Arms-Commander (Saga of Recluce)

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “…Lord Gethen, he and his fellows, they had piles of bodies around them. Even the little lord got a couple… just too many…”

  When the two had finished their gory tale, Saryn nodded. “Thank you. You may go.”

  “This way,” Hryessa said to the two.

  Before returning to her inspection of the villa, Saryn paused, thinking about the costs of loyalty. Lord Deolyn had proved his faith by answering Gethen’s summons quickly, and his reward had been to be killed. Shartyr had been loyal to no one but his own interests and had so far survived. As had Jharyk.

  Saryn was about to reenter the villa when Zeldyan appeared, flanked by two Lornian armsmen.

  “Did you receive the message from Lord Maeldyn, Lady?” asked Saryn.

  “I did. He and a company and a half will arrive later today. Would that they had come sooner.” The last words were tinged with bitterness.

  “Quaryn is farther than Lornth from The Groves, is it not?” asked Saryn. “Yet you did not receive a messenger.”

  Zeldyan looked coldly at Saryn.

  “That is not what I meant, Lady. I have no doubt that your father sent a messenger. We did not receive such a message. That could only mean that Henstrenn and the other rebel lord-holders were close enough already and in enough force that no messenger was successful in evading them.”

  Some of Zeldyan’s coldness faded. “There was not enough time for Maeldyn and Spalkyn to receive the message and travel here.”

  “That is how it seems. I just talked to two wounded armsmen from Lord Deolyn’s forces who survived by hiding in pond reeds. Lord Deolyn marched his forces through the night to reach The Groves, and they arrived just before the first attack.”

  “He was always fiercely loyal to Father. He was a good man.” Zeldyan shook her head, then looked at the pair of guards. “The commander and I will be inside.”

  Saryn followed Zeldyan into the front foyer, where the regent stopped and looked at the three still figures laid out on the long table. Then she turned her eyes to Saryn.

  “If you would make arrangements for a funeral pyre… on the top of the hill beyond the tower… at sunset…” Zeldyan swallowed, once, twice, then straightened. “The study… if you would.” She did not look back or sideways.

  Saryn followed Zeldyan out of the foyer and down the wide hall and into the study. Someone—most likely Zeldyan, Saryn thought—had picked up the scattered items and put them back in the desk or on it or in the bookcases.

  Once they were alone in the study, Zeldyan turned, and asked, “What do you think I should do?”

  Saryn didn’t want to answer that question. Instead, she said, “Are you and Relyn not the only survivors who could hold The Groves?”

  “According to the customs of Lornth, I could not hold anything.”

  “You could hold it as regent for your brother. He is certainly entitled to succeed his father.”

  “So you would have me go through the grief of position without power once more? The southern lords will claim I have no authority.”

  Saryn realized that Zeldyan hadn’t fully considered what had happened over the last half season. Only two of the southern lords who had taken up arms were still alive, and the successors to those who had fallen had almost nothing in the way of armsmen. “They would have to bring forces against The Groves once more. Would they wish to do that now?”

  Zeldyan looked at Saryn. “You ask much. Why? Why now? You have lost, as have I, for the next Overlord of Lornth will not be friendly to West-wind.”

  “How will the lord-holders determine which lord becomes the Overlord of Lornth?” asked Saryn.

  “There is no rule. It has been generations since the overlord has died without a blood heir.” Zeldyan shrugged. “They will bow to the strongest, no doubt.”

  “That will be Henstrenn. He was smart enough to suggest that Kelthyn and Jaffrayt take the river road, and he managed to maneuver it so that Keistyn’s forces took most of the losses in taking The Groves. That leaves Henstrenn with more golds, probably augmented by the Suthyans, and his forces are far greater than those of Keistyn, or of any other remaining lord-holder.” Saryn paused, then asked, “Do you want him to be Overlord of Lornth?”

  “Part of me no longer cares. Should I? You and the angels came, through no fault of your own, and over the past ten years I have lost all I held dear.”

  “Six lords in the south, prompted by Kelthyn and Henstrenn, decided that you should not be regent and that Nesslek should die. They demanded you step down, and before you could even respond, they attacked.”

