Arms-Commander

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “Commander.” Maerkyn inclined his head more than was merely perfunctory but less than he probably would have to a male superior.

  After she left the duty room, Saryn made her way back to her quarters, stopping only momentarily to check with Hryessa. Then, once she had washed up and changed into a clean uniform—and left the battle harness in her chambers, changing to a formal sword belt with a single short sword—Saryn made her way to Zeldyan’s private chambers, only to be informed by Lyentha that Zeldyan was in the lower tower council chamber. A few moments later, Saryn walked into the lower chamber, where Zeldyan was seated in one of the chairs—now around a circular table that had not been present when Saryn had last been in the chamber. Even in midday, with the brass lamps lit, the dark-paneled chamber was gloomy enough that Saryn wondered how Zeldyan could read the ledger before her.

  “I saw you crossing the courtyard with young Maerkyn, and he did not look particularly happy,” offered Zeldyan, without rising from her chair.

  “He was not, but I trust I left him in a better humor than then. I talked with your courier, and, although I cannot prove it, I know that my message to you was intercepted and read by Lord Henstrenn and returned to the courier without his knowledge of its absence. That might well explain why Keistyn was waiting to see me when we returned. Had I returned with less of a force, I doubt I would have made it safely to Lornth.”

  “You are certain of this?”

  “Keistyn was waiting, and I wouldn’t be surprised if Henstrenn was prepared as well in case I went that way. The armsman who arranged for the courier and his escorts to spend the night at Duevek was familiar with an undercaptain there. That armsman woke up ill the next morning and died two days later, supposedly of a flux, just before he was to reach Lornth. The courier admits he had a filling supper at Duevek and slept extraordinarily well that night.” Saryn shrugged.

  “You are most suspicious, Saryn.” Zeldyan’s laugh was light and bitter. “That does sound like Henstrenn, leaving no way for anyone to prove anything.”

  “Proof may be necessary for public action, but suspicion is sufficient for private precautions.”

  “What precautions do you suggest?”

  “Those will depend on what Lord Henstrenn has to say.”

  “True.” Zeldyan closed the ledger and gestured to the chair at her right. “Join me. It should not be long before his lordship arrives. Henstrenn may be many things, but he is always punctual and attentive to the details, particularly those that do not inconvenience him greatly.”

  A few moments after the tower bell rang announcing the turning of the glass at noon, the study door opened, and Lyentha announced, “Lord Henstrenn.”

  Henstrenn, Lord of Duevek, was almost what Saryn expected, an older and more handsome version of Keistyn, his black hair shot with streaks of iron gray, and a warm smile on his face as he advanced toward Lady Zeldyan, his boots so light on the stone, then the worn dark green carpet, that his movements seemed almost feline. He stopped and bowed, then said, “My Lady Regent.” Then he turned to Saryn, and added, “Arms-Commander.”

  Like Keistyn, Henstrenn had a deep, warm, and powerful voice, one whose friendliness could not have been more at odds with the coldness behind it, Saryn sensed, but she merely replied pleasantly, “Lord Henstrenn.”

  “When I heard that the Arms-Commander of Westwind was visiting the regents,” Henstrenn went on, “I thought I would pay my respects to all the regents and the arms-commander.” He paused. “But apparently, I was mistaken about all the regents being present.”

  “Your courtesy in wishing to see the arms-commander is much appreciated,” replied Zeldyan. “Please be seated.”

  Henstrenn slipped into the seat directly across the table from Zeldyan with feral grace. “Will we be seeing the other regents?”

  “My sire has indicated he is involved in training Lord Nesslek, and since I have not heard where Lord Kelthyn is located, it was not possible to contact him in a timely manner,” replied Zeldyan. “We frankly did not expect that the arms-commander would respond so quickly.”

  Henstrenn smiled warmly, as did his deep brown eyes. “I have heard that the Marshal of Westwind is not one to tarry. Once she discovered Lord Arthanos marching an army toward the Roof of the World, she destroyed it.” He looked to Saryn. “Or are those reports incorrect or overstated?”

  “Lord Arthanos had about nine thousand men, mounted and foot,” replied Saryn. “All but about two hundred perished.”

