Almost two glasses later, Valatyr and Lerial return to the “country house” and the salon, where they have a lager and some slices of bread and cheese before setting out again.
As the two ride toward the north entrance to Lubana, whose iron-grille gates are closed and guarded by at least a half a squad of Afritan troopers, Valatyr says, “We’ll just follow the river road north until we get to the hills and the north bluff. You can tour Luba proper on your own later.”
Three of the Afritan Guards hurry forward and swing open the heavy gates, then close them behind the two officers and the half squad of rankers escorting them. The lane beyond the gates is paved and extends due north for another kay through well-tended fields and pastures before it intersects the wide road that heads westward to the ironworks and eastward to Luba proper, seemingly less than a half kay away, assuming that the rows of houses that begin just ahead represent the town boundary.
Valatyr turns his mount eastward. “We’ll take the river road.”
The river road is almost exactly a half kay away, as it should be, reflects Lerial, given the dimensions of the wall surrounding Lubana, and the riders turn north on it, not that it extends south into the duke’s estate, although there is a narrow lane south along the river, but access is blocked by a gate set in a short stretch of wall, and a longer hedgerow extending westward.
There is a low rough-stone wall, no more than a yard high, perhaps two yards east of the road, and beyond it is a narrow strip of marshes and reeds.
For the first several blocks after they enter Luba, there are only small houses on the west side of the road, mostly of mud brick, with walls almost up to the road forming courtyards. From the trees Lerial can see, there are apparently walled gardens behind even the meanest and smallest of dwellings.
Just ahead Lerial spies a stone bridge over a canal.
“That’s the first canal. You’ll find cafés and shops beyond it … and the southern trading piers on the river side.”
Because it is eightday, many of the shops are shuttered, but most, generally with quarters above or behind them, do not look all that different from those in Cigoerne, except that a number are clearly older, with weathered wood and fading paint. The chandlery, directly across from the pair of river piers, at which only a single flatboat is tied, boasts new—and newly oiled—shutters and front door and has otherwise been recently refurbished, at least on the outside. It is open, as evidenced by a man entering as Lerial rides past, and two others standing under the roof of the narrow front porch and talking. Only one of the pair even glances in Lerial’s direction.
“The market square is just ahead. It won’t be quite as busy as on sevenday, but there will likely be some carts and peddlers there.” Valatyr laughs. “I’ve never seen a day when someone wasn’t here. Drusyn says there’s always someone here.”
That reminds Lerial of a question he’d meant to ask. “Are Drusyn’s battalions stationed at Lubana?”
“Just one of them. The other is split up. He has four companies at Guasyra, and one north of here at Haal. The barracks buildings will hold two battalions, but except at times like this, they’re half empty. Ascaar’s forces are usually more spread out, all across the western woods and hills.”
The river road runs through the middle of the paved market square, actually an oblong running north some hundred yards and perhaps twenty-five east to west. Many of the worn red stones are cracked, and in a few places, missing entirely. Lerial makes a rough and quick count of the small stalls and wagons scattered almost at random and comes up with some thirty sellers. He also uses his order-senses to try to pick up some of the comments from those in the square.
“… looks like a Mirror Lancer type…”
“… never thought I’d see that…”
“… duke must be worried…”
“… not enough brains left to be worried … his brother’s the one worried…”
“… three for the bag … not a copper less…”
“… sshh … high-ranking types…”
“… ignore ’em … never stop to buy anything…”
“… one in the strange uniform … younger than most…”
“… any potatoes not winter-soft…?”
Lerial wonders about the potatoes … cool sand in a root cellar should prevent softness.
Beyond the market square is a second canal, and immediately to the north of it and west of the river road, Lerial notes an area of much larger dwellings—also set on larger pieces of property with higher walls surrounding the mansions, mansions at least in comparison with anything else he has seen in Luba. “The more affluent merchants and others live just north of this next canal?”
“So I’ve heard,” replies Valatyr. “I can’t say that I’ve met any of them.”
“Are you usually posted in Swartheld?”
“Most of the time, but I go where the arms-commander wants me.”