As they turn and ride up the causeway to the massive iron-bound timber gates, drawn back at present, Lerial can see stains on the gate timbers, especially below the heavy iron straps and braces. He also notes that the mortar joins in places in the walls could use repointing. Two Afritan Guards are posted on each side of the entrance, under a short roof that is there to protect them from the sun. Lerial can see that one’s head turns from the arms-commander’s banner to the Mirror Lancers following the Afritan Guards and back to the banner. The area inside the gates is paved and open, a space several hundred yards on a side. Lerial notes that more than a few of the paving stones are cracked, some severely. Directly ahead is a square two-level building of the same redstone.
Rhamuel gestures. “That’s the headquarters building. The rear holds the officers’ quarters. The guest quarters are behind that, and the main barracks are along the north wall with the stables on the west wall. All the workshops supporting are along the south wall. You’ll be staying in the guest quarters with me. Since one of Ascaar’s battalions is still at Lubana, there will be plenty of space in the main barracks and stables for your Lancers.”
“What about Subcommander Klassyn? Is he normally posted here?” Lerial is unclear about exactly which senior officers are where.
“He should be on a sailing galley back to Swartheld,” says Rhamuel dryly. “After what happened at Luba, he’ll need to deal with a great deal of resupply, without as many golds as he’ll claim he needs.”
Not so many golds? That sounds like Atroyan is having tariff shortfalls, but Lerial does not comment.
As they ride past the headquarters’ building, the guest quarters come into view, a gray stone building of two levels with a pillared portico shielding the east entrance. The wide roofed porch surrounds the entire second level, with a low pillared and railed wall as well, clearly designed to catch any possible breeze from whatever direction it might blow. The windows on the lower level are barely more than slits, but those on the upper level are far wider.
Even before they near the small two-story palace that Rhamuel has termed the guest quarters, Lerial sees a familiar figure—Ascaar—standing before the pillars of the entry portico.
“Column halt!” Lerial orders.
“Welcome to Shaelt Post!” Ascaar steps forward. “Your quarters are ready, Arms-Commander, Lord Lerial. We also have made the west end of the barracks ready for the Mirror Lancers.”
“Thank you,” replies Rhamuel warmly.
“We do appreciate it,” adds Lerial. “It has been a long ride.”
Rhamuel rides forward, gesturing for Lerial to accompany him, then reins up just short of the steps to the guest quarters. “Subcommander, I hope Lord Lerial and I will have the pleasure of your company at dinner here.”
“I’d be very pleased, ser.”
“Good. Half past sixth glass.” Rhamuel nods, then dismounts.
“I’ll be seeing to my men, ser,” Lerial says.
Rhamuel nods to that as well.
Only after making sure that his men are indeed settled and that there are messing arrangements, and that the stables and barracks are suitable, does Lerial actually enter the Shaelt Post guest quarters, where he is escorted to the second level by an Afritan ranker. There he finds himself with three spacious rooms—a sitting room with a writing desk, a bedchamber holding a bedstead and mattress wide enough for three, flanked by two bedside tables with polished brass lamps, a large dresser, and an armoire … and a small bathing room. All the wooden furniture is of polished dark golden oak, carved with designs depicting river lilies.
He has barely looked around when there is a knock on the door.
“Yes?”
“It’s Ascaar. Might I come in?”
“Of course.” Lerial walks to the sitting room door and opens it.
Ascaar steps inside, but does not speak until Lerial closes the door. “How did you manage arriving with the arms-commander?”
“I didn’t. It was his idea.”
“He’s never done something like that before.”
“You’d know that better than I would. He told me he wanted me to meet the duke and receive thanks from him personally.” Lerial offers a crooked smile. “It likely has more to do with who I am than what I did.”
“Because you’re who you are, you had no choice.”
“That’s the way I saw it.”
“I didn’t see Valatyr.”
“You did … in a way. In the first wagon, packed in salt and wrapped in linen. Someone sent an assassin after him in Haal. The assassin had been planted there as a ranker replacement for almost half a season. We caught him trying to escape … and then Norstaan found Valatyr’s body. The assassin was a minor chaos-wizard who was also skilled with a blade.”
“Why Valatyr? Why not the arms-commander?” Ascaar frowns, then nods. “Take out someone close to him. Someone he relies on. Much easier.”
Lerial cannot help but note Ascaar’s description of Valatyr as someone Rhamuel relied on, not as someone he trusted. Keep that in mind. “Has anything like this happened before?”
“I don’t think so. If it has, I don’t know about it. What about the assassin?”
“My men caught him as he was trying to escape. He attacked me. He had so much chaos in his system that the iron in my blade killed him. I was trying just to wound him.”
Ascaar frowns. “A chaos-wizard assassin? Can’t say as I like that.”
“Not given that…” Lerial pauses. “I could be wrong, but I’m getting the impression that, outside of the arms-commander, Valatyr had a better grasp of tactics and strategy than anyone above the battalion-commander level.”