Arms-Commander

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  Her fingers clutched at the gelding’s mane.

  She started to lift her head, but she could not see through the assault of shimmering lightknives that stabbed through her eyes. She reined in the gelding, conscious of riders around her, hoping they were Westwind guards, before the needles, the lightknives, and another black void all slammed into her.

  Hot darkness and chill icy white engulfed her…then she felt nothing.

  * * *

  As if emerging from an unseen drizzle, Saryn felt the dampness running down her forehead, water that was neither hot nor cold, and she shook her head, trying to speak, to get out of the rain.

  “Commander?”

  She tried to speak again, but her throat was so dry that her “yes” was more like a croak. “Water…please.”

  Someone placed a water bottle at her lips. She lifted her head, ignoring the pounding inside her skull, and drank.

  Hate being weak…passing out in the saddle isn’t a good example. She struggled into a sitting position on the shoulder of the road.

  Although she could barely see between the lightknives and the pain they created, she could make out that the high, hazy clouds had been replaced by lower and darker ones. A flash of lightning flickered brightly just to the east, followed immediately by a loud crash of thunder.

  Her body didn’t feel bruised. Finally, she looked at Shalya. “I didn’t fall…?”

  “We had to pry your fingers out of the horse’s mane.”

  “What happened?”

  “Your black blades scythed through the main body of both the Jeranyi and the Lornians. It looked like some thirty armsmen on the fringes escaped. We captured ten or so.”

  Even with her vision almost nonexistent because of the flashing lightknives, Saryn could see the gravity on Shalya’s face and in her words. “How long was I out? What’s the problem? What were our losses?”

  “You’ve been out a half glass or so. We had three wounded. I don’t think one will make it.”

  Saryn didn’t see that as insurmountable, given what they’d faced.

  “We found several bodies attired…like lords. The captives identified them as Lord Orsynn and two of his sons.”

  “I don’t see a problem there. He, or his envoy, admitted rebelling against the regency. They attacked a force bearing the regency banner without any hesitation. They paid the price.”

  “Some of the captives complained that you used sorcery.”

  Saryn wanted to snort. “None of them thought it was unfair to attack us with six times our numbers. There is no fairness in battle. You win or lose. Did we capture many mounts?”

  “A score and a half. The others…”

  Saryn understood. Her dark scythe didn’t distinguish between men and mounts. “Blades? Weapons?”

  “We recovered hundreds of blades, enough that most of the captured mounts are heavily laden. More than a bit of coins as well. I haven’t counted it, but I’d guess close to sixty golds. More than half came from Lord Orsynn.” Shalya’s face bore an expression Saryn couldn’t decipher, and her light-blurred vision and pounding head kept her from sensing anything.

  “What else?” asked Saryn.

  “Your blade…it was molten when it hit, and there was a dark fire.”

  Saryn was vaguely amused that she wasn’t surprised. “It mixes order and chaos flows.” After a moment, she asked, “Did the fire upset the guards?”

  “Most of them didn’t see it.”

  “The stragglers?”

  “A few were Jeranyi. I think they were breaking away even before you acted. They might have been those who were at Suedara.”

  That certainly made sense.

  Saryn slowly rose to her feet, looking for the gelding. They needed to get back to Lornth before matters got even worse…if they hadn’t already.

  Rain began to fall out of the still-darkening sky.

  LXXII

  The departure of the Westwind guards from the lands of the late Lord Orsynn required a glass of riding through rain that fell in sheets, soaking through everything. There had been no help for it, since there was no shelter from the storm, a storm that Saryn was more than certain her use of order and chaos had either created or exacerbated. Once they had cleared the deluge, she occasionally looked back, but the sky remained black, suggesting that most of Cardara was being thoroughly drenched. Had she done Orsynn’s people a favor or washed out their harvest?

