Arms-Commander (17 page)

“It is.”

“And can you promise that such will not be used against Lornth?”

“I can promise that they will not be used against Lornth, assuming that Lornth does not attack Westwind. Certainly, Lord Kelthyn, you would not expect me to foreclose self-defense.”

“No, I would not expect that, but do you honestly expect the Suthyans to ally themselves with the Gallosians?”

“No,” replied Saryn. “I expect the Suthyans to use the Gallosians and anyone else to their advantage, whether it be the Gallosians, Lord Deryll, or holders here who might seek to profit.”

“As they always have,” added Gethen dryly.

“Could they not be using Westwind?” questioned Kelthyn.

“They tried. When that failed, they sent High Trader Baorl to visit Lord Duevek.”

“Could it not have been that the Lord of Duevek was merely concerned to protect his lands? To see the vaunted guards of Westwind advancing…”

“Thirty-one women on the highway, who avoided both his town and his fortified villa? Why would we ride six days into Lornth if we were merely raiding? And then ride here and tell you about it?”

“You make a most convincing point, persuasive as it is meant to be.” Kelthyn leaned back slightly in his chair, as if to signify that he had said what he would say.

“It may take several days to gather those items which you require,” said Zeldyan.

Saryn understood the unspoken question that followed. “We understand and appreciate your helpfulness. Given the chance of misunderstandings, we have ordered our guards to remain within the palace walls for the time being.”

“Most prudent,” said Gethen.

“It is best to be prudent when that suits the situation,” added Kelthyn.

“You have made that point yourself, often by example, Lord Kelthyn,” added Zeldyan sweetly. She turned her head to Saryn. “We may wish to make inquiries of you again, Commander, before you leave. For now, you are free to leave while we discuss other matters.”

Saryn rose and bowed. “Thank you. I will be most happy to address any other matters you may wish.”

None of the regents spoke while she departed.

Once she was outside the tower chamber, she reclaimed her sword belt, not that she feared a direct attack, at least not in Lornth. She did need to make her own inquiries about a route that would return them to the Roof of the World without going through Duevek. There was little point in tempting fate unnecessarily.

After she had left the regents, Saryn took her time touring the palace, then began what amounted to an inspection tour of the outbuildings. The few armed guards she saw observed her closely, but no one hindered or questioned her. While everything was reasonably clean and ordered, she couldn't help but notice water stains around windows on the north end of the palace and in several places, along the top edges on the interior of outside walls. Many of the chambers on the third level on the south end of the palace were empty even of furniture. The fireplaces in several guest chambers had been bricked up. The large kitchen had massive hearths, but not even the simple stoves of Westwind, and some of the hearths had not been used in some time. Drains in the stables had been dug up and crudely replaced and reset.

As much to take her mind off what she had seen as anything, she spent the later part of the afternoon working in the rear courtyard with various guards on their blade skills. Several of the palace armsmen watched, if covertly.

She was about to begin sparring with Hryessa when the middle rear door to the tower section of the palace opened and Lady Zeldyan emerged, walking across the courtyard with a boy who had to be her son, followed by two armed guards. Rather than beginning to spar, then interrupting the exercise, she waited for the pair to reach them.

“Commander, this is my son, Nesslek. Nesslek, this is Arms-Commander Saryn.”

Although only eleven, Nesslek was but a hand shorter than Saryn. His face was oval, with fine but strong features, topped with thick blond hair. He smiled politely and warmly, then bowed. “Commander Saryn, my mother has spoken much about you…and well.”

Saryn could see that he was already the kind who charmed women. “And she has spoken with pride about you.”

Before Nesslek could say more, Zeldyan spoke. “I had heard you were practicing. Would you mind if we watched?”

“Not at all. We are using weighted wands, not blades.”

A look of puzzlement crossed Nesslek's face.

“We train to kill,” Saryn said to him. “And there are not that many guards in Westwind that we can afford to kill or wound each other.”

“Your blades are short, like an inside sword,” observed the young heir.

“They're more effective on horse back. We also throw them when necessary.”

“Does that not leave you vulnerable?”

“The arms-commander carries three into battle,” Hryessa interjected. “She never misses.”

“Have you killed many men?” pressed Nesslek.

Saryn managed a smile. “As many as necessary and far more than I would have liked to. That is the nature of using weapons successfully.”

That brought another expression, not quite a frown, yet not exactly thoughtful.

“So long as men do not wish any land to be ruled by women, such deaths will be necessary, but I can wish they were not.” Saryn stepped away from the lady and her son and nodded to Hryessa.

Both Zeldyan and Nesslek watched for close to half a glass as Saryn worked with Hryessa, first right-handed, then with her left, and at last with wands in both hands.

