Arms-Commander (Saga of Recluce)

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “He’s too old for her.”

  “Not that way. He’s more like an older brother who needs a little direction. Sometimes, Dyliess and Kyalynn help him, too. They’ve decided he needs lessons in Temple.”

  “Why?”

  “They have this idea that, if they can teach him Temple, that will shame some of the newer guards into learning it.”

  “I doubt that will work.”

  Istril shook her head. “It just might. The trio can be very persuasive, in their own manner of doing things. Dyliess has her mother’s steel and her father’s stubbornness and charm.”

  Saryn hadn’t recalled Nylan as being charming although he certainly hadn’t been obnoxious.

  “You never looked, Commander,” Istril said quietly. “He could be quite charming if anyone showed the least interest. He cared more than most saw. That was another reason why he had to leave.”

  “You’re right. I never saw that.”

  “It was there. It’s rare in men, but there are some who have it. Not many.”

  “Would you… if he’d stayed?”

  Istril shook her head. “He’s the kind who invests in one woman, and that woman is everything. Women say that they want that in a man. Most don’t, not really. They want to be worshipped that way, but the cost of that is too high. It doesn’t work over time if they don’t love in return. I couldn’t have. The Marshal never did.”

  “Ayrlyn did?”

  “She did. That was why I could let Weryl leave. I could see that.”

  “Do you ever see… the way Ryba does?”

  “I get glimpses. He’s happy.”

  Saryn could see the brightness in the healer’s eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”

  “That’s all right. You’ll understand.”

  It wasn’t until Saryn had left the lower level and was riding down to check on the sawmill and the kilns that the oddity of Istril’s last words struck her. The healer hadn’t said that Saryn did understand, but that she would.

  Just what else had Istril foreseen? Could Saryn persuade her to reveal more?

  XX

  Over the next two days, Saryn felt as though she ran from organiz ing one thing to another, but late on threeday afternoon, she finally headed up the stone staircase of Tower Black to check a last time with Ryba.

  Just before she reached the open door, the Marshal said, “Come in, Saryn.”

  When the arms-commander entered, Ryba was standing by the open window. She half turned. “I’m assuming that you’ve briefed Llyselle and Murkassa. You’re leaving early?”

  “I did. We’ll leave before sunrise. I’m taking four spare mounts. They’re from the Gallosians, and we’ll use them as pack animals as well.”

  Ryba pursed her lips. “I’ve thought it over. You’d better take half of Hryessa’s second squad as well. You can work that out, can’t you?”

  “We’ll figure it out.”

  Ryba stepped forward and extended a leather wallet. “There are twenty golds’ worth of coins there. About half is in silvers. I’d like to send more, but that’s all we can spare right now. Lady Zeldyan and the regents should be hospitable enough that you’ll only need the coins while you’re traveling.”

  Saryn took the leather wallet, slipping it into the inside pocket of her jacket. “Besides a commitment for saltpeter and sulfur, and the other useful goods, what else do we need?”

  “You know the goods. See what you can discover about Kelthyn… and Ser Gethen’s health. Find out what you can about Deryll. It could prove useful to you in some fashion.”

  “Ildyrom’s son? Do we know anything about him except his parentage?”

  “He was successful in eliminating or besting all his brothers.”

  “He’s ruthless, or clever, or lucky. Beyond that?”

  “He wants the western part of Lornth back as part of Jerans, and he’s doubtless building the forces to take it. That’s all we know.”

  “What about white wizards?”

  “Zeldyan doesn’t have any. Not unless one has appeared in the past year or so, and that’s most unlikely. The engineer took care of all of those who served Lord Sillek. The Suthyans probably have some, but who knows where any who survived the fall of Cyador might be?”

  “Is there anything else you want me to convey to Lady Zeldyan and her coregents?”

  “Not directly. The information about Suhartyn’s veiled proposals, and your presence should be enough. Try not to stay too long.” Ryba’s faint and ironic smile conveyed the sense that she knew Saryn’s reply before the arms-commander spoke.

