Arms-Commander (35 page)

“I'd say return…but it's getting dark…”

“We can scout in the darkness, if that worries you…”

“You really are the Arms-Commander of Westwind? Why are you here?”

“We were sent to help the Regency. I'm one of the few angels who can survive the summers here,” Saryn said. “The guards I brought are mainly women from Gallos, although a few are from Lornth. We trained and equipped them.”

“They're all women? Just from Candar? With all the raiders they killed? You must have taken down forty. There were more than threescore…”

“We did have five Lornian armsmen.” Saryn didn't point out that she'd worried more about those five because her guards had far more experience than the Lornians.

“I won't say that I understand,” Spalkyn replied. “I don't. I am truly grateful that you arrived when you did.” He paused. “I would like to return tonight if that is possible.”

“We need to take care of our wounded—and yours—and collect horses, weapons, and recover what shafts we can. We will also need some rest for the horses before we set out, and we will have to travel at a moderate walk. And we'll need to be your guests for an extra day or so.”

“For what you've done, I think I can manage that.” Spalkyn's eyes drifted back across the slope, where the guards were already stripping the dead.

“There are ten or so captives. We'll have to leave them for your people.”

“We're not equipped to handle prisoners.”

“Those that can walk will come with us. Those that can't…the crofters can handle.”

Saryn could sense that leaving the badly wounded marauders didn't set well with the lord, but she could also sense his deeper anger at the attack.

“I'll see how the crofters are doing. I think most of them made it into the fields and into cover. I hope so…” He turned and began to walk back toward the barn.

Saryn watched him for just a moment, then looked across the barnyard in the twilight.

Sixty-odd marauders coming after a small hamlet? It doesn't make sense. Not unless someone paid them…

Unfortunately, she had a good idea that was the case…and from where the coins had come…as well as the feeling that they well might run into more raiders before they ever reached The Groves and young Lord Nesslek.

Late as they had finally ridden into Palteara hold on oneday night, Saryn did not sleep all that well, and she woke with the first strong light of the morning, with scores of thoughts and concerns circling through her mind. She couldn't help but think over what had happened when Klarisa had reported the evening before that most of the raiders had wallets and coins in them…coins that Saryn had ordered to be pooled, then split among the guards, with a quarter of the total reserved for her to defer any expenses she might have to bear.

“Some even had silvers,” Klarisa had said. “Why would they be attacking a farm hamlet?”

“Why do you think, squad leader?”

“They had to be paid…ser.”

“That's my thought. Most likely by the Suthyans.”

Klarisa had nodded, but Saryn had sensed the woman's anger at the thought that someone had paid out-of-work armsmen and ruffians to raid and kill poor crofters. Then, too, Saryn couldn't understand why Spalkyn didn't have at least some armsmen as retainers, near as he was to the border with Suthya. Beyond that, she also had to think more about how to counter chaos. Before, she'd never had to deal with it—and she hadn't known she'd even had that much ability. And there was the question of archers…or the lack of them. Joncaryl had sneered at the composite bows.

She snorted softly. She'd find out about the bows in time. Lack of a weapon by enemies wasn't nearly so big a problem as a weapon she didn't know how to counter effectively. If she'd faced a really strong white mage, she'd have been the one turned to charred ashes.

Still…order and chaos were everywhere, except they were part of or embedded in some materials so deeply there seemed no way to remove them or even to move such materials. In other places or other materials, order and chaos seemed to move with only a thought. Some aspects were obvious. Iron was endothermic, essentially an ordered energy sink…

For a time, she just thought.

Then she rose and washed up, dressing quietly. After that, she moved silently from third-floor guest quarters down to the second level. As she neared the breakfast room, she could hear voices, those of Spalkyn and his consort. She stopped to listen, wondering if she should intrude.

“…thought she was a young captain at first…should have known…the way she slaughtered that hedge mage…but you see what you expect…”

“You wanted her to spare him?” There was a certain scorn in the woman's voice.

