Arms-Commander (11 page)

Over the next eightday, the Roof of the World warmed, as much as it ever did. The root crops continued to grow, and the hardy redberry bushes showed signs of blossoming. Predictably, Ryba showed irritation at the time it would take to create the horn composite bows, then ordered the bow-making to continue as quickly as possible with the limitations.

Because a thundershower was drenching Westwind in mid afternoon on sixday, Saryn decided to stay inside until it passed and undertake a thorough inspection of Tower Black from the level below Ryba's quarters to the lowest level, which held the carpentry shop as well as sickbay and the armory. Everything was largely in place on the upper levels. Sickbay itself was empty, and she walked quietly to the carpentry shop, stopping well short of the entry archway when she saw Dealdron seated on an old bench, using a small plane to smooth out a headboard for one of the narrow pallet bunks that would be used by the younger guards. After a time, he set the plane down and slipped a small knife out of his belt, one so small it fit almost within his palm. He began to cut a design in the middle of the headboard. Behind him, several other guards worked on various projects, but none paid much attention to the young Gallosian.

“Why are you doing that?”

Saryn couldn't see the speaker, but sensed it had to be one of the silver-haired trio because of the swirl of blackness that surrounded the girl.

“Flowers are supposed to bring pleasant dreams,” replied Dealdron. “Carved flowers last longer than real ones, and there are few flowers in winter.”

“What kind of flower is that?”

“It's a ryall. There aren't many. They grow in rocky places where little else grows, and they do not bloom often.”

“What color are they?” Aemra stood, stretching and holding a stave she had trimmed to fit the broken bucket on the narrow workbench before her. She slipped it into place, with just enough force that it was clear she had shaped it perfectly. Then she turned and waited for Dealdron to reply. Behind her appeared Adiara, who looked at the Gallosian, half fearfully.

“They're black, mostly, with thin lines of white that outline the petals. A ryall is bigger than the one I'm carving. Each flower is bigger than a guard's hand.”

“They don't sound pretty.” Aemra stepped over toward Dealdron and studied the small carving. “I like the carving, though.”

“They're not pretty. They're beautiful, like an icicle or a foggy morning.”

“Icicles are freezing, and foggy mornings are cold and damp,” Aemra pointed out.

“Here on the Roof of the World, that might be true. They still can be beautiful.”

Saryn concentrated on feeling what was happening between the two, but so far as she could sense, there were no feelings on Dealdron's part beyond exactly what she heard in his words and tone. Aemra was curious and possibly a bit pitying when she looked at the young man's splinted leg, but the pity vanished as she looked at the first cuts of the design.

“I suppose so.” Aemra didn't sound that convinced.

Dealdron didn't press the issue but bent forward and continued to cut and deepen the lines of the ryall. Saryn sensed the dull throbbing in his leg, but the young man kept working, and Aemra went back to carefully measuring and cutting a second stave for the other broken bucket on the workbench. After a time of watching, Saryn stepped into the carpentry shop. Several of the guards glanced up, then resolutely looked away.

“Commander,” Aemra murmured, inclined her head, then stepped away from Saryn and closer to the bench. Adiara did not move at all, her eyes fixed on Saryn.

“What are you doing here?” asked Saryn, looking squarely at Dealdron. “Did the healers say that you could leave sick bay?”

“They told me not to try to climb the steps without help. Here…it is not far, and there are no steps. I can at least smooth wood. I asked Vierna. She seemed to be in charge.”

“You carve as well, I see,” added Saryn. “Did you consider that someone might not like a flowered headboard?”

“You have many guards, ser. I thought there might be one…” Dealdron lowered the tiny knife, then shrugged.

“There are probably a few.” Saryn smiled. “If you want to carve designs, I'll get you a drawing of the Westwind crest.”

“Might I ask a favor, Commander?”

“You can ask.” Saryn stopped, although she had been about to turn and leave the shop since she had little else to say.

“I was never trained in arms. Your guards would have spitted me like a capon if I had had to fight. Could I take the exercises that even the older women do in the morning?”

“You are barely walking.”

“That is true. I could only do some of the exercises, but I could begin to learn.”

“It's not really necessary, is it?”

“Commander…ser…if you would…”

“Yes?” Saryn had to work at not snapping. She'd never liked male puppy dogs.

“There are but three things that will happen to me. The Marshal will order me killed. You will send me away from Westwind. Or I will stay in Westwind. If I obtain a little training in arms, it will do me little good against what I have seen of you and your guards. If you send me out, I will need to fend for myself because every man in Gallos will turn against me, and those in other lands will as well because they will know me only as a stranger. Any skill in arms will help me survive. And if I am allowed to remain here, then would it not help if I could at least defend myself should any outsiders attack?”

