Heritage of Cyador

XXXIV

Lerial is up before dawn on sevenday, finishing sketching out a clearer version of the map of the Heldyan camp he had made the night before. Then, before he heads to the senior officers’ mess for breakfast, Lerial walks across the large courtyard to the east side, where he studies the ruins of the main mess hall and the headquarters building some fifty yards west of the mess. He frowns. Although the undercaptains he encountered the night before insisted that the explosions began in the mess-hall kitchens, Lerial cannot see how that explosion could possibly have destroyed the headquarters building. With a nod, he turns and makes his way to the makeshift officers’ mess. Since there is a vacant chair beside Dhresyl, in fact, several on each side, Lerial takes the one to the commander’s right.

“Good morning, Overcaptain.”

“Good morning, ser. Are there any reports yet?”

“Only that there were no cookfires this morning. The Heldyans haven’t formed up … or hadn’t less than a fifth of a glass ago.”

“Speaking of fires, do you know what caused the explosion here?”

“It had to be cammabark. I’d guess it was brought into the post in barrels, labeled as flour or something else, and put in the kitchen near the ovens so the heat would dry it out … and then it would have only taken a single flame, maybe even just a candle beside a barrel…”

“It couldn’t have been labeled as flour,” muses Lerial.

Both wait as a ranker places platters in front of them, containing some form of eggs, cheese and thin slivers of what Lerial hopes is ham.

“Lager, if you have it?” Lerial requests.

“Yes, ser.”

Once the ranker has moved away, Dhresyl asks, “Why don’t you think the barrels were labeled as flour?”

“Flour dust can explode. The cooks would know that. They’d only keep what they needed.” Lerial pauses. “Most cooks wouldn’t keep anything close to the ovens unless they were going to use it soon.”

“There’s not much else that comes in barrels-mutton, some dried beef, pickled root vegetables, dried fruit, but we only get a few barrels of that-too costly, you know.”

The ranker returns with Lerial’s lager, then departs. Lerial takes a swallow, sets down the beaker, and says, “The headquarters building couldn’t have been that badly damaged from an explosion in the kitchens.”

“No … and that’s troubling. Both Commander Nythalt and Subcommander Mhorig were there, and, of course, Cythern and Varndyr, for the morning commanders’ meeting. I should have been, but the scouts were briefing me on the fog and the fact that they insisted merchanters were porting north at the tileworks. That was so unusual that I took some time to arrange for another scouting party. That made me late. I was just leaving the front gates when everything exploded.”

“So who else was missing, from the battalion commanders, I mean, besides you?”

“Subcommander Shaerthyn. He had violent flux.”

How convenient.

Before Lerial can say more, Dhresyl goes on, “He’s so ill that his consort fears he may not live. I visited him yesterday. He’s in great pain. There’s some thought he was poisoned.”

“Poisoned? How? Does anyone know?”

“He and his consort went to a consorting ceremony last threeday evening. I remember thinking that threeday was an odd day for that…”

Lerial agrees. Almost all consortings are on sixday or sevenday. He takes another bite of the egg, cheese, and ham. It’s hot and passable.

“… and he sent word that he was ill the next morning. He’s been worse every day.”

“Is Commander Shaerthyn considered a good field commander?”

Dhresyl takes a swallow of greenberry juice and nods. “Perhaps not as good as Ascaar, but good. Certainly better than I am.”

Dhresyl’s last words surprise Lerial, but he manages to reply, “You’re being modest, I’m sure.”

“I wouldn’t call myself a poor field commander, but outstanding?” Dhresyl shakes his head. “I’m better with logistics.”

“And now you find yourself in command?”

“I’d relinquish command to Ascaar, if he were here, but he’s not.”

Almost the entire command structure wiped out, with the known most effective field commander poisoned, the duke and his family largely wiped out, and the only two survivors are Rhamuel through quick action and luck and Dhresyl through sheer chance. Lerial is staggered by the apparent combination of advance planning and treachery behind the Heldyan invasion.

