L. Modesitt - Arms-Commander

“There are more survivors than they think,” Saryn said. “We managed to defeat them without killing so many.”

“You did, ser.”

“If your archers hadn’t goaded them into attacking, it could have been worse,” Saryn pointed out.

“They don’t have archers. Why not?”

That was a good question. “I don’t know. Maybe because they feel that fighting should be hand-to-hand. Otherwise, it doesn’t make sense. Even the Gallosians have archers. They’re not that good, but they have them.” Or could it be that the Lornian lord-holders don’t want to give their people a weapon that could kill lord-holders and their armsmen from a distance? “If you can find an officer or a squad leader among the captives or the wounded, I want to talk to him.”

“Yes, ser. I’ll see if there’s one among the captives.” Klarisa turned her mount toward a small group of Lornians in the olive green who, surrounded, had lowered their heavy hand-and-a-half blades.

Saryn just sat on the mare and waited until Klarisa rode back, holding the reins of a horse bearing a young officer who cradled a crooked left arm in his right. She reined up, and the Lornian’s mount slowed as well.

“The commander has some questions for you,” Klarisa announced.

The undercaptain looked blankly at Saryn.

“Who ordered you to set an ambush for the regency forces?”

The young undercaptain did not speak.

“Answer the commander,” snapped Klarisa.

The officer looked to the squad leader, then to Saryn. Despite her headache and her intermittent vision, Saryn “squeezed” him with order-chaos flows, and she could sense the instant fear. “I asked you a question, Undercaptain.”

“Lord Rherhn…it was Lord Rherhn.” His mouth opened wider, but no words emerged for a moment. “You attacked in the dark.”

“We were supposed to ride down the road and present a nice target?”

“Attacking in the dark isn’t honorable,” he protested. “And the arrows-”

“Neither is rebelling against the regency, Undercaptain. Nor is attacking lands that never did you any harm. Nor, for that matter, is there any difference between setting an ambush, as you attempted to do, and attacking in the dark, as we did. If you found it honorable to use the trees for concealment, then it was certainly honorable for us to use darkness.”

“It’s not the same…”

“It’s not the same, ser !” reminded Klarisa coldly.

The officer opened his mouth, then closed it, before adding, “Ser.”

“What were you told about us and the regency forces?” asked Saryn.

After a long moment, the undercaptain replied. “Lord Rherhn said that the regency had been taken over by the Marshal of Westwind or her deputy, and that we needed to take it back, or that every man in Lornth would end up as a slave to the…to Westwind.”

“As a slave to whom?” pressed Saryn, exerting order flows on the undercaptain.

“He said…the tyrants of Westwind.”

Saryn suspected another word had been used, but there was little point in pushing that. “After you vanquished us, then what were you supposed to do?”

“He didn’t say.”

Again Saryn looked hard at the man.

“Not exactly, ser. He just said that all the lord-holders of the south were working together to reclaim Lornth for the traditional ways.”

Unfortunately, Saryn sensed that the undercaptain was indeed telling what he’d been told. “When were you going to leave for Lornth?”

“He didn’t say where, except that it wasn’t Lornth. He said Lornth was only a symbol. He did say we’d be heading north in the next few days.”

“Who were you going to join?”

“He didn’t say that, either, except that we’d be fighting a real battle.”

“And I suppose he’ll rally the armsmen for that once we leave?”

“You killed him with that black sorcerous blade…”

Saryn paused. She shouldn’t have been surprised, since Lornian lord-holders tended to flaunt their bravery…but she was.

After another quarter glass of questions, Saryn was convinced she’d learned what she could, and her head was splitting even more.

“Take him back to the other captives. Splint his arm. Then come back here.”

“Yes, ser.”

Saryn disliked the brusqueness in her tone, but she felt as though it had taken every bit of energy she had just to question the undercaptain. As Klarisa led the undercaptain’s mount away, Saryn fumbled for one of the hard biscuits she’d set aside, then her water bottle.

She had to moisten her mouth before she could chew, but two biscuits and half a water bottle later, she felt slightly better. She also realized how fortunate she’d been not to have had to use the order-chaos-shield during any of the attacks. What could she do if she had to attack and defend all at once? She didn’t have the skill or the energy to do both. The unfortunate aspect was that a good third, perhaps close to half the rebels had escaped. She supposed that, technically, she’d won, but it didn’t feel that way.

What was the rebel lords’ strategy? Was it simply to keep the Westwind forces occupied while they did something else? Like attack Gethen and The Groves? Or Lornth, then The Groves?

Or was it two-pronged? To wear down both the Westwind contingent and to eliminate Henstrenn’s rivals at the same time? Or was that the plan that the Suthyans had given the Lord of Duevek…before they moved in? How could she tell?

I’m not a strategist. I’m just a fair to middling tactician…and an effective killer. True as it was, the last thought bothered her.

What ever else might be happening, she and the guards needed to get back to Lornth.

Once Klarisa returned, Saryn forced a smile. “I’m sorry if I’ve been a little short. It takes a lot of effort to handle order and chaos.”

“We all understand that, Commander.”

Saryn could sense that Klarisa did understand, and that the squad leader was concerned, either about Saryn or her squad…if not both. “There’s even more happening than I realized. Have your guards gather up all usable weapons and all the coins and any jewels as fast as possible. And as many horses as possible. Leave the captives and wounded to fend for themselves. Pass that on to Yulia as well, if you would. We need to head back to Lornth.”

“Yes, ser.”

“Thank you.” Saryn flicked the mare’s reins, letting her walk slowly down the slope to the road.

Two guards followed, their blades out.

Already, the vulcrows were circling overhead.

Even as late as mid afternoon on sixday, Saryn’s head still ached, if dully, as she rode northward along the road back to Lornth. She hadn’t slept that well, unsurprisingly, not with her thoughts flitting among all the possibilities for rebellion she had envisioned, but hard biscuits and cheese had helped some in dulling the ache.

An early-morning shower had momentarily cooled the air, but that cool had turned into a steamy heat as the day wore on and as the white sun beat down through a clear green-blue sky. The road had been empty, except for the guards, and the dust kicked up by the horses was not quite so bad as on previous days, but Saryn would have traded the steamy harvest heat for dust and drier air in a moment.

In addition to the headache, she kept seeing images of the mostly young men whom she had killed, their bloody bodies strewn across the Tryendan hillside…and the bewildered look of the undercaptain when confronted with a woman in authority and the almost-sullen responses, as if she had no right to question him.

Why, Klarisa had asked, and Saryn had answered. The more she thought, however, the less she liked what she’d said. Oh…her words had been right…so far as they went, but what bothered her was the feeling that everything she and the guards had done so far was almost meaningless. Why were they doing what they were doing? So that a spoiled boy could become Overlord of Lornth, carrying forward the same attitudes that had created the first attacks on Westwind? So that more young men and women would fight and die in the future?