Arms-Commander

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

“What if it is not possible?”

  “Then we will do what we can to protect Westwind.” What exactly that might be, Saryn had no idea, except that, given the holders of Lornth, it would be neither easy nor bloodless.

  Saryn and her detachment passed few carts and wagons on the ride through Ornath and back to the river, making camp on sixday night at what passed for a way station near the ruins of what might once have been a town. After an early start on sevenday, two glasses’ ride brought them to a flat stretch between two hills and a kaystone proclaiming that Haselbridge lay but three kays ahead.

  Saryn could sense riders nearby and was not surprised to see a group appear on the low rise perhaps half a kay ahead, just off the left shoulder of the packed-clay road where it crested the next hill. She could sense no others, but all that meant was that there were none within a kay. “Riders ahead,” she said quietly but firmly to Hryessa.

  “Ready arms,” said Hryessa, turning in the saddle. “Pass it back on the quiet.”

  “Ready arms…Ready arms…” the murmured command whispered back through the guards.

  As the Westwind detachment neared the crest of the road, Saryn could see that the waiting riders were drawn up almost in formation. On the right side of the road was a scrubby section of pasture that sloped steeply down to the river, still running almost to the top of its banks with the late runoff from the Westhorns.

  “Hail, Angels!” The call was loud, cheerful, and sardonic, and came from an angular man attired in a rich maroon waistcoat over a thin but fine linen shirt. He was mounted on a gray stallion, slightly forward of the other eight riders.

  “Hail!” returned Saryn, studying the caller. He looked to be a young lord or heir, whose wavy brown hair was longer than that of most armsmen, crafters, or tradesmen, and his entire being radiated arrogance.

  “Where might you be headed?”

  “To Lornth.” Saryn reined up short of a position that would have brought her opposite the lord-holder or lordling. Behind her, Hryessa brought the guards to a halt. “And you?”

  “We were out for a ride.” He bowed in the saddle. “Keistyn, of Hasel. Welcome to my lands.” The cheerful words still carried a sardonic and demeaning overtone.

  Saryn inclined her head, if but slightly. “I have not had the honor of meeting you before, but please understand that we are only passing through with no ill intended to anyone in Lornth.”

  “That is most reassuring,” replied the lead rider, “for many have feared the blades of the angels of the heights.” He paused. “I do not believe you introduced yourself, Angel.”

  “Saryn, Arms-Commander of Westwind.” Saryn studied the eight armsmen behind Keistyn. All carried in shoulder harnesses the long and massive blades favored by most men-at-arms in Lornth, and all wore red tunics trimmed in black. Three looked young and fresh-faced, and two were clearly hardened veterans of some sort. The remaining three were excessively beefy, with a certain cruelty behind round faces, the kind of cruelty that seemed to come from self-indulgent and overweight males, Saryn reflected.

  “And what might a fearsome arms-commander be doing here in the lowlands? I had heard that the angels had asked a favor, and when the regent had granted it, you had returned to your heights, never to trouble Lornth again.”

  “We have not come to trouble Lornth,” Saryn replied pleasantly, “but to respond to a request of the regents. Because the regents, unlike the Gallosians, who paid most dearly for their faithlessness, have kept their word and faith, when the regents asked us to return to meet with them, we were pleased to accede to their request.”

  “I had not heard of the faithlessness of the Gallosians, but being people of little honor, could you have expected otherwise of them?” A short bark of laughter followed.

  “Until someone proves otherwise, we accept their word,” Saryn said. “They proved otherwise, and the Prefect’s son, Arthanos, and his army of nine thousand are no more.” She smiled politely at Keistyn.

  “Nine thousand…I beg your pardon, Angel, but that seems…unlikely.” A skeptical smile followed Keistyn’s words.

  Saryn shrugged. “Unlikely as it may seem to you, that is what happened. Sooner or later, you will hear, and there will doubtless be those who will not believe.” She paused. “But that is what happened. You should recall that, twice, Lords of Lornth attacked the Roof of the World, and both perished. The second time armsmen from all across Lornth perished as well. You might also recall that a single mage who left Westwind brought down the great empire of Cyador. Doubting is all well and good, Lord Keistyn, but it is also dangerous to doubt what has already occurred, especially when thousands have already died because they, in turn, doubted.”