Dhresyl takes another swallow of greenberry. “Not much we can do about what’s already happened. I’ve asked Commander Sammyl to send for Subcommander Ascaar and his battalions.”

“He only has one at Shaelt. The other is still at Luba,” Lerial says.

“Another battalion will help, but Ascaar will help more. Right now, Drusyn is the only battalion commander with any experience at all…”

Again, Lerial hears the implications behind Dhresyl’s words.

“… and you have more battle experience than any commander in all of Afrit.”

“What do you plan for today?” Lerial asks, afraid that another officer will intrude before he can get to the point he needs to make, although he has not pushed, because he is trying to make the matter come up in the course of conversation.

“If they attack, reinforce the battalions in position south of them.” Dhresyl raises his eyebrows. “The way you ask that … Do you have another idea?”

So much for indirection and subtlety. “I was thinking about an attack from the west.”

“Any attack in force from there would leave too few battalions between them and the city.”

“I wasn’t thinking about an attack in force,” Lerial replies. “Just one strong enough that they couldn’t afford to ignore it.”

Dhresyl frowns.

“That would give them pause, perhaps more,” Lerial suggests.

“You think that will delay them?”

“If we can surprise them even a little, we might cause them unanticipated losses. Or, as you say, it might delay them. I think it’s worth the effort, and we might be able to do some damage with an attack from a direction that they don’t expect.”

“What sort of attack?”

“Mounted, with lances. The Mirror Lancers aren’t a large enough force by themselves, though, for enough of an effect.”

“I couldn’t divert more than a battalion, and there are only a few trained in lances.”

Lerial can sense that Dhresyl believes that little support will cause Lerial to reconsider his recommendation. “That should do it, I would think.”

After a momentary pause, Dhresyl replies, “It would have to be one of Drusyn’s or Majer Paelwyr’s Fourteenth.”

“I’ve not met Majer Paelwyr.” Lerial keeps his voice even.

“He’s one of the more junior majers. Good head on his shoulders. He asks questions at the right time-before things happen. Then he follows orders.”

“Then I’ll leave the choice to you, ser.”

“Paelwyr, I think. His battalion is all that remains of Subcommander Varndyr’s command. Varndyr had the Thirteenth and Fourteen Battalions. What little that was left of the Thirteenth was transferred to the Twelfth.” Dhresyl smiles professionally. “If you want to brief your officers, you have less than half a glass before the senior officers’ meeting. That’s assuming the Heldyans don’t attack first.”

“Thank you, ser.”

Dhresyl shakes his head. “I suspect I’ll be thanking you.”

Lerial quickly finishes what remains of his breakfast and lager, departing as several majers enter the mess.

Fheldar and the two undercaptains are waiting outside his quarters’ door.

“You left early this morning, ser,” offers Kusyl.

“I needed to talk to Commander Dhresyl. He’s given his approval for a surprise attack…” Lerial goes on to describe what he has in mind and what little he knows about Majer Paelwyr and Fourteenth Battalion.

He makes it back to the mess room with a few moments to spare. He isn’t even the last one to arrive. Drusyn is, if but a few steps behind Lerial. Dhresyl gestures to the empty chairs flanking him. Lerial takes the one on the left, since he properly isn’t actually in the Afritan command structure. While Drusyn is seating himself, Lerial studies the officers around the long table. Except for the three at the end, all six are majers, one of whom must be Paelwyr, whom he has not met. Considering that there should be ten, the way Lerial figures, that means that something like four battalions, or close to it, have been lost. It also means that there were close to ten battalions originally at the Harbor Post.

Dhresyl clears his throat, then begins. “As of a few moments ago, the Heldyans were not in any formation resembling an attack. Perhaps they’re following the Kaordist doctrine of not fighting on sevenday.” The commander smiles, an expression that is ironic, given that the Heldyans are largely followers of the God of the Balance, thanks at least in part to Khesyn’s sire’s brutal campaigns against the chaos animists. “That is the good news. On the other hand, our best estimates are that the Heldyans have between twelve and fifteen battalions. We think four are mounted. The others are most likely either heavy foot or archers.