  “I had not heard the details. Perhaps you could enlighten me as to how this amazing destruction was accomplished.”

  “I am not privy to all the weapons that the Marshal has at her disposal.” Most, but not all. “I do know that her archers alone slew hundreds, and that we could find no trace, even of the bodies, of most of those who perished.”

  “Mighty sorcery, it would appear, must have destroyed the remainder. Would you know just what type of sorcery, Arms-commander?”

  “I could not possibly describe the means by which it happened, Lord Henstrenn. I can only say that when the smoke and dust cleared, there was no sign of Lord Arthanos and his army, save a company or so of rear guards and ten supply wagons.” All that was perfectly true, if misleading. For a moment, Saryn could sense that, in some way, her words had discomfited the man, if but for a moment.

  “It must be of some concern to those in Westwind that their safety rests so entirely on one person, mighty as the Marshal must be.”

  “That is no different from the ruler of any other land, is it?” replied Saryn. “The responsibility lies upon the ruler to find the people and tools by which he or she can best protect the land and those upon it.”

  “Lord-holders share that responsibility, if on a lesser scale,” offered Henstrenn. “We must balance what has been with what is best for the future, commensurate with the resources at hand.”

  “You state that concisely and well,” said Zeldyan.

  “Thank you, your grace. Now that the arms-commander is indeed here in Lornth, might I ask what your plans are?”

  “You may indeed, Lord Henstrenn. We will be visiting a number of holdings so that the holders may meet Commander Saryn and come to understand better why it is good to have an ally such as Westwind between us and Gallos…as well as flanking Suthya.”

  “You realize, Lady Zeldyan, that we would not have difficulties with Suthya had Lornth in an earlier time not taken action to seize certain lands and the port of Rulyarth?”

  “That is an interesting way of putting it, since Rulyarth and the lands along the river had belonged to Lornth for centuries until they were seized a generation ago. Reclaiming what was historically ours should not have been unexpected by the Suthyans.”

  “No, Lady, but taking it without the means to hold it for long exposed us to greater danger than not taking it at all. Still…I would not dwell on Suthya, for what is past is past.”

  There was a silence, although Saryn could sense Zeldyan’s concealed anger. After a moment, Saryn said, “As you may have heard, Lord Henstrenn, because traders do tend to cross the Roof of the World, we do occasionally hear intriguing bits of news. One that the Marshal found of great interest was that a Suthyan trader apparently visited several holdings in Lornth. What seemed strange was that he took no goods with him, just armsmen bound to the Suthyan Council. Because your holding is closer to the roads that the traders follow, I was wondering what else you might be able to add to what the Marshal conveyed to the regents.”

  Henstrenn was not surprised by Saryn’s words, either in expression or within, which confirmed for her that he already knew that she knew of his dealings with Baorl. “I could not possibly add to anything that the most powerful Marshal of Westwind has determined to have occurred. I would say that any holder who would protect his people will listen to all sources of information, but listening does not mean that loyalties change in the slightest, only that one listens, just as you, Lady Zeldyan, and the regents listen to me and to the
arms-commander.”

  “You’re most persuasive, Lord Henstrenn.” Zeldyan smiled. “You are also most astute. Of all the holders you know, who might be among the best for the arms-commander and me to visit—besides yourself, since you have been so kind as to make yourself available here?”

  “Ah…there are so many who have doubts about the efficacy of allying Lornth to a power about which they know so little…” Henstrenn paused, as if he were thinking, before continuing. “But I might suggest Lord Maeldyn, or perhaps Lord Spalkyn.”

  Saryn could sense a calculation behind Henstrenn’s suggestion, one, she suspected, designed to push Zeldyan away from the very names he had suggested.

  “Do any others come to mind?” Zeldyan’s inquiry was sweetly voiced.

  “If one wanted to find out how those near Lord Deryll feel about Westwind, you might consider visiting Lord Barcauyn.”

  “That is a most interesting possibility,” admitted Zeldyan. “We will give your thoughts careful consideration, Lord Henstrenn. And how is your most lovely and obedient consort?”

