Arms-Commander

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “What happened to his consort?” asked Saryn.

  Maeldyn looked directly at her, but did not speak.

  “He killed her, too?”

  “He was rather possessive.”

  Rather possessive? How about insanely possessive? Another case where a woman ended up paying for the faults and follies of the man…not that Henstrenn hadn’t paid as well. But so many others had paid dearly for his ambition and self-centeredness. Saryn shook her head…and winced because the throbbing in her skull intensified. Why did he go to such extremes at the end? Because he wanted power and couldn’t stand a woman having it? Or his own consort surviving him? Or was it all about him, proving he was the strongest and that his will would prevail? Those questions raised another. Are you any different in that regard? Probably not. Even so, the lord-holder system of Lornth had proved clearly that, in the absence of the Cyadoran threat, it didn’t work. Maybe it never really had, but that failure had been concealed by the infrequent Cyadoran attacks. What ever the case, matters had to change, for the sake of both Westwind and Lornth.

  “So what do we do about it?” pressed Spalkyn.

  Maeldyn turned to the bearded lord-holder. “We’d best not jump to a solution. We need to think about that and not act too hastily. There may be other southern holdings facing similar situations. I don’t believe Kelthyn could have had any heirs since he had no consort. What ever we propose should be best for all Lornth. Tomorrow would be best, or even the day after.”

  Saryn could sense that there was more behind Maeldyn’s words, but with her headache and the lightknives that her last attempt to extend her senses had caused, she wasn’t about to try to discover what, especially since she had seen, time and time again, how honest the stern-faced lord really was.

  “There’s no provision for an overlord, either,” Spalkyn said.

  Maeldyn looked to Saryn. “It would seem appropriate and necessary that we gather all the remaining lord-holders of Lornth to discuss the matter. Do you have any objection to that?”

  “So long as none of them brings more than a squad of armsmen,” Saryn replied. “There’s been enough bloodshed.”

  “Some of them will claim they need more protection,” Spalkyn observed.

  “Tell them that we will protect them from each other,” Saryn replied. “You might also point out, if they question, that we have attacked no one who did not attack first.”

  “You might also suggest that they need not come,” said Zeldyan, “but that, if they do not, they will have no voice in what happens, and none will entertain their complaints. When would you suggest?”

  “Two eightdays from oneday,” said Maeldyn. “It may take five days even to get the word to some…”

  After discussing more mundane arrangements, such as quartering and supplies, the four left the study. They had just started down the hallway toward the entry foyer when a dull clank of metal on the stone tiles, followed by a set of lesser clinks, jolted Saryn.

  “Son of a demon!” exclaimed Maeldyn, bending down to recover his belt dagger, still in its scabbard with part of the belt that had held it, along with his coin wallet, and the silvers and golds that had spilled from the wallet.

  “It looks like someone cut a lot closer to you than you thought, friend.” Spalkyn laughed and began to scoop up some of the stray coins.

  Zeldyan glanced back, then kept walking.

  Saryn stayed with the Lady of The Groves, sensing Zeldyan had something to say, although she couldn’t help but wonder what Maeldyn was discussing with Spalkyn.

  “What will you do now?” asked Zeldyan cautiously.

  “That will depend on who becomes Overlord of Lornth…and how. The whole reason I was sent was to assure that the overlord remained friendly to Westwind.”

  “You could claim Duevek, you know. There aren’t any heirs.” Zeldyan glanced back toward where Maeldyn was attempting to find somewhere to put his coin wallet, the dagger and scabbard in his hand, then added in a lower voice. “Maeldyn would certainly prefer you as a lady-holder than any would-be lord-holder from the south.”

  “I hadn’t thought that was an acceptable possibility until a few moments ago.” A possibility, but not one acceptable to many lord-holders. “I doubt many of the lord-holders would like that.” Saryn could also see from where Zeldyan was coming.

