L. Modesitt - Arms-Commander

“Until later, Lady.” Saryn inclined her head to Zeldyan and headed out to see how Hryessa and the guards were doing in restoring order to the holding.

By midday, some of the surviving holder staff-those sent away by Gethen-had begun to return. Second squad had completed stacking and arranging the timbers and wood for the pyre on the hill, and the remaining disorder in the villa had been largely removed, although Saryn had cautioned the guards and staff not to disturb Zeldyan.

She and Hryessa also made certain that the kitchens would be able to prepare enough for the additional armsmen. Saryn asked Dealdron to assure that the stables would be ready.

His response was simple. “We will do what is necessary, as will I for you.”

Saryn smiled at that, but only replied, “Thank you.” She did watch him as he headed toward the stables.

As soon as the outlying patrols reported the approach of Maeldyn and Spalkyn, Saryn informed Zeldyan, and the two made their way, in time, to the portico of the villa just before the head of the column arrived, and the two lord-holders reined up.

All of the mounts looked tired, as did the armsmen behind the two lord-holders. Saryn could sense the fatigue in both lords.

“Greetings, Lady Regent,” offered Maeldyn.

“Lord Nesslek is dead. By definition, I am no longer regent.”

“I am most sorry, Lady. We left within glasses of receiving word.”

“You have always done your best, both of you.”

“As I understand matters, from the scouts I sent out on our way here,” Maeldyn said slowly, looking down from his mount, “Commander Saryn and your forces, Lady Zeldyan, encountered the forces of Lord Jaffrayt and Lord Kelthyn on your way to relieve The Groves. You routed both.” The dour-looking lord glanced to Saryn. “Might I inquire about the lords in question?”

“They were both killed in the fighting, as were the majority of their forces,” replied Saryn. A bare majority, but a majority. “When we reached The Groves, it was already too late. Lord Deolyn, Lord Gethen, and Lord Nesslek had been defeated and killed.” Saryn nodded toward the archway behind her. “They are there, and we have made arrangements for a funeral pyre for sunset.”

“From our approach, I surmised something of the sort,” added Spalkyn. “What about the other southern lords?”

Zeldyan looked to Saryn.

“Lord Orsynn attempted an ambush last eightday. He did not survive, nor did two of his sons and most of their armsmen. Lord Mortryd begged for aid against an attack by Lord Rherhn, but when we arrived to help, they both turned and attacked us. Both are dead. We have not seen either Lord Keistyn or Lord Henstrenn, but presume that, from their tracks, they took the eastern road to return to their own holdings.”

“Or to Duevek,” suggested Maeldyn, “which is easier to defend and closer to Lornth.” He paused. “The last days have been long. If you would not mind, Lady of The Groves, I would like to settle my men. Perhaps we could talk in greater detail later.”

“Later would be best,” replied Zeldyan, “even in the morning.”

“The barracks kitchen has prepared food,” Saryn offered, “and our ostler has adapted the stables to handle your horses.”

Maeldyn nodded. “We thank you.”

As they led their men past the villa, Zeldyan watched for a moment, then looked at Saryn. “I am not at my best. Thank you.”

“I would not be at my best if I’d had to endure what you’ve had to go through, Lady.”

“May you never have to, Angel. No one should.” Zeldyan hesitated. “I will be in the study.”

“I’ll have your supper brought to you, Lady. It will be simple.”

“Simple is enough, now. If I can even eat that…” Zeldyan turned away and walked resolutely back into the front foyer of the villa.

As the lower edge of the sun, tinged slightly orange, touched the edge of the roofs of Carpa, the first squad of Lornian armsmen escorted Lord Deolyn’s still form, carried shoulder high by six armsmen, from the foyer of the villa out through the portico and along the paved lane toward the east tower. Shortly thereafter, the second squad appeared with Lord Gethen, then third squad with Nesslek’s body.

With measured steps, they made their way past the tower and up the path to the top of the hill. All the remaining armsmen and guards were drawn up in formation around the pyre on the hilltop. In a line forward of those bearing arms were Maeldyn, Spalkyn, Saryn, and Zeldyan.

When all three forms were in place, with Nesslek in the center, and the Lornian armsmen back in formation, Lord Maeldyn stepped forward, then turned to face the Lady Regent and the others.

“From chaos, order brings life, and in the end, from that life, chaos leads us all to death,” began the stern-faced lord. “Some deaths are timely and come with order. Some are most untimely and disorderly. So it has been with the three men before us. All of them lived honorable lives that were too short; but for one of them, that life was far, far, too short.” Maeldyn paused for a moment before resuming.

“Each of these men had characteristics worthy of emulation. Lord Deolyn was fiercely loyal to honor and to doing what was right, regardless of the cost to himself. Lord Gethen was a good leader, and more than that, a wise man who looked to do good for all of Lornth, and not just for his own holding or personal gain, and who had already lost many of those whom he loved and who loved him because those who embody chaos could not abide such good. Young Lord Nesslek came from a most noble heritage and stood with others far older against those forces of chaos.

“We will miss them, and we will miss what they brought to Lornth and life.” Maeldyn stepped back.

Spalkyn stepped forward and, like Maeldyn, turned to face those who waited. “From chaos we came and unto chaos we go. From dull clay is spirit sparked into the flame that is life, and that flame burns our course over the years that we have. In the end is chaos, leaving no sign of where we once stood. All that remains is the memory of what we have been, what we have done, and how well we have loved. May these flames burn those memories into all of us, and may our acts carry on those memories, and so to the end of time.”

One of the Lornian squad leaders strode forth and handed a burning pitch torch to Spalkyn, who stood…waiting.

Slowly, Zeldyan stepped forward. She took the torch from the heavyset lord and walked deliberately to the foot of the pyre, where she laid the torch across an oil-soaked plank, then straightened.

After a long moment, she turned and walked gravely back to stand beside Saryn and the two lords.

Saryn stood beside Zeldyan, watching as the flames rose, consuming the wood and the bodies upon them…consuming as well the hopes of a woman for her son, the hopes of a regent for a reign of peace and prosperity.

Is this all that Ryba foresaw? The endless battles between chauvinistic lord-holders? A land where respect and restraint occur only at the point of a blade? Where the only way a woman can obtain anything close to respect is by being able to kill greater and greater numbers of men? Isn’t something better possible? If it is, is there any other way to accomplish it besides more violence and killing?

Standing before the heat of the raging flames, Saryn couldn’t help but ask the last question again.

Less than a glass after sunrise, Zeldyan, Saryn, Maeldyn, and Spalkyn sat around the table in what had been Gethen’s study. From outside on the verandah came the sound of the fountain, muting the sounds of armsmen and guards engaged in various duties around the villa.