  “Myleanda is well. She is visiting her cousin at the moment.”

  “Oh…I had not heard that. She and Keistyn are so different…”

  “Different as we may all be, we do share a great concern about assuring that Lornth remain strong…as I know you do, Lady Zeldyan.”

  “I am so glad to hear you say that,” replied Zeldyan. “You, above all, are known for keeping your word and commitments.”

  “You are most kind,” demurred Henstrenn.

  Saryn managed to keep a pleasant smile on her face for another quarter glass or so while Zeldyan and Henstrenn traded apparent pleasantries.

  Finally, Zeldyan rose from her seat, and, after a moment, as Henstrenn did, so did Saryn.

  “I am so glad that you came to see me and to meet Commander Saryn,” Zeldyan said warmly. “I’m sure that you’ll be telling your acquaintances about her, and how much better it would be to have Westwind as an ally in these…difficult times.”

  “They could, indeed, be difficult times, and we all must take care to choose wisely for Lornth, Lady Regent…as I know you will.” Henstrenn bowed to Zeldyan, then turned slightly to Saryn. “I’m pleased to meet you, Commander Saryn, here, rather than in a less…hospitable situation, and I trust you feel as I do.”

  “Indeed I do,” replied Saryn with yet another smile she did not feel. “It’s well to learn about someone in person so that you don’t judge that person on what others say.”

  “Do not let us keep you,” said Zeldyan. “Do convey my best to your consort.”

  Zeldyan did not reseat herself until several moments after the study door closed behind the departing Henstrenn. When she sat back down, so did Saryn.

  “I didn’t realize that Keistyn and Henstrenn were related by consortship,” Saryn said.

  “Saryn,” said Zeldyan gently, “in some way or another all of the seventeen major holders in Lornth are related to each other. With whom else could they consort?”

  Saryn concealed a wince. No wonder Lornth was in trouble.

  “Now…we should discuss whom we should visit, and in what order. I’m inclined to follow Henstrenn’s suggestions.”

  “So that you can point out to Kelthyn that you did…and because those names were on the list anyway?”

  “At times, doing what someone says they want is the best way to disarm them.” Zeldyan smiled. “Besides, he did not wish me to visit Maeldyn. That was why he suggested him.”

  Saryn smiled back at the regent. Zeldyan was no one’s fool.

  XLVII

  Given the way inns operated, Saryn decided that she would visit the Square Platter after midmorning on twoday. Again, as she and the three guards rode from the palace to the square and down the side street, men and women alike glanced at them, then quickly looked away.

  When she dismounted outside the Square Platter, she handed the gelding’s reins to Yulia. “Just wait here for now.” She studied the inn, a narrow brown-and-yellow brick building some fifteen yards across the front, with three windows on the right side and one on the left side of a large single door. Both the door and the shutters were painted a deep burgundy. A covered porch only two yards deep extended the width of the front, and a narrow brick-paved lane on the left side of the building presumably led to stables and a rear courtyard. She turned and stepped up onto the narrow porch.

  The tall and broad man who stood beside the door looked at Saryn, then at the three Westwind guards, still mounted, before he said, “I don’t think you’re welcome here.”

  Saryn smiled politely. “I’m welcome. I’m here to see Haelora. I have a letter from her aunt in Henspa introducing me to her.”

  “I said—” The man stopped, realizing that the short sword was at his throat.

  “What’s all this about?” Another man, older and paunchier, stepped out of the inn. His eyes flicked from Saryn to the armed guards and back to Saryn.

  “I’m here to see Haelora. I have a letter of introduction from Jennyleu. Your man wants to keep me from her.” Saryn lowered the short sword only slightly.

  Abruptly, the second man shook his head, almost ruefully. “You’re an angel, aren’t you?”

  “Saryn. I’m the Arms-Commander of Westwind. I was asked to meet with the regents, but I’ve stopped at the Black Bull three times now…”

  “Jennyleu couldn’t resist sending you to see her niece.” He shook his head, then looked at the tall man. “Rhytter…don’t ever cross one of the angels. I don’t want to tell your family how you ended up dead.”

  Rhytter’s eyes narrowed. “You going to let them in here?”