  “What ever happens, they will not like it,” Zeldyan pointed out. “The more practical the solution, the less they will wish it. Sillek wanted to be practical. He saw war with Westwind as impractical. He was forced to fight, one way or the other, either to fight Westwind or his lord-holders. Since he knew he could not win against the lord-holders, he chose to fight Westwind. He was doomed, no matter what. He did not know it then. That was why I requested your aid.”

  “And now?” asked Saryn, as they walked though the archway and started down the steps.

  “Lornth still needs you, as do I.”

  What do I say to that? How much should I say? Saryn was silent for several moments before speaking. “What is needed is often not what those who have or seek power would prefer.” She glanced to the paved area beyond the steps, where, in the lower portico and receiving area, waited fourth squad—drawn up across from the steps, some twenty yards back—a smaller group of Lornian riders and their squad leader just to the right of the mounting blocks at the base of the stairs, and, to the left, Dealdron, who stood beside the lead horse of the team drawing the wagon, apparently checking or adjusting the harnesses.

  “Lornth must accede to what it needs, not what individual lord-holders would have,” replied Zeldyan. “You, more than anyone, must know that.”

  “I know that, but I’m an outsider.”

  “You have risked more than any lord-holder.”

  “Except you and your father,” Saryn pointed out.

  “That may be, but you have power that we did not…”

  Even with her aching head and the intermittent lightknives stabbing into her eyes, when Saryn stepped down onto the pavement of the courtyard and past the mounting blocks, heading for fourth squad and the waiting gelding, she sensed…something and looked up. As she did, the five Lornian armsmen, who had been holding sabres in a salute, charged forward toward Zeldyan and Saryn.

  “No more bitch rulers!” yelled the squad leader.

  Zeldyan looked up in total surprise.

  With one hand, Saryn drew the remaining blade from her harness, and with the other she grabbed Zeldyan’s sleeve and threw her up the steps. Then her blade came up into a guard position, because she was almost between two riders.

  At that moment, another figure attacked the armsman on Saryn’s right, driving a blade up into the man’s gut before the armsman’s mount ran him down.

  Saryn went almost to her knees as she half parried, half blocked the heavy hand-and-a-half blade. Then she dropped her own blade and threw herself into a rolling dive past the second armsman, coming up behind the man’s mount, looking for her blade.

  She didn’t need it. Fourth squad had surrounded the attackers, and in moments, cut all five out of their saddles.

  Dealdron lay motionless on the stone beside the mounting block.

  Saryn ran toward him.

  Even before she knelt beside him, she could see that he was breathing, but that one arm was at an angle that indicated it was broken. She could also sense a mass of chaos within his chest, as if his ribs had been pressed in on his heart.

  The arm could wait. She had to relieve the chest pressure…somehow.

  She forced herself to concentrate, to come up with some strands, some flow of order, straightening…forcing…coercing…the ribs…muscles back…away. She could sense, despite the brilliant lightknives slashing into her eyes so intensely that she could not see, that the chaos-pressure on his chest had eased…mostly.

  Slowly, she straightened, her eyes burning. Ought to be able to do more…somehow…

  But there was nothing left within her to give, no control of order…nothing. She strug
gled to her feet.

  “Commander!” Klarisa reined up beside Saryn and looked down. “Are you all right?”

  “Don’t put any pressure on his chest…Don’t. His ribs are broken.”

  “Are you all right?” demanded the squad leader.

  “Don’t touch his chest,” Saryn said again. “I’m fine,” she began to add, when a wall of unseen black and white crashed over her, and she felt nothing.

  XCIII

  Saryn woke up lying on a wide bed. Her head felt as though unseen hammers were beating on both sides of it, and she could barely see through the lightknives stabbing through her eyes. She thought it was light outside, but was it still fourday? After several moments, she could make out that Hryessa stood on one side of the bed, with Zeldyan on the other.

  “Commander?” asked Hryessa.

  “I’m here.” Saryn moved her fingers, her toes, and turned her head slightly. That made the unseen hammers beat harder. Finally, she sat up, if slowly, swinging her boots over the side of the bed. Her heels barely touched the heavy bedside carpet.

