Arms-Commander

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  Saryn wondered how many years—or generations—it might be before that changed…or if it ever would. “What about grain for the horses?”

  “There’s enough. I had to run down the ostler in the other stable for fodder. This one hasn’t been used in years. Even that one is only half-full.” Hryessa looked to Saryn.

  “It doesn’t look good, but any help we can get is better than none.” Saryn hated the triteness of her words, true as they were. “I’d like to walk through the stables.”

  The stables were clean but dusty, as if they were unused and had been cleaned quickly and perfunctorily. Still, reflected Saryn, after she left Hryessa and crossed the courtyard back toward the palace proper, they offered better quarters and shelter than anywhere so far.

  The young woman was waiting in the second-level hallway. She’d clearly been pacing back and forth. “Commander…”

  “We still have a little time, don’t we?”

  “Yes, Commander.”

  Saryn nodded. “I’m Saryn, and you are…?”

  “Lyentha.” Her eyes did not meet Saryn’s.

  “What are your duties, Lyentha?”

  “I serve the Lady Zeldyan, Commander.”

  “What do you do in serving her?”

  “I assist her in dressing, and in overseeing her wardrobe and that of young lord Nesslek. I help her in planning the food for the palace. When we have receptions or the year-end ball…”

  Saryn listened for a time, interspersing occasional questions, before asking, “The staff appears smaller than when I was last here. Is this something recent?”

  “I couldn’t say. I’ve been here but a year and a season.”

  “I’ve met Lord Gethen once before, but Lord Kelthyn was not a regent. What can you tell me about him?” Saryn offered a winning smile and tried to project warmth.

  “He is the eldest son of Lord Weald. His sire perished…with Lord Sillek.”

  “When Lord Sillek was forced by the older lords to attack Westwind, you mean?”

  Lyentha nodded.

  “He is less than favorably disposed toward us, I would judge, and I can understand that, but why is he so cool toward Lady Zeldyan?” That was a guess on Saryn’s part, but from what Nylan had written and Zeldyan’s actions in seeing Saryn first, it certainly wasn’t unreasonable.

  “I’d not be the one to say.”

  “What might others say, then? You must have heard. After all, Lady Zeldyan has done her best in a most difficult situation.”

  Lyentha glanced down the corridor, one way, then the other. “He is a cousin of Lord Sillek. It is a distant relation, but he is the only lord-holder with a blood tie.”

  “Has he pressed for Lady Zeldyan’s hand…and she refused?”

  Lyentha looked down. “I could not say, Commander.”

  Saryn could sense the answer. “So he will go out of his way to put pressure on her, either to force her to accept his offer or to discredit her in the eyes of the other older holders.”

  “I could not say that.”

  “You have said nothing, and I appreciate your discretion.” Saryn nodded. “Perhaps we should make our way toward wherever I am to meet the regents. If you would lead the way…?”

  Lyentha headed down the steps to the main floor and northward until they passed through an older stone archway that opened onto a foyer, part of the original tower. To the left was a polished door of old and dark wood. Beside it stood a guard with a decorative brass breastplate and a sheathed short sword. He looked at Saryn, then at the table beside him.

  Saryn smiled, then unfastened the formal sword belt and laid the belt with the attached and sheathed Westwind blade on the table. In close quarters, she could always use hand-to-hand, not that she expected that kind of trouble. Trouble, but not that kind.

  Lyentha opened the door, and announced, “The commander is here.”

  “Have her enter,” replied a pleasant male voice.

  Saryn stepped through the door.

  The chamber held no table, but three chairs in a semicircle, and two others—empty—facing the three. The heavy but worn dark green carpet had a purple border decorated with intertwined gold vines and leaves. The walls were dark-paneled, and the only natural light came from the pair of high windows in the back wall, and from the four brass lamps in wall sconces.

  Lady Zeldyan sat in the middle chair, with her father, Lord Gethen, to her left, and Lord Kelthyn to her right. Kelthyn was not at all what Saryn had expected. Although seated, he looked to be of moderate height, with short-cut but wavy brown hair and a neatly trimmed squarish beard, slightly redder in shade than his hair. His blue eyes appeared guileless. His tunic was a deep blue that brought out his eyes and was trimmed in a darker blue.

