Arms-Commander (13 page)

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 particular, 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.

By mid afternoon 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.

Ahead was a kaystone rising out of the green early grass that would brown under the summer heat. Saryn had to squint to make out the words once engraved in the stone and almost weathered away. HENSPA—3 K.

“Ayrlyn said something about this place.”

“Good or bad?”

“Good.”

“Let's hope it's still that way.”

Just beyond where the road flattened out ahead was a low hill on the right side of the road. On the mostly level ground between the road and the slope rose a holding of some sort, with a large barn and several outbuildings, and three small houses. Beyond the holding, the road curved to the northwest around the hill. Two men and a boy were working on a stone wall of a corral beside one of the smaller outbuildings. The boy pointed, and the men turned. Then one said something, and the three watched, stone-faced, as Saryn and the guards rode past.

Once they were halfway around the curve, Saryn could see where the brown clay road straightened and led into the town. A scattering of huts or cots, set almost haphazardly on small plots of land, flanked the road for about a kay. Beyond them were more regularly placed stucco dwellings. Once most likely white, the houses were tinged a brownish tan, with gray-tile roofs.

“More of the black sheep.” Hryessa pointed to a small flock to the right of the road, tended by a small barefoot girl and two scruffy dogs.

Closer to the town proper, under a porch of slanted planks on a rough timber frame, a graying woman struggled with laundry in a wooden tub held together with woven bark strips. Several chickens pecked in the dirt beside the hut. The light breeze carried various smells to Saryn, and she wouldn't have wanted to look into the source of any of them.

No one actually closed shutters, and that did happen, Saryn had heard, although she hadn't seen it on her one previous trip to Lornth. Two bent and graying men, standing outside a smithy, stared. From inside came the sound of a hammer on metal, and the faint odor of hot iron and charcoal drifted around Saryn.

The square in the center of Henspa was anything but impressive, with a modest pedestal and a weathered statue in the center, surrounded by a low brick wall that needed so much repointing that it appeared likely to collapse in a strong wind. Of the buildings around the square, the only two that had received much care were the chandlery, where the two crossed candles had been recently repainted yellow, and the inn, the next building west of the chandlery. The inn boasted a signboard with the glossy black image of a well-endowed bull. By comparison, the cooperage across the square from the inn and the chandlery was so dingy that Saryn couldn't even tell what sort of finish might once have graced the plank siding and the drooping shutters. Even the pair of display barrels flanking the door were stained from rust oozing from their hoops.

“Angels!” boomed a loud voice. The man who stepped out from under the shade of the inn's porch was a giant, but his mahogany hair and well-trimmed beard were tinged with streaks of gray. He looked directly at Saryn, who signaled for the squad to halt.

“You'd be one of the angels, I take it?”

“Yes. We're traveling to Lornth to meet with the regents.”

“I'm Essin. I run the Black Bull here. My ma, it's half hers, she said anytime any angels came to town, she wanted to talk to 'em. Been that way ever since…well…a good ten years. Be a good thing, especially now. We don't have enough rooms for all of you, but you can have the stable, and you and the other angel there, you can have the big room.”

“We couldn't pay for all that,” Saryn said with a smile.

“Oh…there'd be no charge for the rooms, just for any meals.”

Saryn sensed the man's honesty, but she didn't understand why he'd make such an offer.

“Not my idea. It's Ma's, and she pretty much still runs Henspa.” He shrugged. “I do as she wants. Anyway, you spend time talking to her, and you get the stable and the rooms.”

Saryn offered a smile. “That's the best offer we've had on the whole journey.”

“You really headed to see the regents?” His eyes moved to the parley flag.

“Yes. They need to know some things.”

“As if that'd be anything new.” Essin shook his head. “If you'd have the stable, it's behind the inn. Take the lane there.” He pointed. “Once you've got your…folk…settled, if you'd not mind, Ma would enjoy talking with you here on the porch.”

Saryn turned to Hryessa. “If you and the squad would check out the stable…”

“Yes, ser.”

For a time, neither Saryn nor the innkeeper spoke.

“You don't see many of the local lord-holder's armsmen here, do you?” she finally asked.

“Haven't seen any of Lord Jaffrayt's men in years, except for the ones that come every harvest with the tariff collector. Pretty much leave us alone, and we like it that way.”

“What about traders?”

“Not many. We get some factors around harvesttime, looking for spare grain or cattle, or black ewes. Not interested in much else that we have here. Except there were some Suthyans here an eightday or two back. Only one trader and a bunch of armsmen. Talked to a few folks, and Ma, then left.”

“What did they say?”

“Ma would have to tell you. I wasn't there.” Essin shook his big head. “Don't much care for traders in fancy clothes. Means they cheated someone.”

“So what pays for the inn?”

“Didn't say we didn't get travelers. Mixed bunch. Enough. Sometimes not enough, but Ma put enough aside for the rough times, what with the rents from her other lands.”

“How do people make a living here?”

“Like folks everywhere. Some farm. The bottomland west of the river fetches up good maize, and the higher land does oats and wheat-corn pretty good. Wool from the black sheep brings a fair price, and we got a tin mine a bit south. Slow going there, but it helps.”

At that moment, Hryessa rode back from the lane and reined up. “Looks good, ser.”

Saryn nodded to Essin. “You've got a deal, innkeeper. How much for supper?”

“Two coppers each, with one lager. Another two coppers for the second lager.”

“And fodder?”