  Hryessa extended a goblet. “It’s ale.”

  Probably better than water here at the moment. Saryn took the crystal goblet with both hands and slowly sipped until she finished half the ale. The pounding subsided slightly. The lightknives did not. She handed the goblet back to Hryessa.

  “I owe you once more,” said Zeldyan quietly.

  “No…you don’t,” replied Saryn. “They wouldn’t have attacked you if I hadn’t come to Lornth.”

  “If you had not come to Lornth, the same things would have happened, and I also would be dead. Like my son and my father.”

  “You are kind, Lady.” Saryn was too tired to argue. “How long was I out?”

  “Out?” asked Hryessa. “Oh…it is about a glass before sunset.”

  “The same day? Fourday?”

  “Of course.”

  “Two, maybe three glasses,” Saryn murmured. “How is Dealdron?”

  “He is in much pain, but he says nothing. He is in a small guest chamber. We did not touch his chest.”

  Saryn stood, if slowly and deliberately, waiting to see if she felt dizzy. She did not. “I need to see him.”

  “Commander…”

  “He saved my life. I will see him.” Saryn walked slowly to the chamber doorway and into the corridor—where two guards stood, hands on the hilts of their blades.

  “To the left, ser,” instructed Hryessa.

  Saryn kept walking until she reached another door with two guards also stationed outside. She looked to Hryessa.

  “We did not wish any of the dead Lornians’ friends to disturb him.” The captain paused. “I will wait here. He should see you both. It will ease his mind.”

  Saryn opened the door and stepped inside. Zeldyan followed.

  Dealdron lay on a bed narrower than the one on which Saryn had awakened but almost twice the width of a guard’s bunk. His left arm had been splinted, but his chest had not been bound. Saryn was glad for that, although she knew he would need some sort of brace before he could safely move, but she wanted to be there when he had his chest bound. His forehead was beaded with sweat. His eyes were open, but fixed overhead, almost unseeing.

  Saryn stepped forward until she was standing beside the bed. Zeldyan moved up closer as well, to Saryn’s right.

  “Dealdron,” Saryn said softly, “I’m here. Thank you.” What else could she say?

  He blinked, then winced before speaking, slowly, as if each word were an effort. “I…overheard…knew they were up to something…told Klarisa to be ready…didn’t know for what…should have known…done more…tried…”

  Even without trying, Saryn could sense the pain, but she had to know if she had done enough. Oh-so-carefully she extended the tiniest order-thread across his chest.

  “…feels better…”

  The worst of the chaos was gone, and his heart felt normal. As she began to feel dizzy, she released the probe, then laid a hand on his forehead. “You’ll be all right. Just try to sleep.”

  “Are you…?”

  “I’m fine, now, thanks to you.” She reached down and squeezed his good hand, gently.

  “You are…my angel…Commander…” Dealdron closed his eyes, as if the words had taken every last bit of energy.

  “Just rest…I’ll be back to see you later.” Saryn lifted her hand, turned, and walked slowly from the chamber.

  You are my angel…my angel. His words rang in her ears…and in her thoughts.

  “You care for him, do you not?” murmured Zeldyan.

  “He’s never asked anything of me, except to please me. And he was willing to give his own life to save mine.”

  “Would that there were more men like him.” Zeldyan paused. “Why is he so devoted to you?”

  “I saved his life and challenged him to do his best at what he could.” What else could she say? And what was she going to do? For one thing, as soon as she’d recovered, she was going to make sure Dealdron healed—fully.

  Then, she froze in place for a moment, recalling what Istril had said seasons before about understanding the price a woman might have to pay for any man who truly worshipped her. Can I pay that price? Should I?

  She’d just have to see…as with everything else…But…somehow…she would.

  XCIV

  Three days passed before the pounding in Saryn’s head fully subsided and another before she could see normally. Part of that was because after two days, she’d used more order to help when the healer had bound and braced Dealdron’s chest.