  With as much riding as they had earlier pressed on their mounts, it was late afternoon on oneday when Saryn ordered the regency banner unfurled again, and they rode back through the streets of Lornth from the southwest. While the main square and byways were not deserted, Saryn felt that there were noticeably fewer people out than she’d seen before, and that bothered her. The feeling engendered by the semideserted appearance of Lornth was scarcely improved as she rode toward the palace gates…and found them closed.

  The Lornian armsmen quickly opened the ironbound and timbered relics, and just as quickly closed them behind the returning Westwind forces.

  Saryn rode directly to the rear stables and reined up. There, Hryessa was waiting.

  “You brought back more mounts and plunder,” said the captain. “Who else did you fight?”

  Saryn swung down out of the saddle before replying. “Three companies mounted by Lord Orsynn. He and the southern lords declared rebellion against the regency. They didn’t say it that way. They claimed to be out to restore the rightful ways of Lornth. Lord Orsynn won’t be restoring anything. Neither will two of his sons or his companies.”

  The guard captain nodded, as if such were to be expected. That chilled Saryn in a way she couldn’t have described. “Undercaptain Maerkyn told me about the rebellion. Lord Kelthyn demanded that Lord Henstrenn replace Lord Gethen as regent. When the Lady Regent refused, Lord Kelthyn vowed she would regret her failure to return Lornth to the old ways.”

  “Sometimes the old ways are best. Sometimes, they’re not. In changing times, those who prevail are the ones who understand which ways work best for the times.” Saryn paused, then asked, “Speaking of new ways, do you have any more recruits?”

  “Close to two squads. Some walked days to get here. They are all willing and work hard, but they have so much to learn.” Hryessa shook her head sadly. “Lornth needs new ways.”

  “The Lady Regent seems to be one of the few who thinks so.” Saryn stretched, then shook her shoulders, trying to loosen tight muscles. “After I take care of the gelding, I need to talk to the Lady Regent. Once I’ve heard what she has to say, we need to go over things. It’s going to be a long harvest and winter.”

  “We will not be returning to Westwind soon.”

  “No. They have so many women who have fled there…that was why the Marshal asked if we will be able to send supplies after harvest.” Saryn had already told Hryessa that, but wanted to reinforce the point. “There are hundreds of blades packed on the spare mounts. Daryn can have his pick for the best to reforge, but, before he does, would you make sure that any adornments are removed?”

  “I can do that.” Hryessa smiled before turning away.

  Saryn started to lead the chestnut into the stables, only to find Dealdron standing there.

  “Good afternoon, Commander, ser.” He studied her intently.

  Saryn could sense his concerns, but she only replied, “Good afternoon.”

  “I will unsaddle and groom your horse. You have ridden all across Lornth and fought hard battles, and there will be more to come.”

  “I can—”

  “You can do anything, Commander. I cannot do what you can do. I can take care of your horse so that you can do what you must.”

  Saryn just stopped and looked at Dealdron, again sensing the concern and worry behind his open, handsome face and intent eyes. Seeing and sensing that concern for her, particularly from a man, she couldn’t help smiling. “You’re right. Thank you.” She handed him the reins.

  “And, Commander, ser…you need to e
at, ser.”

  Saryn couldn’t help but be touched. “I will.” She turned and started across the courtyard.

  She hadn’t quite reached the rear door to the south wing when Lyentha stepped out and moved toward her.

  “Yes, Lyentha?”

  “The Lady Regent would like to see you at your earliest convenience, Commander.” Lyentha paused. “Is it true that you killed an entire company of Jeranyi by yourself?”

  “No. The three squads with me did that. I helped some.” More than some, but I’m not getting into that.

  Lyentha nodded, but behind the gesture was skepticism at Saryn’s demurral.

  “I’ll be there shortly. In fact, I’ll go there now.”

  “She is awaiting you in her private study. She said to tell you she has refreshments.”

  “Thank you.” Dealdron did say I needed to eat. That thought brought another smile to her lips as she entered the palace.

  The guard outside Zeldyan’s third-level study resolutely looked away as Saryn approached and knocked.

  “Yes?”

  “Saryn, at your request.”

  “Please come in.”

