L. Modesitt - Arms-Commander

She should have thought about all that earlier, far earlier-but she truly hadn’t understood, not emotionally, the depth of the misogynism embedded in the Lornian culture. Why not? What had changed her understanding? The fanatical male insistence on tradition, to the point of senseless death after senseless death? Or the inability or unwillingness to accept the superiority of a female force? The old Cyadoran dwelling, with its entire structure designed to restrain women?

And what can you do about it so all the deaths won’t have been in vain?

“You look worried, Commander,” offered Klarisa.

“I have to say that I am,” Saryn admitted. “Every time we fight, we prove how good we are, how capable. Then we have to do it again…and again, and the men in this place keep looking bewildered…or angry…as if we were demons, not women.”

“That’s how they see us. The worst of the white demons are women. They have to be chained with gold chains to keep them from tempting men into chaos.”

“They believe that here?” Saryn couldn’t keep the incredulity out of her voice. “They really do?”

“Not everyone, but most folk, especially in old towns and hamlets in the south.”

“But…women have never had any power in Candar, not even in old Cyador. That doesn’t make any sense.”

Klarisa shrugged. “That’s the way they feel. Even my father called my sister and me his little demons. He was better than most. When he died, and we had to live with Uncle Saemat…that was when I left.”

Why hadn’t Saryn asked Klarisa or one of the guards from Lornth earlier? She shook her head. Because you didn’t know enough to ask the questions, not until after a few battles and seeing that old Cyadoran dwelling.

Oh, in retrospect, it all made sense, if in a perfectly logical and twisted way, but it also made Saryn’s last question even harder to answer.

Just what can you do to change things so history doesn’t keep repeating itself?

When Saryn returned to the palace in Lornth, it was early afternoon on sevenday, but as hot as any full summer day, rather than harvest day, which it was. She didn’t even think about grooming the mare but handed her over to Dealdron, remembering to smile at him, before hurrying straight to find Hryessa. The guard captain was at the west end of the rear courtyard, watching as Dyali drilled a group of newer guards.

Fifth squad? Saryn wondered. Then she saw Kayli farther west in the courtyard, drilling another group. Just how many more women have joined? From where?

Hryessa walked quickly to Saryn. “Commander?”

“You’ve got more recruits.”

“Another thirty or so.”

“That’s good…I think. You’ll need to make ready to ride out as soon as possible-with everyone. It’s not certain, but, if we do have to ride, we’ll not have much time. If not, you can call it a drill. Can we mount all your recruits?”

“Yes, ser. We’ll even have some spare mounts. Not many, but enough.”

“Weapons?”

“We have enough. Daryn shortened many captured long sabres. They cut well enough, and the balance isn’t bad. They cannot be thrown.”

Saryn nodded. “I need to find the regent. We had to fight three companies of rebels in Tryenda. Our casualties weren’t bad, but the rebel lords are on the march. I’ll get back to you shortly.”

“Yes, ser.”

Saryn strode across the courtyard, into the palace, and up the stairs to the third level.

Lyentha met her outside Zeldyan’s study. “She’s meeting with the clerk of the treasury. She asked not to be interrupted.”

“You can interrupt her, Lyentha. Or I can.”

The armsman at the door put his hand on the hilt of his sword but got no farther before Saryn’s blade was at his throat. “This is urgent. More urgent than either of you knows.” Saryn nodded to Lyentha.

The lady-in-waiting swallowed, then rapped on the door. “The arms-commander, Lady, with most urgent news.” Lyentha opened the door and stepped back.

Saryn walked swiftly in, blade still in hand.

“You may wait outside, Tregarn,” Zeldyan said politely to the small, gray-bearded man who rose from the circular table, picked up a heavy ledger, and scuttled around Saryn and out of the study.

Behind Saryn, Lyentha closed the door.

Zeldyan did not rise from where she was seated at the table. Behind the regent’s polite words, Saryn sensed anger. She really didn’t care, not after another day on the road thinking over what she’d missed and what she should have done-and what Zeldyan had not. But she did sheathe the short sword as she stepped forward.

“You seem…agitated…Commander. Perhaps…we should defer this meeting.”

“It could be that I am. The day before yesterday I lost more guards, and ended up killing another few hundred or so young men of Lornth because of the little power games your local lord-holders are playing. The forces of both Rherhn and Mortryd were waiting in ambush. So we ended up ambushing them. We did finally find the bodies of both lords and managed to capture an undercaptain, who didn’t know very much, except that they’d been ordered to dispose of any regency forces before riding north.”

“You obviously kept them from attacking Lornth. I believe that was the goal, was it not?” Zeldyan’s voice remained chill. “I even believe that happened to be as much your idea as anything I expressed.”

“Goal or not,” Saryn said smoothly, “they were not heading to Lornth or anywhere close. Lord Rherhn said something to the effect that Lornth was an empty symbol. Now, why were you informed about Jharyk’s problems…and then Mortryd’s-all conveniently here in the south?”

“That is where most of the rebels are. And the Jeranyi.”

“Indeed, they are.” Saryn paused. “But one company, if not more, of Kelthyn’s men was already headed north of Lornth. And another of Henstrenn’s has been loitering in the north for several eightdays, and possibly even one of Lord Jaffrayt’s. Unless you’ve heard something since we left, no one has seen Henstrenn’s forces, or Keistyn’s, anywhere in the south, and my guards are the only force likely to be able to stand against them.”

“You forget my sire.”

“Lord Gethen may well be the best commander in all Lornth, Lady, but can he stand against all the forces that have already gathered against him…particularly if he has no time to call together his and your supporters? His holding is not a fortress, and he cannot withstand more than a short siege.”

“How would you know that?”

Saryn just looked at Zeldyan for a moment before replying. “I could take The Groves with two companies. There are far more than that already headed there.” Unless I miss my guess, and this time I don’t think so.

“You know…I am the regent for my son. Not you. Not anyone else. And I will decide. Not you. Not anyone else.”

Saryn forced herself not to answer. She was acting more like some of the lord-holders than like Ryba, who was always cool and calculating. Another set of angry words wouldn’t help, furious as she was.

“You don’t contest that, now, do you, Commander?” pressed Zeldyan.

“No.” Saryn shook her head, then offered a sad smile, because she felt for Nesslek, spoiled as the boy might be. “I don’t. I had hoped that by helping you and Lord Nesslek, we could make this part of Candar a better place. But everything I’ve done has made matters worse for both of you. By supporting you, I’ve raised the worst fears of the southern lords and pushed them into an attack on The Groves.”

At those words, Zeldyan’s irritation was replaced by concern…and a different and deeper anger. “You knew this?”