  Just before midmorning on oneday, she walked down the wide corridor toward the small study, where she was to meet Maeldyn. The stern-faced lord-holder had quietly requested a private meeting, one that Saryn wasn’t sure she was anticipating with any pleasure, much as she trusted Maeldyn.

  The Lord of Quaryn stood by the door to the study, waiting for Saryn. “Good morning, Commander.” Maeldyn bowed, then gestured toward the open door. “Shall we?”

  “Thank you.”

  Maeldyn followed her inside, then closed the door and seated himself across the square table from Saryn.

  “You had some concerns,” offered Saryn.

  “Two eightdays from now, we are to meet in Lornth to discuss what to do about an overlord and the succession of various other lord-holders,” began Maeldyn.

  Saryn nodded. “That was what we agreed upon.”

  “Lord Henstrenn is dead, and so are Mortryd, Orsynn, Rherhn, Keistyn, Kelthyn, and Jaffrayt. And, of course, Lord Deolyn and Lord Gethen. Some of them, such as Henstrenn, Kelthyn, and Orsynn, do not even have male heirs, and there is no lord-holder of Rohrn. In fact, Kelthyn has no possible heirs whatsoever. What exactly, Angel Commander, do you intend?” Maeldyn looked almost guilelessly at Saryn.

  “I was thinking of you, as a matter of fact.” Saryn was, but only to bring up his name and to determine her course from his reaction.

  Maeldyn shook his head, if ruefully. “I am as vain as the next man, but I am not fool enough to think I would ever have the power to rule Lornth. Of equal import is that, while I love my son dearly, he would make a poor overlord. There is also the fact that I do not have the coins expected for such a position. Do not mention Spalkyn, for his son…”

  “I know,” Saryn said quickly. “You are a man of judgment. Whom would you have as overlord?”

  “You must realize, Angel, that any lord-holder of Lornth you name will be hated and thought a puppet of Westwind. That would also be true of anyone you found acceptable, even if you did not name such a person. Anyone you would not name or could not support would be an even worse Overlord of Lornth than those who have come before.”

  “You’re saying that I can name no one? Am I supposed to turn Lornth over to the Suthyans or the Jeranyi?”

  “I would not wish that on the worst of lord-holders…nor did I suggest it. You already act as much as an overlord.”

  “That would not set well with many.” Almost
none, from what I’ve seen so far. “Also, I don’t even have a consort, much less any children.”

  “You still are young enough to have children, are you not?”

  He’s serious, deadly serious. “I could have children, if I so desired, but why me?”

  “Because the only one who can heal Lornth is someone powerful enough that no lord would even think of rebelling, and you are the only one in the land who is that strong.”

  “You’re saying that only a tyrant can hold it together.”

  “Can you think of anyone else? Even the Suthyans would hesitate to strike, knowing that Westwind would aid you. Was it accidental that you just happened to be in a position to halt and destroy the last Suthyan white wizard? Or that you did not even entertain surrender in dealing with most of the lord-holders?”

  “I offered terms to a number of the lord-holders.” Not all, but a number. “They refused to consider them.”

  “And the Suthyans? Would you have granted them terms had they asked?”

  “No,” Saryn admitted. “I did not want any of them to return to Suthya.”

  “Why might that be?”

  “So that the Suthyan Council would think twice about sending mages or wizards against either Westwind or Lornth…and so that they would have fewer to send if they so decided.”

  “You see?” Maeldyn smiled. “You already think as an overlord should. In time, if it is not true already, you will be stronger than your Marshal.” He paused. “Do not tell me you have not thought about it.” His face was serious, but Saryn could detect amusement behind the words.

  “I did not…not until we reached Duevek. Still…just assuming that I agree to your idea, Lord Maeldyn, how will you and all the other lord-holders feel if I insist that every lord-holder name his eldest daughter as his heir, and if he does not have a daughter, his sister’s eldest daughter? Or perhaps his eldest son’s consort?”

  “Do you think that wise?”

  “Wise? I don’t know, but something has to be done to stop this practice of bloodying the entire land to prove who is mightier.”