Arms-Commander

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “We never attacked anyone,” Saryn pointed out. “Nor did we raid any lord.”

  “No…you did not.” Gethen sipped from his goblet. “But it mattered not. The lord-holders of Lornth have always been most sensitive to any incursion upon what they see as their rights and privileges. They have also been unwilling to support any overlord who does not appear to have the ability to compel them to submit. Without the support of The Groves and Lord Deolyn, my daughter and grandson would have perished soon after Sillek. That was another reason why I could not hazard my forces in Rulyarth and why we struggle to maintain two full companies of armsmen here.”

  Saryn nodded. The more she traveled Lornth and the more she heard, the more she felt like the majority of the holders were spoiled brats who could only be held in check by absolute force. “How did it come to this? Are all the lands in Candar so?”

  Gethen’s smile was both sad and bitter. “I can only guess. Cyador was always feeling out those lands on its borders, especially in the south of Lornth, but the emperors tended to leave alone those whose reaction cost them golds and trained troops. Whether those lord-holders actually won against Cyadoran forces mattered less than the costs to Cyador. In time, only those lord-holders who were most foolhardy and willing to fight could manage to hold their lands…”

  “And that is why the southern lords are so touchy about honor and lands and privileges?”

  “I do not know. I can only surmise, and that surmise is based on legend and what I have seen in the lord-holders I have known.” He took another sip of the wine.

  “Do you know why all the lords in Candar are so fearful of women having power in their own right?”

  “Again, I can but guess. Power and lands have survived only in the hands of those who have been able to fight for them. Until you angels arrived, no woman existed who could hold her own against a man…”

  Because no one would train them, no doubt, but Saryn did not voice that thought, continuing to listen, although she thought that there was more that Gethen was not saying.

  “…it was felt wrong to grant power to a woman, except in the name of an underage heir, because she could not defend herself, save by the sufferance of the other lord-holders.”

  “And now?” asked Saryn.

  “Now, Commander, you have come and proved that you are a woman who can best other lord-holders, and that has many greatly concerned that you will raise up other women to do the same, and few lords would wish yet another challenge to their lands and their privileges.” Gethen smiled, sadly, once more. “You will either make my grandson’s heritage or destroy it, but Zeldyan has no one left to turn to, save me, and a few lord-holders of the north, and we cannot prevail alone against such as Henstrenn, not when he is being bribed by the Suthyans to cause difficulty.” Gethen glanced up. “Here come my daughter and grandson.” He stood.

  So did Saryn.

  As Nesslek entered the study, the youth studied Saryn.

  She could sense his puzzlement, but not exactly the reasons behind it although she guessed that Zeldyan had told her son what Saryn and the guards had done, and the youth was trying to understand how it was possible, as if he could still not understand how a woman could have done what his mother had told him. Saryn had the unhappy feeling that little that she or Zeldyan had said or might say would make that much of an impression on Nesslek, much as she hoped she was wrong.

  “We should go eat,” suggested Gethen, breaking the silence. “And you both can tell us of all that occurred on your travels, for little has happened here, most thankfully.”

  LIX

  Zeldyan, Saryn, Gethen, and Nesslek stood in Gethen’s study on sixday afternoon, just having left the dining chamber after a long and filling midday dinner.

  “We will not be long,” Zeldyan said, turning to Nesslek, “but we need to discuss some matters with your grandsire. You can wait on the verandah if you like. Then you can take us on a tour of the vineyards. I have not had such a chance in years.”

  Nesslek looked at the map spread out on the study desk. “Maps are not lands or holdings, and you already know all the roads to Lornth.”

  “Commander Saryn does not, and there are other matters she needs to know.”

  “Maps won’t tell her those.” Nesslek’s voice was not quite dismissive.

  “No,” replied Saryn pleasantly. “Maps do not show the lord-holders or the people, or their ability or their will. But they do show the lay of the land, and what lies where, and often, if the map is good, the best ways to get from place to place. No one knows everything that a map shows. A good leader needs to know both people and maps, and many other skills as well.”

  “And you need to go,” said Zeldyan firmly.

  Nesslek looked as though he were about to object.

  Saryn turned her eyes on him directly and let a sense of order flow from her to the impertinent youth. Go…and obey your mother.

  Abruptly, Nesslek swallowed. Then he inclined his head. “Yes, Mother. I’ll be on the verandah.” He did not look at Saryn nor nod as he hurried off.

  Zeldyan said nothing until Nesslek had left. Then she asked quietly, “What did you do?”

  “I just looked at him,” replied Saryn.

  Zeldyan glanced to her sire.

  Gethen nodded, then chuckled. “That she did. It was a look I’d not disobey, even at my age. It would have frozen Lady Ellindyja in her tower in midsummer, and none ever did that.”

  For a moment, Zeldyan said nothing.

  After a long pause, Saryn spoke. “It would not have been right for me to speak, but I was angry. A child, especially one whose mother is a ruler, should never question her, and certainly not in public. I fear he saw my anger, and if that was so, I do apologize.”

  Zeldyan smiled faintly. “That he would fear you…”

  “My anger would matter little,” Saryn said, “if he did not know that I support you.”