  “You want to die over it?”

  “I think I’ll be finding another job.” Rhytter turned and walked off the porch.

  Saryn just waited, looking at the prematurely balding blond man who was probably younger than she was.

  “Don’t worry about it. He never has liked women all that much. I’m Vanadyl, Haelora’s consort and half owner of this establishment.”

  “Saryn.” She displayed the envelope. “From Jennyleu.”

  “Come on in.”

  Saryn followed Vanadyl inside and into a narrow foyer.

  “Haelora! Got a surprise for you!”

  The woman who hurried through the archway from the public room to the right wore a burgundy skirt and blouse, and a cream-colored apron. She looked at Saryn, as if not quite certain what to say.

  “The angel here’s got a letter from your aunt. Oh, she did what we couldn’t. Rhytter said he wouldn’t be working here anymore.”

  “Fancy that.” Haelora was as blond as her husband, but unlike many of the women of Lornth, whose hair was long and either braided or bound back, hers was cut not that much longer than Saryn’s. Also, unlike her husband, she was slender and muscular.

  “This is from your aunt.” Saryn extended the envelope.

  Haelora opened the envelope. When she finished the letter, she shook her head ruefully. “Only Aunt Jennyleu’d have the nerve. Says she owes her life to you.”

  “I helped a little when she was ill earlier this summer.”

  “More than a little if she put it in ink,” suggested Vanadyl.

  “She writes that I’m to help you.” Haelora paused. “Begging your pardon, Angel, but what sort of help could a poor innkeeper provide?”

  “Information.” Saryn looked at the younger woman. “We’re here to help Lady Zeldyan. There seem to be a number of lords who feel like Rhytter did.”

  “Glad he’s gone,” replied Haelora with a laugh. “Wouldn’t have been working here if he hadn’t a been Ma’s youngest cousin. Since he left on his own, I’m not obligated anymore. What sort of information?”

  “What you hear. What people are worried about. How people feel about the regency.”

  Haelora gestured to the public room. “Best we take one of the front tables. Folks know not to bother me there if I’m talking to someone. That’s where I haggle
with everyone.”

  “And she haggles well,” added Vanadyl. “Otherwise, we’d not be in business.” He turned back toward the narrow desk against the wall, where a ledger lay open.

  “But he keeps the accounts,” replied Haelora, leading the way into the public room and toward a table in the corner farthest from the archway, where she settled into a chair from which she could watch both the archway to the main foyer and the smaller archway to the kitchen.

  “Do you have any children?” asked Saryn.

  “Just Maryla. She’s but eleven and one of the best cooks in Lornth. Runs the kitchen right well, she does. You wanted to know what worries folks? They worry that their wallets are too thin, and they don’t see ’em getting any fatter. They don’t see the regents doing much to help them. Leastwise, the Lady Zeldyan doesn’t spray coins like Lord Nessil’s consort did—a new dress every eightday. He wasn’t much better, with all his gold-and-purple tunics.”

  “What do people think about Lady Zeldyan?”

  “I don’t know as they think much, excepting she’s trying to do her best. Most folk just want to have enough for small comforts and be left alone.”

  “What about Lord Kelthyn?”

  “Oh…Lord Snotnose…he near-on rode down old Bethamie last winter, then yelled at her for not getting out of his way, then talks real cultured to the fellow he’s riding with. Can’t say as many folks even pay much attention to him. I wouldn’t know that much, save that Bethamie’s daughter is Maryla’s friend. Now…Lord Gethen, he’s gentlefolk. Some of his armsmen come in here. Never heard a one speak ill of him, and more than a few tales of how he helped a widow or an orphan on his holding. Wouldn’t be surprised if some wouldn’t take a blade for him.”

  “Did you ever hear anything about a Lord Keistyn?”

  “Can’t say as I have.”

  “Henstrenn?”

  “He’s the Lord of Duevek, isn’t he? Only thing I ever heard here is that he’s been hiring armsmen, anywhere he can get them. Been doing it for nigh on three–four years. Have to wonder where he gets the golds, when most of the lords haven’t been adding any armsmen at all.”