  Saryn entered, closing the door behind her.

  Zeldyan rose and moved from the small writing table to the conference table on which were three platters, a carafe of red wine, and two goblets. “Welcome back.” She gestured toward the table.

  “Thank you.” Saryn took the seat across from the regent.

  Zeldyan filled both goblets before she spoke, lifting hers. “To your safe return.”

  Saryn merely nodded, then sipped the wine and lowered the goblet.

  Zeldyan set her goblet down and looked directly at Saryn. “Your message stated that you had dispatched the company of Jeranyi that had been raiding Lord Jharyk’s lands. After that success, why did you not return personally with the message? Lord Henstrenn, Lord Kelthyn, and Lord Keistyn have joined with most of the lords of the south in demanding an end to my regency. They have sent a document that demands that I immediately leave Lornth and return Nesslek to their custody.”

  “I knew something of the sort.”

  “Oh? And you did not return?”

  “No, Lady. I was involved in destroying Lord Orsynn’s three companies. They were riding northward in the direction of Lornth. I asked Lord Orsynn to pledge his allegiance to the regency. He refused and attacked. He, two of his sons, and his forces are no more.”

  “They are no more?” Zeldyan raised her eyebrows. “They will reform under some other lord.”

  “No.” Saryn shook her head. “All but thirty died. Twenty were Jeranyi who started to flee before the battle began. We captured ten others.”

  “You slaughtered almost three hundred men?”

  Saryn shrugged. “I could have abandoned you, or I could slaughter them. Those were the choices.”

  Zeldyan paled. “How terrible you angels are.”

  “How long do you think your son would live in the custody of Henstrenn or Keistyn?” Saryn said quietly. “How long before your supporters were removed, one way or another?”

  “I have barely a company left here to hold Lornth, and they could not stand against you alone. And so I must rely, more and more, upon you?”

  “We have few choices,” replied Saryn, “either of us.”

  “You would fight your battles on our lands.”

  “We would prefer to fight no battles, Lady. If we must fight, we fight where we can. What would you have us do? Leave you and the regency to fall, then destroy your enemies later at an even higher cost to both lands? We cannot allow them to destroy Westwind, and that is what they wish.”

  Zeldyan lifted her goblet and took a small swallow, then picked up one of the small pastries and ate it.

  Saryn picked up one of them and chewed it, a miniature fowl pie, somewhat dry. She took and ate a second, somewhat warmer and juicier, then sipped the wine, waiting for the regent to speak.

  “I would that you had never alighted upon the Roof of the World,” Zeldyan finally said.

  “Our choice was to land there or die. We did not attack anyone.” Saryn paused, thinking back. The only times she had ever attacked first, she realized, were when she had dealt with the Gallosian false bandits and the Jeranyi attacking Lord Jharyk’s lands, and in both cases, the enemy had attacked others first. Yet everyone seemed to believe that she was some sort of evil destroyer.

  “That matters not. Your presence was an attack.”

  The way in which your men treat women and anyone they see as lesser is an attack on us… But there wasn’t any use in raising that point. “What is done is done. What can we do now? Who has what forces and where are they? Do you know?”

  “Lord Mortryd of Tryenda is the only other lord in the south professing loyalty to the regency, but he is being threatened by Rherhn of Khalasn, whose forces have entered his lands. Mortryd has a small holding, and he has written that he has barely one company of armsmen, and many of those he has had to call away from the harvest…”

  Saryn mentally called up the map she had memorized, and visualized the geographic positions. Tryenda was a narrow holding south of Lornth, sandwiched between Hasel and Khalasn, and with its north border adjoining the southern border of Nesslek’s holding of Lornth. “What about Keistyn? His lands border Tryenda on the east.”

  “Mortryd’s missive was quite clear. Lord Rherhn has always coveted the bottomlands of Tryenda and apparently sees the present unrest as an opportunity.”

  “How long a ride to Tryenda—the holding keep, that is?”

  “It’s on the north end of the holding. A day and a half easy ride.”

