L. Modesitt - Arms-Commander

“What do you think, ser?”

“I think she’s right, but I don’t have to like it.” Or the costs involved.

The squad leader nodded.

After Klarisa had returned to her squad, Saryn couldn’t help but think over the questions the squad leader had raised-not that she hadn’t thought them over countless times before. The bottom line, so far as she could determine, was that many men feared women who were powerful far more than they feared other powerful men. Why? Was it as simple as the fact that they couldn’t dominate powerful women sexually? Or was it that when powerful women could determine their own consorts-or at least refuse to consort with men they did not like-some male reproductive instinct was threatened?

In the end, she just shook her head. She doubted she’d ever know, and, so far as Lornth and Westwind were concerned, the reasons why mattered less than the reality that the most powerful lord-holders of Lornth still wanted to destroy Westwind and effectively enslave women…for what ever reason…even if they wanted to call that enforced subservience “a return to traditional ways.”

That left the question of whether she and the guards should have ridden back to Lornth from the lands of Tryenda immediately after the morning battle. Logically, that made sense. They were outnumbered, and there was no telling whether, even with her emerging order-chaos-abilities, she could defeat the armsmen who were likely to stage a retaliatory attack. Yet…something within told her that wasn’t the right thing to do.

So she stood and studied the slope below the woods and how the road turned coming from the town, and made her plans. Before long, one of the guards brought her a replacement blade. Saryn didn’t ask if it had belonged to one of the dead guards.

Almost a glass passed before Klarisa rode over to where Saryn sat under one of the trees at the front of the woods. “They’ve got scouts on the rise across the way, but they didn’t stay long.” The squad leader looked at Saryn. “You want them to attack us?”

“It works better that way,” Saryn replied. “They’ll have to ride uphill, and after the way we prevailed in the woods, I think they’ll want to attack in the open.” She walked to the mare, untied her, and swung up into the saddle. She rode forward and to the south along the high ground just forward of the forest, with Klarisa and Yulia following her, until she had a clear view. Then she reined up and studied the attackers.

Coming around the curve in the road from the town were close to three hundred riders, with two distinct sets of uniforms among them-those in the olive green of the armsmen she had scattered and killed earlier in the morning and a smaller number in a brighter burgundy and white.

“Our tactics are very simple,” Saryn said. “Fourth squad will be on my right, second squad on my left. Whoever has the regency banner will be slightly behind me. On my command, we charge downhill. If what I plan works, you two will only have stragglers to deal with. If it doesn’t, break off and swing back uphill and make your way through the trees and back to Lornth. After this morning, they won’t follow into the trees immediately. They’ll likely think it’s another trap. Is that clear?”

“Yes, ser.”

While both squad leaders spoke nearly at once, because Saryn could sense the unvoiced questions from Klarisa, she added, “I’m going to try a version of order-and-chaos-blades. What version that will be depends on the way in which they attack.” And if they attack. After another long look at the riders, still a kay away, she turned the mare and rode back to the position she had picked out.

The squad leaders followed, issuing orders.

“Fourth squad! Form up!”

“Second squad…”

The Westwind forces were in position in less than a tenth of a glass, but the Lornian forces had barely moved. That was fine with Saryn, because with each passing moment the sun was higher in the sky over the mostly east-facing slope.

The Lornian forces-presumably those of Lord Mortryd and Lord Rherhn-continued northeast on the road for another third of a glass until they were less than two hundred yards below the Westwind squads. Then, they formed up…and waited.

“They want us to attack,” observed Klarisa.

“Then we should.” Saryn smiled. “Have your archers start picking off men in their front ranks, but have them ready to stow their bows immediately.” Let’s see how patient they can be as they lose men one at a time.

“Archers! Ready bows!”

“Fire!”

Saryn watched as the first shafts arched down the hill and into the front ranks. Two armsmen sagged in their saddles immediately. A second volley followed, then a third, and a fourth. Gaps began to appear in the front ranks of the mounted armsmen.

Because she doubted it would be long before the Lornians lost all patience with Westwind sniping, Saryn began to create what she visualized as a much smaller chaos-order-knife than the one she had employed against Lord Orsynn’s forces.

Then a single trumpet note blared forth-off-key.

The Lornians re-dressed their lines, and at the sound of repeated trumpet triplets, urged their mounts forward.

“Bows away!” ordered Saryn.

“Bows away!” echoed Klarisa.

Saryn studied the oncoming armsmen, all seemingly bearing overlarge blades, but did not wait long before she drew one of her blades from her battle harness and ordered, “Westwind! Forward!”

As she rode downhill, her eyes took in the Lornians, noting that the center of the attackers was yards ahead of either flank and composed of armsmen in the olive uniforms. With slightly more than a hundred yards between the two forces, Saryn released her first blade, aimed and boosted by order-chaos flows toward the center of the attackers…but the linked chaos-order-knife extended less than ten yards to each side of the gray-black blade.

The moment the chaos-knife sliced through the center of the attackers, Saryn began creating a second chaos-order-blade, even smaller and more concentrated, which followed her second short sword-directed to the section of the attackers ahead and to her right.

She could see the attackers’ faces, then the terror on them as a red mist sprayed through the center of those riders. Forcing that moment of horror away, knowing that she was less than twenty yards from the remaining attackers, she cobbled together a third chaos-order-blade, even as she drew the third blade from the sheath before her left knee and hurriedly and desperately flung that blade back to her left.

Lightknives stabbed into her eyes, and dark voids of white death pounded at her skull as she struggled to draw her last blade-merely for self-defense. Except she and the standard-bearer rode alone through fallen men and mounts, and the mare somehow, surefootedly, avoided falling, if occasionally moving so abruptly that Saryn barely remained in the saddle as she slowly reined up.

Through eyes that were intermittently light-blinded by the miniature knife-flares that stabbed them, Saryn could make out riders in olive and burgundy scattering downhill and southwest. Despite the unseen hammerblows to her skull and the lightknives, she turned the mare, trying to make certain that no one attacked her from behind.

That was about all she could do as the guards wheeled through the small groups of armsmen foolish enough-or stunned enough-to offer resistance.

In time, although Saryn couldn’t have said exactly how long, the battle-or semislaughter-was over, and Klarisa had ridden over and reined up beside her.

“Ser? Are you all right?”

“Better than the last time, but I hope I don’t have to do anything else for a bit.”

“It doesn’t look that way,” replied Klarisa. “The ones who rode off aren’t looking back.”