“I have requested that, if possible, Subcommander Ascaar be allowed to add his forces to ours. Even if that is possible, we won’t see them for an eightday. All of you have heard that Duke Atroyan was killed in the palace explosion. Arms-Commander Rhamuel was injured, but is still able, and Commander Sammyl is assisting him. Overcaptain Lerial of Cigoerne, here on my left, has joined our forces with his contingent of Mirror Lancers. If we do not see an immediate attack by the Heldyans this morning, then he and the Mirror Lancers will lead a diversionary attack on the Heldyans. He will be accompanied and supported by Majer Paelwyr and Fourteenth Battalion.” Dhresyl inclines his head toward the left side of the table.

A majer nods slightly in response. The sandy-haired Paelwyr is the youngest-looking Afritan majer Lerial has encountered and is most likely only five or six years older than Lerial himself. Dhresyl’s choice doesn’t exactly surprise Lerial.

“Diversionary attack?” asks Drusyn politely.

“I’m sure Overcaptain Lerial can explain far better than I,” replies Dhresyl.

“We’ll attack from where the Heldyans are not expecting any attack,” says Lerial. “That will allow us to inflict more casualties than would merely waiting for their attack. There is also a good chance that it will delay or change their plans.”

Drusyn does not conceal his frown.

“A surprise attack against an enemy in a place where there aren’t emplacements has a better chance of succeeding. Also, it will aid in keeping their chaos-wizards spread out in the future, and that will reduce the impact of chaos-firebolts when they attack.”

“It will also allow the rest of us to observe how they react, which could prove most useful,” adds Dhresyl. “Are there any other matters? No? Then the briefing is over.”

Lerial can see that Dhresyl doesn’t like meetings, and, for the most part, that’s fine with him. He has barely risen when Paelwyr moves to join him.

“Overcaptain, ser, since Fourteenth Battalion is assigned to your command, I wanted to say that we’re fully under your orders and command.”

For today’s attack. “Thank you for the forthrightness, Majer. How soon will Fourteenth Battalion be ready to ride out-with lances?”

“Less than half a glass, ser. The commander told me about the lances. I’ve had to borrow a few from Tenth Battalion. Some of ours were damaged by the explosion.”

“That should do. If you’ll come with me, I’ll go over the plan with you and my undercaptains. Would you like me to include your company officers?” Lerial doesn’t want Paelwyr to think that he wants to command Fourteenth Battalion directly, although he would like the Afritan captains to hear the plan firsthand and, in turn, see their reactions and hear any thoughts they might have.

“If you would, ser.”

Lerial glances around, but all the other officers have left. “Then have them here as soon as you can.”

“Yes, ser.”

Lerial barely manages to retrieve his hand-drawn map and his company leaders before Paelwyr returns with his company officers. While they are gathering around the end of the long table, Lerial lays the small map on the wooden surface.

Then, with Paelwyr standing beside him, Lerial looks over Fheldar, his two undercaptains, and the five Afritan company officers. “Contrary to what some may think, this is not a gallant suicide attack. It’s supposed to be a swift jab to the Heldyan western flank to put them off-balance, and, if we’re successful, to inflict significant casualties before they can bring all their forces against us.”

“Might I ask why?” asks Paelwyr almost matter-of-factly, clearly wanting more explanation for his officers.

“There are two reasons. First, an attack from the west will suggest we have more forces than we do, and that will make them more cautious. Second, the more casualties we can inflict before we engage in a huge battle, the better the odds for us when that happens.”

“If this is successful, then you’ll try again?”

“That depends on how successful and what the Heldyans do.”

Paelwyr offers a broad smile. “We’ll be pleased to be part of anything like that.”

