“That is past,” she went on. “Either the Suthyans or the Jeranyi or both would kill you and take your lands. I will not. Were I so inclined, I certainly could have done so. Could any of you have stopped me? Yet you question me far more than you ever questioned yourselves. My question to you is simple. And before you answer, I will tell you that I can tell if any man or woman lies to me. My question to you is simple: Will you be loyal and not force me to take up arms against you?”
“A moment, Commander.” Spalkyn stepped forward and cleared his throat. His hand went briefly to his beard. “I’m not one who speaks much. Some of you know that I near-on lost everything years back. Some of you also know that a company or so of Suthyans attacked my lands this summer. The only help I got was from the commander. She and little more than a squad of her women guards wiped out every last Suthyan and one white mage. I’d not be here without that. She was the one to take on Henstrenn and three Suthyan companies and three more mages. Not one of the mages and few of the Suthyans survived. Now…it seems to me that we’ve been complaining for years about not having an overlord strong enough to protect us…and when we get one, we’re going to complain that she happens to be a woman?”
Saryn kept from smiling, knowing that Spalkyn’s earlier comments, as well as his remarks, had been Maeldyn’s idea.
“Now maybe I’m seeing things different-like,” Spalkyn went on, “because I have two daughters who already do well at helping run my holding and a son who won’t ever do well at it. It seems to me that the commander is still letting our blood hold our lands. It also seems to me that the Suthyans—or the Jeranyi—don’t much care about that. With the commander as overlord or overlady, we might even get Westwind to worry about Suthya, and we sure as the demons won’t have to worry about Gallos.” He fingered his beard. “I don’t know as I can say more.”
Surprisingly, Barcauyn stepped forward. “Matters don’t always go the way we like. We all know that. I thought I had sons with some sense. They tried…I’m embarrassed to say…to attack the commander with dirks in a hallway. They’re most fortunate that she was kind to them because she could have killed them with her bare hands. They will have scars to remind them. We haven’t had much fortune with the last few overlords. It might have been their fault. It might not have been. It might have been the times. But there’s a saying about needing fire to fight fire.” He nodded to Saryn and stepped back.
Maeldyn moved forward. “The commander asked a fair question. She didn’t ask us to like her. She didn’t ask us to hand over our lands. She asked us to be good lords and loyal. Is there anyone here who doesn’t think that’s a fair question in these times?”
“It’s a fair question,” answered Jharyk. “I can say I will be. But…I want the heirs of all the rebel lord-holders to make the same pledge to the commander overlord in person and look into her eyes when they do.”
“That’s fair,” said Barcauyn. “More than fair.”
Saryn waited until the chamber quieted. “In return, you have my pledge to support each of you as I already promised, and to support your heirs as well in the years ahead.”
After another round of murmurs, a voice came from the group.
“There is one other matter…”
It took Saryn a moment to determine the speaker—Whethryn. “Yes, Lord Whethryn.”
“Ahem…one reason we’ve had trouble, and you’re here, is that there was some question about…heirs…”
Saryn managed to keep from flushing. “Lord Maeldyn raised that question. The simple answer is that I can and will have children, and that I am young enough to raise them to maturity.” She paused. “I haven’t exactly had much time to devote to such considerations in the past years, but now that matters are more settled…there is someone.”
Several chuckles filled the room.
Nothing like backing yourself into a corner…with no real way out.
Still…she smiled.
C
Saryn stood at the window of the third-level sitting room, looking down at the long shadows cast across the front courtyard by a white sun tinged with the faint orange that came just before sunset. She was Overlord of Lornth…or tyrant…or what ever. Had that been her fate from the beginning? She had the sense that Ryba had certainly seen that…and believed it.
Had she had any choices? She shook her head. That’s a meaningless question. Each choice followed from the previous choice. In a sense, the day that she had defeated two squads of Henstrenn’s armsmen outside of Duevek had led to all that followed.
The same had been true for the other angels—those who survived.
Were the “right” choices merely the ones that allowed one to survive and prosper? What of those for whom any choice was wrong—like poor doomed Lord Sillek? Once his father attacked Westwind, Sillek had been left with no good choices. Was that what everyone called fate?
Ryba had dealt with her fate in one way, and she had created and would rule Westwind alone and pass that heritage to her daughter, Dyliess. Nylan and Ayrlyn had left Westwind and Lornth to build what ever they would in what had once been the Accursed Forest of Cyador. And Saryn…she had built nothing. Not yet. She had presided over the destruction of a tottering land, using the only means at her disposal, means that she would once have claimed that she never would have employed, only to find herself faced with rebuilding a land that shared few of the values in which she believed…and she had agreed, for the sake of all that, to have and bear children, and with a man she would have ignored totally years before.
Can you change Lornth enough that you will make a difference? Not changing Lornth would doom the entire land and possibly Westwind. Would she be successful, or would she find herself in the same position as Sillek?
She smiled faintly. That was what she would find out.
Thrap.
The gentle knock was Zeldyan’s. That Saryn could sense. “Come in, Zeldyan.”
The former regent and current lady-holder of The Groves slipped into the sitting room that had once been hers, gently closing the door behind her. “You have been here, alone, since all the others left.”
“I’ve been thinking.”
Zeldyan offered a sympathetic smile. “You are worried?”
“More like reflective, not that there’s not some worry there. I’m trying to do something…well, I have the feeling that your lord Sillek was trying to change things, too.”
“He tried, but he could not.”
“I don’t know that I would be here without what he did.”
“You are kind.”
Saryn shook her head. “I haven’t been kind. I’ve done what I thought had to be done. I think what I did was right. But it wasn’t kind. I couldn’t even afford to be kind to Chaspal. Any kindness would have been seen as weakness, as an opening for others to test me, and that would have forced me into greater use of force later.”
