Arms-Commander (Saga of Recluce)

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “That would suggest the son has little love for either you or Westwind.”

  “On the few occasions he has been here in the palace, he has always been volubly pleasant and most courteous.”

  “And the same is true of Lord Duevek?”

  “Actually, he is Lord Henstrenn of Duevek, or Henstrenn, Lord of Duevek, just as Keistyn is Lord Keistyn of Hasel, or Keistyn, Lord of Hasel, although the common folk often just call whoever holds the lands Lord Duevek or Lord Hasel or, in my father’s case, Lord Groves.”

  That made a sort of sense to Saryn. “How am I to know who might be truly a friend of the regency, who might not, and who has yet to decide?”

  “I have already considered that… Saryn.” Zeldyan drew a folded sheet of parchment from somewhere below the table and extended it.

  Saryn opened and studied it. There were three columns of names, but nothing else. After a moment, she smiled. The first column was headed by Gethen, Lord of The Groves, the second by Henstrenn, Lord of Duevek, and the third by Maeldyn, Lord of Quaryn, a name that Saryn did not recognize. “Where is Quaryn?”

  Zeldyan extended another parchment, one clearly older, and colored. “This is a map of the holdings of Lornth, as they were when Sillek’s father became Lord of Lornth. Some boundaries have changed, and, for now, there is no Lord of Rohrn, since almost no one there survived the Cyadoran chaos-fires. But that should help you know what holdings there are. I would request you return the map to me when you no longer need it.”

  “Thank you. I will.” Saryn smiled but let the expression drop as she asked, “What plan do you have in mind in which I might be helpful?”

  “I had thought that together we might visit some holdings.”

  “Beginning with those in the second column? The first name first?” Saryn raised her eyebrows.

  “That was my thought, once your guards and their mounts have had some time to recover from their trip.” Zeldyan smiled. “The holders are required to host the retainers of the Lord of Lornth, and the regency, once a year, for up to an eightday. That will provide some relief to our trea sury and allow you to meet them and them to meet you… and your guards.”

  “Do you think it wise to take both squads on these visits?”

  “What would you suggest?”

  “I have not seen many armsmen here in the palace,” ventured Saryn.

  “At present, there is less than a company. There is a full company at The Groves.”

  “You aren’t leaving yourself much protection.”

  “I need little. All know that in less than four years, Nesslek will be overlord. Besides, were I to die in some unfortunate fashion, my father has the right to name another regent. Only one is named by a vote of the lord-holders. If anything happens to Nesslek, however…”

  Saryn understood. Still… there were other matters to work out. “We do represent Westwind, and it is possible that women who are displeased with their situation may come to us, for we are far closer here than on the Roof of the World.”

  “I had not thought of that.” Zeldyan frowned. “It would not do to have consorts deserting their men. Nor would it be seemly for your guards to entice women of Lornth.”

  “What about young women, or single women without consorts or children?”

  “What will you tell the others?”

  “That we are a fighting unit, and that while we will accept those who can be trained to fight, we cannot not break up house holds or act in a way that might orphan children, not when we are here as your guests.”

  “I do not know…” mused Zeldyan.

  “Would any man truly want a girl who wants to be a Westwind guard?”

  “I could point that out. It would work with most.”

  “Those who would not accept that will find other reasons to dislike us,” Saryn said.

  “You may not seek out those girls.”

  “I’ll make sure that the guards all know that and obey.”

  Zeldyan sighed. “Nothing is as simple as one would like it.”

  “No. What else do we need to discuss?”

  The regent glanced out the window. “There is much you need to know about Lornth. We should begin over supper. Do not worry about your guards. I’ve told the kitchen to take care of them.”

  “You’re most kind,” replied Saryn.

  “No… I’m being practical, and I dislike eating alone.” Zeldyan rose from the table. “We will eat in the breakfast room, though. It’s far less austere.”

  Saryn rose and followed the regent from the sitting room.