Lerial points to the map. “Here’s where they are. They’ve posted at least a company in that low dip. Rather than attack there, we’ll take the trail to the west past the scrub forest, and then attack from the northwest…” He goes on to detail what he has in mind. When he finishes, he looks to Paelwyr. “Do you have any questions, Majer?”

“How do you want us to handle any chaos-fire?”

“We have some defenses against that. If those defenses fail, you’ll get an order to withdraw. If possible, we’ll withdraw by heading south along the grassy swale … the same way we’ve planned to complete the attack-except sooner. If that is not possible, then I’d recommend heading due west, right over the ridge. The slope isn’t that steep, and you shouldn’t have to fight your way out. You would if you head for the dip in the ridge.” Lerial pauses, then adds, “One other thing. Even if the Heldyans we attack break and scatter, you’re not to pursue more than fifty to a hundred yards. If you do, you’ll find yourselves surrounded, and, as I said earlier, this attack is not a gallant suicide charge. The idea is to disrupt and kill them, then withdraw without getting many of our men hurt or killed. Is that clear?”

“Yes, ser.”

Lerial then answers several questions about command terms and what type of front he wants before there are no other inquiries, and he ends the briefing.

A third of a glass later, under a sun barely above the waters of the bay, and obscured partly by a haze that suggests a hot spring day, Lerial leads his combined force out through the gates of the Harbor Post and south, seemingly away from the Heldyans-but only for slightly more than half a kay before turning west on a narrow field lane, one beyond the sight of even any Heldyan lookouts on the rises around their encampment. The narrow lane makes progress slower than Lerial would prefer, and almost a glass passes before they have crossed the brook and two ridges and are headed north along the trail described by the Afritan scout.

Lerial is glad that the trail is hidden from the Heldyans, because his force is strung out for almost a kay on the trail, although he can order-sense his surroundings almost two kays away in the more open grounds away from cities and buildings, and there are only a few Heldyan scouts, and those are a good kay away, along the western perimeter of the Heldyan encampment. It is well past eighth glass when the combined forces reach a point north and west of the Heldyans and Lerial reforms the companies before they begin to circle more to the north around the area of pines and thornbushes that Lerial had noticed the day before.

Lerial, at the head of Eighth Company, still cannot sense any chaos-mages until he is less than half a kay from the Heldyan perimeter, just over the top of the ridge overlooking the western end of the Heldyan encampment. There he calls a halt while using his senses to get a better understanding of where the Heldyans are located. There are four chaos-mages, but three of the four are strong enough that they carry the diffuse shields that make discovering their location, except in very general terms, almost impossible. The Heldyans have mustered close to three battalions behind the low earth embankments they have created overlooking the creek.

After several long moments, Lerial decides that his original attack plan will not work in the way he had hoped, and he sends for Majer Paelwyr.

“Yes, ser?” Paelwyr reins up.

“We’re going to have to change the plan of attack slightly, Majer. The Heldyans still have most of their forces in tents and quarters. There are likely about three to four battalions in ready positions, along the southern perimeter at the end of the flat ground overlooking the creek. We can do far more damage-and leave more quickly-if we charge down the western perimeter, behind their lines, until we reach the southern lines, and then swing east. We can cut through the defenders and make for the shore road. From what I can tell, there’s only a company of mounted armsmen stationed at the east end of the hamlet, and they’re well north of the southern defenders.”

“You lead, and we’ll follow, ser. I’ll pass the changes on to the company officers.”

“We’ll wait until you can.”

The one problem with Lerial’s plan is that they will not be able to move down the east side of the slope at more than a fast walk, not until they reach the grassy swale, but that is a distance of less than two hundred yards, and even if the Heldyans notice them immediately, it will take some time for them to react, since there are far fewer defenders on the far west and north sides of the encampment.

Once Lerial is satisfied that Paelwyr has passed on the change to the Afritan companies, he turns to Fheldar. “Five-man front! Lances tight!” He waits as Fheldar and the undercaptains relay the orders, then adds, “Forward! Fast walk!”