Finally, Saryn stepped back, breathing hard and soaked with sweat. She was glad that the laundress was washing all her soiled uniforms—except for the one remaining clean one—not that she had that many.

“Would you like to try?” asked Saryn, reversing the weighted wand and extending it.

Nesslek took it…and then grasped it more firmly.

“It's heavier than it looks.” Saryn smiled.

“It is indeed,” replied Nesslek, reversing the weapon and handing it back.

“Is that one reason why many have underestimated your guards?” asked Zeldyan. “Because your weapons do not seem too impressive?”

“It may be, Lady. Also, the guards are very skilled with their bows.”

“The longbows…how can you ride with them?” inquired Nesslek. “Besides, they are best used for hunting, not fighting.”

“We use a double-curved shorter bow. They're powerful enough to put shafts through armor at two hundred yards, and the guards are trained to pick up different individual targets and lead them. We don't fire blindly.”

“How do they fare against armored cavalry?”

“A squad of guards wiped out an entire Gallosian squad and incurred one fatality and three minor wounds,” Saryn replied. “This detachment wiped out two squads that attacked on the way here—that was after a day of travel against fresh mounts. We lost no one.”

Nesslek glanced to his mother.

“It's true,” Zeldyan said. “Those who attack the angels seldom live to regret their folly.”

Saryn sensed the old pain and bitterness behind the pleasantly spoken words. “I would that it were otherwise, Lady, but when a land is few in numbers, and its people have nowhere to go, one has no other choices.”

“No, you do not.” She looked at Nesslek. “You may go now. I will rejoin you shortly.”

Nesslek inclined his head politely to his mother, then to Saryn. “Good day, Commander.”

Both Saryn and Zeldyan watched as the youth turned and headed back toward the palace proper. The boy was handsome enough, Saryn thought, but she had the feeling that he was likely to be the type easily swayed by promises of glory and heroism. There had also been something about the bows…as if using a bow was looked down upon, or even cowardly.

“I had another reason for coming out here, Commander.” Zeldyan smiled. “I had thought you might like to have supper with my father and me. It will be simple, just the three of us, but we would enjoy your company.”

“I'd be pleased and honored.”

“Thank you. So would we.” Zeldyan inclined her head. “I'd best see to my wayward son.”

Only when Zeldyan had returned to the palace did Hryessa speak. “They want something from you, I'd wager. More than your company, ser.”

“I'm certain that they do, but it will be interesting to see what it might be…since we have very little to offer.”

“Except ourselves. Be careful that you do not commit to what we cannot do.”

“According to the Marshal, we can do anything.” Saryn didn't bother to keep the edge out of her voice.

“You can do anything, ser. The rest of us are less able.”

The tone in Hryessa's voice caught Saryn, not because it was sardonic or ironic, but because both the words and the feeling behind them embodied complete confidence in the arms-commander. “I can do a few things others can't. That's true of all of you. You've seen what a lousy archer I am.” That was accurate enough, because arrows flew farther than Saryn could reach with her senses, unlike the blades she relied upon.

“Yes, ser.” Hryessa's voice was pleasantly agreeable.

Saryn could sense the disagreement behind the words, and she wanted to shake her head. Instead, she said, “Could you talk to the armsmen here in the palace about the best way to avoid Duevek, especially if we have any carts or wagons?”

“I've already asked about maps, ser, and they've promised some by tomorrow. They would like to see us gone. I think the maps will arrive.”

“Good…” Saryn shook her head. “You don't need me.”

In return, Hryessa grinned. “It's not about maps, ser. We need an angel.”

Less than a glass later, Saryn headed back to her chambers to wash up and change into what served as her dress uniform, although it lacked the adornments she'd seen on other officers the few times she'd left the Roof of the World.

Just before twilight, the same young lady-in-waiting who had escorted Saryn to meet with the regents reappeared and escorted her to a small dining room on the main floor at the north end of the palace.

Two figures stood talking inside the chamber, but Gethen and Zeldyan immediately turned.

“There you are,” offered Zeldyan warmly. “I'm glad you're joining us.” She moved toward a table that was roughly eight cubits long, but was set with three places, one at the east end, and one on each side. She took the end place and gestured to the one at her left.

Saryn waited until Zeldyan had started to take her seat before slipping into the chair she had been offered.

Gethen seated himself last and with a smile. “It's not often an old man gets to eat with two beautiful women.”

“Two younger women, at least, and only one of them beautiful,” replied Zeldyan, inclining her head to Saryn.

Saryn concealed her surprise because she could sense that Zeldyan believed every word. “I fear you are far too modest, Lady.”

“Always has been,” added Gethen.

“The red pitcher has red wine, from Father's vineyards, no less, and the gray has a gentle white, but not from any of our lands.” Zeldyan smiled. “I prefer the red, but the white is good.”

