“No, ser. Not that I’ve ever heard, ser.”
The corridor ends at a staircase just short of what has to be the wall to the center section of the massive dwelling. So that those quartered in the wings cannot reach family quarters directly? Lerial follows the ranker to the main level and then through a set of heavy double doors guarded by two rankers who scarcely blink as the two walk into the center section of the building. The wider marble-floored corridor on the other side leads to a large central hall. From that center hall, Lerial sees the main entry to his left and another entry to a central garden courtyard down another corridor to his right. His guide takes him to a doorway on the south side of the main hall, where another guard is posted.
“Lord Lerial is here to see the arms-commander,” announces the junior ranker.
The guard raps on the door. “Lord Lerial, ser.”
After a moment, the guard opens the door. “You may go in, ser.”
Lerial steps through the door and finds himself in a small—small for the size of the dwelling—study no more than fifteen cubits by ten, containing little more than a small circular table with six chairs around it and a table desk set out from the south wall with a chair behind it … and several file chests.
Rhamuel stands, and then moves from behind the table desk toward Lerial. The arms-commander is not as tall as Lerial remembers from the one time they had met, but that was when Lerial had been only ten. The arms-commander is in fact several digits shorter than Lerial himself. His skin is perhaps a shade darker than that of Amaira, and his eyes are the same warm brown. “Welcome to Lubana, Lerial.” He speaks Cyadoran with a heavy accent, but smiles. “You’re rather taller than the last time we met, but you’ve the same red hair.”
“It has been a while, ser,” Lerial responds in Hamorian.
“‘Rhamuel’ while we’re alone, please.” This time, the arms-commander speaks in Hamorian.
“I’ll try. You’ve been the arms-commander of Afrit for as long as I can remember.” Lerial extends the document. “This is the official acceptance of Duke Atroyan’s invitation.”
Rhamuel takes the parchment and scans it quickly, then nods.
Lerial takes that moment to survey the study more thoroughly, but finds nothing of a personal nature that might reveal more about the arms-commander, although the lack of clutter and papers reveals much in itself.
“This is a bit small, but it’s mine.” Rhamuel motions toward the table, then takes one of the chairs and seats himself, setting the document on the table. “I prefer not to intrude upon my brother’s spaces whenever possible.”
Should you take the opening? Lerial decides to. “I understand that all too well.” He offers a wry smile as he sits. “Also having an older brother.”
“You and I—and your aunt—have that similarity and a few others in life and position,” says Rhamuel pleasantly.
“Being the younger sibling, so to speak,” replies Lerial.
“There is that.”
“Speaking of similarities—” Lerial slides the cloth-wrapped miniature from his riding jacket, using a slight concealment to blur it, should there be eyes in the walls, so to speak, although he can sense no one near but the guard, then slips the miniature into the older man’s hand. “—there are more than a few.”
Rhamuel takes the miniature and slides it inside his tunic, then nods. “We should talk about them sometime. How was the ride from Cigoerne?”
“Most uneventful, thankfully, and the undercaptain of the Guard in Guasyra was most helpful.”
“He should have been. He was briefed that you might arrive. One never knows, though. One’s invitations are not always accepted.” Rhamuel glances to the document on the table. “Especially in spare but elegant words backed by valuable forces and an experienced commander.”
“And one never knows in what fashion any invitation might be reciprocated,” replies Lerial. “My father would prefer that you and your brother hold Afrit, particularly since Duke Khesyn has been a continuing irritation to Cigoerne.”
“I had thought that might be so.” Rhamuel pauses. “I understand that your brother is an overcaptain as well … and that he has been dealing with Heldyan … incursions.”
“He is; he has, and he is senior to me.” If only by a few seasons.
Rhamuel nods once more. “How might your aunt be? As I am certain you have heard, I owe some injuries to your sire’s skill as a Mirror Lancer commander and my life and future to her healing abilities.”
“She is well. She heads the Hall of Healing in Cigoerne, and she is even more skilled now. She and my mother have trained a number of healers.”