L. Modesitt - Arms-Commander

“Ser…there’s a messenger here. Right out front.”

“Thank you.” Saryn followed the guard out to the portico and the mounted armsman. Three other armsmen were reined up behind him.

All four wore tan tunics, with black belts and boots-Maeldyn’s colors, as Saryn recalled.

“You’d be the Lady Arms-Commander of Westwind?”

“I am,” replied Saryn.

“I was sent to deliver a message to Lord Gethen.”

“The regent and our forces rode in last night,” Saryn replied. “We arrived too late to save Lord Gethen, Lord Nesslek, and Lord Deolyn, but we did defeat Lord Kelthyn and Lord Jaffrayt and their forces on the way.”

“What about the Lady Regent?”

“She is secluded in the east tower for the moment. She’s just lost her father and her son. Can you convey the sense of the message?” Saryn asked.

“I don’t know what was written, ser. I can tell you that Lord Maeldyn and Lord Spalkyn will be arriving later this afternoon. They’ll have a company, and half that again from Lords Chaspal and Whethryn.”

“And the other two lords?”

“They entrusted their armsmen to Lord Maeldyn as the best commander in the north, saving Lord Gethen.”

“My guard will show you to the stables and the barracks. You can either keep the missive until Lady Zeldyan is able to receive it or entrust it to me. I will not open it if you do.”

“I’d best keep it, begging your leave, Commander.”

“I understand. I will tell Lady Zeldyan as soon as I see her.”

Saryn watched as Maeldyn’s armsmen headed off, led by the guard, but before she could turn, she saw Hryessa walking toward her, following two wounded men in the green-and-yellow tunics of Lyntara.

“Commander…there were several survivors who were hiding in the reeds of the pond over the hill. They were all wounded, and some died there. I thought you might like to hear what these two had to say.”

“Thank you. I would.”

The two armsmen did not look at Saryn directly.

“Go ahead,” prompted Hryessa, “tell the commander what you told me.”

“Well…ser…we was with Lord Deolyn, and we rode half the night before we got here, and we’d no more ’n gotten here when all the rebels attacked. Must have been six companies, and they had a couple of white wizards. That was how they got through the gates. Threw those fire-bolts at anyone who got close to ’em until no one would…”

“Lord Deolyn, he had a big iron shield,” added the second man. “He finally got a squad back to the gates. He musta beat ’em back five, six times. They just kept coming, especially the ones in red…”

Keistyn’s forces, of course. Saryn wondered how Henstrenn had managed to get the other lord-holders to take the brunt of the fighting…and the casualties.

“…Lord Gethen, he and his fellows, they had piles of bodies around them. Even the little lord got a couple…just too many…”

When the two had finished their gory tale, Saryn nodded. “Thank you. You may go.”

“This way,” Hryessa said to the two.

Before returning to her inspection of the villa, Saryn paused, thinking about the costs of loyalty. Lord Deolyn had proved his faith by answering Gethen’s summons quickly, and his reward had been to be killed. Shartyr had been loyal to no one but his own interests and had so far survived. As had Jharyk.

Saryn was about to reenter the villa when Zeldyan appeared, flanked by two Lornian armsmen.

“Did you receive the message from Lord Maeldyn, Lady?” asked Saryn.

“I did. He and a company and a half will arrive later today. Would that they had come sooner.” The last words were tinged with bitterness.

“Quaryn is farther than Lornth from The Groves, is it not?” asked Saryn. “Yet you did not receive a messenger.”

Zeldyan looked coldly at Saryn.

“That is not what I meant, Lady. I have no doubt that your father sent a messenger. We did not receive such a message. That could only mean that Henstrenn and the other rebel lord-holders were close enough already and in enough force that no messenger was successful in evading them.”

Some of Zeldyan’s coldness faded. “There was not enough time for Maeldyn and Spalkyn to receive the message and travel here.”

“That is how it seems. I just talked to two wounded armsmen from Lord Deolyn’s forces who survived by hiding in pond reeds. Lord Deolyn marched his forces through the night to reach The Groves, and they arrived just before the first attack.”

“He was always fiercely loyal to Father. He was a good man.” Zeldyan shook her head, then looked at the pair of guards. “The commander and I will be inside.”

Saryn followed Zeldyan into the front foyer, where the regent stopped and looked at the three still figures laid out on the long table. Then she turned her eyes to Saryn.

“If you would make arrangements for a funeral pyre…on the top of the hill beyond the tower…at sunset…” Zeldyan swallowed, once, twice, then straightened. “The study…if you would.” She did not look back or sideways.

Saryn followed Zeldyan out of the foyer and down the wide hall and into the study. Someone-most likely Zeldyan, Saryn thought-had picked up the scattered items and put them back in the desk or on it or in the bookcases.

Once they were alone in the study, Zeldyan turned, and asked, “What do you think I should do?”

Saryn didn’t want to answer that question. Instead, she said, “Are you and Relyn not the only survivors who could hold The Groves?”

“According to the customs of Lornth, I could not hold anything.”

“You could hold it as regent for your brother. He is certainly entitled to succeed his father.”

“So you would have me go through the grief of position without power once more? The southern lords will claim I have no authority.”

Saryn realized that Zeldyan hadn’t fully considered what had happened over the last half season. Only two of the southern lords who had taken up arms were still alive, and the successors to those who had fallen had almost nothing in the way of armsmen. “They would have to bring forces against The Groves once more. Would they wish to do that now?”

Zeldyan looked at Saryn. “You ask much. Why? Why now? You have lost, as have I, for the next Overlord of Lornth will not be friendly to Westwind.”

“How will the lord-holders determine which lord becomes the Overlord of Lornth?” asked Saryn.

“There is no rule. It has been generations since the overlord has died without a blood heir.” Zeldyan shrugged. “They will bow to the strongest, no doubt.”

“That will be Henstrenn. He was smart enough to suggest that Kelthyn and Jaffrayt take the river road, and he managed to maneuver it so that Keistyn’s forces took most of the losses in taking The Groves. That leaves Henstrenn with more golds, probably augmented by the Suthyans, and his forces are far greater than those of Keistyn, or of any other remaining lord-holder.” Saryn paused, then asked, “Do you want him to be Overlord of Lornth?”

“Part of me no longer cares. Should I? You and the angels came, through no fault of your own, and over the past ten years I have lost all I held dear.”

“Six lords in the south, prompted by Kelthyn and Henstrenn, decided that you should not be regent and that Nesslek should die. They demanded you step down, and before you could even respond, they attacked.”

“I can do nothing about it. I have less than one company of armsmen left.” Zeldyan looked at Saryn. “Do what you will, Angel.”

“I would suggest we wait until Lord Maeldyn and Lord Spalkyn arrive. They are levelheaded.”

“A few glasses will not matter, one way or another. Perhaps nothing will.” She sank into one of the chairs set at an angle to the table. “You must have much to do, Commander.”