Arms-Commander (16 page)

After a time, Zeldyan took a sip of her wine. “You have come far.”

“And with reason. Earlier in the spring, we found a large body of Gallosian cavalry in the lower reaches of the Roof of the World. They were posing as bandits and attacking travelers and traders who were attempting to cross the Westhorns.”

“Knowing how your Marshal pledged to keep the Westhorns free of brigands, I imagine you took some action.”

“We did. All the armsmen are dead. We have their ostler at Westwind.” Saryn took another sip of wine, and one of the currant-stuffed skins. “We also discovered from the ostler that Lord Karthanos's son—Arthanos—has not only removed all of his brothers, but that he has also recruited some ten additional companies, and it appears likely that they will attack.”

“From what you have said already, that would appear likely…and perhaps unfortunate.” Zeldyan sipped her wine. “Yet…you are here, rather than in Fenard.”

“We had thought, as a result of that occurrence, and another, that Lornth and Westwind might have similar interests. We also have seen few traders, apparently for reasons linked to what we have learned, and the Marshal was interested in obtaining some sulfur and saltpeter and thought you might be of assistance.”

Zeldyan frowned, but behind the frown was more curiosity than anything…and worry. “I fear I have yet to understand why our interests might coincide.”

“The Suthyan Council sent an envoy to Westwind, accompanied by a high trader named Baorl and the son of a Lord Calasyr. That is how they were represented. The envoy and the lord's son were seated beside the Marshal.” Saryn paused, waiting for a reaction.

“That sounds as it should be.”

“The Suthyan envoy talked generally about the difficulties Westwind faced in finding traders to supply its needs given the problems that might arise among our neighbors.”

“Was that how he phrased it?”

“I believe the exact words were something to the effect that ‘If any ill should befall Lornth, even the most doughty of traders might find it difficult to reach the Westhorns…except, of course, from Suthya.' He also made an observation that the older lord-holders in Lornth feared that you and the other regents would not turn over power to your son when he reached his majority.” Saryn knew she was conflating two statements, but the truth behind them remained. “The Marshal seemed unimpressed, and the young lord attempted to poison the Marshal's wine. When he was given the choice of drinking the wine or swallowing iron, he attempted to attack the Marshal. Needless to say, he did not succeed, and the Marshal expelled all the Suthyans from Westwind within the glass, bearing his body, despite the darkness and the chill of the evening.”

“That seems unduly generous.” Zeldyan's voice dripped with sarcasm.

“Had we slaughtered them all, who would have believed us?” Saryn smiled politely. “What happened after that is even more interesting….” She went on to explain how the Suthyan party had split and how Ryba had dispatched her to Lornth. “…and now I find myself reporting to you that, because of the Suthyans, we were forced to defend ourselves against an unprovoked attack when we were riding here to warn you about the Suthyan intentions toward Lornth.”

“An unprovoked attack? By whom?”

“The armsmen of Duevek.” Saryn went on to explain.

Zeldyan nodded slowly. “What does the Marshal think the Suthyan intentions might be?”

Saryn sensed that, while the events were a surprise to her, the general situation was not entirely unexpected. “She does not yet know of the attack by the Lord of Duevek, but even before that her feeling was that the Suthyans were planning for some sort of attack against Lornth, possibly shortly after the likely attack by Arthanos against Westwind.” Again, Saryn was guessing in her representation of Ryba.

“She must be greatly gifted with foresight to have seen all that, even before it happened.” This time the irony was gentle. Behind the words was a mixture of worry and skepticism.

“She has seen much that has come to pass, often long before it has, Lady Zeldyan.”

“That may be, from what I have seen with the black mage and the flame mage. Though they helped us, they cost us most dearly.”

Black mage and flame mage? Saryn realized she had to be talking about Nylan and Ayrlyn. “They cost the Cyadorans far more dearly.”

“Yes. Cyador is no more, not as it was. But Lornth is not as it was, either. The lands they scoured with fire south of Rohrn all the way to Clynya have only begun to recover…even now.”

“…and you have so few armsmen that the Suthyans have retaken Rulyarth and threaten Lornth itself,” finished Saryn.

“You do not ask for much,” Zeldyan said, “not for such a long journey, but why do you need such comparatively useless items as saltpeter and sulfur?”

“To create things that are more useful against the Gallosians.”

“And not against Lornth?”

“We are few in number, compared to either Lornth or Gallos. We wish to be left in peace. Lornth has done so. Gallos has not. Why would we wish to anger and trouble a land with whom we are at peace? Especially when we face the attacks and enmity of two others?”

