In that moment, Lerial steps forward, and a small bolt of chaos flares toward him. Unthinkingly, Lerial parries the chaos with his blade, even before it reaches his shields.
In the momentary light of that flare, Lerial can see the surprise on the false ranker’s face, although that doesn’t stop the man from beginning a thrust against Lerial.
Lerial instinctively parries the thrust, moving into an attack.
The other gives ground, then suddenly jumps back. Another blast of chaos follows, a small one, aimed at the leather dispatch case in Kusyl’s left hand. A gout of fire envelops the undercaptain’s hand and forearm.
“Get your hand and arm in cold water! Now!” snaps Lerial, his eyes back on the mage or spy or whatever he may be, slipping the other’s blade, then launching a counter.
The Afritan parries the counter, his blade ending up to one side.
Lerial takes advantage of the error and slips a quick thrust to the other’s shoulder, then recovers to parry a possible counterthrust, even as he senses a darkness at the tip of his blade, a darkness that turns golden red and immediately fades.
A look of horror crosses the face of the false ranker. He tries to lift his blade, then shudders and topples forward. His blade leaves his hand as he strikes the packed earth of the stable floor face-first. An ugly black-silver miasma, one that Lerial senses, but does not see, issues from the inert form.
The three Mirror Lancer rankers stand as if frozen.
Lerial glances around and sees Kusyl a good ten yards away with his left hand and lower forearm in a bucket. He turns to the three rankers. “Watch the door.” Then he walks swiftly toward the undercaptain.
“It’s not too bad.”
“Leave it there for a bit,” Lerial says, extending his order-senses to the undercaptain’s hand and arm. From what he can sense, there is only a faint residue of wound chaos, if that, surrounding Kusyl’s hand, and none on his forearm, although his jacket sleeve is charred. “How does your hand feel?”
“The stinging’s stopped. Good thing I was wearing gloves.”
“Very good.” Lerial pauses. “Take it out of the water for just a moment. Tell me how it feels.”
“Wet.”
“No pain? No stinging?”
Kusyl frowns. “No.”
“Good. We need to see the arms-commander.” Lerial returns to the body and picks up the blade from the stable floor, examining it in the dim light. It is indeed cupridium, but slightly longer and narrower than a sabre, and the tip is sharpened for a good ten digits on both edges, although the remainder of the blade is one-edged. He has never seen a blade like it, but its purpose is clear enough. Bastard assassin’s weapon.
“Two of you carry the body. The arms-commander needs to see it now.”
Kusyl gestures with his right hand. “Maermyn, Dekkyr…”
In less than a tenth of a glass, the four have crossed the courtyard and made their way to the second level.
Two guards stand outside the door to the larger corner chambers that Rhamuel occupies. One looks from Lerial to Kusyl, and then to the two rankers lugging the body wearing the uniform of an Afritan Guard. “Ser … he’s not to be disturbed.”
“I’m afraid he’ll have to be,” Lerial says politely. “This can’t wait.”
The two guards exchange glances. One mouths a single word. Lerial thinks it might be “undercaptain.” Finally, the shorter one raps on the door. There is no response. His lips tighten and he raps harder.
Muffled words come from inside.
“Lord Lerial with something urgent, ser. He insists.”
After several moments, the door opens, but slightly.
Lerial can barely see Rhamuel’s eyes. “We need to show you something and then talk.”
The door opens a fraction wider. Rhamuel looks as though he might object, then asks, “Why might this be urgent?” His voice is hoarse.
“You’ll see.”
Rhamuel sighs, then steps back and opens the door. His eyes widen as he sees the two rankers carrying the uniformed body.
“Put it inside on the floor away from the door. Face up.” Lerial gestures, then turns to Rhamuel. “I’ll explain in a moment. You won’t like the explanation.”
Rhamuel steps farther from the door. He is barefoot and wearing an undertunic and trousers, only partly buttoned.
Once the body lies on the floor of Rhamuel’s chamber, an oblong space three times the size of the small room where Lerial had slept, Lerial nods to the two rankers. “Wait outside with Undercaptain Kusyl.”
“Yes, ser.”
Lerial closes the door.