  “I have no desire to stay a moment longer than necessary. It’s already going to be hot and sticky down there, and most of the towns will stink.” And I’ll miss the cleanliness and showers here at Tower Black, not to mention the clean mountain air.

  Ryba nodded. “It will do you good to see the men of Lornth as well.”

  Saryn flinched inside, but she only said, “They’ll likely be just as overbearing as the Gallosians, except not quite so overtly.”

  “If you’re fortunate.”

  This time, Saryn nodded. “Is that all?”

  “That’s all. If I think of anything else, I’ll tell you at supper or in the morning when I see you off.” Ryba turned back to the window, her eyes veiled.

  As Saryn walked slowly down the stone steps, she thought over Ryba’s words and expressions. The Marshal had seemed distracted, and yet focused and removed, all at the same time. And she looked more drawn. But was she, or had it happened over time, and Saryn hadn’t noticed the gradual change?

  When she reached the lowest level of the tower, Saryn found both Siret and Istril in sickbay, and both were silent, as if they had heard her boots on the stone steps and were waiting. “My ears are burning,” the commander said lightly. “Exactly what were you discussing? Or should I ask what you were saying about me?”

  “We were talking about the Gallosian,” replied Siret. “Aemra has taken an interest in his carving. He’s actually done several good copies of the Westwind crest on new bunks. That created a problem.”

  “Oh?”

  “Everyone wanted one. So we switched them for your bunk and mine and Siret’s,” said Istril. “No one could complain about the angels getting them.”

  Saryn hadn’t exactly approved carving the crest on bunks all over the tower. Was Dealdron going to be like so many men and push every limit?

  “You did say crests were acceptable,” Istril said.

  “What about the one he did of the ryall?” Saryn sensed something was going on.

  “He did three of those,” said Siret blandly.

  “Three?”

  “Aemra persuaded him to.”

  “So the trio each have flowers? Flowers?” asked Saryn.

  “They are wildflowers.” Istril grinned.

  Saryn shook her head. “I don’t believe it. You…”

  “They’re only girls,” said Siret.

  “They’re guards.”

  “They’re still girls who will be guards… when they’re older. Let them have a carved flower or two.” Istril’s voice was firm, and she looked directly at Saryn.

  “Anyone can have anything carved on their bunk,” Saryn said dryly. After a moment, she added, “Anything suitable, and no larger than the Westwind crest. Flowers, crests, animals, designs.” She wasn’t about to fight that battle. “And the design and the carver have to be approved by Vierna. That’s just so things don’t get scratched into the wood.”

  Siret and Istril exchanged glances.

  Siret nodded. “Yes, ser.”

  “We’ll tell Vierna,” added Istril.

  After a moment of silence, Saryn said, “I need a moment with Istril.”

  “I’ll be in the carpentry shop.” Siret stepped through the doorway and out of sickbay.

  “What is it, Commander?” asked the older healer.

  “The other day… you said that I would understand about sensing things. What exactly did yo
u see?”

  Istril offered a shrug. “I couldn’t explain it, Commander. Sometimes, what I see is as much feeling as foresight. There’s something all tied up with you and this trip and… people. I can’t say what. I had a good feeling about it, though. Or not a bad one, anyway.”

  Saryn could sense the truth of that, but she also knew that Istril had seen more than she was willing to say. “That’s all you can say?” She tried to keep the irritation out of her words.

  “That’s all I’d best say. I might make it worse if I said more. You know why.”

  Saryn did. Trying to avoid or change what Ryba or the healers foresaw usually just made matters worse, often far worse.

  “Except,” added Istril, “be kind to Lady Zeldyan.”

  “That doesn’t sound good.”

  “How could it, in her situation? Besides, being kind to her will only help you and us.”

  While that was obvious, Saryn knew Istril was right and only trying to help. “One last question. The Marshal seemed drawn and tired. How is she? Physically, I mean? She doesn’t have some lingering illness or anything, does she?”

  “There’s nothing physical wrong with her. She just sees too much. She’s trying to sort out what’s useful and what isn’t. Then she has to decide what she—and we—can do.”

