Heritage of Cyador (saga of recluce Book 18) (40 page)

Lerial hates to be forced into a withdrawal, but his men are badly outnumbered, and so is he.
And it’s not even your land you’re defending.
But that thought bothers him, because, in a way, defending Afrit is defending Cigoerne. From what he has just experienced, for Cigoerne to face Heldya alone would be insane.

As they ride south along the shore road toward Swartheld, Lerial keeps looking back, but there is no pursuit. He has to squint to do even that, given the headache he has and the flashes of light across his eyes.
Just from that short skirmish?
Except, he realizes, he’s never had to deal with that many strong mages before. Nor has he tried to merge and return such powerful chaos-bolts so quickly … and then undertake even a limited line of order-chaos separation … and having to separate order and chaos from dirt is far harder than with wood or other materials.
Except for iron!

By the time they have covered another two kays, enough of the mist has dispersed that Lerial can make out, if vaguely, that there are at least three deep-sea vessels, and possibly more, tied up at the long pier.
Even if there are five or six, they can’t have unloaded all those troopers in just one trip.

Ahead of them, Lerial hears a sound, a booming echo, and he looks toward the point, where thick gray and black smoke rises from the far side, billowing skyward. “Jhacub, where is that from?”

“That … that looks to be near the Harbor Post…” stammers the Afritan squad leader.

Now that he thinks of it, Lerial realizes, it couldn’t be anything else. He massages his aching forehead, wondering what could have caused such an explosion and fire … and how extensive the damage and loss of life might be.

When he reaches the highest point on the road across the point, he again looks back, but sees no sign of pursuit. What he does see are more merchanters sailing toward the tileworks pier from the northwest.
Frig!
Then he looks to the southeast where he can finally see the upper levels of the Harbor Post. From what he can tell, only one section of the post has been damaged, but that part, perhaps a fifth of the entire structure, is little more than a heap of rubble.

“Jhacub! What part of the post was destroyed? What was there?”

“Those were the barracks, ser … and the mess hall and kitchen. Might have gotten part of the headquarters building. It’s hard to tell from here.”

If someone wanted to blow up the mess hall, why did it happen so late, after all the rankers had eaten?
Destroying the barracks makes sense, because, although it is a working day, with six battalions there, there will be significant casualties.
But why not at night, when everyone would be there?

“We’ll ride straight to the Afritan Guard headquarters,” Lerial declares. Harsh as that likely sounds to Jhacub, there is little his single company can do that those surviving cannot do as well … and he needs to find Rhamuel and let him know of the scope of the invasion from the north, although he doubts that is the only point of attack. They also need to work out what sort of defenses and strategy are possible and practical with what is left of the Afritan Guard.

When they pass the road leading to the Harbor Post, Lerial sees rankers leading some mounts outside the gates, and a large wagon team entering the post’s gates. He turns to Jhacub. “Send one of your men to inform whoever the senior officer is about the Heldyan forces to the north.”

“Yes, ser.”

Lerial watches as the Afritan Guard gallops toward the damaged post, then turns his attention to the merchanting section they are approaching. Not surprisingly, several of the large merchanting buildings are already shuttered and closed, and workers at the others are in the process of doing the same. There are only a few people on the streets, and most of them are moving swiftly.

Even before Lerial reaches the entry to the headquarters building, Dhallyn, the captain who had met them when they had first arrived in Swartheld, is hurrying out. “Lord Lerial! There have been two explosions here in Swartheld! Do you know what they are?”

Two?
“I only know of one. Part of the Harbor Post is damaged, maybe a third of it. We didn’t stop to investigate, not with at least four battalions of Heldyans some five or six kays north of the point. Where’s the arms-commander?” Lerial glances past Dhallyn to see Strauxyn and Fheldar moving toward him at close to a run.

“He’d already left for the palace when we got word from you. The duke needed him immediately.”

“Was that before or after you got my message about the Heldyans?”

“After, ser. I already sent a guard to the palace to inform the arms-commander.”

“Good.” Lerial pauses, then asks, “Does anyone know why the duke wanted the arms-commander?”