“No…his fire-bolts killed most of the ones we lost. It was just…she didn't hesitate, even while he was fleeing, and she
threw
that blade through him…woman looks so pleasant…almost harmless…unless you look behind her eyes.”

“I thought you never looked at other women's eyes, dear…”

A loud snort followed, after which Spalkyn went on, “Those women…almost felt sorry for the marauders…They didn't stand a chance…frightening in the field.”

“I don't feel a bit sorry. I'm just glad they came in time. So should you be.”

“I'm glad enough for that…I just wonder…did the old Cyadorans know something?”

Saryn wanted to know just what that had meant, but neither of the two spoke. So she scuffed her boots on the worn wooden floor, then coughed, before making her way to the arched entry to the breakfast room. “Good morning.”

“Commander.” Spalkyn immediately stood from his place at the end of the small table. “I hadn't thought you'd be up this close to dawn. Not even the children are awake.”

“I'm sorry. I didn't sleep all that long.”

Gesturing to the place at his left, Spalkyn reseated himself. “Would you like hot cider?”

“I would, thank you,” replied Saryn, easing into the ladder-backed chair.

“We were talking about yesterday,” offered Maerila, who was dressed in maroon trousers and a white shirt, with a sleeveless pale green vest. While her garments were clean and pressed, Saryn could see that they were anything but new. “Your guards are quite accomplished with their weapons, Spalkyn was telling me.”

“Unhappily, that is a necessity. We're always outnumbered.” Saryn took the liberty of filling the mug before her from the porcelain pot with the slightly chipped handle, then taking a small sip of the warm liquid. The cider was spiced, if sweet, and helped soothe a throat she hadn't even realized was sore.

“Outnumbered or not, your presence was the only thing that saved us.” Spalkyn shook his head. “You must think me terribly improvident not to have at least a squad of armsmen.”

“I know too little of Lornth and of you, Lord Spalkyn, to make a judgment. With your lands so close to Suthya, I must admit that I wondered about that.”

“I was deeply indebted to Lord Nessil, as well as to Lord Sillek, Commander. But when Sillek attacked Westwind, Maerila was close to death after the birth of the twins. I chose not to leave her, but the only way to discharge my obligations was to finance and send an entire company, including the two squads I had raised and trained here. At that time, Sillek had reclaimed Rulyarth, and…” The brown-eyed lord shrugged.

“You've been paying off all that for years? Death golds, as well?”

“A lord must honor his obligations. The harvests went well last fall, and I paid the last and began to raise a full squad of my own armsmen. Now…”

Saryn had a sudden thought. “I do not wish to seem unduly…inquisitive, but the way in which you said that you had paid the last suggests that you had to borrow against harvests or the holding. I was wondering who outside Lornth might know of your situation.”

Spalkyn laughed, softly and ruefully. “Doubtless every merchant house in Armat or Rulyarth. There was no merchant house left in Lornth who could provide the golds, not after the black angel visited devastation on the south and the Cyadorans.”

“I wish that I could make some recompense,” said Saryn, “but what—”

“Say no more,” interrupted Maerila. “You saved his life and half of his squad, as well as most of the crofters' dwellings and stock. No one could ask for more.”

“You had something in mind, I think,” said Spalkyn.

“We stripped the corpses of the marauders…” began Saryn.

“As you had every right to,” pointed out Maerila quickly, almost as if she were afraid her consort would contradict her.

“Every marauder had coins. Some had silvers,” Saryn finished quietly. “There were threescore, and even had they taken every head of stock…”

“You're saying that they were paid to attack my lands.”

“There's no way to prove it, but let me tell you why if you would not mind.”

“Please.” The words were calm, but Saryn sensed a cold anger behind them, one not directed at her, although she was not certain how she knew that.

“This spring, the Suthyan Council sent an envoy to Westwind…” Saryn went on to tell the entire story, including the side journey of Trader Baorl to Duevek and the ensuing attack on Saryn's squad on her first trip to Lornth. “…so you can see why I have some thoughts about who might have paid the marauders to attack your lands.”

Spalkyn nodded, slowly.