  “Do you want to get involved?” asked Saryn.

  “He’s promised his company to support the regency, but he won’t leave his lands with Rherhn threatening him.”

  “So he wants the assurance,” said Saryn dryly, “that you can and will support him before he’ll back you and the regency.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Is it worth it for a single company?”

  “If he throws in with Kelthyn and Keistyn, that’s a difference of two companies. Also, some of the northern lords may question whether we will support them if they have few armsmen. Henstrenn would certainly trumpet that everywhere.”

  “And what if it’s a trap or a ruse to get your forces out of Lornth?”

  Zeldyan looked at Saryn.

  “Ah…you want me to take care of it so that you can hold Lornth without risking what you have here.”

  “If it is a ruse, you can return quickly. If not, you can return with Mortryd’s forces. If it is an attempt to engage your forces, there is certainly no reason for you to fight unless circumstances are favorable.”

  “Do you know where Keistyn’s forces are?”

  “One company was sighted near Veryna, joining up with Kelthyn’s men. They could not return to Tryenda in less than four days.”

  Worse and worse.

  “Most of the lands are entering harvest. They can’t bring all their forces into line for several eightdays. After that…” Zeldyan shrugged.

  “So we need to straighten out the mess between Rherhn and Mortryd before everyone jumps in?” The guards and I have to, not you. At least, we have enough horses to switch them out and take fresh mounts.

  “I fear so.”

  “We will still need at least a half day to prepare.” Even if I take fourth squad this time. “In return, I want assurances of at least ten full wagons of supplies to be sent to Westwind before the late-fall snows.”

  “What of friendship?” Zeldyan’s voice carried irony.

  “I think I’ve demonstrated that amply, Lady. We beat back Suthyans in the north, destroyed two squads of Lord Henstrenn’s men, broke a company of Jeranyi, and eliminated three companies of Lord Orsynn’s men. By warning you about the Suthyans, the Marshal lost the chance to trade for food with them. Friendship goes two ways, does it not?”

  “I cannot send food to Westwind until the revolt
is crushed…”

  “I know. The roads go through Hasel, Duevek, and a corner of Fhasta. I just want your pledge.” And I will hold you to it.

  “You have it.”

  “Tell me more about Lord Mortryd and Tryenda,” Saryn said, finally taking another pair of the miniature pastry pies.

  Much later, as she left the regent’s study, more questions swirled through Saryn’s mind. She’d been able to prevail against the Lornians, the Jeranyi, and the Suthyans only through her use of order and chaos, and she’d been even more fortunate that years before, Nylan and Ayrlyn had destroyed all those in Lornth and Gallos who might have challenged her—except for the Gallosian mages buried in the landslide, and she had not had to get close to them. What could she do if someone used either order or chaos—or both—against her? She’d barely managed against the Suthyan hedge mage, and he was nothing compared to the white mages she recalled who had attacked Nylan.

  Then there was the problem of her own guards. She had but two experienced squads, and the lack of experience was killing too many of the recruits—but there wasn’t enough time to train them as well as the older guards. Yet she didn’t want to turn them away because, after they’d left their homes, what they faced if they had to return there was likely to be as brutal as the fighting they would face as Westwind guards.

  Even with Zeldyan’s pledge, how long would it be before she could get supplies to Westwind? For that matter, given the location of Duevek and Hasel, and the fact that any pledges of passage could scarcely be trusted, how could she even have returned to Westwind without still having to fight in a civil war…and with even less assurance of an outcome favorable to Westwind?

  LXXIII

  On twoday, after more than a little thinking and planning the night before, Saryn was up early. After dressing and eating hurriedly, she sought out Hryessa a good half glass before morning muster…and found her leaving the officers’ quarters above the barracks.

  “Good morning, Hryessa. What should I know that you haven’t gotten around to telling me?” asked Saryn with a cheerful smile. Bright and clear as the morning was, perfect for the second day of harvest, she didn’t feel near as cheery as her smile indicated.