“Yes, ser.” The young armsman’s voice was even, but Saryn could sense both worry and relief.
In the momentary silence Wualaf’s low murmur was clearly audible. “She hasn’t even looked past the maize field.”
“The commander doesn’t need to. She can see with more than her eyes,” said a guard in a low voice.
Saryn ignored both comments and looked to Klarisa. “Fourth-squad archers, lead off. Armsmen, you follow the archers, but take your time. We’ll split when we reach the lane up toward the hamlet. Wualaf…best you stay behind the armsmen and the banner.”
“I can do that.”
For the next several hundred yards, Saryn could sense nothing, not that she expected to, but she was relieved when her force swung around the last bend and headed up the gentle slope. The marauders had moved closer to the end barn, and the chaos-mage was with them.
“Archers! Forward!” Saryn ordered. “Fourth squad, on me!” As she rode forward, slowly and deliberately, she drew one of her three blades. At the same time, she spent a moment concentrating on tracking Klarisa and her half of fourth squad.
So intent were the raiders on the barn and Spalkyn’s men that Saryn had led the squad a good thirty yards toward the flattened area before the three barns before a single member of the motley crew turned. While Saryn and her guards rode another ten yards, the raiders just looked.
Saryn could sense that Klarisa and her archers were not yet in position. So she raised her hand and reined up.
“They’re just boys with little blades!” called out someone.
“…can’t do a thing…”
“…not real men…”
“…what you going to do, boys?”
Abruptly, the shafts from the archers began to strike.
Four or five of the raiders went down before anyone began to react. Then a short man mounted on a gray with a pair of sabres waved one in the air. “Get the pretty boys!” He turned his horse and started toward Saryn and the guards.
Saryn waited until the sabre-wielder was closer, hardly ten yards away, before she threw the blade, smoothing the flows and drawing a second blade. The short sword slammed through the man’s chest, and he staggered, gaping at the blade, before he lurched forward in the saddle, then sideways, half off his mount, his leg caught in a stirrup and his body dragging the gray to a halt.
“Archers! Hold your fire!” Saryn ordered, letting the order flow amplify her command. “Company! Forward!”
For the next few moments, everything seemed a blur to Saryn as she tried to keep her eyes and senses on the mounted raiders, and those on the ground, who could unhorse a guard by striking at the legs of the mounts.
She parried and cut, slashed and parried, working her way toward the barn.
Hssst!
Fire flared by her, so close that she felt her short hair had nearly crisped from the chaos-flame—and that only her residual hold on the order and chaos flows and her continuing movement had saved her from being charred. Glancing around, she realized that the chaos-mage had escaped the fray in the barnyard and was standing on the edge of a loading dock on the east end of the barn, gathering and concentrating more chaos.
At the same moment, another marauder charged at her.
Saryn angled the gelding toward the other rider, parried his wild swing, then slipped the blade and back-cut. She could sense the pain of her cut, perhaps because she was so close, and it disoriented her for a moment, but she turned the gelding just in time to see and sense a chaos-fire-bolt flaring toward her.
Somehow, she managed to smooth and shift the chaos flows so that the small fire-bolt sputtered into a section of bare ground. Immediately, the chaos-mage concentrated, and a second fire-bolt arched toward Saryn and those members of fourth squad behind her. With the speed of the fire-bolt, Saryn was pressed even to divert it slightly, and it slammed into the ground before her, close enough that she could feel the heat for a moment.
How could she strike back? She had no idea of how to throw order or chaos. But…iron…cold iron, didn’t that work against the white mages? Yet…she was a good forty yards from the mage, and she was tired.
She tried to hold to her sense of the order and chaos flows around her, then urged the gelding directly toward the white mage. For a moment, the man just looked at her. Then an even smaller firebolt wobbled toward Saryn, but she managed to “angle” the flows so that the chaos slid to the ground on her left side. The mage jumped from the loading dock and started to run.
Whether he was running or not, Saryn didn’t care. As soon as she was within ten yards, she released her second blade. Tired as she was, the blade only took him in the shoulder, but fire flared from around where it had penetrated. In moments, all that remained was a charred corpse.
Saryn scrambled to unsheathe her last blade, but when she turned the gelding, she discovered that there was no immediate need.
Several raiders had scattered, and one was riding up the slope to the northeast, spurring his mount for all he was worth. The rest were either dead or wounded, from what Saryn could see. Klarisa was crossing the barnyard, and Saryn didn’t even recall seeing the squad leader bring the other half of the squad into the melee.
The squad leader reined up. “We’ve got a good half score wounded here, ser. The raiders, that is. We’ve some slashes and cuts, but nothing too serious—except for Larya. She took a pike. Must have ripped open something. She bled to death before the fighting was over.”
Saryn winced. Even dealing with marauders who didn’t know that much about blades, there were casualties. She hadn’t considered that a ragged marauder would know how to use a pike against a rider, and she’d have to watch for that in the future—and go over it with the guards and squad leaders. “Bind up the captives’ wounds quickly, those you can. We’ll leave what’s done after that up to Lord Spalkyn. We can’t care for them beyond now, and they’re on his lands. I’ll tell him.”