“A silver for oats, and that's a cup for each mount, and all the hay they can eat.”

Almost a gold. Saryn couldn't have afforded that every night, but with only two more days, three at the most, to Lornth, they had enough, and the mounts could use the fodder. “Agreed.” She nodded to Hryessa, then dismounted and handed the gelding's reins to the captain. “I'll be with you in a while.”

Saryn climbed the three wooden steps to the porch, keeping a bit of distance from the overlarge innkeeper, out of habit.

“Ma! Got your favorite guests.” A rolling chuckle followed Essin's words.

Favorite guests?
Saryn couldn't sense any menace in the man, but his words bothered her because they suggested a certain familiarity.

A woman a good head taller than Saryn opened the front door of the inn. Holding to her arm was a white-haired woman.

The older woman moved slowly, if steadily, but her brown eyes were bright and centered immediately on Saryn. “I'm Jennyleu. You're one of the real angels, aren't you? Could tell it right away. Something about all of you.” She settled into the straight-backed wooden chair, then released her grip on the strong forearm of her young escort. “Sit down over on the bench, Lessa.”

The woman smiled, her eyes turning to Saryn before she settled onto the backless bench.

The commander sensed that Lessa had seen angels before.

Essin picked up the other bench and set it down in an easy movement right in front of the chair. “You might as well be comfortable.”

Although she seated herself, Saryn wondered how long she could take the hard wood after all the riding.

Jennyleu continued to study Saryn for several moments before speaking. “It was ten years ago, almost to the day, as I recall. Two angels rode in. One of them was carrying a child in a pack. No-good cousins, Gustor and Buil, went after 'em with blades. The one angel fellow, he wasn't all that big, tried to warn 'em. Buil tried to stab him in the back. Next thing I knew, both of them were laid out in the road—right out there—dead as a pair of slaughtered oxen. He took care of them with those little swords, threw one of them right through Buil.”

Saryn nodded. She'd never heard the story, but it had to have been Nylan and Ayrlyn.

“You know about that?” asked Jennyleu.

“I never heard the story, but I know who they were.”

“What ever happened to him?”

“He was the one who destroyed the Cyadoran army when they attacked Lornth. After that, he headed to the Great Forest.” That was what Nylan had called it.

“
He
was the mage that turned the skies black and toppled all the cities in Cyador and drowned two or three of them?”

Those were details Ryba hadn't passed on. Finally, Saryn said, “That was Nylan. Ayrlyn helped him.”

“Seemed like nice folks,” said Jennyleu.

“They were,” murmured Lessa. “I saw how good he was with the boy.”

“Grandchildren are worse than children,” snorted Jennyleu. “They know everything.” Her eyes returned to Saryn. “You know any more about them?”

“He sends messages occasionally. Cyador, he says, pretty much fell apart.”

“That's what we heard here.” Jennyleu shook her head. “I told Wister and his boys not to mess with him. Coulda told the Cyadorans the same thing. They were always a nasty bunch, anyways. Never satisfied with what they had. Always trying to grab more. The Suthyans are sorta like that, too, except they want to buy everything cheap.” Her eyes twinkled.

“Your son said some Suthyans came through here a few eightdays ago.”

“Fancy-dressed fellow spouted nonsense about you angels killing a fellow at supper.”

“We did. That was after he tried to poison the Marshal, then went for her with a blade. The Marshal turned the rest of them out in the darkness.”

“Figured it might be something like that.” Jennyleu nodded. “Sneaky bastards, those Suthyans. Told 'em to go on their way. Not before I got Essin to tariff 'em double for the feed and fodder.” She laughed softly.

Essin laughed. “They don't count that well, either. Overcharged them, and they never caught it.”

“Some people in Lornth might believe the trader,” suggested Saryn.

“Not real folk, they wouldn't. Even the lord-holders wouldn't believe 'em.”

“What do you think about the regents?” asked Saryn.

“What is there to think? Anytime Lady Zeldyan wants to do something that makes sense, the lord-holders start making noises like they'd make her boy overlord now and be his regents rather than her. Mostly, it's the menfolk causing problems, 'less they listen to a good woman.”

Saryn laughed. “You and the Marshal agree on that.”

“We haven't seen many raiders since she started patrolling the Roof of the World, not for long, anyway. That's more than the lords and regents in Lornth ever been able to do.” She paused. “You didn't say why you were going to Lornth.”

“We wanted to talk to her about the Suthyans. They tried to buy off the Marshal—before they tried to kill her. We thought Lady Zeldyan should know.”

“Like as not, she knows how treacherous the Suthyans are. Making that young idiot Kelthyn understand is another thing. He likes being regent more than doing what he ought.”

“Was Lord Sillek like that?”

“No. One reason why he's dead. He kept trying to keep the old lord-holders from warring with Westwind. His mama, Lady Ellindyja, wanted revenge 'cause you angels killed her consort. A course, even if he was overlord, Lord Nessil wasn't any better than his lord-holders. He was just meaner. She kept stirring up trouble…you all know what happened.”

“How do you know all this?” asked Saryn.

Jennyleu laughed. “Haelora. She's my niece. Vernt's, really. She and her consort, they've got an inn off the square in Lornth. The Square Platter. Vernt staked 'em, years back. She writes good letters. Not all that often, but the gossip's good.”

As she listened to Jennyleu, Saryn couldn't help but find herself liking the straightforward old woman and wishing that dealing with the regents would be that direct.