The commander rides within two yards of Lerial before halting. “I don’t believe you had orders to attack the Heldyans, Overcaptain, especially at Luba.” Sammyl’s voice is even. “It also might be difficult to explain the damage to the wall to the duke.”
Lerial forces a smile. “It would have been harder to explain the loss of the entire wall. A Heldyan earth-mage was starting to demolish all the stonework when we stopped him. Nor would I have wished to explain to either Duke Atroyan or my sire why we did nothing when the Heldyans were about to attack and destroy the center of Luba. Since I received no orders, I did what I thought necessary.”
“The arms-commander would like to speak to you.”
“Where?”
“In his study.”
“I’ll be there shortly.”
“He did say as soon as possible.”
“I’ll be there shortly, Commander.” Lerial’s eyes are cold as he looks directly at the commander.
“I would hope so, Lord Lerial.” Sammyl turns his mount.
Once Sammyl is well away, Lerial says to Strauxyn, “I’ll be with the wounded. Have your men remain here, but stand down for now.”
“Yes, ser.”
Lerial rides to the Cigoernean tent area, knowing he does not have enough strength to heal twenty-two men. Still … there may be some he can tend enough so that he can do more later, when he is stronger. He recalls, belatedly, the loaf in his saddlebags and takes it out, beginning to eat dry mouthful after mouthful and taking swigs of watered lager from his water bottle when necessary. By the time he reaches the tents holding the wounded, he feels somewhat better, and the flashes across his eyes have almost ceased. The throbbing in his skull is muted, but definitely remains.
He eases into the first tent, where those lancers trained as field healers are splinting bones and cleaning wounds. He walks toward the first five men, all with broken legs or arms, or both, splinted earlier, indicating that they were among the archers under whom the wall collapsed. He stops beside the fourth man, touching his shoulder lightly, and easing the smallest bit of order into a small pocket of wound chaos deep inside his leg bone. With luck …
“That’s a bad pair of breaks, lancer, but you’ll be fine.”
The next three men have various breaks, one in his foot, another of his forearm, and the third of his collarbone, but those breaks are clean. He forces a cheerful smile as he nears the last archer. Even from yards away, he can sense there is nothing he can do. The man is moaning softly, likely because he has not the breath to scream. His chest is partly crushed, and bloody spittle oozes from his mouth. Lerial touches his forearm lightly, then moves on.
He can only offer some healing to three more of the recently arrived wounded before his vision blurs and he begins to feel weak. After that he walks to the gelding, where he takes several swallows of watered lager before mounting and riding toward the duke’s country house, still accompanied by two Eighth Company rankers. Ignoring protocol, he reins up at the main entrance and dismounts, handing the gelding’s reins to one of the rankers.
His steps are slow as he walks to the center door.
One of the Afritan Guards, in a crimson dress uniform, steps forward. “Ser…”
Lerial looks at the ranker, who steps back, then walks to the door and opens it. Once inside, he makes his way to Rhamuel’s study.
The guard posted there opens the study door. “He’s expecting you, ser.”
“Thank you.” Lerial walks into the immaculate study, belatedly aware of the streaks of blood on the sleeves of his uniform jacket and on his green trousers.
Rhamuel stands from where he has been seated at the conference table, on which is a single map. Belatedly, both Valatyr and Sammyl stand as well. The arms-commander says quietly, “I’ll send for you when I’m done.”
Valatyr nods to Rhamuel, then moves toward Lerial, nodding and offering a quick smile as he passes. Sammyl does not move.
“Later, Commander,” Rhamuel says quietly.
Sammyl stiffens, then nods, and walks swiftly from the study, not only avoiding Lerial, but not even looking in Lerial’s direction.
Rhamuel gestures to the table, then reseats himself.
Lerial as much as sinks into the chair as seats himself.
“Commander Sammyl observed that you appeared reluctant to hasten here.” Rhamuel’s voice is pleasant.
“I needed to check on my wounded,” Lerial replies.
“You and your family are most assiduous in that.”