Zeldyan laughed, with a bitterness not revealed in the sound but only the feelings behind it. “I thought as much, but one must ask.”

Saryn said nothing but took a sip of the wine. Her goblet was still almost half-full.

“You have given information, and you have weakened one who might yet be a traitor,” Zeldyan went on. “Yet you do not offer us much hope.”

“What would you have of us…of me?” replied Saryn.

“What ever you can offer…after you deal with the Gallosians.” A tight and wry smile crossed Zeldyan's lips, then vanished. “Unlike my sire and Kelthyn, I know one cannot demand of angels. One can trust their word, and I would like your word that you will provide what assistance you can so long as it does not require you to lose Westwind to Arthanos.”

“I cannot commit Westwind, Lady.”

“Can you commit yourself, Angel?”

Saryn did not speak for a moment. Zeldyan knew Saryn could read her feelings, and the regent was hiding nothing—not her fears, nor her wish to preserve what she could for her son, and for those who would follow.
We have to have the sulfur and saltpeter…or Westwind will not survive…and how many women and their children will die then? What hope will remain to the others who look to Westwind and the legend that Ryba is forging?

“I will give what I can of myself and what I can raise, Lady, if you ask it of me. That is all I can promise.”

“You will have all the saltpeter and sulfur I can summon.” Zeldyan smiled, and there was relief, hope…and anxiety behind the expression. “You might try the lamb…or more of the stuffed skins…”

Saryn understood that what lay before her was her supper, and she almost smiled at Zeldyan's finesse in keeping Saryn away from the others in the palace before they met more formally. As she picked up one of the small pastry pies, Saryn wondered how much she would rue her promise.

Yet…what else could she have done?
What other real choice did you have?

The next morning, Saryn was awake early, but within moments after her feet hit the thick carpet over the wooden floor, there was a knock on her door.

“Yes?” She walked to the wardrobe and pulled out the dressing gown left for her—the first such that she'd seen in the more than ten years since she'd found herself in Candar.

“Would you like your breakfast, Commander?” asked a feminine voice.

Saryn pulled on the gown and tied it shut. “Now would be fine.” She walked to the door, pausing to let her senses range beyond it, but there were only two women in the hall. Neither radiated hostility, only worry and apprehension. She slid the bolt back and opened the door.

Without looking at Saryn, the serving girl hurried into the chamber, where she quickly laid out a place on the small writing table, then set out all the items on the breakfast tray. She straightened and bowed. “Will there be anything else, Commander?”

Saryn glanced over the breakfast—a small loaf of fresh-baked bread, with a dish of dark conserve or jelly; several strips of ham; a mound that looked like egg and cheese; a sliced pearapple; and two pitchers, gray and green, with two mugs. “That will be fine, thank you.”

Another bow, and the serving girl was gone, but another young woman entered, and she quickly replaced the washbasin and the two pitchers of water. She, too, vanished as quickly as she had come, and Saryn found herself alone as she seated herself at the side of the table, looking out through the window to her left. The table was set just far enough back that she could see the early-morning shadows on the courtyard below.

A note was set on one side of the tray, folded and sealed, the imprint presumably that of the Lady Zeldyan. Before starting to eat, Saryn broke the seal and read:

Below the precise Anglorat script was a single letter—Z.

The breakfast offered far more than she normally ate. Because the greenjuice was bitter, she only drank the cider, although it bore a trace of fermentation. After eating, Saryn washed and dressed, only to hear another knock.

“Yes?”

“Commander…I'm here to take what ever you need washed…”

That
was welcome news. “Please come in.”

Saryn gave the young laundress almost everything she had brought, except the uniform she wore and another that passed for a dress uniform. She'd thought about wearing that but decided against it, because she was meeting the regents officially, but not formally.

Then she followed the laundress out of the chamber, almost past a startled-looking young woman.

“Commander—”

“I need to see to my guards.” She had probably slept far too late and spent too much time on breakfast, and she needed to see how they had fared.

“The regents will be expecting you in a glass and a half.”

“I will be ready. You can accompany me…or wait here. I'll be checking the barracks.” Saryn hurried down the corridor and down the south steps she had taken the night before, out the door, and across the uneven pavement of the rear courtyard.

Even before Saryn reached the second barracks, Hryessa stepped out into the courtyard, looking more rested than she had on too many of the previous mornings.

“How are they?” asked Saryn.

“Everyone's fine. The food is decent, better than what we've had, and there was plenty. I figured we wouldn't be traveling today. So I've got everyone cleaning their gear and equipment and washing uniforms.”