Klarisa glanced past Saryn toward the barn, where a man of moderate size wearing a breastplate over a dark tunic stepped away from the armsmen there, who had followed him out into the yard filled with bodies.
Saryn counted eleven men. Eleven left out of a score.
The heavyset lord walked tiredly toward Saryn, the broadsword not completely into the shoulder scabbard. As he neared her, he pulled off the antique helm, revealing a short and full brown beard. “Our thanks, Captain…” He broke off as he took in Saryn’s face and the twin-bladed shoulder harness. “Who…you…with the banner, I expected…”
“The Lady Zeldyan sent us with her banner, Lord Spalkyn. There wasn’t time to explain. I’m Saryn, the Arms-Commander of Westwind.
“We’ve been accompanying the Lady Regent on visits to holdings…We did leave most of a Lornian squad at your holding with the regent and your consort, just in case the attack here was a feint.” Saryn paused for just a moment. “Is it better to hold here or return?”
“I’d say return…but it’s getting dark…”
“We can scout in the darkness, if that worries you…”
“You really are the Arms-Commander of Westwind? Why are you here?”
“We were sent to help the Regency. I’m one of the few angels who can survive the summers here,” Saryn said. “The guards I brought are mainly women from Gallos, although a few are from Lornth. We trained and equipped them.”
“They’re all women? Just from Candar? With all the raiders they killed? You must have taken down forty. There were more than threescore…”
“We did have five Lornian armsmen.” Saryn didn’t point out that she’d worried more about those five because her guards had far more experience than the Lornians.
“I won’t say that I understand,” Spalkyn replied. “I don’t. I am truly grateful that you arrived when you did.” He paused. “I would like to return tonight if that is possible.”
“We need to take care of our wounded—and yours—and collect horses, weapons, and recover what shafts we can. We will al
so need some rest for the horses before we set out, and we will have to travel at a moderate walk. And we’ll need to be your guests for an extra day or so.”
“For what you’ve done, I think I can manage that.” Spalkyn’s eyes drifted back across the slope, where the guards were already stripping the dead.
“There are ten or so captives. We’ll have to leave them for your people.”
“We’re not equipped to handle prisoners.”
“Those that can walk will come with us. Those that can’t…the crofters can handle.”
Saryn could sense that leaving the badly wounded marauders didn’t set well with the lord, but she could also sense his deeper anger at the attack.
“I’ll see how the crofters are doing. I think most of them made it into the fields and into cover. I hope so…” He turned and began to walk back toward the barn.
Saryn watched him for just a moment, then looked across the barnyard in the twilight.
Sixty-odd marauders coming after a small hamlet? It doesn’t make sense. Not unless someone paid them…
Unfortunately, she had a good idea that was the case…and from where the coins had come…as well as the feeling that they well might run into more raiders before they ever reached The Groves and young Lord Nesslek.
LV
Late as they had finally ridden into Palteara hold on oneday night, Saryn did not sleep all that well, and she woke with the first strong light of the morning, with scores of thoughts and concerns circling through her mind. She couldn’t help but think over what had happened when Klarisa had reported the evening before that most of the raiders had wallets and coins in them…coins that Saryn had ordered to be pooled, then split among the guards, with a quarter of the total reserved for her to defer any expenses she might have to bear.
“Some even had silvers,” Klarisa had said. “Why would they be attacking a farm hamlet?”
“Why do you think, squad leader?”
“They had to be paid…ser.”
“That’s my thought. Most likely by the Suthyans.”
Klarisa had nodded, but Saryn had sensed the woman’s anger at the thought that someone had paid out-of-work armsmen and ruffians to raid and kill poor crofters. Then, too, Saryn couldn’t understand why Spalkyn didn’t have at least some armsmen as retainers, near as he was to the border with Suthya. Beyond that, she also had to think more about how to counter chaos. Before, she’d never had to deal with it—and she hadn’t known she’d even had that much ability. And there was the question of archers…or the lack of them. Joncaryl had sneered at the composite bows.
She snorted softly. She’d find out about the bows in time. Lack of a weapon by enemies wasn’t nearly so big a problem as a weapon she didn’t know how to counter effectively. If she’d faced a really strong white mage, she’d have been the one turned to charred ashes.
Still…order and chaos were everywhere, except they were part of or embedded in some materials so deeply there seemed no way to remove them or even to move such materials. In other places or other materials, order and chaos seemed to move with only a thought. Some aspects were obvious. Iron was endothermic, essentially an ordered energy sink…
For a time, she just thought.
Then she rose and washed up, dressing quietly. After that, she moved silently from third-floor guest quarters down to the second level. As she neared the breakfast room, she could hear voices, those of Spalkyn and his consort. She stopped to listen, wondering if she should intrude.
“…thought she was a young captain at first…should have known…the way she slaughtered that hedge mage…but you see what you expect…”
“You wanted her to spare him?” There was a certain scorn in the woman’s voice.
