Who would live here? Since he can see no one outside, and filmy curtains cloak the inside of the windows, there is no way to tell, except that whoever does inhabit the large dwellings cannot be poor.
As Rhamuel has said, at the end of the single long block is a wider street, perhaps almost expansive enough to be called an avenue. The arms-commander turns his mount left, toward the water, and Lerial and the lancers and guards follow. There are no dwellings of any sort, just shops and cafés. Every few doors, or so it seems to Lerial, there is a café with an awning out over small tables and chairs at which a few people are eating … or drinking. He looks back over his shoulder for a moment and discovers that the shops extend for at least a block or two uphill as well.
Most of those at the cafés are men, but one is frequented by women alone, all wearing their filmy head scarves, if loosely enough to sip whatever may be in their tumblers or goblets. One café has both men and head-scarfed women. The number of empty tables suggests that there will be more patrons later in the day, and a great deal more by evening, Lerial suspects. The shops and cafés continue for three long blocks, but by the fourth block shops and smaller factorages have replaced the cafés, except for one, its lonely and slightly tattered orange awning extended above empty chairs and tables. By then Lerial can see the walls of Swartheld Post ahead.
Before long, they turn onto the bay road and then ride into the post.
After they dismount at the Afritan Guard headquarters, Lerial turns to Rhamuel. “I don’t want to go behind your back. I’d like two of my officers to ride to the palace and then back with your escort so that they have a better idea of Swartheld. If you’re amenable, we could take a longer route.”
Rhamuel nods, with the hint of a smile, before he replies. “That would be a good idea. It wouldn’t hurt to have people see more of you and your men, either. I’ll mention that to the squad leader.”
“Thank you.”
“If I don’t see you before then, I’ll see you at the duke’s reception before dinner. It’s at sixth glass in the west wing of the palace. Until then.” With a smile Rhamuel turns and hands his mount’s reins to a guard, then walks toward the door of the headquarters building.
Lerial is about to ask Polidaar to send someone to find his officers when he sees the three walking toward him. Instead, he says, “You can have the men stand down and stable their mounts.”
“Yes, ser.”
“Overcaptain, ser!” calls out Fheldar.
“All’s well, I trust.” Lerial hands the reins of his gelding to the nearest ranker and moves to join the three.
“Yes, ser.”
Strauxyn and Kusyl nod in agreement with Fheldar.
Lerial draws the three aside, waiting until Polidaar has the half squad moving toward the stables, then asks, “What have you to report?” He looks to Fheldar.
“Eighth Company is all accounted for. No illnesses, and no trouble with mounts…”
Lerial listens.
Once he has gone over the routine matters with Fheldar, Strauxyn, and Kusyl, and is satisfied that all is as it should be—or at least as close to that as possible in Swartheld—Lerial clears his throat. “There is one other thing. The arms-commander has told me that there are possibly fifteen Heldyan battalions across the river.”
“Frig…” mutters Kusyl, “begging your pardon, ser.”
Lerial offers a crooked smile. “I feel the same way. So does the arms-commander. But we don’t know Swartheld at all. So … the next thing we’re going to do is to inspect Swartheld Post. Then, after that, two of you will accompany me and the two half squads that will escort us around parts of Swartheld and back to the palace. I think we should be able to do this every day for the next two or three days, and I’ll rotate who accompanies me, because I want one of you here all the time.”
“That makes sense,” says Strauxyn. “Who do you want today?”
“Kusyl and Fheldar.”
All three nod.
“Now … let’s see about inspecting the post.”
By the time the four of them have finished their informal inspection of Swartheld headquarters two glasses have passed, and Lerial gathers the three into an empty study in the main headquarters building, where they sit around a dusty table desk. He looks at Fheldar. “What do you think?”
“It’s clean enough. Nothing’s coming apart. I don’t think you could close the main gates all the way, either.”
“Wouldn’t matter if you had to,” adds Kusyl. “Not for long. They had to bring in provisions just to feed us. Really isn’t a working post. Just a headquarters post.”
To keep Rhamuel away from the palace?
“Ah…” Strauxyn clears his throat. “The armory is stocked. We didn’t go there because it was locked, but I talked to one of the undercaptains this morning. I saw him with one of their blades. They’re longer than ours. It looked new-forged. I asked. All the spare blades and weapons for the entire Afritan Guard are stored here.”