“But why?” asked Maerila. “We are among the poorer holdings, as you have discovered.”

“That may be why,” suggested Saryn. “It costs less to create trouble and dissension and to undermine the regency and foment a civil war so bloody that eventually the stronger lords will beg for the Suthyans to take over. The weaker lord-holders, of course, will have no say.”

“No,” replied Maerila. “They'll be dead.”

Saryn could sense someone else moving toward the breakfast room—Zeldyan, she thought—but whoever it was stopped, possibly to eavesdrop, as Saryn herself had earlier.

“Hmmm…and why are you here, then, Commander?” asked Spalkyn.

“Because for the past ten years, Lornth has been a good neighbor, and neither Suthya nor Gallos has been. Westwind would not wish to see Deryll and the Jeranyi take Lornth, and especially not the Suthyans. We do not have golds to help, and we have few armswomen, but the Marshal sent what we could spare. Possibly more than she could spare,” Saryn added.

“Help? How?”

“To support the regency.”

“How do I know you are not fomenting the very trouble you claim to be trying to prevent?”

“Because she's telling the truth, Spalkyn,” said Zeldyan, stepping into the breakfast room. “Also, not saving you and having everyone squabble over your lands and which child will be consorted where would certainly cause more dissension than saving you did. Especially given that you have but one son and the twins.”

Saryn sensed something more behind those words, something about the son, and she also had a good idea that Maerila could have no more children.

Zeldyan took the chair across from Saryn and poured herself a mug of cider.

“It's no secret that both Zalana and Zerlina will need matches with strong men, and that one will need to run Palteara,” added Maerila.

Saryn would have liked to point out that much of the trouble in Lornth might have been lessened, both for Zeldyan and apparently for Lord Spalkyn, if strong women were allowed to hold and rule. She said nothing.

Spalkyn cocked his head.

Saryn could hear footsteps on the steps, then youthful voices.

“Father! You're back!” Two lithe redheaded girls rushed into the breakfast room and threw their arms around their father, one on each side.

“He is indeed,” added Maerila. “Girls, please say ‘Good morning' to Commander Saryn. She is the reason why your father is back hale and healthy. And to the Lady Regent.”

“Good morning, Commander. Good morning, Lady Regent.” The words were nearly simultaneous, and both inclined their heads politely, first to Saryn, then to Zeldyan.

The girl closest to Saryn asked, “Do you really live on the Roof of the World?”

Saryn laughed. “Not that way. We have a holding there, like your father does here. It's called Westwind, and I'm the arms-commander for the Marshal. Her name is Ryba, and she has a daughter about your age.”

“Where's Paultyr?” asked Maerila.

“He's still sleeping. You know how he is.”

“Indeed I do. Please take your chairs, girls.”

Saryn took another sip of the cider, enjoying the moment.

Neither Zeldyan nor Saryn wished to impose unduly on Lord Spalkyn, but it was still fiveday morning before Saryn felt the guards—and their mounts—were ready to ride. Part of her caution lay in her concern that they had not seen the last of raiders or other difficulties that might require arms, and she wanted the horses well rested. Although they mustered the guards and armsmen at a glass past dawn, Spalkyn, Maerila, and the twins were all on the terrace, watching to see them off. Both twins waved, enthusiastically, while the lord and lady watched quietly.

As they rode down to the main gate, Zeldyan turned in the saddle, and said to Saryn, “You've won over Spalkyn…and Maerila, and that's not easy. I should take you everywhere.”

“So I can terrify the bullies and reason with those who think?” retorted Saryn with a laugh.

“Over the years, I've heard of worse approaches,” replied Zeldyan with a smile.

“It doesn't seem to work with people like Keistyn and Henstrenn…or Kelthyn.”

“Even past experience with force doesn't work with some. Did Arthanos learn anything from Gallos's past dealings with Westwind?”

“He didn't seem to.” Much as she knew that Zeldyan's words were true, that truth still depressed Saryn. Why were there those who would not stop until they were destroyed? Was it just that they could not believe that they were mistaken…or mortal? Even Ryba worried about that, although, Saryn had to admit to herself, much of Ryba's worry in recent years had been hedged by her tendency to put others in the front lines…or dispatch them to Lornth.