“No…his fire-bolts killed most of the ones we lost. It was just…she didn’t hesitate, even while he was fleeing, and she threw that blade through him…woman looks so pleasant…almost harmless…unless you look behind her eyes.”
“I thought you never looked at other women’s eyes, dear…”
A loud snort followed, after which Spalkyn went on, “Those women…almost felt sorry for the marauders…They didn’t stand a chance…frightening in the field.”
“I don’t feel a bit sorry. I’m just glad they came in time. So should you be.”
“I’m glad enough for that…I just wonder…did the old Cyadorans know something?”
Saryn wanted to know just what that had meant, but neither of the two spoke. So she scuffed her boots on the worn wooden floor, then coughed, before making her way to the arched entry to the breakfast room. “Good morning.”
“Commander.” Spalkyn immediately stood from his place at the end of the small table. “I hadn’t thought you’d be up this close to dawn. Not even the children are awake.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t sleep all that long.”
Gesturing to the place at his left, Spalkyn reseated himself. “Would you like hot cider?”
“I would, thank you,” replied Saryn, easing into the ladder-backed chair.
“We were talking about yesterday,” offered Maerila, who was dressed in maroon trousers and a white shirt, with a sleeveless pale green vest. While her garments were clean and pressed, Saryn could see that they were anything but new. “Your guards are quite accomplished with their weapons, Spalkyn was telling me.”
“Unhappily, that is a necessity. We’re always outnumbered.” Saryn took the liberty of filling the mug before her from the porcelain pot with the slightly chipped handle, then taking a small sip of the warm liquid. The cider was spiced, if sweet, and helped soothe a throat she hadn’t even realized was sore.
“Outnumbered or not, your presence was the only thing that saved us.” Spalkyn shook his head. “You must think me terribly improvident not to have at least a squad of armsmen.”
“I know too little of Lornth and of you, Lord Spalkyn, to make a judgment. With your lands so close to Suthya, I must admit that I wondered about that.”
“I was deeply indebted to Lord Nessil, as well as to Lord Sillek, Commander. But when Sillek attacked Westwind, Maerila was close to death after the birth of the twins. I chose not to leave her, but the only way to discharge my obligations was to finance and send an entire company, including the two squads I had raised and trained here. At that time, Sillek had reclaimed Rulyarth, and…” The brown-eyed lord shrugged.
“You’ve been paying off all that for years? Death golds, as well?”
“A lord must honor his obligations. The harvests went well last fall, and I paid the last and began to raise a full squad of my own armsmen. Now…”
Saryn had a sudden thought. “I do not wish to seem unduly…inquisitive, but the way in which you said that you had paid the last suggests that you had to borrow against harvests or the holding. I was wondering who outside Lornth might know of your situation.”
Spalkyn laughed, softly and ruefully. “Doubtless every merchant house in Armat or Rulyarth. There was no merchant house left in Lornth who could provide the golds, not after the black angel visited devastation on the south and the Cyadorans.”
“I wish that I could make some recompense,” said Saryn, “but what—”
“Say no more,” interrupted Maerila. “You saved his life and half of his squad, as well as most of the crofters’ dwellings and stock. No one could ask for more.”
“You had something in mind, I think,” said Spalkyn.
“We stripped the corpses of the marauders…” began Saryn.
“As you had every right to,” pointed out Maerila quickly, almost as if she were afraid her consort would contradict her.
“Every marauder had coins. Some had silvers,” Saryn finished quietly. “There were threescore, and even had they taken every head of stock…”
“You’re saying that they were paid to attack my lands.”
“There’s no way to prove it, but let me tell you why if you would not mind.”
“Please.” The words were calm, but Saryn sensed a cold an
ger behind them, one not directed at her, although she was not certain how she knew that.
“This spring, the Suthyan Council sent an envoy to Westwind…” Saryn went on to tell the entire story, including the side journey of Trader Baorl to Duevek and the ensuing attack on Saryn’s squad on her first trip to Lornth. “…so you can see why I have some thoughts about who might have paid the marauders to attack your lands.”
Spalkyn nodded, slowly.
“But why?” asked Maerila. “We are among the poorer holdings, as you have discovered.”
“That may be why,” suggested Saryn. “It costs less to create trouble and dissension and to undermine the regency and foment a civil war so bloody that eventually the stronger lords will beg for the Suthyans to take over. The weaker lord-holders, of course, will have no say.”
“No,” replied Maerila. “They’ll be dead.”
Saryn could sense someone else moving toward the breakfast room—Zeldyan, she thought—but whoever it was stopped, possibly to eavesdrop, as Saryn herself had earlier.
“Hmmm…and why are you here, then, Commander?” asked Spalkyn.
“Because for the past ten years, Lornth has been a good neighbor, and neither Suthya nor Gallos has been. Westwind would not wish to see Deryll and the Jeranyi take Lornth, and especially not the Suthyans. We do not have golds to help, and we have few armswomen, but the Marshal sent what we could spare. Possibly more than she could spare,” Saryn added.
Arms-Commander Page 33