  “And that you are as fearsome a warrior as any he has known,” added Gethen. “The boy, whether we like it or not, is much like your brother.”

  “And pride and rashness were his undoing.” Zeldyan’s voice was bitter.

  “We do what we can, daughter. In the end, children become men and women and make their own choices.”

  Saryn felt uncomfortable, as if she were in the middle of a private conversation. “I am sorry. It was not my place…”

  “Nonsense,” said Gethen. “He may become Overlord of Lornth, but it will only lead to his ruin if he does not understand that the world has changed and that there are fearsome women as well as men.” He laughed gently. “There have always been fearsome women, but many times no one would admit it.”

  “You did not say a single word,” said Zeldyan to Saryn.

  Even so, Saryn could feel the sadness behind the Lady Regent’s words.

  “He must also learn about what is not said, daughter,” added Gethen.

  “I would that Nesslek could accompany us back to Lornth, especially with Saryn,” said Zeldyan. “…but…”

  Personally, Saryn suspected that a few eightdays in the company of the silver-haired trio of Westwind would have done Nesslek more good than being with Saryn herself, but that certainly wasn’t feasible. Then, Westwind’s regimen had clearly benefited Dealdron, and the time spent recovering in Westwind had helped Zeldyan’s brother Relyn as well.

  “He would be safe on the journey,” Gethen pointed out, “especially with your armsmen and the commander.”

  “But then what? There are others we must visit, and they are not so friendly as those in the north. If he comes with us, that brings one set of risks, and if he remains in Lornth…”

  “Then you are weakened in what you do,” said Gethen.

  “You do not mind?”

  “Hardly. Since your mother…it’s good to have him here—he can be a pleasure at times—and he can work with Tielmyn on his skills with weapons. He might be a bit more diligent now.”

  The wry humor in Gethen’s voice
brought a touch of a smile to Zeldyan’s face, but it faded quickly.

  Gethen moved to the map spread on the desk. “Do you intend to take the west river road, or the old road to the east?”

  “The west road is far swifter,” Zeldyan replied. “The only hold close to the road itself is Masengyl. Lord Shartyr will be pleasant enough, and it will not hurt to drain some of his golds, seeing as he is too inclined to follow Jaffrayt.”

  “Lord Jaffrayt does have a well-trained pen,” conceded Gethen, “if not one so temperate as it might be.”

  “Is he the kind who can complain in writing in a way that almost seems like praise unless you read the words closely?” asked Saryn.

  “That would be a fair description of Jaffrayt. Occasionally, he is less circumspect, although he is always most courtly in person—as is Lord Shartyr. Shartyr can be exceedingly charming.” Zeldyan smiled wryly. “When he was younger, he was much admired by women who should have known better, and he still believes himself that exceedingly handsome young lord.”

  “You do not want to tarry on the road,” cautioned Gethen.

  “No. But a stop of a day or so at Masengyl will leave the horses far more rested when we return to Lornth.”

  “What will you do when you return?”

  “After resting the horses and letting all in Lornth know we have returned, we will visit some of the weaker holdings, such as those of our dear friend, Lord Jaffrayt, to suggest indirectly that his tacit alliance with Keistyn and Henstrenn is less than advisable. Hopefully, we can keep everyone quiet until winter. That will purchase another year, and, if the harvests are good, also help in building up the armsmen at Lornth.”

  “When would you like me to return to Lornth with Nesslek…and Overcaptain Gadsyn and your first company?”

  “If I had my way, he would remain here through the winter, but that would create another set of difficulties. I would judge the best time would be at the height of harvest, when our southern lords are worrying about their yields and golds,” replied Zeldyan. “If matters change, or you think otherwise, then I yield to your judgment.”

  Gethen nodded. “Perhaps your visits will quiet some of those who have raised rumors.”

  “They will reassure those who need it least, quiet those who are undecided or wavering, and irritate those who have no sense and never will. The last, unhappily, also have the greatest number of armsmen.”

  Saryn understood all too clearly that Zeldyan had used the Westwind guards to solidify her support among the northern lords so that she would be in a better position to take on the recalcitrant lords of the south…or at least delay any immediate acts on their part.

  “You will set out in the morning?” asked Gethen.

  “At dawn. That will allow us to make Masengyl in two days, and arrive late enough that Shartyr will delay in sending messengers to those who might be interested until the next day.”

  “Because it would be all too obvious?” asked Saryn.

  “Shartyr prides himself on not being too obvious,” replied Zeldyan. “If he sent a messenger in the darkness, even if we did not discover the act, that would proclaim his concerns to whoever received the message, and that would not serve him well, either.”

  Saryn accepted Zeldyan’s reasoning, but she also understood the unspoken words behind the situation—that the regent’s power rested on little more than a frayed thread, and one that might well have already snapped had Saryn not appeared.

  Had Ryba seen that, as well? Saryn wondered if she would ever know.

  LX

  The late-summer sun’s white heat blistered its way through the clear green-blue of the sky the entire two days of the ride from Carpa to Masengyl, and the closeness of the road to the River Yarth assured that the air was not only hot but damp—as were Saryn’s uniforms. The first night found them in the small town of Zadrya, where Zeldyan exercised the regent’s prerogative and commandeered the only two inns for the night.