“Do you think there are not lord-holders like him here in Lornth?” Zeldyan's voice was dry and cutting.

“I had hoped to find that most were not, but I have the feeling that all too many are.”

“As it is and will be all across Candar,” replied Zeldyan.

The mild air turned warmer and heavier with the sun, until, again, Saryn felt hot and damp all over, early as it was in the day. She tried not to think about what it would be like by mid afternoon and concentrated on watching the road ahead and trying to sense whether anyone was lurking nearby and out of sight.

They had ridden for a good glass before Saryn turned to Zeldyan, and asked, “What's Lord Deolyn like?”

Zeldyan laughed. “Different and not predictable. That's all I can say. Beyond that, you'll have to make up your own mind.”

“What are his lands like?”

“They have more hills than here, and his tenants and crofters have more livestock and orchards, rather than field crops. Because it takes more land, his estates are somewhat more extensive. He has a master beekeeper and is known for his clover honey.”

Sweets…Saryn had almost forgotten what they tasted like, except for the molasses candies sometimes carried by traders, and she'd found those unsatisfying and somewhat sicky-bitter in their sweetness.

“Sillek said that half Deolyn's golds came from the honey, and that he had to send a squad of armsmen to accompany any shipment to the river-barge piers.”

“Whose lands lie between Spalkyn's and Deolyn's? Will they be discomfited if you do not stop to visit them?”

“Whethryn and Chaspal. They'll hardly be upset. Relieved, rather, I would think, because feeding and entertaining us is not uncostly…and neither has the extent of estates as do Spalkyn and Deolyn.”

“But Spalkyn…he could not afford a single squad—”

“He could have sold land, but it would have beggared his future.”

Land-poor.
“How many lords face similar situations?”

“They do not tell a widow regent, Saryn, but I would judge one in three face some problems. Spalkyn's was the worst, but Rherhn of Khalasn is not far behind.”

“That is why tariffs to the regency are not what they should be?”

“Part of the reason. It does no good to beggar a lord, especially a loyal one, and force him to sell lands to a rich lord who is less loyal.”

There was little that Saryn could say to that, although she thought that it might be better to sell lands to those who were not lords—like Jennyleu. Obviously, that wasn't done, either for practical or legal reasons.

As she rode on, Saryn's thoughts still drifted back to her encounter with the white mage. Although he might only have been a hedge mage, his fire-bolts had come uncomfortably close to turning Saryn and some of the guards into charred flesh and ashes. While she'd seen Nylan and even Ayrlyn create order shields, she'd tried that approach over the past few days, and it didn't seem to work for her, possibly because neither order nor chaos seemed static to her, and it took far too much effort to try to erect any sort of barrier.

Abruptly, she tried to squash one of the biting yellow-and-black flies that seemed to pester her more than anyone else, but the fly buzzed off, circling around her head for yet another attack. She'd been able to change the junctures in rock. Were there similar junctures or nodes in the air? Ones that she could shift to create a barrier against things like pesky flies? Or at least create a bit of a targeted breeze to blow it away from her face and neck?

She glanced at the fast-moving cumulus clouds, puffy with shades of gray, moving slowly across the eastern sky, then tried to sense the flow or interplay of order and chaos within them, but they were beyond the range of her senses.
What about the air around you?

She concentrated, just on feeling, sensing the air, all too quiet at the moment. There were eddies that were not exactly junctures or nodes but mixed the tiniest bits of order and chaos.

After several moments, she tried to smooth one of the eddies somewhere above her left shoulder. The eddy dissolved, and a slight puff of warm air ruffled her too-damp hair, hardly enough to push away a pesky fly, and too hot to be exactly cooling. Still…it was a beginning.

Oh well…you'll have a few more days on the road to practice…
Even with that thought, Saryn wondered if she'd ever gain a fraction of the control that she'd seen in Nylan or even in the hedge mage.