Arms-Commander (36 page)

Late on eightday afternoon, Saryn and Zeldyan had just seated themselves on the north porch of Lord Deolyn's hilltop mansion, looking at a meadow that sloped down to a small pond created by an ancient rock-and-mortar dam. Beyond the pond was another hill, covered in straight rows of apple trees whose fruit was showing signs of crimson, reminding Saryn that summer was fleeing, and that she seemed to have accomplished comparatively little.

Deolyn was unlike any other Lornian lord. His short blond hair, interspersed with silver, lay in tight ringlets close to his scalp. His bright green eyes almost seemed to bulge over a narrow nose and a small, silver, brush mustache. His face was deeply tanned and lightly wrinkled, and he was barely Saryn's height. He wore a green tunic with yellow trim, the colors of his holding.

The three sat in a semicircle around a low table that held two carafes and three blue-tinted crystal goblets. Saryn was using her slowly increasing order-chaos flow skills to arrange the faintest breeze to waft over her and keep various tiny flying creatures from her.

“The white comes from Spidlar,” said Deolyn. “I wouldn't have it except it was a gift. The red's from my high vineyards. It's dry, but holds a good taste.”

“The red, please,” replied Zeldyan.

“For me as well, thank you,” said Saryn.

Zeldyan smiled, lifting the goblet she had taken from Deolyn. “To worthy lords.”

“To worthy lords,” seconded Saryn.

“To worthiness, wherever it may be found,” responded Deolyn in a high tenor voice before sipping from the goblet, then lowering it and looking at Saryn intently. “So you're the fearsome arms-commander!”

Behind the cheerful voice was what Saryn would have termed good-natured coolness.

“I'm the arms-commander”—Saryn smiled—“but I'd never claim to be fearsome.”

“No point in that at all. If you are, you don't need to trumpet it, and if you're not, you're lying, and that's to no one's benefit.” Deolyn looked intently at Saryn, then glanced at Zeldyan. “I can hold my own in battle, but you're better off having the commander on your side.”

“I know that, Lord Deolyn, but I'd be interested to know why you think that.”

“She has to hold your interests more dearly than any one lord-holder possibly could. She would not be here were this not so. She also would not be here if she were not more than a match for any commander in Lornth. The Marshal of Westwind could send no less. Westwind cannot risk any impression of weakness.”

Deolyn's understanding impressed Saryn, but she waited to see Zeldyan's response.

“Do you think the Marshal's interests are those of the regency?”

“I would not say that,” replied Deolyn. “Her interests are in a peaceful Lornth that will not attack Westwind. At present, those interests are in supporting the regency, for so long as it remains in power.”

“And if it does not?”

“Then I would not wish to be a lord-holder in Lornth, even as I am.” Deolyn's smile was warm enough, but behind it lay worry. “Those who would replace the regency would find themselves bound to attack Westwind—or be attacked by those who would. That would be so, even were the Suthyans not distributing coins and mercenaries to some who oppose Westwind and the regency.”

“To whom are those coins and mercenaries going? Do you know?”

“I do not know all their destinations, but it is no secret that in Duevek lies your greatest foe. I would guess that Keistyn of Hasel is also receiving coins, and Kelthyn of Veryna, if only to keep young Kelthyn from snapping at your legs. Other than that…” Deolyn shrugged.

“Oh?” Zeldyan raised her eyebrows, then her goblet, and sipped.

“It's simple enough, Lady Zeldyan. Your strongest supporters are in the north, and some of those are wavering, despite your sire. Your bringing the arms-commander—and her slaughter of the Suthyan marauders—solidifies that support. That's well and good, but what do you intend to do about Henstrenn and Keistyn…and that puppet of theirs, Kelthyn?”

“What do you suggest?” Zeldyan smiled pleasantly.

Saryn could sense the regent's worries behind the smile.

“Crush them quickly, and one by one, before they unite against you and your sire.”

“With what do you suggest I crush them? My two companies?” asked Zeldyan. “And how will I explain to all the other lords who will flock to them for fear I will turn on them next?”

“You have at least three companies with the commander's forces, I would judge.”

“We brought but half a company.” Saryn tried to focus a breeze on herself as she spoke.

“They are worth twice their numbers. I saw them ride in, and I saw how much deference the armsmen gave them. The Lady Regent's squad leader conveyed to my captain that the single squad from Westwind took on and destroyed more than threescore Suthyan marauders.”