  “Oh…I do doubt. I doubt anything that I have not been able to verify myself, or through those I trust to be most truthful.”

  Saryn smiled coolly. “I think you will find that angels do not stoop to lies or duplicity, but that is a matter in which you will find your own way.”

  For just a moment, Saryn could sense that her words had chilled the young lord, but that chill was followed immediately by anger so strong that Saryn cast out her senses again to see if other armsmen lurked nearby. To her relief, she could sense none.

  “I will indeed find what is true. I always do, Angel.” Keistyn smiled warmly. “Unlike many, I do not hamper myself with outmoded strictures, for a lord must do what he must to preserve his heritage.”

  “You are most forthright, Lord Keistyn. I appreciate your directness, and I will convey that to the regents, as well as your courtesy in greeting us.”

  “There is always a time for courtesy, but we will not delay you longer, for you have many kays to ride before you reach Lornth.”

  Saryn could easily feel the anger and the hostility behind the warmly spoken and cheerful-sounding words, an anger so raw that it burned like chaos within Keistyn. She also saw no purpose in revealing what she sensed. “That we do, Lord Keistyn, and the regents await us.”

  “I am most certain that they do and that they will tell you much. The Lady Zeldyan, especially, is a warm and most charming lady.” Keistyn smiled once more. “But I am most certain that you know that, and I digress.” He bowed from the saddle a last time, then turned his mount and rode down the back side of the rise, followed by his armsmen, toward a narrow road that stretched westward to where it passed between two wooded hills, flanked by a smaller stream that meandered out from the hills generally eastward toward a small stone bridge perhaps two kays farther along the road and just outside of Haselbridge.

  Saryn nodded to Hryessa.

  “Company, forward!”

  Saryn urged the gelding onward, her senses still focused on the departing Keistyn and his armsmen, even while she waited to hear what Hryessa might say. They rode down the other side of the rise and past the road that Saryn supposed led to Keistyn’s holding or country lodge.

  “Lord Keistyn sounds pleasant and cheerful,” observed Hryessa. “I do not think he is either.”

  “Why not?” asked Saryn.

  “He smiles, and even his eyes and his voice are warm, but they lie. He is evil behind all his pleasant words and smiles. So were those with him. Did you not see that?”

  “I saw we should not trust Lord Keistyn the length of a short sword, perhaps even less.”

  “Much less. He is the kind that men so often trust because he seems warm and friendly, until he places knives in their backs.”

  “And twists them,” added Saryn.

  Hryessa nodded, her eyes straying to the west and the nine riders.

  Another thought struck Saryn. There were only two even halfway-direct routes from Westwind to Lornth, and one led through the Lord of Duevek’s domains and the other through Lord Keistyn’s lands. She had chosen their route to avoid Duevek…and had been met and greeted by Keistyn, as if the young lord had been expecting the Westwind contingent. That suggested a number of possibilities, none of them exactly to Saryn’s liking, and that Keistyn and Duevek might wel
l be allied in more than their dislike of the regency.

  If even a fraction of the holders in Lornth were like Kelthyn and Keistyn, Saryn could see why Lady Zeldyan and Lord Gethen had their troubles. Still…short of wiping them all out, which hardly seemed possible, she had to wonder exactly what she could do to help Zeldyan.

  XLV

  As on her previous journey to Lornth, when Saryn and her detachment rode the last kays toward the town in the late afternoon of eightday, they saw no scouts who might have conveyed information on the presence of Westwind guards to the regents. When they entered the town proper, the only reaction was a sullen sort of fear, where women eased away from laundry tubs and into their summer-sweltering stucco houses, dragging children after them, until the guards had ridden well past.

