L. Modesitt - Arms-Commander

“That is why they need trade, Lord Calasyr,” said Suhartyn. “The season is too short here to be certain for them to grow the wheat corn.”

“Ah, yes,” added Baorl, “trade. But trade can also be uncertain, even in the best of times. And it is said that Lord Karthanos is loath to let traders travel from his lands to Westwinds.”

“It is no secret that the lands of Gallos are not as amicably disposed toward us as are…others,” replied Ryba. “Still, many do trade with us.”

“Mainly through Lornth, I believe,” suggested Suhartyn. “If any ill should befall Lornth, as might have happened had Cyador not collapsed in ruins, even the most doughty of traders might find it difficult to reach the Westhorns…except, of course, from Suthya.”

“What ill might befall Lornth?” asked Ryba. “Its regents have offended no one, so far as we have heard.”

“One never knows,” said Calasyr, gesturing extravagantly. “It is said that some of the older holders in Lornth fear that the regent’s rule may not lapse even when Lord Nesslek reaches his majority.”

“We, in Suthya, of course,” added Suhartyn, “would like to remain on good terms with all, especially with Westwind, what ever might occur in Lornth.”

“Unlikely as that might seem at the moment,” continued Calasyr.

Even though she followed Calasyr’s gestures closely, Saryn couldn’t determine how he managed it, only that the chaos-poison presumably-was suddenly in Ryba’s goblet. Before Ryba could lift the goblet again, Saryn half stood, turned, and grasped it with her left hand.

“What…?” The Marshal half smiled, but immediately released her grip and let Saryn take the vessel.

Saryn set the goblet before Calasyr, the short sword in her right hand. “You, Lord Calasyr, have a simple choice. You can swallow what you put in the Marshal’s goblet, or you can swallow cold iron-”

The blond man bolted to his feet, a poignard coming up and aimed toward the Marshal.

Two blades went through him, one from in front and one from behind. He stood there…wavering, then started to topple forward. Hryessa stepped forward and grabbed the back of his tunic, pulling him away from the table. Saryn eased her blade from between his ribs.

Llyselle’s blade tip was at the back of Suhartyn’s neck, and Huldran had cold iron on Baorl. Ydrall and Duessya had moved behind the two officers.

The envoy paled, and the high trader slowly put his hands on the table, palms up.

“Suhartyn…” Ryba said coldly. “I expected better of you.”

“I didn’t know. I didn’t!”

“Siret?”

“He’s telling the truth about that. I’d guess he suspected treachery but not by Calasyr. I don’t think he was told.”

“Of course. They feared that we’d detect any lies on his part.”

Ryba’s smile was cold as she stood. “Does your council fear a collection of distant women so much that they would try such treachery?” She shook her head. “I doubt it. Like all thieving merchants, they merely looked for the cheapest way to their ends. And like all dishonest traders, you and they will end up paying far, far more as a result of your dishonesty. As for you, and your men, you have one glass to depart Westwind. You may leave the tower now.”

Suhartyn inclined his head.

“And take that carrion with you.” Ryba glanced toward Calasyr’s corpse.

As the Suthyans filed out, with two Suthyans Saryn had not met carrying Calasyr’s body, Whulyn lagged behind the others, slightly. Saryn moved toward him as he neared the archway between the hall and the foyer. “A moment, Undercaptain.”

The grizzled officer turned. “Yes?”

“Neither you nor the captain was party to Calasyr’s plot, were you?”

“No. Why do you say that?” An ironic smile flickered at the corners of his thin lips.

“Because of who each of you happens to be. What will your superiors say?”

“We’ll likely be cashiered if we return to Armat.”

“You might consider serving Lady Zeldyan of Lornth, in that case.”

“That might only postpone the inevitable, Commander.”

“It might…but what is inevitable to one land is not necessarily so to another.”

Whulyn nodded. “I appreciate your concern, Commander, but I must ready my men. I assume they are well.”

“Unless they lifted arms, you will find them well.”

“I told them not to, and they obey. Good night.” The undercaptain turned and hurried to follow the other Suthyans.

“What was that about?” asked Ryba.

“I was trying to recruit a good officer for Lady Zeldyan. She, and we, could use such.”

“That she could. I’ll need to talk to you in the morning, but I want you personally to make sure every last Suthyan is off the Roof of the World before the next glass is turned.”

“Yes, ser.” Saryn nodded and hurried toward the tower door.

Out on the causeway her gelding was waiting, held by Aemra.

“I can hold horses while others bear arms, Commander. The horses will not disobey me.” Even in the dim light cast by the pair of lanterns framing the tower door, the calm behind the silver-haired girl’s smile was obvious.

“Thank you.” Saryn took the reins and mounted, then urged the gelding across the causeway to the road and uphill.

She could sense that Llyselle’s entire company was mounted and stationed in squads along the road. With the guards in place, and with the Suthyans effectively under Lygyrt’s-and Whulyn’s-command, Saryn had few doubts that all the Suthyans would be well away from Westwind within Ryba’s time limits.

Still, she’d have scouts follow them and hold a squad on standby for the night.

Oneday morning, after grabbing some bread and cheese from the kitchen, Saryn was out of the tower well before sunrise. She didn’t feel as tired as she might have, even though she’d been up late the night before checking with the scouts and patrols to make certain that the Suthyans were gone-and that they stayed on the road home to Armat.

Her first concern was with the horses. Dealing with the Suthyans had meant more riding and less rest for the mounts, and it was still early in the year, when the horses were not as well conditioned as they would be later. That was one reason why she wanted to check with Duessya.

The head ostler was inspecting the front hoofs of a mare when Saryn reached the stables. Saryn stepped away and started to walk through the stables. While she didn’t have the sensitivity of either Istril or Siret, if she concentrated, more like opening her senses wider, she could feel pain, but it was more like a needle jab than the overwhelming agony that she’d seen flatten Nylan and Istril.

She walked the entire length of the stables and back, but didn’t sense that any horse was in great pain or agony.

Duessya waited, looking like she’d gotten less sleep than Saryn. “Yes, Commander?”

“How are the horses?”

“A handful will need to be rested, but most are in good shape. The Suthyans and their mounts aren’t used to the heights or the cold. We didn’t have to work ours nearly that hard.”

“There are lots of things they’re not used to.” Saryn’s words came out more tartly than she had intended.

“They do not like women with cold iron.”

“And minds of their own,” added Saryn. “How many more foals are we expecting?”

“Just two. We have ten in all, and they’re all healthy…”

By the time Saryn had finished with Duessya and was walking back down the road, the junior guards were lined up on the field for exercises and arms practice.

Ryba had crossed the causeway and walked across the corner of the field to join Saryn.

“Good morning, ser,” offered the arms-commander.