All of Eighth Company is over the crest of the ridge and headed down, less than fifty yards from the grass of the swale, before Lerial can see any movement among the defenders, and he and the first ranks are at the swale before shields start forming.

“Charge!” Lerial raises his sabre, then drops it, letting the first rank sweep past him, since he is not carrying a lance, and then keeps pace with the second rank.

In moments, or so it seems, Eighth Company has smashed through the thin line of surprised defenders and turned south against the troopers manning the perimeter. By now loud clangings and horn signals are coming from everywhere in the Heldyan camp, along with shouted orders, and groups of armed Heldyans taking defensive positions almost randomly.

A single chaos-bolt arches from somewhere to Lerial’s left toward Eighth Company, and Lerial immediately redirects it to a line of defenders on the south perimeter that has already pivoted to bring shields and pikes against the Mirror Lancers. The chaos-flame slashes through a score of shieldmen and pikemen.

Almost instantly, two lines of brilliant chaos-fire sear toward Lerial, almost as if the Heldyan mages had sent up the first chaos-bolt as a way to locate him. Which they probably did. He manages to deflect and redirect both bolts into more defenders, but the attack is so swift that he cannot redirect that force back at the mages.

Even before the next wave of chaos comes, though, he is forming a multiline order pattern that returns that chaos to the Heldyan mages. Fast as he has been, the Heldyan mages are just as swift-and add more chaos-to send that power again at Lerial. That return redirection gives Lerial a better feel, and his return of that massive chaos slams into one of the concealed chaos focuses.

WHHHSASSTTT!!

A pillar of brilliant reddish-white energy flares skyward, momentarily as bright as the white morning sun, so powerful that Lerial can barely sense the accompanying silver-gray death mist flowing out from the chaos, especially since some of that energy slams back at his shields, likely the effort of one of the surviving mages. A searing surge of heat burns at his hip, then fades.

“To the left!” roars Fheldar, for which Lerial is grateful, struggling as he is to deal with the Heldyan chaos-mages.

Lerial strengthens his shields, which have faded, and barely manages another redirection of chaos into the Heldyans ahead, just before the lances of Eighth Company rip into the remainder of those defenders. You should have sent that back at the mages.

With that thought, he immediately struggles to create a massive diversion pattern, suspecting that he will see more chaos focused on him. He almost does not finish the thought or the pattern before another intense blast of fused chaos strikes at him-one line from not quite directly behind him and another from ahead of him and slightly to his left. Sensing that the control must come from the wizard ahead, Lerial narrows the redirected chaos into a point.

Whhhsstt!!

The resulting chaos pillar is far narrower, but rises much higher than the previous one … and the silver mist is fainter.

Lerial sways in the saddle, realizing that he is most light-headed … and unlikely to survive another chaos-blast. Although he does not immediately sense a chaos buildup, he looks forward to the shore road, still almost half a kay away, then again tries to sense the concentrations of chaos. He can find only two, both somewhat diminished, at least for the moment. Did you manage to take out two?

Still concentrating on staying in the saddle, he sees that the shore road is nearing, so much closer that he wonders if he has lost awareness for a time … or is it that he is so exhausted that even trying to sense chaos takes so much longer than he realizes?

As the Heldyans in front of Eighth Company scatter, Lerial calls out, “Battalions! Forward and withdraw!” The command is possibly unnecessary, but he knows he cannot parry, redirect, or even shield much more chaos. He also worries that he will not be able to issue commands for much longer, and he wants his force away from the Heldyans before the enemy mages recover enough to throw more chaos.

As the gelding reaches the road, and Lerial turns onto it, heading southeast and back toward the Harbor Post, Lerial remains so unsteady that it takes most of his concentration just to keep riding, but he does sense that, behind them, the Heldyans have rushed to reinforce the gap in their defenses, but that they do not keep pursuing. Thank the Rational Stars for that.