  Over the course of supper, a simple meal of cutlets and rice in a cheese-cream sauce with early peaches from the south, she heard far more about the various lord-holders of Lornth than she had ever imagined she would need to know… and yet, the fact that Zeldyan knew such a range of facts and trivia suggested that it was far from trivial. Even so, Saryn’s brain was reeling under the impact of names and deeds and the grievances and slights claimed by holders she had not even known existed two glasses before.

  Early eve ning passed, and it was full night when Saryn made her way to the upper level of the barracks and the single occupied officer’s room, where Hryessa was poring over an ancient folder of maps.

  “Ser?” Hryessa rose from the ancient straight-spoked oak chair.

  “What have you learned?”

  “There’s no army here at all, less than a company.”

  “There’s only one other company, from what the regent told me, and that’s at The Groves, guarding Lord Nesslek.”

  “Are we here just to guard the regent, then?” asked Hryessa.

  “No. We’re here to see that Nesslek lives to become lord.” Saryn shook her head. “The Lady Zeldyan has requested that I accompany her, with one squad, to visit various holders over the remaining course of the summer, and possibly through harvest. I’d thought I’d take fourth squad for the first visits and alternate squads after that, but you’ll have to take charge of whichever one is here.”

  Hryessa nodded. “I thought it might be something like that.”

  “I got the regent to agree that you could accept recruits, provided that they’re not married…” Saryn explained the rest of what she had covered with Zeldyan. “…if any who have been beaten or abused persist, all you can tell them is that, if they reach Westwind, it is unlikely the Marshal will turn them away, but you cannot hazard the guards here or Westwind itself.”

  Hryessa nodded. “I hate telling ’em that.”

  “You made the trip. So did every woman there.”

  “More tried and didn’t reach Westwind.”

  “I know, but we can only do so much.”

  “Another thing, I’d suggest, ser,” said Hryessa. “We shouldn’t restrict the guards to the palace, not if we’re going to be here two seasons.”

  “Yes?” Saryn waited, although she had her own ideas.

  “I’d recommend we let them go into Lornth, but only in groups of three.”

  “Three?”

  “It’s a mite harder to persuade two others to do something stupid than just one, and one or two guards might not be enough in some situations.”

  “Three it is,” agreed Saryn, “but no more than three groups at any one time, unless both squads are here, and then it can be six, and not to night. I need to tell the regent.”

  “That’s fair.”

  Dealing with the guards and their relations with the people of Lornth was likely to be far easier than dealing with the lord-holders, reflected Saryn. Far easier.

  XLVI

  Although Saryn rose early on oneday, soon after she started to wash up, her breakfast arrived, as if the chambermaid who delivered it had been waiting in the corridor and hurried down to the kitchen to fetch the tray. Saryn gulped the not-quite-warm fare down and finished dressing. She was in the courtyard before the barracks in time for the morning exercises that she and Hryessa had agreed to continue while they remained in the lowlands. She had just finished sparring with Hry
essa—left-handed and using the weighted wands—when one of the palace armsmen hurried across the courtyard. Saryn stood back and waited.

  “The Lady Zeldyan wished to inform you that Lord Henstrenn of Duevek will be paying her grace a visit at noon. The lady thought that you might wish to join her before he arrives.”

  “You may tell Lady Zeldyan that I will be most pleased to join her.”

  “Yes, Commander.” The armsman bowed, then turned and hurried off, clearly pleased to be away from Saryn and the Westwind contingent.

  “The Lord of Duevek? The same bastard whose men attacked us the last time?” asked Hryessa, blotting her damp forehead.

  “The very same.” Saryn frowned. Zeldyan had suggested that Saryn and the guards make Duevek their first visit, and they had planned to leave Lornth on fourday. Now… Henstrenn was already approaching Lornth. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to find Undercaptain Maerkyn.”

  Finding the undercaptain wasn’t all that difficult since he was in the duty room of the first barracks, sitting in a straight-backed chair, his boots on a bench. He bolted to his feet so quickly that his fine black hair, short as it was, sprayed out from his scalp for an instant, and Saryn wondered how she ever could have thought he resembled the blond-haired and diligent Dealdron. “Yes, Commander?” His eyes took in Saryn’s sweat-damp working uniform for just a moment before he looked back directly into Saryn’s eyes… then away.