  “I can do nothing about it. I have less than one company of armsmen left.” Zeldyan looked at Saryn. “Do what you will, Angel.”

  “I would suggest we wait until Lord Maeldyn and Lord Spalkyn arrive. They are levelheaded.”

  “A few glasses will not matter, one way or another. Perhaps nothing will.” She sank into one of the chairs set at an angle to the table. “You must have much to do, Commander.”

  “Until later, Lady.” Saryn inclined her head to Zeldyan and headed out to see how Hryessa and the guards were doing in restoring order to the holding.

  By midday, some of the surviving holder staff—those sent away by Gethen—had begun to return. Second squad had completed stacking and arranging the timbers and wood for the pyre on the hill, and the remaining disorder in the villa had been largely removed, although Saryn had cautioned the guards and staff not to disturb Zeldyan.

  She and Hryessa also made certain that the kitchens would be able to prepare enough for the additional armsmen. Saryn asked Dealdron to assure that the stables would be ready.

  His response was simple. “We will do what is necessary, as will I for you.”

  Saryn smiled at that, but only replied, “Thank you.” She did watch him as he headed toward the stables.

  As soon as the outlying patrols reported the approach of Maeldyn and Spalkyn, Saryn informed Zeldyan, and the two made their way, in time, to the portico of the villa just before the head of the column arrived, and the two lord-holders reined up.

  All of the mounts looked tired, as did the armsmen behind the two lord-holders. Saryn could sense the fatigue in both lords.

  “Greetings, Lady Regent,” offered Maeldyn.

  “Lord Nesslek is dead. By definition, I am no longer regent.”

  “I am most sorry, Lady. We left within glasses of receiving word.”

  “You have always done your best, both of you.”

  “As I understand matters, from the scouts I sent out on our way here,” Maeldyn said slowly, looking down from his mount, “Commander Saryn and your forces, Lady Zeldyan, encountered the forces of Lord Jaffrayt and Lord Kelthyn on your way to relieve The Groves. You routed both.” The dour-looking lord glanced to Saryn. “Might I inquire about the lords in question?”

  “They were both killed in the fighting, as were the majority of their forces,” replied Saryn. A bare majority, but a majority. “When we reached The Groves, it was already too late. Lord Deolyn, Lord Gethen, and Lord Nesslek had been defeated and killed.” Saryn nodded toward the archway behind her. “They are there, and we have made arrangements for a funeral pyre for sunset.”

  “From our approach, I surmised something of the sort,” added Spalkyn. “What about the other southern lords.”

  Zeldyan looked to Saryn.

  “Lord Orsynn attempted an ambush last eightday. He did not survive, nor did two of his sons and most of their armsmen. Lord Mortryd begged for aid against an attack by Lord Rherhn, but when we arrived to help, they both turned and attacked us. Both are dead. We have not seen either Lord Keistyn or Lord Henstrenn, but presume that, from their tracks, they took the eastern road to return to their own holdings.”

  “Or to Duevek,” suggested Maeldyn, “which is easier to defend and closer to Lornth.” He paused. “The last days have been long. If you would not mind, Lady of The Groves, I would like to settle my men. Perhaps we could talk in greater detail later.” />
  “Later would be best,” replied Zeldyan, “even in the morning.”

  “The barracks kitchen has prepared food,” Saryn offered, “and our ostler has adapted the stables to handle your horses.”

  Maeldyn nodded. “We thank you.”

  As they led their men past the villa, Zeldyan watched for a moment, then looked at Saryn. “I am not at my best. Thank you.”

  “I would not be at my best if I’d had to endure what you’ve had to go through, Lady.”

  “May you never have to, Angel. No one should.” Zeldyan hesitated. “I will be in the study.”

  “I’ll have your supper brought to you, Lady. It will be simple.”

  “Simple is enough, now. If I can even eat that…” Zeldyan turned away and walked resolutely back into the front foyer of the villa.

  LXXXIII

  As the lower edge of the sun, tinged slightly orange, touched the edge of the roofs of Carpa, the first squad of Lornian armsmen escorted Lord Deolyn’s still form, carried shoulder high by six armsmen, from the foyer of the villa out through the portico and along the paved lane toward the east tower. Shortly thereafter, the second squad appeared with Lord Gethen, then third squad with Nesslek’s body.

