Lerial uses his order-senses to probe gently, then shakes his head. “He should be all right. Broken bones, especially where he has them, can be very painful.”
He applies a touch of order to two other wounded rankers, then leaves the tent, followed by the other three, and makes his way to the officers’ tent. Once there, he asks, “What have you heard, if anything?”
“Not much,” replies Kusyl. “None of the junior officers know any more than we do. I’ve had my squad leaders asking some of the Afritan squad leaders. They took more casualties than we did. Well … their lead companies did. Some of the companies that were at the hunting park didn’t even fight before the Heldyans backed off.”
“The ones that met the Heldyans north of us all fought,” adds Fheldar. “All took casualties. Maybe one, two men in ten.”
Two battalions, ten companies—that’s more than a hundred casualties, perhaps two hundred. Lerial frowns. That suggests that Luba was indeed a target, rather than a feint. But why? The ironworks are more than ten kays away. Or does that just confirm that the attacks were made to put Rhamuel at a disadvantage … as he intimated? And with whom? It has to be with more than his brother … doesn’t it? “It appears as though we had the fewest casualties.”
“Some of the Afritans noticed that, too,” comments Fheldar. “And we fought two times.”
“Keep listening. I’ll be back after the senior officers’ meeting and let you know what I find out. Is there anything else?”
The three exchange glances. Finally, Kusyl speaks. “Not that we haven’t talked about.”
“Then I’ll see you later.” Lerial walks swiftly back to Atroyan’s country house, but does not overhear any comments pertaining to himself or the Mirror Lancers.
He slips into the private dining room, somewhat surprised that Majer Prenyl is the only officer there, and takes a seat at one end of the table.
Prenyl immediately rises and walks over. “Ser?”
“Yes?” replies Lerial pleasantly, wondering why Prenyl is addressing him and what adverse news the majer might be about to convey.
“Ah … I just wanted to say that … some of us … we appreciate that you came to Lubana.” The major offers an embarrassed smile. “The Heldyans might not appreciate your presence, but some of us more junior officers do.”
“Thank you. I’m glad we were able to help. I don’t think any of us want Duke Khesyn on this side of the river.”
“No, ser.” Prenyl smiles again. “That’s all, ser. I won’t be keeping you.”
Abruptly. Lerial understands. “Thank you very much.”
“Not at all, ser.”
After the majer retreats, Lerial nods, wondering exactly what words Sammyl will be using to minimize or otherwise imply less than favorable behavior on the part of the Mirror Lancers … or their commander.
Ascaar sits down across from Lerial. “Saw you out early this morning.”
“I was checking on the wounded.”
“You didn’t have that many, did you?”
“Not as you did, I hear, but we only have three companies, not ten. On a man-for-man basis, it’s likely not much different.”
“Hadn’t thought of that.” Ascaar takes a swallow of lager, then adds, “Your three companies took out more Heldyans than our twenty.”
“We were fortunate.” Lerial is tempted to confess some stupidity, but refrains, instead eating more of the warmish eggs scrambled with ham chunks. As he does, he sees Drusyn enter the officers’ mess and sit down with Subcommander Klassyn. Shortly, Sammyl and Valatyr enter and sit together, and Captain Waell joins Prenyl.
“I don’t much believe in fortune.” Ascaar offers a sly smile. “Except as an ally to keep others from realizing you’re more skillful than they are.”
“There are times when any ally is welcome.”
“You were welcome, and then some, yesterday. I saw those boats coming in to the piers, but we couldn’t get there. Appreciate it. When the Heldyans saw they’d lost any chance of reinforcements, they backed off.”
While Lerial has his doubts that the Heldyan withdrawal was entirely because of his effectiveness, he merely says, “I’m glad we could get there in time. It was a close thing.”
“Close doesn’t matter … not unless it’s close on the wrong side.”
Ascaar’s words are so sardonic that Lerial smiles in appreciation.
The two finish and leave the private dining room, just behind Majer Prenyl, and make their way to the salon, where they wait by one of the wide windows.
“Beats me as to why the duke’s sire ever built this place here,” offers Ascaar. “His consort didn’t like it, even died in childbirth right here when she bore the arms-commander’s younger brother. The present duke hasn’t been here in years, but I hear he always talks about how much he likes Lubana. Every once in a while, the arms-commander mentions it, too.”
Lerial nods.
Before long, Drusyn and Klassyn appear, and then Valatyr, although none of the others make a move to join Ascaar and Lerial.