  “She’s always had to do that,” Saryn replied.

  “She’s getting better at it. She’s written out an entire book of things. It’s for Dyliess and whoever becomes Marshal after her.” Istril paused. “How would you like to know chunks of future history and have to act on that knowledge? I wouldn’t want to. You’d never know if you could change things or if you should have done something different.”

  Saryn nodded slowly. “Did she tell you that?”

  “No. Not in words. I just… know.”

  “Because you can do a little of it?”

  “A little is too much. I wouldn’t want to know more.”

  Saryn understood that. That kind of knowledge could be a set of chains. Was the tiredness she’d seen in Ryba the result of struggling with and against those chains? She shook her head. Was there any doubt about that?

  Finally, she said, “Thank you.”

  XXI

  Saryn’s eyes studied the narrow road that wound downward through a slope strewn with boulders, the smallest of which dwarfed her gelding. From the infrequent pockets of soil gathered on the sheltered side of the giant stones grew occasional junipers, few overtopping the rocks themselves. Another three kays below and to the west, the road reached the flat and grassy floor of the narrow river valley that stretched a good ten kays before entering another gorge, one that neither the road nor the guards could follow. Instead, they would have to climb, riding over another pass through the still-rugged lower range that was the last before the hills of eastern Lornth. With the white sun pounding down on the rock, Saryn had already removed her riding jacket and folded it into her saddlebags.

  Her undertunic stuck to her back in places. One-handed, she lifted the water bottle from its holder and took a long swallow.

  As Saryn’s eyes and senses scanned the rocky waste ahead, for some reason, one of Ryba’s parting instructions came to mind, in par tic u lar, the way in which Ryba had worded it. She had stated that finding out about Lord Ildyrom’s son Deryll might prove useful to Saryn. Not to Westwind or Ryba, but to Saryn. Exactly what had Ryba meant? At the time, with her greater concern about what the high trader and the Suthyans were doing, Saryn had taken it as a guideline for her negotiations. Now she wasn’t so certain, especially since both Istril and Ryba had made similar statements. Just what had they foreseen? She knew why neither would tell her, but that didn’t make her any happier.

  After another swallow, Saryn slipped the water bottle back into its holder and shifted her weight in the saddle, then turned to survey the riders who followed. No one was straggling. Her eyes flicked forward, toward the outriders, a good half kay ahead. They hadn’t seen anyone in at least a day, nor had she sensed anyone, but that would likely change before long.

  “This makes Westwind look like a garden, ser,” observed Hryessa, riding for the moment beside Saryn.

  “Compared to much of the Westhorns, Westwind is, and it’s much more comfortable than Lornth is going to be when we reach it.”

  “For you, ser,” Hryessa replied with a grin. “Some of the guards still have their riding jackets fastened all the way up.”

  “Ryba and Istril would be in undertunics by now, covered in sweat,” Saryn bantered back. “Maybe not that damp, because it’s dry here, but they’d be hot. Once we get where the air is damp…” She shook her head, although it would be another day before they emerged into the high hills southeast of Lornth.

  “Do you think we’ll run into any brigands?”

  “Not if they’re smart, but with those types, you never know. I’m more concerned about some of the local holders in Lornth. Trader Baorl likely stirred up trouble of some sort.”

  “With men like that, you can count on it. We can handle it.” Hryessa’s tone was dismissive. “Men…”

  “You seemed to have worked out things well enough with Daryn.”

  “He’s different. He also knows what I’d do to him if he ever did anything wrong.”

  Saryn laughed. “I think all Westwind knows that.”

  “He likes Dealdron,” offered the guard captain.

  “Did he say why?”

  “He said that Dealdron works hard and doesn’t feel sorry for himself, and that he’s a crafter at heart.”

  “But he’s trying to learn arms as well,” Saryn pointed out.

  “It doesn’t get in his way of working in the carpentry shop, and Vierna says he’s better than anyone there but her and Dyosta.”