  Even more pungent smells rose from the stone-lined sewage channels into the still, hot air, mixing with the odor of hot, and at least some burned, cooking oils. The unpleasantness of the odors intensified as the guards rode into the center of Lornth, with its narrow and roughly paved streets. Those out on the streets glanced toward the riders, then generally looked away.

  When Saryn saw the small square ahead, with its statue of Lord Nessil, she began to search intently in all directions for a signboard or something that might indicate the presence of the Square Platter. Not until she was past the statue did she finally catch a glimpse of a signboard with a cream-colored square platter set against a green backdrop, down perhaps half a block on the right side of the second narrow side street on the south.

  Then she rode through the narrower section of the avenue, with its taller and more ornate dwellings, and out onto the road around the green before the palace, whose pale pink walls looked even more washed-out in the late-afternoon summer sun.

  “To the right!” ordered Saryn, gesturing for the scouts riding ahead to follow the right section of the road circling the now-browning patchy grass of the green.

  The ironbound gates stood open, and Saryn had to wonder if they had ever been closed. Probably not, because the ten-cubit wall around the palace complex was hardly enough to stop a determined enemy of any great numbers, although it might suffice against a mob. But then, Saryn wondered, could the lord-holders or anyone else raise a large force?

  As Saryn raised her arm to order the Westwind contingent to a halt before the open gates, an older armsman half hurried, half waddled out of the guard house just inside the gates and stopped dead, not even reaching the space between the gates.

  “I’m Saryn, the Arms-Commander of Westwind. I came to see the regents. At their request.”

  “Ah…yes, ser. I had not heard,” stammered the guard, looking past Saryn at the ranks of mounts and guards, his eyes wide.

  “We will take the same rear stables and quarters we did on our last visit,” Saryn announced. “I would suggest that someone inform the Lady Zeldyan that we have arrived.”

  The guard gulped, looked at the armed women, and finally replied, “Yes…ser.”

  “Thank you.” Saryn nodded to Hryessa.

  “Company! Forward!”

  The hoofs of the Westwind horses clattered on the unevenly laid cobblestones, seemingly the only sound in the large courtyard, as Saryn and Hryessa led the detachment toward the paved area behind the palace proper, then to the two-story outbuildings set before the rear wall at the far west end of the complex. The scraggly grass between the cobblestones had turned brown, as had some of the moss on the lowest stones of the palace walls.

  “You were not so polite this time,” murmured Hryessa.

  “Now is not the time for deference to mere armsmen,” replied Saryn. “They need to understand that we stand for the Lady Zeldyan.” Saryn was far more concerned than she had been on her previous visit. Surely, after a request from the Lady Zeldyan, word should have been passed to the armsmen. Or did Zeldyan fear that, if Saryn did not arrive, her authority as regent would be even further weakened?

  “This is worse than before,” murmured Hryessa. “How can they let half a company of armsmen approach the main hold of Lornth and not know?”

  “That is why we are here, I fear,” replied Saryn.

  An ostler rushed out of the first stable, his eyes wide, then ducked back inside.

  “Company! Halt!” ordered Hryessa, as she and Saryn reined up in front of the second stable.

  Saryn eased her gelding aside while Hryessa turned her mount to face the detachment, then said, “Most of you know the drill. Mounts to the stables, then guards to the barracks and make sure everything is as it should be. Dismissed to duties!”

  Saryn had barely dismounted when she saw an armsman hurrying across the courtyard from the rear of the palace. As he neared, she could make out the features of the same junior officer who had greeted them earlier. Unfortunately, she could not remember his name.

  “Commander!” called the undercaptain.

  Saryn waited until he stopped a yard from her. She’d once thought that he resembled Dealdron; but it was clear, now that she looked, that he did not. She could sense the mixture of consternation and even fear stirred up within him. “Yes, Undercaptain?”

  “The Lady Zeldyan conveys her apologies for your not being recognized. She had not anticipated that you would respond to her invitation so speedily.”

  With a smile, Saryn replied, “Her invitation did say that she wished to meet at our earliest convenience. We have obliged her.”