Saryn couldn't help smiling, if slightly. The Gallosian did have a few points, and that suggested that he might show some promise…and he wasn't begging, just explaining. The rigor of the exercises and the training couldn't hurt in instilling more respect in him, either.

“You may begin the exercises with the junior guards whenever the healers allow you to do so—only the basic exercises that you can do without hurting your leg. Once you are healed, then we will see.”

Dealdron inclined his head. “Thank you, Commander.”

“We'll see,” Saryn repeated, not wanting to commit to more. After a moment, she turned and stepped back through the archway, all too conscious that Dealdron's eyes were on her.

As she walked back up the steps, her boots barely whispering on the stone, the way he had phrased the last alternative struck her.
If I am allowed to remain here.
That suggested he might want to remain. Was that because returning to Gallos might be a death sentence…or a sentence to a life of misery because he'd been captured?

She shook her head. Men! Why did they have to think that if a woman bested a man in anything, the man was worthless? At the same time, she was impressed by the way the young man had stood up to Ryba, without bluster but without begging, and by his efforts to prove he had worth. He'd made the decision to learn more, but how much of that was because he was calculating that would make a favorable impression and how much because he had an honest desire to prove himself? She'd sensed both, but more of the latter, she thought.

Time would tell which was more important to him. She hoped it was the desire to prove his worth and improve himself…but she wasn't counting on it. Not after ten years on the Roof of the World, fighting off all too many men who wanted women as serfs or slaves.

A glass before the evening meal on sixday, after the thunderstorm passed, Saryn hurried up to the stables to meet with Duessya, the head ostler of the Westwind Guard. She'd asked Duessya to question Dealdron, but between Duessya's duties and Saryn's, more time than Saryn would have liked passed before she had a chance to meet with Duessya again.

The tall guard stood at the west end of the stables, peering at the runoff channel that angled southward away from the stables and joined the stone channel on the south side of the stone-paved road leading down past the smithy to Tower Black.

“What is it?” asked Saryn. “You look worried.”

“We're gettin' more water in the channel. Must have something to do with the quarry.”

“It's south of here.”

“May be so, Commander, but nothing else has changed, and there's nothing says water can't run northward when it goes downhill.”

“I'll tell Siret. Some of her assistants can handle that. Daerona should be able to do it.” Saryn paused. “I wanted to ask you if you'd talked to the Gallosian about horses.”

Duessya nodded. “On threeday. He knows about dealing with hoof rot, and he says he can make up a pasty solution that will help, but you can't use it too much because it will crack a mount's hoofs. Like us, he thinks the best way is to keep 'em out of the wet and mud and to clean and dry the whole hoof area every time they come back from a muddy ride. He thinks it would be better if we had more hoof picks…”

Something else that needs to be forged.
Would there ever be an end to what they didn't have, or what they didn't have enough of?

“…thinks we ought to add some of that coarse high grass to their feed in the winter…says that eating the rough grass seems to keep 'em warmer in cold weather. It also might keep their teeth from getting too sharp when they can't graze. Leastwise, might not have to float their teeth so much.”

“That might be useful. The young ones could gather the grass just before the snows hit. Anything else?”

Duessya frowned for a moment, as if trying to search her memories. “Lot of little things. When he heard the stables were stone, he did say that it might be better if the mangers were set so that the hay or feed didn't touch the stone.”

“Condensation,” mused Saryn. “Cold stone catches the dampness, turns it into little rivulets. If there's anything left in the bottom, the water that collects on the stone could drip down and spoil the hay or anything above…”

“Oh…”

“We should give him a try here once his leg is healed more.” Saryn paused. “Thank you for talking to him. Once he can walk, you'll have to decide if he'd be a help.”

“Anyone who'd be interested in the horses besides riding them would help.” Duessya shook her head.

As she left, Saryn studied the stone runoff channel. It definitely was running higher.

Her steps were long and quick as she headed back down to Tower Black to catch Istril after her afternoon blade session with the older guards. Between trying to work out a plan for teaching Temple and accelerating arms training for the inexperienced young and newer guards, and all the other minor and continual items brought to her attention, Saryn hadn't seen Istril except in passing in days. She was striding past the smithy.

Istril was leaving the practice field but stopped and waited at the edge of the road once she saw the arms-commander. “You've been running everywhere lately.”

“No more than you,” replied Saryn. “How is Suansa doing with that arm?”

“It's healing. Likely be harvest before she'll be close to having any real strength in it.”

“What about the Gallosian?”

“He's as bad as some other people I know.”

Istril's voice was even, but Saryn could sense a certain amusement. “Go on.”

“I had to spend some time explaining what he could safely do and what he couldn't and why.” Istril began to walk down the road toward the causeway and the tower beyond.