  “Undercaptain, I am not all that certain as to how messages are carried from the regents. I thought you would be able to enlighten me.” Saryn not only watched the young officer but concentrated her senses on him. All she could feel was concern and puzzlement.

  “The regents have a squad of couriers here at the palace.”

  “A courier carried Lady Zeldyan’s message to me to Westwind. Was that courier one of the armsmen from the palace?”

  “Yes, ser.”

  “To whom do they report?”

  “They all report directly to Overcaptain Gadsyn.”

  “And you’re in charge of the other company of armsmen here now?”

  “Yes, ser.”

  “Who commands the company at The Groves?”

  “That’s Captain Tuulyr, ser.”

  “So Overcaptain Gadsyn is in charge of all the armsmen and couriers?”

  “Yes, ser.”

  “Were you the one who gave the message to the courier?”

  “Yes, ser… but it was sealed, ser.”

  Saryn could sense the truth… and a certain growing anger within the undercaptain. “And it arrived sealed, as it should have. Who was the courier? Is he here in Lornth?”

  “Klaemyn, ser, and he’s on the roster for today.”

  “We need to talk to armsman Klaemyn.”

  “Courier Klaemyn, ser.”

  “If you would lead the way…”

  Saryn didn’t have far to walk, because the chamber that Saryn would have called the couriers’ ready room was in the same barracks, except at the far east end, nearest the gates.

  There were three couriers in the room. Two were polishing their brass, and the third was doing something with his scabbard. All three straightened. “Ser!”

  “Maesyn, Zubael… you two can take a walk for a while,” said Maerkyn.

  The remaining courier, one of the two who had been working on his brass, stiffened. He looked older than the other two and vaguely familiar to Saryn, but she couldn’t have sworn that he was the one who had delivered Zeldyan’s message. Like Maerkyn had been, he was worried but puzzled, and Saryn could sense his questioning as to what he might have done wrong.

  “You were the one selected to ride to Westwind, weren’t you?”

  The courier/armsman looked to Maerkyn. The undercaptain nodded. “You’re to answer the commander’s questions.”

  “Yes, ser.”

  “Where did you stop on the way to Westwind?”

  “Just at the way stations, ser. We were told to make haste.”

  “I’m curious, Klaemyn. Who were your escorts when you rode to West-wind this last time?”

  “Daelyst, Reagor, and Salastyn, ser. They’re with the undercaptain’s company.” The courier went on quickly. “We always have armsmen for the longer runs, where it might be difficult to deliver a message without arms-men.”

  “I can see that.”

  “You were the one I gave the message to, ser. You remember that, don’t you?”

  Saryn could sense the truth there. “I do, and there’s no question that you delivered the missive directly to me. Did you stop only at way stations on the return?”

  “Except once, ser. Daelyst said that we could stop at Lord Henstrenn’s on the way back, that he knew the undercaptain of the armsmen there. The timing was right, and we needed a place to sleep, and we’re allowed to stop at holders’ keeps. Lord Henstrenn’s armsmen welcomed us right well. We had a good supper, and a good breakfast.” Klaemyn shook his head. “Last really good meal for Daelyst, poor fellow.”

  “Poor fellow?” asked Saryn.

  “He started feeling poorly the next day, and he fell out of the saddle dead the day after, just as we were getting near Lornth, almost back. It must have been a flux or something. That’s what the local healer said in the nearest hamlet.”

  “I’m very sorry to hear that,” replied Saryn, and she was, but not because she cared greatly for the dead courier. “Do you recall the name of the undercaptain at Duevek?”

  “Branslyd. That was what Daelyst said.”

  “Undercaptain Branslyd,” mused Saryn, trying to fix the name in her mind, before she asked, “You never let anyone else see or touch the message I gave you?”

  “No, ser! We’re not allowed to do that. I even slept with it, ser.”