“And Kalasta and the other wounded guards?”

“They're healing well.”

“Good. I'm meeting with the regents shortly. I met with Lady Zeldyan last night.”

Hryessa raised her eyebrows.

“She's worried, but she's promised the saltpeter and sulfur. She didn't say how long we'd have to wait for it.”
Or if the other regents will agree with her decision.
That was something Saryn didn't see any need to mention. Not yet.

“How long will we have here?”

Saryn shrugged, offering a wry smile. “I couldn't say, but I wouldn't plan on leaving before tomorrow at the earliest.” She paused. “Until I know more, they'd best stay within the palace walls. I don't think Lornth will be that friendly to Westwind guards. They can certainly take care of themselves, but doing so might create some injured males and their pride—if not worse. We don't need that.”

“I'm afraid you're right.” The captain shook her head.

Saryn wondered how many years—or generations—it might be before that changed…or if it ever would. “What about grain for the horses?”

“There's enough. I had to run down the ostler in the other stable for fodder. This one hasn't been used in years. Even that one is only half-full.” Hryessa looked to Saryn.

“It doesn't look good, but any help we can get is better than none.” Saryn hated the triteness of her words, true as they were. “I'd like to walk through the stables.”

The stables were clean but dusty, as if they were unused and had been cleaned quickly and perfunctorily. Still, reflected Saryn, after she left Hryessa and crossed the courtyard back toward the palace proper, they offered better quarters and shelter than anywhere so far.

The young woman was waiting in the second-level hallway. She'd clearly been pacing back and forth. “Commander…”

“We still have a little time, don't we?”

“Yes, Commander.”

Saryn nodded. “I'm Saryn, and you are…?”

“Lyentha.” Her eyes did not meet Saryn's.

“What are your duties, Lyentha?”

“I serve the Lady Zeldyan, Commander.”

“What do you do in serving her?”

“I assist her in dressing, and in overseeing her wardrobe and that of young lord Nesslek. I help her in planning the food for the palace. When we have receptions or the year-end ball…”

Saryn listened for a time, interspersing occasional questions, before asking, “The staff appears smaller than when I was last here. Is this something recent?”

“I couldn't say. I've been here but a year and a season.”

“I've met Lord Gethen once before, but Lord Kelthyn was not a regent. What can you tell me about him?” Saryn offered a winning smile and tried to project warmth.

“He is the eldest son of Lord Weald. His sire perished…with Lord Sillek.”

“When Lord Sillek was forced by the older lords to attack Westwind, you mean?”

Lyentha nodded.

“He is less than favorably disposed toward us, I would judge, and I can understand that, but why is he so cool toward Lady Zeldyan?” That was a guess on Saryn's part, but from what Nylan had written and Zeldyan's actions in seeing Saryn first, it certainly wasn't unreasonable.

“I'd not be the one to say.”

“What might others say, then? You must have heard. After all, Lady Zeldyan has done her best in a most difficult situation.”

Lyentha glanced down the corridor, one way, then the other. “He is a cousin of Lord Sillek. It is a distant relation, but he is the only lord-holder with a blood tie.”

“Has he pressed for Lady Zeldyan's hand…and she refused?”

Lyentha looked down. “I could not say, Commander.”

Saryn could sense the answer. “So he will go out of his way to put pressure on her, either to force her to accept his offer or to discredit her in the eyes of the other older holders.”

“I could not say that.”

“You have said nothing, and I appreciate your discretion.” Saryn nodded. “Perhaps we should make our way toward wherever I am to meet the regents. If you would lead the way…?”

Lyentha headed down the steps to the main floor and northward until they passed through an older stone archway that opened onto a foyer, part of the original tower. To the left was a polished door of old and dark wood. Beside it stood a guard with a decorative brass breastplate and a sheathed short sword. He looked at Saryn, then at the table beside him.

Saryn smiled, then unfastened the formal sword belt and laid the belt with the attached and sheathed Westwind blade on the table. In close quarters, she could always use hand-to-hand, not that she expected that kind of trouble. Trouble, but not that kind.

Lyentha opened the door, and announced, “The commander is here.”

“Have her enter,” replied a pleasant male voice.

Saryn stepped through the door.

The chamber held no table, but three chairs in a semicircle, and two others—empty—facing the three. The heavy but worn dark green carpet had a purple border decorated with intertwined gold vines and leaves. The walls were dark-paneled, and the only natural light came from the pair of high windows in the back wall, and from the four brass lamps in wall sconces.