  “Yes, ser. As soon as you have your guards settled, she would very much appreciate a brief meeting with you personally.”

  “I would be happy to do so. It should not be that long.”

  Less than a quarter glass later, Saryn and the undercaptain walked across the rough stone pavement of the rear courtyard to the door on the south wing of the palace and up the single flight of steps. Saryn carried her saddlebags and a second bag with other uniforms and items she had thought she might find of use.

  “The same chamber as before?” she asked.

  “Yes, ser.”

  Saryn turned to the right, noting that the air in the corridor was warm and stale.

  A young chambermaid—the same one as before, Saryn thought—hurried from the end door, then stepped to the side, her eyes wide before she dropped them, and said, “Your chamber is ready, Commander.”

  “Thank you.” Saryn smiled.

  The girl glanced up, fleetingly, her eyes taking in Saryn’s battle harness, before they dropped again.

  Saryn did not doff the harness and blades after she set her gear on the writing table, but she did take a moment to locate a clothesbrush and used it to remove the dust from her boots and uniform before she turned. “I’m ready.”

  “Yes, ser.”

  As she walked down the corridor beside the undercaptain, she could sense the chambermaid following, if at a discreet distance. She also managed to drag up the name of the undercaptain from her memory by the time they passed the top of a large formal staircase in the middle of the palace and reached the north staircase, where they climbed another flight of stairs, then walked to the same unmarked doorway where Saryn had been before and a single armsman stood.

  Saryn nodded. “Thank you, Undercaptain Maerkyn. I trust I will see you later.”

  “Yes, ser.” Maerkyn stepped back.

  Saryn could sense the chambermaid peering out from the stairwell and watching the three figures outside the private chambers of Lady Zeldyan.

  The guard outside the study looked at Saryn and her weapons.

  Saryn looked through him, her eyes cold, projecting a flow of total command.

  The man stepped aside.

  Saryn nodded and opened the door.

  “…never seen that…” came the faintest murmur before Saryn closed the door behind her and smiled. There would be more than a few things happening that Lornth had not seen before if she had anything to do with it.

  Lady Zeldyan had already stepped away from the small square table set before the middle window of the sitting room. On the table were t
wo bottles and a pair of goblets. Zeldyan wore a purple tunic and trousers trimmed in black, and her silver-and-blond hair was drawn back away from her face. The darkness under Zeldyan’s eyes was more pronounced than it had been earlier.

  “If you would sit down…” The regent waited to seat herself until Saryn began to take the other seat. “I can only offer white or amber wine…Commander…”

  “Saryn, if you would.”

  “Only if you call me Zeldyan…which you have not done…” Zeldyan’s smile was impish, and the amusement behind it startled Saryn so that she did not reply immediately.

  “White or amber?” asked the regent.

  “Whichever is lighter, I think.”

  “The white, then.” Zeldyan filled both goblets, then lifted hers. “To your courtesy in heeding my request.”

  Saryn returned the gesture. “And to your grace.” She took a sip of the clear white vintage, pleased at its light, slightly fruity flavor…and its coolness.

  “You came armed.” Zeldyan’s smile slipped away.

  “I came prepared, Lady.”

  “I did not expect an even-larger party than when you came earlier in the year. I do not know whether to be complimented or worried.”

  “Westwind wishes you to remain regent. The Marshal allowed me half a company…and some spare mounts and equipment. We also returned two of the wagons and drays. The other cart…barely survived the trip to Westwind, and the dray would not have survived the return.”

  “All will be surprised that you returned two,” replied Zeldyan sardonically.

  “The palace seems…rather empty, and I did not see Nesslek…” offered Saryn.

  “In the summer, few wish to remain in Lornth who do not have to. Nesslek is at The Groves with his grandsire.”

  “Is that for the summer…or because matters are less than desirable here in Lornth?”

  “He is spending the summer with his grandsire, as he has often done, and as I did as a child.”

  “Of course.” Saryn nodded, understanding fully that Nesslek was where Zeldyan thought he would be the safest. “The holdings near there are most friendly to your sire?”