“No. The message was brought by a palace courier,” replies Dhallyn. “That was all the messenger said.”

“Not by an Afritan Guard? Is that usual.”

Dhallyn looks puzzled. “Of course. Well … maybe half the time. Both bring the arms-commander messages.”

“Did the arms-commander say anything?”

“No, ser. He just shook his head.” The captain pauses. “You don’t know about the second explosion?”

“It had to be somewhere south of the Harbor Post, because we were coming back and were just north of the point when the explosion there happened, and we didn’t hear anything.”

Lerial is wondering exactly what he should do next when two Afritan Guards in the uniforms of Rhamuel’s personal company ride through the gates. Their mounts’ muzzles are flecked with foam.

“Part of the palace blew up! Where’s Lord Lerial? We have—” The ranker in the lead sees Lerial and turns his mount toward the overcaptain, riding around Twenty-third Company and reining up facing Lerial. “Lord Lerial, ser. Part of the palace exploded. The arms-commander is hurt, but he’s alive, and he can talk. He wants you there, ser. Undercaptain Norstaan sent word to Commander Nythalt and Commander Sammyl, but we’ve heard nothing from them.”

“Commander Nythalt is at the Harbor Post?”

“Yes, ser.”

“Part of it exploded. What about Commander Sammyl?”

“He was at the South Post.”

Lerial turns to Dhallyn. “I’ll take Twenty-third Company to the palace. I’d recommend your sending a company as well. The palace guard will need help in keeping order.” He turns in the saddle. “Kusyl, we need to head out. Strauxyn, Fheldar, stand by. Should anyone attempt to attack here, you’re to defend. You’re not to leave the post here without my orders … or Kusyl’s, should anything happen to me.”

“Yes, ser.”

Because Dhallyn looks slightly dazed, Lerial adds, “You’d best stand by for anything, Captain, and it might not hurt to start getting barracks ready, because some of those battalions may need quarters.” Lerial isn’t about to suggest that a captain whose functions have been largely logistics head out to fight, not when the Harbor Post is nearer and still has sizable ready forces, from what he saw, and when the headquarters post has only a few companies, most likely not all that well trained in combat.

“Yes, ser.”

Lerial nods and then turns his gelding.

“On the overcaptain!” orders Kusyl. “Arms ready!”

As they ride out through the gates once more, Lerial turns to the undercaptain. “You don’t have to say it. It’s far worse than eightday-old fish.”

“Yes, ser.”

Once again, Lerial sees fewer people on the streets, but there is not the urgency in their steps that he beheld near the merchanter section of the city.
Because they don’t know about what has happened? Or don’t think it affects them?

That is all too possible, sadly, if the people only think that there has been damage to the palace.

XXVII

Because of the narrowness of the streets and the route Lerial has taken from the north, as he nears the palace, he cannot make out any damage—at least not on that part extending above the walls that he can see. He does see that the outer east gate to the palace is closed, but the two Afritan Guards ride forward, and the gates open so quickly that Lerial does not even have to slow his mount. Although he does not look back, even with his still-aching head, he has enough perception left with his order-senses to know that the gates close behind Twenty-third Company as quickly as they opened. The same pattern occurs when they near the inner gates.

As soon as Lerial rides into the inner courtyard, his mouth drops open. The entire southeast corner of the palace appears to be a heap of rubble, and there are stones piled up around the lowest level, almost halfway to the second level, as if a giant hand had knocked off the false tower from the southwest corner and much of the stones and masonry from the fourth level and dropped them around the lower corner of the building. There are palace guards and Afritan Guards swarming over the rubble.

As Lerial rides closer, he can see that what have been destroyed by the explosion are the third and fourth levels, although he would certainly not trust the lower levels to sustain the remaining weight above them. Strangely, the rest of the palace appears intact. But why?

The family quarters and the duke’s study and receiving rooms.
Before he can even think about that, his concentration is interrupted by a bellowing yell.

“Lord Lerial! Overcaptain! Here!”

Lerial turns in the saddle to see Undercaptain Norstaan waving from the door of a small stone building built against the east wall of the inner courtyard. Lerial immediately rides to where the undercaptain waits. Even before he reins up, Norstaan begins talking.