  An early start on eightday morning, and a long day’s ride, brought them to the town of Gaylyn, and Masengyl, the hold of Lord Shartyr, just at sunset. As they rode across the causeway over an ancient dry moat, Saryn could see immediately that Masengyl was a hold that dated back centuries, with moss and darkened stones on the lower walls, while the upper ends of the crenelated parapets were bleached a light gray that was almost white. The recessed gates in the main walls suggested that the causeway might once have held a drawbridge lowered from the twin towers.

  A single player trumpeted their arrival from the southern tower. As she rode past the open gates, Saryn noted another thing. While the wrought-iron straps and braces binding the heavy wooden gates were black with age, the massive hinges had been recently oiled and cleaned, and the blades presented by the squad of armsmen clad in green-and-cream uniforms and arrayed in formation on the steps to the inner keep were polished…and sharp.

  At the top of the stone steps stood a tall man arrayed in green and silver who waited until Zeldyan and the entire group had halted. Then he waited longer until the courtyard was totally silent. Finally, he spoke.

  “My Lady Regent, we are so glad that you have chosen to grace us with your presence and that you’ve taken the time to visit Masengyl. If we had known sooner, we could have offered you a truly grand reception.” The silver-haired and angular lord turned his flashing smile, and his slightly yellow teeth, toward Saryn. “Arms-Commander! Such a great honor. Seldom have any holders had two such powerful and noted women in residence at the same time, however brief that residence may be. We will endeavor to make your stay as refreshing and as restful as possible, but not without offering you the best repast possible on such very short notice…”

  “We deeply appreciate your hospitality, Lord Shartyr,” replied Zeldyan, “and particularly your support of the traditions of Lornth that the regency has continued to maintain.”

  “And in the name of the Marshal of Westwind,” added Saryn brightly, “I also thank you for your kindness, especially toward those with whom you have far less acquaintance.”

  “Both of you are most charming to a lord who so seldom sees power and beauty combined. I bid you welcome and look forward to dining with you.” Shartyr bowed and stepped back.

  Another trumpet flourish sounded, and Shartyr stepped back into the keep.

  “Shartyr does like appearances,” murmured Zeldyan, before she rode forward to the keep staff who awaited her at the foot of the main steps.

  Saryn rode beside Klarisa around the side of the main keep, following a functionary in dark green-and-gray livery.

  “Squad leader,” Saryn said in a low voice, “find out everything you can about the arms and armsmen of the holding, and who may have visited. Do it casually, and don’t mention a word to anyone else until you report to me…after we leave tomorrow.”

  “Yes, ser.” Klarisa nodded.

  “Keep your eyes open and post a watch.”

  Once Saryn was satisfied with the arrangements for the guards, she walked back across the courtyard to the side door of the keep. She carried her own saddlebags.

  There, at the door, the nearly silent functionary bowed. Beside him was a young woman. “Mistress Eralya will see you to your quarters, Commander.”

  “Thank you.”

  Eralya bowed in turn. “If you would follow me…”

  Not until they reached the third level and Eralya had closed the chamber door did the young woman speak again. “Commander, if you need anything…anything at all…I’ve poured warm water for you, and fresh towels.” The girl’s eyes flicked to the battle harness and blades.

  “Yes,” said Saryn gently, “I carry them all the time. All Westwind guards do.”

  “Yes…Commander…”

  Saryn could sense that the girl wanted to ask something but dared not. So she went on, trying to determine what that might be from Eralya’s reactions. “We train all the women and girls in Westwind to handle blades and bow, but we’re not the demons some think we are. That’s one reas
on why we’re with the regent. We’d prefer to be on friendly terms with her, and see the regency continue peacefully until Lord Nesslek reaches his majority. The Gallosians weren’t so friendly, and now they’re without an army…”

  “Is it true…you’re really an angel?” Eralya finally whispered. “And you come from beyond the Rational Stars?”

  Saryn nodded. “Our ship was damaged in battle, and we could not return. We had to land on the Roof of the World.”

  Abruptly, the girl bowed again. “If you need anything…just ring the bellpull there…doesn’t matter how late it be, Commander…or how early.”

  “I trust I won’t have to bother you, Eralya, but thank you.”

  “Being my pleasure, Commander.” The girl backed out through the doorway, closing the door behind her.

  Why did she want to know about our coming from beyond the Rational Stars? And why the Rational Stars? Saryn wondered, not for the first time, what superstitions lay buried in Lornian culture. She turned and surveyed the chamber. While it was on the third level, it was at the rear, if on the side away from the kitchen, but overlooking the barracks and stables. The rear walls of both barracks and stables were either part of or directly against the walls of the hold itself. She counted four barracks, each of two levels, and what looked to be four stable buildings. Her chamber was large enough, and furnished with a dark wooden bed, whose headboard was carved with military emblems and crests, but the old weapons rack, the plain wash table, and the location of the room at the end of the hallway seldom used was an indication of the lower level of mere arms-commanders, at least in the eyes of Lord Shartyr.