Finally, after the entire force is clear and has slowed to a fast walk, with Paelwyr’s last company several hundred yards from the nearest Heldyan defenders, Lerial manages to fumble out his water bottle and take several swallows of watered lager.

He is still light-headed, with flashes of light and accompanying daggers of pain across his eyes, when he and the first ranks rein up in the courtyard of the Harbor Post. After a longer swallow that empties the water bottle, he lowers it, corks it, and turns to Fheldar. “Did you tell me how many we lost? If you did, I didn’t hear.”

“No, ser. I thought I’d wait until I could check again.”

Lerial almost asks, “Why not?” but manages not to utter the words. “Let’s find out.” He can only hope that the casualties are not too high. He also wishes he’d taken some bread from the mess and stuffed it in his saddlebags. That would have helped with the light-headedness.

He isn’t certain just how much time passes before Fheldar rides back to report, but doubts it could be much more than a tenth of a glass.

“Eighth Company, three killed, two missing, and likely dead, eight wounded, two seriously. Eleventh Company, six dead, eleven wounded. Twenty-third Company, four dead, seven wounded. Fourteenth Battalion is still determining their casualties, but Majer Paelwyr does not think that they were especially high, except possibly with his Fifth Company.”

“Thank you.” Why would the last company have higher casualties … unless they lagged too far behind? “Dismiss the men to quarters, the wounded to the healers. I’ll see them shortly. Once the officers are through with their companies, and I hear more, I’ll meet with them. If you’d convey to Majer Paelwyr that I’d like to meet with him in the senior officers’ mess when he’s available…”

“Yes, ser.”

Lerial rides slowly to the stables, untouched by the earlier explosions, where he dismounts and turns the gelding over to an ostler, patting his mount on the shoulder before he walks back toward the makeshift senior officers’ mess. Once there, even though it is not mealtime, he asks for lager, bread, and cheese. The sole ranker on duty does not question him.

Then he eats and drinks, deliberately. After a third of a glass, he begins to feel some strength returning, and the throbbing in his head and eyes begins to diminish. At the sound of a door opening, he turns his head to see Majer Paelwyr step into the mess.

“You requested to see me, Overcaptain?”

Lerial gestures to the table. “I did. I apologize for leaving, but … there was no help for it.” He pauses only for a moment, not enough for Paelwyr to say anything, before going on. “How did your battalion fare?”

Paelwyr drops into the chair across the long table from Lerial. “Our casualties were light. Very light, given that we rode right through the Heldyan encampment. How did you manage that, ser?”

“Surprise. I doubt that anyone expected an attack like that. We were inside their lines before they could react.”

“You knew where their lines were thin before you ever saw the encampment.”

“I scouted it out yesterday. People seldom change their lines when they haven’t been attacked.” All of that is true and allows Lerial to avoid answering Paelwyr’s implied question. “What were your casualties? I’ll need to report them to the commander.”

“Twenty-nine killed or missing, forty wounded, most only slightly.”

Lerial nods. “That’s good for what you accomplished. We likely created a battalion’s worth of casualties. You obviously kept your men in an effective tight formation.”

“Not quite as tight as I would have liked.”

“That tight under those conditions was admirable.”

“Will we be doing something like that again, ser?”

“Not like that. We may be called on to undertake another diversionary attack, but it will have to be different if we are.”

“Is there anything else, ser?”

“Not for now. If that changes, I’ll let you know.”

“By your leave … then…?”

“Of course.” Lerial watches as Paelwyr rises and then leaves the mess. Once he is alone, he takes a swallow of the lager, then sets the beaker down. He worries about the thrust of Paelwyr’s questions, and hopes he has defused at least some of the majer’s suspicions.

“Overcaptain, ser?”

Lerial looks up to see a junior squad leader standing at the end of the mess table. “Yes?”

“Commander Dhresyl wanted you and Subcommander Drusyn to know that Subcommander Ascaar is fighting off four battalions of Heldyans at Shaelt.”

“Thank you.” Lerial can’t say he is surprised.

