L. Modesitt - Arms-Commander

“Of course not,” Saryn replied. “Not until after the attempted ambush in Tryenda.” Not until after seeing the old Cyadoran house and hearing Klarisa’s words about the white demons. “That’s why I pressed to get back to Lornth. That’s why I used a blade to force my way in here. I wasn’t raised here. It took me a while to see what was happening.” You should have seen it sooner, but maybe you didn’t because you were raised in the north.

Anger and puzzlement warred within Zeldyan.

“On the way back from Tryenda, I heard some of the old southern stories about how female demons had to be chained…and they see me as a demon.” That was a guess on Saryn’s part, but not one requiring any great leap of faith.

Zeldyan froze, if but for a moment. “They can’t honestly think that…”

Saryn shook her head. “I doubt for a moment that the lord-holders believe that. But it makes a most convenient rationale for overthrowing you and the regency…and even for killing your son on the grounds that he has been fatally tempted by a woman and a female demon. Because it is a southern legend, I suspect it’s not something that you or your sire, or most of the northern lord-holders, would even think about. But that’s likely what they’re using to motivate the lord-holders involved in this rebellion. And it’s why I would strongly suggest we take all the forces we can to The Groves without any delay.”

“I did not want to abandon Lornth. That would have shown weakness and encouraged more unrest.”

“Without you and Nesslek, Lornth means nothing, and holding it now means a company you cannot use against the rebels. Or, if your father and Nesslek are under attack, to save either.”

“You see no other choice?”

“No. Do you?”

“Then we must leave immediately.” Zeldyan finally did stand.

“There’s another issue we need to discuss, Lady Zeldyan.”

“What else is there to discuss? We need to save Nesslek.”

“So far, hundreds of men and women from Westwind and Lornth have died. Westwind attacked no one. You, so far as I can see, attacked none of the lord-holders. Let us say that we do succeed in putting down this rebellion, and your son succeeds the regency. Then what?”

“He becomes the Overlord of Lornth.” Zeldyan’s voice was somewhere between matter-of-fact and dismissive, behind which was irritation at Saryn, probably for stirring up things, then bringing up an irrelevant question.

“So that he can pursue the same course as his grandsire and so that we end up fighting each other for years to come? So that women who no longer want to be slaves to men flee Lornth for Westwind, and men in Lornth, especially in the south, get angrier and angrier until they force him into another war?”

“I cannot change what men feel. Neither can you,” Zeldyan pointed out. “Sillek tried that. Much good it did him. Had he stood fast, he would have faced revolt as well.”

Saryn could see that there was no point in pursuing that issue-for the moment. She had raised it, and that was all that she could do for the moment. “You’re right…for now. We need to move to The Groves. I have my guard captain readying all the guards.”

“I will send for Maerkyn, and we will be ready shortly.”

Saryn inclined her head. “By your leave…”

Zeldyan raised her eyebrows, as if to ask whether her permission mattered.

“I will let you know when we are ready, Lady.” Saryn stepped back, then turned and left. As she hurried down the staircase, she heard Zeldyan calling for Lyentha.

Hryessa was in the courtyard, with six others-all squad leaders, Saryn decided, as she slowed and let the captain finish her instructions to the six. Only then did she step forward.

“How long?” asked Saryn.

“Two glasses. It could be less. I wouldn’t press it, though. That will give your mounts some rest.”

“True enough.” Saryn paused, then asked, “What about Daryn and the children?”

“He’d already worked out something with the local smith. He’ll work for nothing except food and keep the children there. They’ll be out of the palace and away from the fighting.”

“You knew this would happen.”

“Sooner or later, ser, it had to.”

“We’re the demons, you know?” Saryn kept her voice conversational. “The ones who are out to upset all their traditions.”

Hryessa spat on the courtyard pavement. “Men like that have a reason for anything. It is never a good reason. But they have it.”

How many of those reasons are just rationalizations for holding power? Is Ryba any different? Are you? “We all have reasons.”

Hryessa laughed. “Always! But ours are better. Especially if we keep them to ourselves.”

Saryn smiled, if momentarily. “I want to see what they’re loading in the wagons.” She turned and walked toward the stables. Outside the main doors, Dealdron was organizing the loading of the five wagons lined up in a row-none with horses yet in the traces.

“The spare blades and shafts at the rear. If the guards need them, they cannot wait for us to dig them out. The barrels in the middle…”

She couldn’t help but smile as she watched him. He’d definitely been wasted as an assistant ostler in Gallos…or even in Westwind.

As if he had sensed her presence, Dealdron turned. “Commander, ser?”

Although she knew what he would say, Saryn couldn’t help but ask, “Who will be in charge of the wagons and teamsters?”

“You are the commander, Angel,” he replied.

“But you intend to be the one I give the orders to?” She managed not to smile.

“Who else will take care of the wagons and so many mounts? You would not waste good guards on the mounts, would you? I will be safer with you than staying in an empty palace in Lornth, where I could do nothing to help.”

Saryn had her doubts about his safety, but she didn’t want to argue…and he was a good teamster and the best they had with the horses. She couldn’t help but smile. “How long before the wagons are ready?”

“We started readying them right after you rode into the courtyard, Commander. If all goes well, we will be loaded in less than a half glass. I did not want to put the drays in traces until we knew…”

She glanced at the seat of the first wagon, where two sheathed blades rested.

Dealdron followed her eyes.

Saryn looked back at him.

He shrugged. “I would prefer not to use a blade, but I would prefer to have them in case some armsmen might come upon us.”

Still smiling, Saryn shook her head. “I can’t imagine you’d drive a wagon after any armsmen. I won’t keep you from your duties. We are leaving as soon as possible.” She started to turn, then stopped. “I am glad you’ll be with us.” Then she walked back toward the barracks, feeling Dealdron’s eyes on her back, half-surprised that she didn’t mind the feeling. But then, she knew he was concerned about her and didn’t think she was a white demon.

By noon on eightday, Saryn was wondering if there was a harvest season in Lornth, or if the people there just called the last half of an endless summer harvest. Zeldyan and the Lornian guards under Maerkyn were leading the way up the road. While Saryn had spent much of the time riding with the Lady Regent, for the last glass Saryn had ridden at the head of first squad, beside Hryessa.

“You’ve had a long face all day, ser,” Hryessa finally said.

“A lot on my mind,” replied Saryn.

“You worried about the guards, ser?”

“How couldn’t I be? We’re fighting in a civil war in a land where neither side is truly to our liking, just to prevent those who would be worse from taking over. To one side, we’re a necessary evil. To the other, we’re the horrible demons out of a near-legendary history.” It’s all to preserve something that’s not that good from something worse. It’s not building anything, not really, and fighting to preserve the less bad…Does it really accomplish anything?