“They were not armsmen, but a motley gathering of marauders,” replied Saryn.

“Half or more were former armsmen, and you lost but one woman.” Deolyn smiled. “Henstrenn and Keistyn may delude themselves, but I will not. All of our armsmen have other tasks and duties. Yours may as well, Commander, but it is certain that they are trained first to kill. Even your weapons speak to that. Men prefer long blades because they believe such proclaim their masculinity. Your blades are far better for mounted combat. I have heard that you alone have killed many by throwing blades through your enemies.” The blond lord shrugged. “It may be that I have heard in error, but I do not believe so.” He glanced at Zeldyan. “Have I?”

Zeldyan shook her head. “She sparred with Lord Barcauyn's son and could have killed him three times over in moments. He failed to understand, then insulted her, and me. She broke his jaw with the flat of her blade and threw him to the stone. Then she flung a blade through a shield and half through an oak door behind it. None could remove it, save her.”

Deolyn nodded, then looked to Saryn. “You could kill without weapons, could you not?”

“I am no mage, but I was trained to kill with arms, hands, elbows, knees, what ever opportunity might be offered.”

“It is there for those who would see,” pointed out Deolyn. “I may not see all, but I see enough, and I will stand behind you both.”

Saryn understood what lay beneath his words—that Deolyn's support rested in part, if not in whole, upon Westwind's backing of the regency…as Ryba had obviously foreseen.

The wind blew through the doors at the north end of the room, beyond which was the verandah with a fountain whose splashing was just loud enough to drown out the sounds from elsewhere in the structure, which was, Saryn realized, neither a castle, a palace, a keep, a villa, nor a mansion, but a dwelling that incorporated some features of each. The verandah beyond the fountain, where Zeldyan sat in the shade talking to her son, might have been more suited to a villa, but the study, where Saryn had just seated herself in a captain's chair across from the gray-haired Gethen, might better have belonged in a castle or a mansion, especially with the dark wooden bookcases filled with leather-bound volumes.

After another four hot days on the road, Saryn was grateful for the breeze cooled by the spray of the fountain and for the chilled white wine that Gethen had provided. She was also happy that she was not expected to prove as much, as least not directly, although she was still concerned as to exactly how Gethen regarded her—and Westwind.

“You've met a number of the lords of the north,” said Gethen. “What do you think of them?”

“They impress me far more than those of the south I've met.” Saryn paused and took another small swallow of the cool wine. “Rather, I'd say that I liked and appreciated them better. I fear that Keistyn, Henstrenn, and Kelthyn might be more impressive in battle, except perhaps for Deolyn. Lord Barcauyn speaks more loudly than he fights, I fear, and might lack caution in some situations. Lord Maeldyn…I don't know.”

“Maeldyn is more formidable than he appears,” said Gethen. “Between them, he and Deolyn could raise close to three companies of decently trained and mounted armsmen. They would not compare to your guards, but they would be a match for Henstrenn and Keistyn.”

“I would hope so since we did remove almost half a company of Henstrenn's armsmen in the spring.”

“By now he will have replaced them, doubtless with the help of Suthyan golds.”

Saryn had few doubts about that possibility. “If I might ask, why did Rulyarth fall so easily back to the Suthyans?”

“After the losses we sustained against the Cyadorans, no lord would offer armsmen to help me hold the city and the lands surrounding the river. I was selfish enough not to wish to lose everything I had for lords who would offer nothing. Those who were willing to help me, such as Spalkyn and Maeldyn, had too few armsmen remaining to make a difference. Only Deolyn had more than a company, and I saw no point in both of us losing everything.”

“Especially since you had already lost a son.”

“I lost two. Relyn never returned after he was wounded on the Roof of the World.”

“He lost a hand,” Saryn said. “Nylan crafted him a false one, with which he could hold a dagger, but he vowed he would never return to Lornth. He was strong and healthy, and better than ever with a blade when he did leave Westwind for the east.”

“He was bitter, I suspect, about how Lady Ellindyja manipulated Sillek into offering lands for any who would destroy Westwind and concealing just how powerful you angels were. Like Fornal, he was proud and wanted to earn lands, not be given a pittance, which would have been all I could have bequeathed him. If he returned to Lornth, he would have had to fight lord after lord, and he would not have beggared me and Fornal to obtain arms and men. He was too honorable for that.” Gethen shrugged sadly. “I cannot say that events and you angels have treated those of The Groves easily.”

“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.”

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.