Lady Zeldyan sat in the middle chair, with her father, Lord Gethen, to her left, and Lord Kelthyn to her right. Kelthyn was not at all what Saryn had expected. Although seated, he looked to be of moderate height, with short-cut but wavy brown hair and a neatly trimmed squarish beard, slightly redder in shade than his hair. His blue eyes appeared guileless. His tunic was a deep blue that brought out his eyes and was trimmed in a darker blue.

Saryn bowed to the three. “Regents.”

“If you would be seated, Saryn,” offered Kelthyn, his voice pleasant.

Saryn bristled inside at the instant familiarity, but she smiled politely and replied, “Thank you.” She omitted any honorific as her sole response to the youngest regent's inherent arrogance, then settled into the chair closer to him. She could feel his intense and instant dislike of her.

“Zeldyan has offered a summary of why you are here,” Kelthyn continued, “but it would seem that your journey to confirm a hostility of which we are already aware affords Lornth little knowledge that we do not already possess.”

“That was always a possibility,” Saryn replied, “but given the nature of the treachery and the possible cost to Lornth, it seemed unneighborly not to make certain you were aware of how deep and far-reaching the enmity held against you by the Suthyan Council happened to be.”

“That was most thoughtful of you, but of little consequence—”

“Commander,” interrupted Zeldyan, her voice like cold steel cutting through Kelthyn's honeyed words, “I understand you ran into some difficulty on the way. Could you explain this?”

“Lady Zeldyan, as you suggested, we did indeed encounter some small difficulty on our way here. That difficulty, I fear, emphasizes the danger facing Lornth.”

“Oh…and what might that be?” Zeldyan's politeness concealed amusement.

“Our difficulty concerned the actions of the Lord of Duevek. His men attempted to block the road and dissuade us from riding to see you. Although we were riding under a parley flag and stayed to the road, he sent two squads against us, first to block the road, then to attack us from behind.” Saryn shrugged. “When they charged us, we were forced to use…persuasion. The kind with long shafts.”

Even Gethen stiffened.

“That is an outrage!” snapped Kelthyn.

“We were under a parley flag, and their undercaptain called them to arms. He seemed unable to understand the parley flag, and he claimed that the regents did not rule in Duevek.”

“He said that?” asked Gethen. “In those words?”

“Exactly, and most clearly.”

“And then?” pressed Zeldyan.

“He ordered his men to attack. After we removed him and his front line, his assistant ordered the survivors to charge us, and another group attempted to attack us from behind.”

“You do not seem that much the worse off,” observed Kelthyn, his voice gently sardonic.

“We are not. Three guards suffered minor wounds. They will recover. There were perhaps five survivors out of forty from those who attacked us. We sent them back to Lord Duevek with the message that he should not presume for his regents.” Before any of the regents could say more, Saryn pushed on. “What is most interesting is that the Suthyan trader who had been part of the delegation that came to Westwind under the guise of trading talks had not returned to Suthya directly but had proceeded to Lornth and to Lord Duevek. One of the delegation to Westwind attempted to poison the Marshal. When he was given the choice of drinking his own poison, he declined and attempted to use his blade to kill the Marshal. He failed and died. The Marshal was most considerate, given the situation. She merely expelled all the remaining Suthyans…” She went on to explain the Suthyan effort to isolate Lornth, ending with, “…and under those circumstances, the Marshal felt that it was not only wise, but neighborly, to send someone of stature to inform you.”

“Someone of stature,” repeated Kelthyn politely. “I suppose it is a most kind gesture. Yet it would seem that where you angels go, death always follows.”

“We came in peace,” Saryn said. “We came to warn you. Death came to those armsmen because they did not wish us to reach you. Why, that I could not say. I might surmise that Lord Duevek sought a personal advantage with the Suthyans, but I could not say. I also might surmise that the Suthyans seek to increase divisiveness between Westwind and Lornth and between Lornth's regents and its holders…but I could not say that.”

“It would appear you managed to convey that quite clearly without saying it,” replied Kelthyn.

“Lord Kelthyn,” said Gethen, stressing the word
lord
ever so slightly and ironically, “I might point out that, what ever you may think of Westwind and its Marshal, in this matter, it is rather clear that they and we have little to gain in squabbling between us. The Suthyans gain much by such squabbling.”

“I yield to your great wisdom and experience in this matter, Lord Gethen.” Kelthyn's smooth and well-modulated voice contained no hint of the contempt Saryn sensed. He turned to Saryn. “I believe you have requested some odd trade goods in measure for your information and support of Lornth. Is this not true?”