Beef Fyrad turns out to be slices of beef browned and then baked in a flaky pastry crust, apparently in a hot oven, with a dark mushroom sauce or gravy over the pastry. On the other platter are two other items, on one side the thinnest strips of potatoes and on the other early yellow beans, sautéed and sprinkled with what look to be crushed nuts.
Lerial waits until Rhamuel takes a bite, then follows. He has to admit that the beef is excellent. But then, so are the potatoes and beans, as well as the dark bread that arrived in a basket.
“Are you certain you haven’t had this? Perhaps under another name?” asks Rhamuel, with a smile that could only be called sardonically mischievous.
“If I did, I had it when I was too young to remember it or its name,” replies Lerial. “It is quite good, and I’d certainly not mind having it again.”
“I’m glad I can show you some of your heritage that you haven’t experienced.”
“I wish that I could do the same for you.”
“You’re young. You may yet,” replies Rhamuel lightly.
“Then I’ll have to be most careful.”
“I doubt that you’ve ever been otherwise.”
“With that I’ll have to disagree. I’ve just been fortunate to have had good senior officers and the additional fortune to escape what could have been folly.”
“That’s true of most senior officers who’ve fought and survived,” adds Ascaar dryly.
“So true.” Rhamuel turns back to Lerial. “Matters have been … disrupted by Valatyr’s death. Because of that, I’ve had to turn to Subcommander Ascaar. I had already planned a dinner here in Shaelt tomorrow evening so that you could meet some of the more influential merchanters and a few others, but I wasn’t certain it would be possible. That is why I didn’t mention it until now, when I just learned that Ascaar has been most successful.”
Lerial doubts some of that, but merely says, “I understand.” That is true. “And I appreciate both your efforts.”
“Merchanter Graemaald has been kind enough to offer his villa, and we will leave here just after fifth glass tomorrow. His villa is west of the city and offers a view of Shaelt and the river. If you squint, you can even see the eastern shore…”
For the rest of the comparatively short meal, Rhamuel talks pleasantries and offers a few tidbits about Shaelt.
“… great-great-great-grandsire wanted to build a canal to the valley some twenty kays to the west … died before more than two kays were finished, and his son sold the canal and lands to merchanters to raise the golds for an expedition to seize Estheld … expedition failed … canal turned to irrigation and didn’t fail …
“… fort here was then a way station … but Atoryl wanted his consort to accompany him … felt she needed better quarters … build this very building for her … and she still refused to come…”
“… almonds here said to be the best in Hamor…”
When he returns to his quarters, Lerial thinks over the dinner, and the comments Rhamuel has made, but the one that sticks in his thoughts is the idea that, somehow, Lerial might yet show the arms-commander some of his heritage.
Was he referring to Amaira? But she’s his legacy, not his heritage.
It’s clear that everyone in Afrit has an agenda, including Rhamuel. While Lerial suspects that at least one part of Rhamuel’s agenda is to keep the duke from doing something truly stupid, he obviously has powerful enemies … especially if someone has the golds and skills to have Valatyr assassinated. And who knows what else will surface once it becomes known that you are in Afrit?
XX
Rhamuel, Lerial, and Ascaar ride out of the gates of Shaelt Post slightly after fifth glass on fourday. With a damp clean cloth and a bit of order, Lerial has managed to return the uniform he wears to a semblance of being freshly washed and pressed. With them are a half squad from one of Ascaar’s battalions and two rankers from the arms-commander’s personal squad. They ride north on the river road for less than half a kay before turning westward on a wide boulevard. For a moment, Lerial thinks that the two sides of the boulevard—the one for riders, wagons, and coaches headed west, and the other for those headed east—are two separate roads too close together, rather than two halves of the boulevard separated by a wide park-like central median, complete with trees, bushes, and occasional flower beds. For the first few hundred yards, more elaborate shops with stonework facings line the boulevard, but those give way to dwellings, all with front courtyards set behind low stone walls roughly a yard and a half high, just tall enough that only a rider or someone in a coach could see over them easily.
“This is quite an elaborate boulevard,” Lerial says.
“It leads into the area where the wealthier merchanters and landowners reside,” replies Rhamuel. “I thought I’d take advantage of Graemaald’s hospitality. It will also give you a better idea of what to expect in Swartheld.”
“This may sound simpleminded,” says Lerial, “but is there any real difference between a wealthy landowner and a wealthy merchanter?”