L. Modesitt - Arms-Commander

As she guided the mare around the green, then onto the avenue leading to the square, she concentrated on what she wanted to learn from Haelora. When the four turned onto the narrow street off the square and headed toward the inn, a squat, bearded man standing in front of what might have been a rundown joinery looked hard at Saryn and started to open his mouth.

She could sense the anger, and said firmly, “Not a word. The Lady Regent’s better than you deserve.”

The man stepped back, his face turning livid, his mouth working silently.

As soon as she had spoken, Saryn wondered whether she should have said anything at all. But then, she was tired, and getting even more weary of people, men especially, suggesting in so many ways that they didn’t like women with any sort of power or authority-as if the men in Lornth had done such a wonderful job at anything except fomenting dissension.

The streets weren’t any more deserted than they’d been on oneday, but they certainly weren’t any more crowded, either, and the few she saw were those in common working garb. When they reached the Square Platter, the front porch was empty, but Saryn caught sight of Haelora through the front window of the public room just before she reined up. She dismounted and handed the reins to Shayni, then hurried into the inn.

Vanadyl, standing near the doorway with a pail in his hand, gestured to the public room.

“Thank you,” Saryn said politely, making her way through the archway and walking to the right front table, where Haelora was seated with a ledger before her. “Greetings.”

The innkeeper bowed her head but did not rise. “Honored Commander.”

Saryn took the chair across from her. “Have we done something else to displease the people of Lornth?”

Haelora frowned, then spoke, quietly closing the ledger. “You’ve got ’em worried. Most think that the lord-holders fighting with each other and the regent…well…it wouldn’t have happened ifn you hadn’t come. The men, they’re getting afraid that Westwind will ride down and take over. Some of the women are pleased. Most fear that, if things get worse, they’ll get blamed, and their consorts will beat them. Even those who won’t get beaten worry about what their menfolk think.”

Why do they fret about what their consorts think? Most men here put what they want first…and then think about the women around them later…if they even bother to consider them at all . Saryn managed to nod, reminding herself that the women of Lornth didn’t have the choices or opportunities that she’d had. Or the training. But she and Ryba and Hryessa were changing that. They had to. “Have you heard anything about the other lord-holders?”

Haelora glanced toward the archway behind Saryn, then lowered her voice. “Lord Kelthyn’s agents were skulking around here last eightday, looking for armsmen with experience.”

“How do people feel about that?”

“So long as the lords don’t hurt them, they don’t care that much. They just want to get in their harvests. Some hope that the fighting will make their crops more dear. Those are the young crofters. The older growers and sharecroppers only want to stay out of the way. Some would like to send their daughters to relatives…but no one knows what will happen where. They’re all just waiting, biding their time. Hoping, mostly.”

“And you?”

“We open the public room to anyone and hope what we make will pay for what damages follow. We serve honest lager and ale to the armsmen, but not the most costly. And we only use the chipped and cheap mugs for them.”

“We all do what we have to.”

Haelora nodded. “What else is there?”

I’d like there to be more to life than that, but will that ever be possible here? “When I was riding west toward Nuelda, we stayed in an old house that the herder said was Cyadoran. Was this part of Lornth once part of Cyador?”

“For a short time, in the days of Lorn and Kerial. There are a few dwellings here that old, but they are not like they were then.”

“The herder said that none of the women in his family would enter the dwelling, that they believed demons still lived there.”

Haelora laughed. “The only demons were the Cyadorans. Harsh as the men of Lornth can be, they are kind compared to the old ones of Cyad, that ancient capital.”

That was about what Saryn suspected. She rose. “Thank you.” She couldn’t say that she’d learned that much, except that Kelthyn had been recruiting. That scarcely surprised her.

“You are always welcome here, Commander,” replied Haelora.

Saryn could sense regret, almost sadness, as if Haelora did not think much of Saryn’s prospects. “I will be back.” She offered a grin. “I could not say when, though.”

“I will look forward to that.” Haelora stood. “Take care.”

“You, also.” Saryn inclined her head, then turned and departed.

She was back at the palace close to two glasses before noon, and it only took her a quarter glass to gather and pack her gear before heading out into the courtyard. Dealdron was waiting with the mare. She thought he might offer to fasten her saddlebags and gear in place, but he only held the mare while she did.

He did not speak until she finished. “I will tether her in the shade for now, while you do what you must. I will be checking the wagon harnesses.” He smiled.

“Thank you.”

As she turned to walk toward Hryessa, she could feel his eyes on her back and sense his feelings-a sense of wistfulness, along with clear admiration-and nothing lustful or lecherous.

Admiration…after what he’d seen her do to his fellow Gallosians? Yes, she’d spared him, but that was because he’d been unlike the others, and every eightday since, he’d proved her initial assessment. But admiration? She doubted that would last if he’d seen what she’d been forced to do in battle after battle.

In a strange way, she almost hoped he never did see her in that light. And yet…that would be less than honest. She was what she was…and any man she might be interested in needed to see her as she was.

Enough of that. We need to get out of the palace and on the road. She walked more briskly toward Hryessa, who stood waiting by the supply wagon.

South of Lornth, in the late afternoon of fourday, the road was dusty but largely empty, for which Saryn was grateful. She had noted almost no one traveling northward toward Lornth, but she and her force had passed carts and small wagons heading away from the town.

Why are they going southward? Was it just because they had friends or family with whom they could stay? Certainly, heading toward the lands of the lords most likely to create trouble didn’t make much sense to Saryn. Except most of the townspeople probably don’t know that. They only know that the Lady Regent is in trouble, and they’re afraid to be in Lornth because they know there may be fighting there.

Saryn glanced at the road ahead, a packed-dirt way holding generally to the crest of a low rise that ran north and south. A kay or so ahead of her it dipped slightly, before climbing to the crest of yet another gentle rise. She squared herself slightly in the saddle, knowing that she couldn’t put off the task at hand, not if she and her force wanted to survive the eightdays ahead, because, sooner or later, another chaos-mage would show up to support the rebel lords, and the next one was likely to be far more accomplished than the Suthyan hedge mage she’d barely managed to handle.

How could she create a shield against the chaos-fire-bolts?

Slowly, she reached out with her senses and touched one of the nearest unseen nodes of order in the air. That was easy enough. Then she reached to another, and another…and another…Abruptly, the sunlight dimmed.