of attack as before. “Where is Oestyn?” he asks quickly, the first words that come to his mouth, as he uses his order-senses to try to locate the chaos mage. He can also sense that the Lancers behind him have been slowed somehow.
“Oestyn is fine,” replies Mykel, his voice still just slightly flat.
Lerial can see that Mykel is not even looking at him, although the heir is facing him directly.