“They are. At Shaelt. It’s a small river city, perhaps twice the size of Luba. It’s about seventy kays north.”
Lerial nods, his eyes taking in the marshes to the east and to the south. He can see the gradual turning of the river more toward the south and southwest, and his maps show that it actually flows from the west to the east before returning to its general flow from the southeast to the northwest, much as it does near Cigoerne, except the shift is larger there. Before long, the lane swings to the southwest, and the reed marshes give way to a shallow backwater. Across the grayish water he can see Vyada. At first, he has to wonder if it is as large as others have said, but then he realizes that the buildings and dwellings on the other side seem smaller because the Swarth is wider than at Cigoerne or Ensenla, close to three-quarters of a kay.
“The new piers are farther west.” Valatyr points. “There. Just below the point of that bluff that extends into the river.”
“I’d say they’re almost two kays from here.”
“That’s about right.”
Lerial studies the river. The current doesn’t look that strong. It’s usually not as fast where the land around the river is flat and the river is wide … but that would make crossing it here easier and possible in a shorter distance. His eyes go to the hunting park to his right. The ground is more open, with fewer trees than closer to the south gate. “If they landed here at night, they could make it to the main road without getting much nearer to Lubana.”
“They could. That’s why we have scouts posted there.” Valatyr points ahead to what appears to be a small timber house on piles set between the lane and the river. “They wouldn’t do that. They’d attack us. They might even wait for us to attack them.”
“To defeat and destroy the duke’s forces … and then begin to take and occupy every town and city along the river as they move toward Swartheld.”
“That’s my opinion. The arms-commander’s, too.” Valatyr makes a gesture to the rankers following them, but keeps riding until they are a good fifty yards ahead.
Lerial checks and reinforces his shields, but says nothing, doubting he will be attacked, but wondering what the subcommander might have to say that he does not wish overheard.
Valatyr reins up and looks appraisingly at Lerial for several moments before he finally speaks. “You know you’re not anything like anyone pictured.”
“I couldn’t say. I’ve never thought about it.”
“I should have said, ‘Anyone but the arms-commander.’ He did say right after you arrived that you were close to what he expected.”
“That’s not surprising. He has good sources in Cigoerne.”
For a moment, Valatyr is silent, as if Lerial has offered an unexpected comment. Then he smiles, faintly. “You know his sources?”
“At least one of them.”
“And your sire does as well?”
“Of course. It’s to our interest that he receives accurate information.” Lerial shrugs, although he knows his next words must be carefully chosen. “To my knowledge, neither of us has ever said a word to a source about their communications, or even hinted that we knew.” That is stretching matters slightly so far as Lerial is concerned, and more than that for his father, yet certainly his words do reflect the underlying truth.
Valatyr frowns for a moment. “Begging your pardon, Lord Lerial, but I have great difficulty in accepting that.”
“I can understand that, but what I said is true and reflects everything I know.”
“Yet you conceal all that you are.”
“Conceal, not lie. I certainly am not denying anything to you. I know as well as you do that, should Khesyn attack, I will not be able to conceal whatever abilities I may have. No officer can do that and survive.” Either the enemy or his commander.
“Why are you here?”
“Because Cigoerne cannot afford to have Afrit fall to Duke Khesyn.”
“Then why did your sire not send a greater force?”
“Because, had he done that, Khesyn would have attacked Cigoerne instead of Afrit. He might still.”
“And you will make the difference?” The subcommander’s voice is only faintly ironic.
“I have pledged to do all that I can.” Without giving up your own life … and trying not to lose your entire command.
Valatyr’s laugh is both harsh and soft. Then he shakes his head. “Come. Let me show you the rest of this end of the hunting park, and the various lanes and roads.”
Once more Lerial nods. He can sense that that his very presence in Afrit has unsettled the other officer, and that the subcommander is disturbed, but that he has not lied. All that reinforces the concerns that Emerya had once suggested about Afrit’s weaknesses. And you’re supposed to do something about that … with merely three companies?