  With mea sured steps, they made their way past the tower and up the path to the top of the hill. All the remaining armsmen and guards were drawn up in formation around the pyre on the hilltop. In a line forward of those bearing arms were Maeldyn, Spalkyn, Saryn, and Zeldyan.

  When all three forms were in place, with Nesslek in the center, and the Lornian armsmen back in formation, Lord Maeldyn stepped forward, then turned to face the Lady Regent and the others.

  “From chaos, order brings life, and in the end, from that life, chaos leads us all to death,” began the stern-faced lord. “Some deaths are timely and come with order. Some are most untimely and disorderly. So it has been with the three men before us. All of them lived honorable lives that were too short; but for one of them, that life was far, far, too short.” Maeldyn paused for a moment before resuming.

  “Each of these men had characteristics worthy of emulation. Lord Deolyn was fiercely loyal to honor and to doing what was right, regardless of the cost to himself. Lord Gethen was a good leader, and more than that, a wise man who looked to do good for all of Lornth, and not just for his own holding or personal gain, and who had already lost many of those whom he loved and who loved him because those who embody chaos could not abide such good. Young Lord Nesslek came from a most noble heritage and stood with others far older against those forces of chaos.

  “We will miss them, and we will miss what they brought to Lornth and life.” Maeldyn stepped back.

  Spalkyn stepped forward and, like Maeldyn, turned to face those who waited. “From chaos we came and unto chaos we go. From dull clay is spirit sparked into the flame that is life, and that flame burns our course over the years that we have. In the end is chaos, leaving no sign of where we once stood. All that remains is the memory of what we have been, what we have done, and how well we have loved. May these flames burn those memories into all of us, and may our acts carry on those memories, and so to the end of time.”

  One of the Lornian squad leaders strode forth and handed a burning pitch torch to Spalkyn, who stood… waiting.

  Slowly, Zeldyan stepped forward. She took the torch from the heavyset lord and walked deliberately to the foot of the pyre, where she laid the torch across an oil-soaked plank, then straightened.

  After a long moment, she turned and walked gravely back to stand beside Saryn and the two lords.

  Saryn stood beside Zeldyan, watching as the flames rose, consuming the wood and the bodies upon them… consuming as well the hopes of a woman for her son, the hopes of a regent for a reign of peace and prosperity.

  Is this all that Ryba foresaw? The endless battles between chauvinistic lord-holders? A land where respect and restraint occur only at the point of a blade? Where the only way a woman can obtain anything close to respect is by being able to kill greater and greater numbers of men? Isn’t something better possible? If it is, is there any other way to accomplish it besides more violence and killing?

  Standing before the heat of the raging flames, Saryn couldn’t help but ask the last question again.

  LXXXIV

  Less than a glass after sunrise, Zeldyan, Saryn, Maeldyn, and Spalkyn sat around the table in what had been Gethen’s study. From outside on the verandah came the sound of the fountain, muting the sounds of armsmen and guards engaged in various duties around the villa.

  “Properly speaking,” began Zeldyan, “I have no authority.”

  “You are the only certain blood survivor of the previous lord-holder,” observed Spalkyn. “That makes you equal to any other lord-holder.”

  “There is also the question of the regency,” added Maeldyn, “since the overlord for whom you were regent was attacked and killed by lord-holders rebelling against the will and wishes of a majority of lord-holders. In doing that, Henstrenn gathered together three other lords and brought six companies against Lord Gethen and Lord Nesslek… and Lord Deolyn. The question that remains is exactly what we should do.” He looked to Saryn. “That is where you, Arms-commander, come in. If I count correctly, you have close to a company and a half of Westwind guards.”

  “Two squads are Westwind guards. The other four squads are those who have joined us here and have received some training, none more than a season and a few eightdays.”

  Maeldyn turned to Zeldyan. “You have a company remaining.”

  Zeldyan nodded.

  “And Spalkyn and I have a few less than two companies.” Maeldyn smiled, coldly. “Is it also not true that the Westwind and Lornian companies effectively destroyed half of the forces Henstrenn originally mustered against The Groves, and that Lord Keistyn’s forces were considerably reduced in the attack on The Groves?”