  “He was an apprentice plasterer…”

  “They have to work with wood a lot, not just stone. People want plaster everywhere, and they have to carve it into decorative shapes, too.”

  “If he happened to be so good at it, why did he join the Gallosian armsmen?”

  “Daryn says that was because his older brother was lame and couldn’t do anything else but help their father, and times were hard. There wasn’t work for two apprentices.”

  Dealdron had told Saryn there had only been work for one apprentice, but not that his brother was disabled. She had to wonder what else she didn’t know about him.

  “He works hard,” Hryessa repeated.

  Saryn turned in the saddle to look squarely at the captain. “You’ve said that.”

  Hryessa shrugged. “He seems to be a good man. He’s decent-looking, and he’s kind to the children. We don’t have many.”

  “I argued with the Marshal to keep him alive and allow him to stay at Westwind.”

  “That was good of you, Commander. It was wise, too. Some guard will be most fortunate to have him as a consort.”

  “It’s too early for that. Less than a season isn’t enough to determine how Westwind suits a man, especially not until his leg is fully healed. Then we’ll see.”

  Hryessa offered an embarrassed smile. “Ser… we already said something like that.”

  “In my name, I’d wager? Don’t tell me that some of the guards were already making a play for him?”

  “Ser… Daryn, the two woodcutters, and old Covyn are the only men left in Westwind.”

  “And the Lornians who were crippled by the engineer.”

  “I said ‘men,’ ser.”

  “The healers and I have been working to get the Marshal to allow more men.”

  “That’d be a good idea, and before too long.”

  “I said that, too, Captain.”

  “Yes, ser.” Hryessa’s voice was even and polite.

  Saryn could sense a certain veiled amusement behind the words. “Would you mind telling me why you’re suddenly so concerned about Dealdron?”

  “The trio have taken an interest in him, ser, but it’s like… sister-brother. The girls just a bit younger aren’t likely to be
so wise.”

  “And it might not stay sister-brother for the trio, either. Is that what you’re telling me?”

  “No, ser. The trio are real clear about their feelings. You can see it in the way they act with him and the way he acts with them. But that won’t last with the others.”

  Saryn could sense that Hryessa was absolutely certain about the trio and Dealdron, but there was something else there. “What else?”

  “Nothing that I could say, ser.”

  Saryn wasn’t going to get any more out of Hryessa. When the captain didn’t want to say more, she didn’t, and nothing changed that.

  “Do any of the younger ones make plays for Daryn?” she asked, more to indicate she wasn’t about to press than to seek information Hryessa wasn’t about to provide.

  “Not more than once,” replied the captain with a laugh.

  If so many of the guards hadn’t been so badly beaten and abused, or disliked men in general, the problem would have come up even sooner. In a way, Saryn was surprised, in hindsight, that it hadn’t surfaced before, but then some of the emotional scars were fading, and some of the junior guards had come to Westwind as young girls with their mothers. They’d been young enough that they didn’t have quite the same level of negativity as the older guards.

  All that just reinforced Istril’s concerns about the need to change matters with regard to men, and that was likely to result in more tension between Saryn and Ryba. Yet Istril was right, and Hryessa’s comments just reinforced that concern.

  Still, there wasn’t anything Saryn could do at the moment, either about Dealdron or men in general. She had to admit, for all of her initial skepticism, that Dealdron seemed to be a good person… but there was something about the way he looked at her when he didn’t think she was watching, not that she felt anything wrong or negative… but… still…

  She shook her head, then scanned the road ahead, but she sensed no others besides those from Westwind.

  XXII

  By midafternoon on twoday, Saryn and first squad were out of the hills, past the smaller hamlets, and riding down a gentle grade between meadows and recently planted fields. Just before Saryn and Hryessa rode Xanda, one of the junior guards. She carried a standard bearing a parley flag since Saryn didn’t want anyone thinking the squad was the forerunner of an invasion force, especially with the possibility that the Suthyans might have spread that sort of false rumor. She just hoped that the locals recognized the white banner with the blue circle for what it was.