“The commander would like to meet with you both as soon as Subcommander Drusyn arrives.”

“I’ll wait here for Subcommander Drusyn.”

“Yes, ser.” The squad leader nods and then hurries out.

Lerial takes another swallow of lager, realizing that the beaker is almost empty and that he has eaten the entire small loaf of bread and the wedge of cheese.

“Would you like more, ser?” asks the mess ranker.

“Please.”

Lerial has only drunk several swallows from the second beaker of lager when Drusyn walks into the senior officers’ mess.

“I hear you did some damage to the Heldyans…” begins the subcommander.

“Both of you in here, if you would!” calls Dhresyl from the small chamber adjoining the mess.

Lerial rises from the table, taking the beaker with him, and joins Drusyn in entering the smaller room, where Dhresyl sits behind a table desk. The commander looks askance at the half beaker of lager that Lerial carries.

“It’s been a long morning … day.” Lerial takes one of the straight-backed chairs before the desk and sits down.

Drusyn takes the other chair.

“What sort of damage did you inflict on the Heldyans?”

“We cost them at least a battalion, possibly two,” replies Lerial.

“You don’t know the enemy casualties?” The commander frowns.

“It wouldn’t have been wise to remain close enough to count.” Lerial takes another swallow of lager. “We rode inside the western perimeter of their encampment and then along the southern edge. Along the way, we took out as many as we could without stopping or slowing.”

“They didn’t pursue?”

“Not beyond their own lines.”

“What about their pikes and shields?”

“They’re not nearly as effective if you attack them from the side or from behind … and if your riders have lances.” Lerial’s tone is dry.

“I see. What about your casualties?”

“The Mirror Lancers lost fifteen men and suffered twenty-six wounded. Fourteenth Battalion lost twenty-nine and had forty wounded.”

“A hundred or so casualties from a diversionary attack?” Dhresyl’s eyebrows lift.

“A diversionary attack that removed over a battalion of Heldyans.” And likely two chaos-mages.

“It is rather difficult to kill a large number of enemy armsmen without losing some troopers,” Drusyn adds dryly.

After he leaves Drusyn and Dhresyl, Lerial makes his way to the officers’ quarters, where he gathers Fheldar, Strauxyn, and Kusyl and briefs them on the situation Ascaar is facing.

“Doesn’t surprise you, does it, ser?” asks Fheldar.

“I would have been surprised if there hadn’t been another attack somewhere, and an attack on Ascaar makes sense.” And the fact that Khesyn knows where all Rhamuel’s forces are makes another kind of sense.

“Do you think the Heldyans will attack somewhere else?” Strauxyn looks intently at Lerial.

“You can never tell, but I would doubt it. All these attacks are designed to destroy the Afritan Guard. So far as I know, there aren’t any large Guard forces anywhere else besides where the last four attacks have been. There’s more likely to be an attack somewhere else in Swartheld than in any other town or city.”

“Begging your pardon, ser,” begins Kusyl, “but what did the commander really want?”

Lerial can’t help smiling faintly, since he has not mentioned that Dhresyl wanted anything, but Kusyl has been in the Lancers far longer than Lerial-long enough to be skeptical of senior officers and to know that they often want far more than seems reasonable. “To know why our casualties were so high.”

“We ought to bring him along next time,” says Strauxyn.

“Wouldn’t do any good,” drawls Kusyl. “Have to be able to see what you’re looking at.”

Fheldar offers the smallest of headshakes, then asks, “What’s next, ser?”

“That depends on the Heldyans. I’d be happy if they just don’t attack today.”

“When do you think they will?”

“If they’re smart, and they’ve generally been effective, they’ll attack tomorrow. Plan on that. If they don’t, the men will get another day to recover.” And you’ll start worrying about what else they’ve caused to go wrong somewhere else. Lerial manages a smile. “That’s all for now.”

After he leaves them and begins to walk to his small room, where he hopes he can take a nap or at least rest, his mind is already considering the possibilities of what the days ahead will bring.