  Zeldyan did not speak.

  Finally, Saryn said, “That is so.”

  “I also understand that you, Commander, have routed and destroyed many of those forces who might have joined Henstrenn in his efforts to usurp the overlordship of Lornth.”

  “I believe that to be so. Certainly, Lord Orsynn, Lord Mortryd, and Lord Rherhn will not be able to back Henstrenn.”

  “Nor Lords Jaffrayt and Kelthyn,” Maeldyn pointed out. “That leaves Henstrenn with less than three companies… at the moment.”

  “That assumes he doesn’t receive forces from elsewhere. Shartyr has avoided being involved, and so has Jharyk,” Spalkyn pointed out.

  “Jharyk has little in the way of armsmen,” Saryn said, “but Shartyr has two companies. So far, neither has seen much point in actually committing troops. Jharyk is, or was, loyal to Lord Gethen. Shartyr is loyal only to himself.”

  “Shartyr will not weaken himself to support Hennstren.” Maeldyn looked to Saryn once more. “Are you willing to use your guards against Henstrenn?”

  “I don’t see that we have any choice. If he becomes overlord, West-wind and Lornth will be at war in another few years, and Suthya will pick up the pieces of whichever land loses. In the end, both Westwind and Lornth will lose.”

  “You phrase that in an interesting manner, Commander,” observed Spalkyn.

  “Interesting or not,” Maeldyn interjected with a quick glance at Spalkyn, “even with the commander’s forces, we have another problem. The reports I have heard indicate that Henstrenn has several white wizards with his forces.”

  “They’re most likely Suthyan,” suggested Saryn. “Lady Zeldyan has pointed out that none were left in Lornth, and the few that remained in Gallos were destroyed when the Gallosian forces were defeated by West-wind.”

  “How did you manage that?” asked Spalkyn.

  “The Marshal dropped a cliff on them,” replied Saryn.

  “A handy trick if you can manage it.”

  “It’s much easier in the mountains,” Saryn replied dryly.

  “I don’t think we can lure Henstrenn from Duevek
into the mountains,” Maeldyn said. “Is it worth the risk to attack Henstrenn?”

  “We attack him now,” replied Spalkyn, “or we will never succeed. We will not have the commander’s forces with us in the future, and some of the other southern lord-holders may regroup behind Henstrenn. So might Shartyr, upon reflection and if gifted heavily enough.”

  Maeldyn looked to Zeldyan. “Do you agree?”

  “I would see him destroyed.” Zeldyan’s voice was like ice. “I will accompany you, so that every possible armsman can be used against him. We should leave as soon as possible.”

  “At dawn tomorrow, then?” asked Maeldyn, turning to Saryn. “Commander?”

  “Dawn, tomorrow,” she agreed, even as she wondered why Maeldyn was being so deferential. It’s not just that he wants the Westwind guards… there’s more there, but it’s not the cold and calculating sort of scheming that I sensed with Henstrenn and Kelthyn.

  “Then it is settled.” Maeldyn stood and nodded to Spalkyn. “We need to draft a message to Chaspal and Wethryn.” He turned to Zeldyan. “If you two would excuse us?”

  Zeldyan nodded. “Thank you.”

  Saryn stood, and said, “We should talk about supplies later. We do have some wagons and teamsters.” She felt words were necessary, but also that offering thanks was somehow not appropriate. She also wanted to convey respect and helpfulness.

  Spalkyn nodded in return. “Thank you. They will be most useful.”

  When the two lords had left, Zeldyan looked to Saryn. “When this is over, either you or Henstrenn will be the most powerful force in Lornth, Commander. Will you make Lornth an appendage of Westwind?”

  “That I would never do,” Saryn replied, almost without thinking. “I wouldn’t…” She broke off, realizing that she’d been about to say that she wouldn’t apply Ryba’s views to Lornth.

  “You wouldn’t do what, if I may ask?” Zeldyan rose, half smiling, if wanly.

  “The beliefs left over from Cyador are not suitable for Lornth, as events are proving, but those of Westwind would be equally unsuitable, for different reasons. Besides, why should I be the one deciding Lornth’s future?”