Zeldyan did not speak for a time, standing beside Saryn as they looked down into the courtyard and watched the shadows fade and the twilight slowly fall across the palace.
“I envied you, you know,” Zeldyan finally said. “You are always so confident, and so strong.”
You don’t have to think much when you have few choices, and, so long as you act quickly, that gives the appearance of confidence. “I only did what I had to, in hopes of restoring Lornth and stopping the endless feuding.”
“Lornth will be strong again. I know that. But it will not be the Lornth I have known.”
“That Lornth could not have lasted,” Saryn replied, “even without Westwind. Cyador was fading, and once it faded, so would have Lornth.”
“I would not have lived to see my Lornth fade.”
“No. It would have taken longer,” Saryn admitted, “but we do not choose the times in which we live. We only choose how we live in those times.”
“I will be leaving in the morning. I had hoped we could have dinner together again.”
Saryn smiled. “I would like that. Very much.�
�
EPILOGUE
Saryn glanced toward the side doorway leading into the main hall of the villa of Duevek. Sarron, she mentally corrected herself, the place where peace begins. She straightened, glancing down at the finery she was unaccustomed to wearing. She’d insisted on trousers and boots for the combined betrothal and consorting ceremony, but she had compromised—slightly—by wearing a brilliant blue and high-collared tunic long enough that the silver-edged hem reached down to midthigh over the black trousers.
Her eyes went to Hryessa, standing by the closed side door, who still wore the uniform of a Westwind guard.
“Not yet, ser,” said the Arms-Commander of Sarron, with a smile. “They will wait. Do not hurry, for they will want to remember the day. And you should not be in haste, Angel. This will happen but once in your life.”
That was all too true. She had to admit, if reluctantly, that she’d picked Dealdron because he’d been the only man unhesitatingly to put his life on the line for her. And because he loves you, and because there’s some feeling on your part. Only after the fact had she realized that it had been a wise decision politically, as well, because it avoided any implied favoritism toward any of the other High Holders.
A fleeting smile crossed her face as she recalled Dealdron’s words and his feelings when he had been recovering—What will happen is what will happen, but what ever happens, you are my angel.
Finally, Hryessa opened the side door and stepped aside to let Saryn enter first.
Saryn walked slowly—she hoped her movements were stately—until she stood almost in the middle of the low dais, empty of all chairs or furnishings. Hryessa followed, but stopped two paces behind Saryn.
Saryn turned to face those assembled before her. Standing arrayed across the hall were the lord-holders of Lornth—and the four lady-holders, all of whom had pledged to Saryn. Four guards stood at each end of the dais. While Saryn had not insisted on anyone attending the ceremony, clearly all had wanted to be there, for what ever reason, even though she had declared that only a half squad of guards would be welcome in accompanying each lord-or lady-holder. At the very front of the holders, on the left, stood Zeldyan, and opposite her, on the right side, were Maeldyn and Anyna. Anyna smiled warmly at Saryn.
“Saryn of the Angels, and Overlord of Lornth!” announced Daryn from beside the main doors to the hall. For the ceremony, he wore the gray of Westwind.
The doors at the back of the hall opened. From outside the hall came a short fanfare on a horn—the same horn that Saryn had used to signal her guards.
“Dealdron of Westwind!” announced Daryn.
Even from that distance, Saryn could see that the smith was smiling broadly as he finished the announcement and as Dealdron walked past him, his polished black boots firm, yet almost soundless, on the marble tiles of the hall floor.
Saryn watched as he moved toward her. His formal tunic was a muted grayish silver, not shimmering, and trimmed in black. His trousers were a gray that was not quite black. All eyes followed him as he reached the dais, then stepped up onto it, his honest eyes taking in Saryn.
She managed to hold a pleasant smile, even though the love and adoration in his expression washed over her, and she swallowed.
Once he stood on the dais, and they both faced those in the hall, she nodded to him, and they turned sideways, so that they faced each other.
A young guard stepped forward with a small green pillow on which rested two matching gold rings, each set with a square emerald.
Saryn turned slightly and took the larger ring, holding it high for a moment before lowering it and facing Dealdron directly once more. “As a token of my faith, with this ring, I ask for your hand, pledging both my hand and my honor.”
Dealdron extended his left hand, and Saryn slid the ring in place, adding so quietly that only he could hear, “and my appreciation and affection for all that you have endured and all that you have offered.”
She could sense…something…a feeling that was not only love, but a hope and a belief on his part that she would find love with him. And he just might be right.
In turn, Dealdron lifted the smaller ring from the pillow, and Saryn extended her hand. His words were deep and warm as he said, “With this ring, I give you my hand, and all that I have.” After he eased the ring onto her finger, his hand tightened around hers but for an instant as he murmured, “For you are and always have been my angel.”
Saryn barely managed not to swallow, although her eyes burned for a moment, before she recalled the formal close to the ceremony. “Two hands promised in honor and for the future of Lornth.”
“For the future of Lornth!” chorused the assembled guards, holders, and consorts.
She reached out and again took her consort’s hand.
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously
ARMS-COMMANDER
Copyright © 2009 by L. E. Modesitt, Jr.
All rights reserved.
Map by Ellisa Mitchell
A Tor Book
Published by Tom Doherty Associates, LLC
175 Fifth Avenue
New York, NY 10010
www.tor-forge.com
Tor® is a registered trademark of Tom Doherty Associates, LLC.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Modesitt, L. E.
Arms-commander / L. E. Modesitt, Jr.—1st ed.
p. cm.
“A Tom Doherty Associates book.”
ISBN: 978-0-7653-2381-1
1. Recluce (Imaginary place)—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3563.O264A89 2010
813'.54—dc22
2009036273
Arms-Commander Page 60