“The arms-commander is inside, ser. We think he was thrown through the window of the duke’s study. He was sprawled on the stones, but he’d landed on some heavy draperies and a settee. He can’t move his legs, and there are welts all over his body. He says he’ll be all right, but he has to be in great pain. I’ve sent for a healer, but no one has found him. Without one … I don’t … I don’t know … You’re the only one…” Norstaan looks pleadingly up at Lerial.

After immediately checking his shields, Lerial dismounts and hands the reins to the nearest ranker. He looks to Kusyl. “Keep anyone else away from here.” Then he follows the undercaptain through the door and into a small chamber.

Rhamuel lies on his back on two table desks pushed together. A jacket or tunic has been rolled up and placed under his neck. His face is slightly contorted, but his eyes focus on Lerial, although he does not move his head. Two Afritan Guards are stationed on each side of the tables, clearly to make sure Rhamuel does not fall.

Lerial immediately lets his order-sense range over the arms-commander. The diffuse chaos across his upper body indicates a large amount of bruising, most of which will not become apparent for several days, but not life-threatening by itself. There is a clear break in the main bone in his left leg halfway between ankle and knee, and more deep bruises on his legs. There is also a band of chaos across Rhamuel’s lower back. Lerial turns to Norstaan. “Did a heavy block of stone hit his lower back?”

“There were a lot of masonry stones over him, ser. He was half buried.”

Frig!

“What can you feel?” Lerial asks Rhamuel.

“Everything above my waist hurts. There’s pain everywhere lower…”

“Can you move your fingers?”

“Yes.”

“Toes?”

“I don’t … know … can’t feel … except pain.”

“What about your left leg?”

“What’s wrong with me?” demands Rhamuel.

“You’re badly bruised and battered over most of your body. You’ve got a broken bone in your left leg, and your lower back is hurt. That might be very bad. We can set and splint the leg. That can wait a little bit.”

“Wait?”

Lerial ignores Rhamuel’s question, instead concentrating on the chaos-knot in the arms-commander’s lower back. He cannot tell exactly what is wrong, but he has the feeling that there is little he can do except to reduce the amount of chaos. Bit by bit, he does, until he has the sense that to remove more would not be a good idea for either Rhamuel or himself. When he shifts his weight from one boot to the other, he feels light-headed. He steps back, carefully. His falling on the injured commander is the last thing either of them needs.

“What did you do? The pain’s less.”

“What I could.” Lerial stands there for a moment, taking a deep breath.

“I can’t move my toes…”

“We need to splint that leg. Otherwise, what happens with your toes won’t matter.” Lerial is well aware that it will matter, but he doesn’t want to talk about that aspect of Rhamuel’s injuries … not yet. “What about the others in the palace?”

Rhamuel gestures with his right forearm and hand. “Everyone out except Lord Lerial.”

Lerial looks at Norstaan. “I’m going to need straight strong narrow pieces of wood and long strips of cloth, canvas if you can find any. Clear spirits or strong ale.…” When he finishes, he adds, “The sooner the better.”

After the others leave, Lerial steps closer to the table.

Rhamuel looks up at Lerial. “Atroyan’s dead. He was when I got to his study. His throat was slashed. I heard something so loud it shook me and the palace. Everything started to collapse … I grabbed the settee and used it like a shield to go through the window as the stones were falling … didn’t time it quite right…”

“What about the rest of the family?”

“I don’t know. I went straight to Atroyan’s study.”

“You have another problem,” Lerial says. “We were scouting to the north and discovered that the Heldyans have landed at least four battalions at the pier at Maesoryk’s tileworks there. They had chaos-wizards who created the fog. We managed to destroy maybe a battalion of Heldyans, but they had three or four more left and at least three more strong chaos-wizards. I only had a company with me. I couldn’t do any more, and we had to withdraw. On the way back we saw part of the Harbor Post explode, maybe a third. There wasn’t anything we could do. So we headed back here, but I sent a messenger to the Harbor Post to let the senior officer know about the Heldyans. Then I got word about you and the palace.”

“What about the South Post?”