Saryn glanced at the water in the stone runoff channel beside the road, then back to Istril. “Did he tell you that he wants to learn the basic arms exercise and training?”

“He did. I told him he shouldn't try even the basic exercises for another eightday, except for the simple arm-strengthening ones that he can do sitting down. He really doesn't need those, but I gave him some of those crude weights you had Huldran forge years back. I said they'd build up his arms more. That might keep him from doing what he shouldn't.”

“Duessya thinks he knows a lot about horses. She didn't say it quite that way, though. What do you think about him as a person?”

“He's very polite. I think you should talk to him regularly. He might say more to you.”

“If he won't talk to you…”

“That's not what I meant. It could be Llyselle, or Hryessa, or Ryba, but every so often he should have direction from someone who's an authority figure. You're definitely that.”

“You have something in mind, Istril.”

“I do. The same thing you do, if you want him to fit in. You just can't dump a man, especially a wounded one, into Tower Black without someone occasionally reinforcing the chain of command and the fact that women run things. Healers aren't in that chain.”

“I'll take care of it.”

“More than every few eightdays, I'd suggest.”

Saryn shook her head. “I don't even know that I like him…but he's young enough that he just might be able to adjust.”

Istril nodded.

“All right. I'll talk to him.” After Istril said nothing, Saryn added, “As soon as I can.”

“Thank you, Commander.”

Once Saryn reached Tower Black, she found Dealdron sitting on a bench in the carpentry shop, watching as Vierna and an apprentice turned over a broken trestle table to replace the center pedestal legs.

The young Gallosian looked up at Saryn. “Ser?”

“Istril tells me that you're trying to do too much and that you'll hurt your leg more if you do.”

“I feel useless…ser.”

“You've been working in the carpentry shop, and you've made several bunks.”

“Mostly. There are things I cannot do on one leg.”

“It's better to concentrate on what you can do and not what you can't. That way, some things of value actually get done.”

“They aren't what I do best.”

“No. They probably aren't,” replied Saryn. “But they're things that need to be done, and someone needs to do them. Everyone in Westwind ends up doing some things that they don't do as well as they do other things; but if you keep at the distasteful jobs, you can get better so that you don't spend as much time at them.” She added, “If you want to prepare yourself for arms training, you could also exercise with the weights.”

“I can lift them.”

Saryn realized that the idea of weight-training repetitions wasn't one with which Dealdron was familiar. “Of course you can. But how many times in a row can you lift them?”

The Gallosian frowned.

Saryn walked over to the nearest wood bin and rummaged through it until she came up with a length of oak close to the size of a short sword. She carried it back to Dealdron, then thrust it at him. “Hold it as you would a blade—one-handed.”

“It is but wood.” His face wrinkled in puzzlement as he took the billet.

“Just hold it.” Saryn watched. Before long, she could see his arm begin to tremble. Unlike pine or spruce, oak was heavy. “Keep holding it.”

Tiny beads of sweat began to appear on Dealdron's face, then the wood billet began to droop.

“Keep holding it,” Saryn said calmly.

Finally, Dealdron had to lower the oak. Frustration warred with puzzlement on his face although he did not speak.

“Iron is heavier than oak,” Saryn pointed out. “You could only hold that perhaps a tenth part of a glass. Do you think battles are over that quickly? What would happen to you if your arm got tired when someone was charging at you?”

The young man did not reply.

“What would happen?” Saryn asked again.

“I'd get wounded, or I'd have to get out of the way.”

“And what would happen to the guard behind you? Or her mount? Or the formation and the other guards?”

Dealdron just looked stoically at Saryn.

“You've seen Westwind. We can't afford unnecessary casualties because someone doesn't want to train hard enough. That's why there were twenty-one dead Gallosians down in the vale and only one dead guard. Working with the weights will strengthen your arms so that you'll be better able to handle a blade when your leg heals. The healer will show you how to use them. Listen to her.” Saryn managed to keep her voice level, but she could sense the unseen darkness swirling around her. That wasn't good. She needed to keep the flow of forces even.

“I am sorry, Commander. There is much that is new to me.”

“There's much that is new to everyone who comes here. Those who learn are those who remain and who survive.” What else could she say to him?

Abruptly, he lowered his eyes, if but for a moment. Then he said, “I will do as you say.”

She understood that his words were not so much a capitulation as a statement that he would try what she said…and hold her responsible for the results, if only in his own mind.

“And as the healer tells you. You will not improve if you do not learn the proper way to lift the weights, just as a rider cannot improve when she rides improperly.” She offered a polite smile. “I will talk to you later, and I will check with the healer as well.”

Then she turned and headed toward the stone staircase. Again, she could sense Dealdron's eyes on her back as she left the carpentry shop.