“They do have that,” and more given their share of the spoils from the fallen Heldyans, “although they may not last given the temptations of a true city.”
Beyond the square rise the walls of the Afritan Guard post, a good seven yards high, even though the post itself cannot be much larger than the Mirror Lancer headquarters in Cigoerne. The gates are only partly open as the combined forces near, but after the guards sight the arms-commander’s banner, they swing full open, and a series of horn calls echoes from somewhere on the wall above the gates.
Lerial can smell a miasma—and slight odor—of age permeating the entry courtyard, faint but definitely there as he rides past the gates. A half squad of Afritan Guards barely finishes forming up in front of the central building in the middle of the courtyard before Rhamuel and Lerial rein up. An Afritan captain, hardly much older than Lerial, then hurries forward.
“Arms-Commander, ser, you have a dispatch from the duke.” The officer reaches up and extends the missive.
“Thank you, Captain.” Rhamuel opens the sealed missive and unfolds it. An amused smile appears and then vanishes. He looks to Lerial. “The duke would earnestly hope that you and I would immediately take up residence at the palace for the duration of your stay. You can, of course, bring a half squad of your lancers, as you see fit. That might be … interesting.”
“A half squad. I can arrange that.”
“I need to send a messenger to notify Valatyr’s family and to set up the memorial for him. Shall we say … half a glass?”
Lerial nods.
“Good.” Rhamuel turns back to the captain. “Lord Lerial’s three companies are the ones that will need quarters. It turns out that he did not need to bring a full battalion. Once he’s free, you can brief him on what is available.”
“Yes, ser.”
Lerial immediately summons Fheldar, Strauxyn, and Kusyl and addresses them. “My presence has been requested at the duke’s palace. I’m allowed a personal guard of a half squad.”
Fheldar and Strauxyn exchange glances.
Then Strauxyn clears his throat. “Begging your pardon, ser, and yours, Undercaptain Kusyl, but your men have more experience around palaces than ours.”
“Not at a palace like Duke Atroyan’s, but I take your point. If you two agree…”
Both Strauxyn and Fheldar nod.
“I’d recommend Second Squad, under Polidaar,” Kusyl says. “He’s got a good head and is well-mannered but affable.”
“Good. If you’d pass that on to him, I’ll hear from the captain on billeting and stabling arrangements.” While Lerial has not met Squad Leader Polidaar, except in passing and in inspections, Kusyl knows his men well. He always has.
Lerial then rides forward to meet with the waiting Afritan Guard captain.
Slightly more than a glass later, Lerial and his half squad of Mirror Lancers and Rhamuel and his personal squad ride back out through the gates of Swartheld Post, or Afritan Guard headquarters, depending apparently on who was speaking about the post, riding generally southwest, as far as Lerial can determine, through streets that, while able to accommodate two wagons side by side, he would have considered far too narrow for Cigoerne, let alone a city the size of Swartheld. While the faintly unpleasant odor that surrounded the Afritan Guard headquarters slowly fades as they leave the post behind, it appears that the haze has thickened slightly by the time Lerial and Rhamuel emerge from the taller buildings bordering the wide paved avenue that circles the hill dominated by the walled palace of the Duke of Afrit.
While the main gates, those on the east side of the hill, are not closed, they are guarded by four men in bright crimson uniforms and only open into a small walled courtyard, at the end of which is a set of iron-barred gates, closed and guarded by more guards in bright crimson livery. A separate guard beside the main gate studies Lerial—or his uniform—and then runs across the courtyard toward the second gates.
“Those who guard the palace aren’t under your command?” asks Lerial.
“No. They’re the duke’s personal guard. Seldom is the arms-commander of the Afritan Guard so closely related to the duke.”
“Often related … but not closely?”
“Everything in Afrit is related,” replied Rhamuel. “As you will see.”
As they ride across the courtyard toward the second set of gates, more guards in crimson appear and flank the way. Other guards open the gates, and a horn fanfare fills the space.
“That’s for you,” announces Rhamuel. “It’s the one they use for important visitors. I don’t merit a fanfare.”
“More likely that you’re here often enough that they decided not to play it for you,” suggests Lerial.
“I’m not here that often. This time will be interesting.”
“Do you have rooms at the headquarters?”
“I do, but those are for times I’m required there. I have a modest dwelling on the hill to the west of the palace.”