The Liedfuhr stands at the closed window, looking out into the gray afternoon where ice pellets bounce off the railings of the balcony beyond. The chill of the day seeps through the windows. At the knock on the study door, he turns.
“Yes?”
The graying Bassil steps through the door and bows. “You had summoned me, ser?”
“Has Overcaptain Tein arrived in Mansuus yet?”
“What do you plan, sire?” Bassil’s eyebrows lifted. “If I might inquire.”
“I don’t know if the man is guilty, or innocent and incompetent, but he should have had some idea of what the problems were in Hafen.”
“Oh?” Bassil’s voice is neutral.
“We lost a company of armsmen. Someone paid off the captain, or promised to, and probably the men as well. Then they were murdered through sorcery in Neserea, and all of Liedwahr is thinking I’m either making a power play or so ineffectual that I can’t control my own armsmen. It reeks of the Sea-Priests, but there’s not a single bit of proof, and there won’t be, as we both know.”
“You do not think that the overcaptain can provide such?”
“I doubt it. The stupidest overcaptain wouldn’t remain in Mansuur if he were a party to something like this. And if he’d found out, he would have fled or let me know. So I doubt he knows anything. But he should. If the overcaptain doesn’t know his officers well enough to anticipate that, it can only mean two things. Either the promised payoff was extraordinarily high or the morale of the men was very low.”
“A high payoff to the captain doesn’t make his superior officer incompetent or guilty, sire.”
“Oh?” asks Kestrin. “Would you ever have been able to afford that summer cottage in Cealur without the golds from your consort’s parents’ bond? Or would you have bought that matched pair of grays if you’d lost that wager to Commander Grymm? Or would your consort have silk outfits if her sister weren’t consorted to a cloth factor?”
Bassil smiles. “You have a point, like your sire. A superior should know the officers under him.”
“I think you had best have Commander Latollr report to me.”
Clearing his throat gently, Bassil says quietly. “I already took that liberty, sire. He is waiting in the anteroom.”
Kestrin laughs, a booming, self-deprecating sound. “And if I hadn’t thought of it, you would have set it up so that I thought I had.”
“One does learn after a few years, sire.”
“What else have I missed, then?” Kestrin studies the older overcaptain. “I’m young enough to have missed something.”
Bassil tilts his head. “I may be aging…but on this, I think not.”
“There’s something else, then.”
“Yes, sire. Your seers report that the Sturinnese are attacking Dumar. They have used sorcery with the ocean to destroy most of Narial.”
“When?”
“Several days ago.”
“And they did not find out until now?” Kestrin’s voice rises.
“You have but two that are well, sire, and they have been seeking the causes and those involved with the missing lancers.”
Kestrin nods slowly. “We have much to discuss—after we deal with the commander.” He motions to the door. “Have him come in.”