Rhamuel hides an amused smile.
Haesychya’s expression turns cold for a moment. “We will not guess about such matters. What is of import is that Khesyn wishes to destroy both Duke Kiedron and your father, and all those related to either. I suggest we need not discuss that aspect of matters more.”
“As you wish, my dear,” replies Atroyan almost affably. “I will ask Lerial his opinion of the Heldyan armsmen, however.”
“From what I have seen,” Lerial says, “those we have fought in the south, and those who attacked Luba, are likely not the very best of his armsmen. Those who attacked Luba were better than some of those who have harassed Cigoerne, some of whom are from the nomad clans far to the south or from eastern Atla.”
“But your father only sent three companies,” interjects Natroyor, an interjection so smooth that Lerial has no doubts it was planned, since it is not a question Atroyan would wish to ask himself.
“It is not just the quality of armsmen that Heldya sends against us,” replies Lerial. “It is the number. The length of the west bank of the River Swarth that we must defend is almost as long as that which Afrit must defend, and we have far fewer people … and, I must admit, we are less prosperous. The Heldyans, if not intercepted immediately, lay waste to hamlets and individual dwellings and cots. Even with the companies we have posted along the river, we are often outnumbered. Fortunately, our men are better trained.”
“As I recall,” begins Atroyan, fingering his chin as if trying to remember something, “you are what, twenty-two?”
Lerial nods.
“Yet you were sent out as an undercaptain more than six years ago, and you have commanded lancers since then. Is that not so?”
“Yes, ser.”
For just a moment, Kyedra’s mouth opens, then quickly closes.
“How many men have you killed?” asks Natroyor.
This interruption was clearly not planned, because the heir’s mother and father both turn toward him. Even Rhamuel frowns.
Lerial lets the silence draw out for just a moment. “I have no idea. I was sixteen when I killed a Meroweyan raider who attacked me. I fought in pitched battles for two full seasons, generally near or at the front of my company. We fought two small battles or skirmishes at Luba.”
“He was at the front there, too,” adds Rhamuel.
“Were you … wounded?” murmurs Kyedra.
“Not here, and not enough not to recover in Verdheln,” Lerial replies lightly.
“The way you say that…” ventures Haesychya. “You were seriously wounded, were you not?”
“Without the healers, I would have died in Verdheln.” That is true, but not in the way Lerial hopes they will take it.
“Does that satisfy you, Natroyor?” Haesychya’s voice is like ice.
“I just wanted to know.” Natroyor’s reply holds a hint of both sulkiness and defiance.
“Now you do,” declares the duke with a heartiness that sounds a trifle forced. “It is about time to have dinner,” he announces, if after a glance from his consort. “And we will not talk further about war, or Heldya. Dinner should be for more pleasant topics.” His eyes fix on Natroyor. Then he stands.
As Lerial rises, he thinks about the strangeness of the conversation, staged to reveal some things, and yet obviously not totally controlled. All of it reminds him, again, of how careful he needs to be in what he reveals and what he does not.
Following Atroyan’s gesture, Lerial walks with the duke across the hallway to the family dining chamber, not all that larger than the salon in the ducal palace in Cigoerne. The duke sits at the head of the table, with Lerial at his right, and Rhamuel at his left. Kyedra is seated beside her uncle, while Natroyor sits beside Lerial. Haesychya sits at the end of the family table, facing her consort. A pleasant smile is on her thin lips, but the chaotic turmoil behind her expression suggests more than a little strain.
Is Natroyor that frail? Or do they worry that he is? Then again, Lerial realizes, Atroyan himself does not appear all that hale and hearty, either. While Rhamuel is healthy, he has no sons, and his only child is Amaira, whose existence may not be known … and if known, certainly cannot be accepted. Lerial has heard no word about Mykel, except that he has no consort and no heirs … and Haesychya’s reaction to the name of his friend.
The other thing is that Haesychya has not been nearly so silent as Lerial has expected, as if he is not quite an outsider. As for Kyedra, she is more perceptive than she lets on … and he does like her smile.
The dinner conversation, it is clear, will be light and polite. After the crosscurrents in the salon, Lerial is more than ready for lighter subjects.
XXIV