Saryn poured the red into Zeldyan's goblet, then into her own, before handing the pitcher across the table to Gethen. The serving girl brought just two items to the table—a pastry-covered casserole dish and a large basket of bread.

“It's just a fowl-and-vegetable pie.” Zeldyan handed a large silver serving spoon to Saryn.

“Thank you.” Saryn served herself an ample helping, then handed the spoon back. She did not eat—or drink—until Zeldyan did, although she sensed nothing amiss in either the pie or the wine. She took several bites and sipped the wine. Both the fowl pie and the wine were good, but certainly not outstanding.

“Thank you for allowing Nesslek and me to watch you spar.”

“And me,” added Gethen. “I was watching through a glass from the tower.”

“What did you see?” asked Saryn, allowing a grin to cross her lips.

“I saw that Kelthyn could have used the observation,” replied Gethen. “I've seen him work out, and he wouldn't have lasted three strokes against you or the other one.”

“Hryessa is a guard captain. She is most accomplished with both blade and bow.” Saryn turned to Zeldyan. “Did Nesslek say anything about the sparring?”

“He seldom does, but he was most reflective.”

That could mean anything,
thought Saryn.

“He should have noticed.” Gethen shook his head. “Your choice of officers guards your back well, Commander.”

“Those who accompanied us are almost as good.”

“Could you train others to be that effective?” asked Zeldyan.

“In time…if they wanted to work that hard. I don't think most armsmen do.”

“Why do yours, then?” asked Zeldyan, with little inquiry in her tone, as if she knew the answer but wanted Saryn to offer it.

“Our guards know that they have no choice. There is no one to rely upon but themselves. They see that great skill is the best way to assure their future. And, of course, the Marshal does not accept slackers or sloppiness.”

“Nor do you, I'd wager.” Gethen's voice was dry.

“We all do what we must.” Saryn shrugged. “I did not see Lord Kelthyn depart. He must have left after our meeting. If I might ask…how did he seem?”

Zeldyan laughed, humorlessly. “Kelthyn was not pleased, although he was most polite and circumspect. I'm certain you could tell that.”

“He did seem less than pleased,” observed Saryn. “I got the impression that he didn't like being put in a position where he couldn't disagree without seeming totally unreasonable.”

“Ah…yes…young Kelthyn always likes to seem reasonable,” said Gethen. “That is so even when he is least reasonable.”

Saryn could sense the age and fatigue in Gethen, but the older man's eyes were intent and clear, giving the impression that he was trying to draw out something. “There are always those who cultivate the impression of warmth and reason.”

“Are you one of those, Commander?”

“I think not. Although women are supposed to be more devious than men, I have great difficulty in looking for the least obvious path to an objective. No one has ever accused me of great warmth, either.” Saryn smiled at Zeldyan. “Unlike you, who combine warmth and shrewdness.”

“Shrewdness without power avails one little.” Zeldyan paused, then asked, her tone casual, “Do you think the Suthyans will attack you first…or us?”

“I do not think they will attack Westwind at all. Not at present, at least. They have seen how costly it would be, and they measure everything by cost. I am not certain that they will attack you, either. Not directly, in any case.”

Gethen frowned, but Zeldyan nodded.

“What else can they do that is not direct?” asked Gethen. “They've already taken Rulyarth and exact high tariffs on goods coming upriver to us. It also appears they have persuaded the Gallosians to keep traders from the east from traveling to us overland. They are trying to enlist Deryll to their cause as well. What is left?”

With Gethen's last words, Zeldyan focused on Saryn.

“More of what happened to us with the Lord of Duevek, except directed at you and Lady Zeldyan as regents. The old holders are not pleased with matters as they are…are they?” Saryn took a sip of the wine, then another mouthful of the fowl pie.

“Are they that foolish?” Gethen snorted, then, after a moment, went on. “Of course they are. They think that if they overturn the regency they can reestablish the old ways, with one of them as overlord. Each believes that he will be the one the others will accept.”

“When all the squabbling and fighting is over, and no one can still agree, and swords remain bloody,” added Zeldyan, “the Suthyan Council will offer to make Lornth part of Suthya. Most of the lesser holders will finally agree after they find they have no golds left, and the Suthyans will then pay them to overturn the handful of larger ones. Those who remain will beg to be part of Suthya just to end the bloodshed.”

“You paint a dismal picture, daughter.”

“What other picture is there? Already, half the holders offer excuses rather than their tariffs, so much so that we have half the armsmen that we had five years ago, and that number was but a third of what Sillek took against Westwind and lost.” Zeldyan looked to Saryn. “You see to what state we are reduced when the only one in whom we can trust is the arms-commander of the land that destroyed us.”