  “Did you sleep well at Duevek?”

  The slightest frown crossed Maerkyn’s face, but the undercaptain said nothing.

  “Yes, ser. Good bunks, good food… the best night’s rest on the whole run.”

  Saryn nodded. “Thank you. You’ve been a great help.”

  Once they were well away from the courier’s standby room and back in the duty chamber, Maerkyn looked at Saryn. “Ser, might I ask…?”

  “You might, but I’m not at liberty to say. Not yet. Not until I talk to Lady Zeldyan.”

  “You don’t think—”

  “So far, Undercaptain,” began Saryn, trying to speak formally and indirectly, rather than bluntly, “I have no reason to believe that you or any of those currently under your command did anything improper or disloyal. I doubt that anything I discover will change that. That does not mean that others have not done so, unfortunately.”

  As Maerkyn took in her words, Saryn could sense his remaining anger being replaced by a mixture of concern and curiosity. Finally, he asked, “Might I ask why Westwind is so concerned about the regency?”

  “It’s very simple, Undercaptain. We like neighbors who are friendly. We get concerned when those rulers who are friendly find themselves in difficulty, particularly when those who are creating the difficulty appear to be far less friendly to Westwind. In short, we’d prefer to help our friends rather than having to fight those who might supplant them.”

  “You think the regency is in straits that dire?”

  Saryn looked straight at the taller officer. “Don’t you?” She kept her eyes fixed on him.

  “I’m… not the one to say… Commander.”

  “You’re loyal to the Lady Zeldyan and Lord Nesslek, Maerkyn. I appreciate that. So do they, I’m certain, but loyalty does not require blinders.” Saryn smiled. “Sometimes, it does require tact, and that is a quality that I’ve often found difficult to master when dealing with those who use polite words to conceal less-than-honorable intent.”

  Maerkyn looked even more puzzled.

  “Let’s just say that honor is as honor does, Undercaptain, not as it speaks. Now… I need to meet with the Lady Zeldyan. Thank you for your help, and I’m sorry if I’m not totally forthcoming.”


  “Commander… you need not explain.” Maerkyn’s words were cool.

  “I don’t have to, and I would like to, but that has to be the regent’s decision, because it bears on Lord Nesslek’s safety.” Saryn thought she sensed a thawing in the undercaptain’s coolness. “Until later, Undercaptain.”

  “Commander.” Maerkyn inclined his head more than was merely perfunctory but less than he probably would have to a male superior.

  After she left the duty room, Saryn made her way back to her quarters, stopping only momentarily to check with Hryessa. Then, once she had washed up and changed into a clean uniform—and left the battle harness in her chambers, changing to a formal sword belt with a single short sword—Saryn made her way to Zeldyan’s private chambers, only to be informed by Lyentha that Zeldyan was in the lower tower council chamber. A few moments later, Saryn walked into the lower chamber, where Zeldyan was seated in one of the chairs—now around a circular table that had not been present when Saryn had last been in the chamber. Even in midday, with the brass lamps lit, the dark-paneled chamber was gloomy enough that Saryn wondered how Zeldyan could read the ledger before her.

  “I saw you crossing the courtyard with young Maerkyn, and he did not look particularly happy,” offered Zeldyan, without rising from her chair.

  “He was not, but I trust I left him in a better humor than then. I talked with your courier, and, although I cannot prove it, I know that my message to you was intercepted and read by Lord Henstrenn and returned to the courier without his knowledge of its absence. That might well explain why Keistyn was waiting to see me when we returned. Had I returned with less of a force, I doubt I would have made it safely to Lornth.”

  “You are certain of this?”

  “Keistyn was waiting, and I wouldn’t be surprised if Henstrenn was prepared as well in case I went that way. The armsman who arranged for the courier and his escorts to spend the night at Duevek was familiar with an undercaptain there. That armsman woke up ill the next morning and died two days later, supposedly of a flux, just before he was to reach Lornth. The courier admits he had a filling supper at Duevek and slept extraordinarily well that night.” Saryn shrugged.