  Saryn bowed to the three. “Regents.”

  “If you would be seated, Saryn,” offered Kelthyn, his voice pleasant.

  Saryn bristled inside at the instant familiarity, but she smiled politely and replied, “Thank you.” She omitted any honorific as her sole response to the youngest regent’s inherent arrogance, then settled into the chair closer to him. She could feel his intense and instant dislike of her.

  “Zeldyan has offered a summary of why you are here,” Kelthyn continued, “but it would seem that your journey to confirm a hostility of which we are already aware affords Lornth little knowledge that we do not already possess.”

  “That was always a possibility,” Saryn replied, “but given the nature of the treachery and the possible cost to Lornth, it seemed unneighborly not to make certain you were aware of how deep and far-reaching the enmity held against you by the Suthyan Council happened to be.”

  “That was most thoughtful of you, but of little consequence—”

  “Commander,” interrupted Zeldyan, her voice like cold steel cutting through Kelthyn’s honeyed words, “I understand you ran into some difficulty on the way. Could you explain this?”

  “Lady Zeldyan, as you suggested, we did indeed encounter some small difficulty on our way here. That difficulty, I fear, emphasizes the danger facing Lornth.”

  “Oh…and what might that be?” Zeldyan’s politeness concealed amusement.

  “Our difficulty concerned the actions of the Lord of Duevek. His men attempted to block the road and dissuade us from riding to see you. Although we were riding under a parley flag and stayed to the road, he sent two squads against us, first to block the road, then to attack us from behind.” Saryn shrugged. “When they charged us, we were forced to use…persuasion. The kind with long shafts.”

  Even Gethen stiffened.

  “That is an outrage!” snapped Kelthyn.

  “We were under a parley flag, and their undercaptain called them to arms. He seemed unable to understand the parley flag, and he claimed that the regents did not rule in Duevek.”

  “He said that?” asked Gethen. “In those words?”

  “Exactly, and most clearly.”

  “And then?” pressed Zeldyan.

  “He ordered his men to attack. After we removed him and his front line, his assistant ordered the survivors to charge us, and another group attempted to attack us from behind.”

  “You do not seem that much the worse off,” observed Kelthyn, his voice gently sardonic.

  “We are not. Three guards suffered minor wounds. They will recover. There were perhaps five survivors out of forty from those who attacked us. We sent them back to Lord Duevek with the message that he should not presume for his regents.” Before any of the regents could say more, Saryn pushed on. “What is most interesting is that the Suthyan trader who had been part of the delegation that came to Westwind under the guise of trading talks had not returned to Suthya directly but had proceeded to Lornth and to Lord Duevek. One of the delegation to Westwind attempted to poison the Marshal. When he was given the choice of drinking his own poison, he declined and attempted to use his blade to kill the Marshal. He failed and died. The Marshal was most considerate, given the situation. She merely expelled all the
remaining Suthyans…” She went on to explain the Suthyan effort to isolate Lornth, ending with, “…and under those circumstances, the Marshal felt that it was not only wise, but neighborly, to send someone of stature to inform you.”

  “Someone of stature,” repeated Kelthyn politely. “I suppose it is a most kind gesture. Yet it would seem that where you angels go, death always follows.”

  “We came in peace,” Saryn said. “We came to warn you. Death came to those armsmen because they did not wish us to reach you. Why, that I could not say. I might surmise that Lord Duevek sought a personal advantage with the Suthyans, but I could not say. I also might surmise that the Suthyans seek to increase divisiveness between Westwind and Lornth and between Lornth’s regents and its holders…but I could not say that.”

  “It would appear you managed to convey that quite clearly without saying it,” replied Kelthyn.

  “Lord Kelthyn,” said Gethen, stressing the word lord ever so slightly and ironically, “I might point out that, what ever you may think of Westwind and its Marshal, in this matter, it is rather clear that they and we have little to gain in squabbling between us. The Suthyans gain much by such squabbling.”

  “I yield to your great wisdom and experience in this matter, Lord Gethen.” Kelthyn’s smooth and well-modulated voice contained no hint of the contempt Saryn sensed. He turned to Saryn. “I believe you have requested some odd trade goods in measure for your information and support of Lornth. Is this not true?”

  “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.

  XXVI

  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.