L. Modesitt - Arms-Commander

Dealdron smiled easily, and she could sense a certain amusement behind the expression before he replied. “You’d like to know why? Is that why you’re here?”

“I’m curious,” she admitted, wondering why she felt so guarded, but perhaps that was because she’d always had difficulty reading more than his surface feelings.

“You do your best to protect everyone else. You protected me from the Marshal. I didn’t see anyone else protecting you when you were ready to drop from the saddle. I don’t have very good arms skills, but I can make sure of…other things.”

She smiled. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

Dealdron looked at her and smiled warmly. “Thank you for telling me.”

“You deserve it. I should have said more earlier.” After a moment, she said, “I need to head back.”

As she rode back to the front of the column, she could feel his eyes on her back, again, and a certain sense of worry and concern emanating from him. She couldn’t help but feel touched, but she also worried that, in some way, he was putting her on a pedestal, and that he really didn’t understand how much death and destruction she’d created.

Why should that bother you?

That was another question she didn’t really want to answer.

Why? Because you might care for him? Because you really don’t want to come off that pedestal?

And those were questions she also didn’t want to answer.

Sevenday morning brought Saryn and the forces of the other three lord-holders to a position just beyond the hills north of Duevek. Maeldyn’s and Spalkyn’s armsmen were in the lead, with Saryn and the others riding behind the scouts and in front of the northern lords’ lead squad. The green-blue sky was clear of clouds, but a faint silvery haze cut the light from the white sun just enough that the day was slightly cooler than those that had preceded it. As Spalkyn had predicted, Henstrenn had followed their progress in some fashion because a squad of armsmen was reined up on the section of road a half a kay beyond the last of the hills, waiting under a parley banner.

Saryn could sense no other armsmen nearby, nor did the outriders and scouts see any others. After making a scan with her order-senses, she sent her own first squad forward under Shalya to see what the Duevekan force wanted. Maeldyn, Spalkyn, and Zeldyan waited on their mounts with Saryn while first squad rode out, then returned.

“Sers,” said Shalya, reining up before the group, “the squad leader was here to deliver messages to Lord Maeldyn, Lord Spalkyn, and the commander.” She eased her mount forward and handed a sealed envelope to Maeldyn, then one to Spalkyn, and the last to Saryn. “He said he was instructed to wait for a response, but no longer than a glass.”

“If you would leave us to consider,” Saryn said.

“Yes, ser.” The squad leader rode a good fifty yards farther up the road to where first squad waited.

“I see that there is no missive for me,” observed Zeldyan. “That alone is a message.”

“Shall we see what stratagems Henstrenn has in mind?” asked Maeldyn sardonically. “Besides the obvious one of divide and conquer?” He held up the envelope, then slit it open with a belt knife.

Saryn didn’t bother with a knife, but broke the seal on hers with her fingers, then extracted the single sheet of parchment, opened it, and began to read.

Commander-

You and your beliefs are not welcome in Lornth, and never will be. For all the death and destruction you have caused, none here will ever forget or forgive. Yet, for all that, if you and your forces immediately break off this conflict, none will pursue you or attack Westwind.

Remain here, and all that you are and hold dear will be forfeit, and you will be hounded and harried by all west of the Westhorns, as will Westwind itself, for all the years of all the generations to come.

The signature was that of Henstrenn, and under it was a seal-that of the Overlord of Lornth.

Does he really believe he can do that? Saryn shook her head. Regardless of whether she was successful against Henstrenn, there was no way that Lornth had the resources to hound and harry Westwind, precarious as Westwind’s position might be, for year after year. Is it designed to get me so angry that I’ll do something incredibly stupid?

She finally glanced up and looked to the other two lord-holders. Maeldyn smiled ruefully. They waited for Spalkyn to finish reading his missive.

The heavyset Lord of Palteara lowered the parchment, then fingered his square-cut brown beard, finally shaking his head. “The presumptive Overlord of Lornth has offered me his daughter as a consort for my son and a pardon for my actions against him as lawful Overlord of Lornth. What did he offer you, Maeldyn?”

“Lord Keistyn’s younger son as consort for my daughter. Of course, he’s but eight, but he didn’t mention that. Oh…and a pardon that won’t mean much because, sooner or later, I’ll be poisoned or suffer some sort of accident.”

“And you, Commander?” asked Maeldyn.

“The wrath of all Lornth no matter what I do, but neutrality with regard to Westwind if I depart the lands of Lornth immediately.”

“Not exactly the most enticing of offers,” mused Spalkyn. “None of them.”

“They weren’t meant to be,” replied Maeldyn. “They’re meant as justifications after we refuse them and are defeated and slaughtered so that he can say he offered us full redemption of some sort.”

“Then we had best make sure that we do not lose.” Spalkyn laughed.

“His messenger is waiting,” Maeldyn pointed out. “I think we should make him wait longer while we compose particularly irritating replies. Since we have no real choice, it cannot hurt to make him angrier. He doesn’t think as well as he believes he does when he is upset.”

“That may be,” replied Spalkyn, “but I don’t happen to carry parchment and pen on long rides to battle.”

“I do have a pen and ink,” said Maeldyn, “and I believe it will be acceptable to reply on the reverse of what he used.”

While Maeldyn was writing his response, Saryn rode forward to where first squad waited and reined up beside Shalya.

“Ser?”

“Send out a few scouts, away from the road. I don’t want anyone sneaking up on us while we reply to Lord Henstrenn.”

“Yes, ser.”

As Saryn rode back toward Maeldyn and the others, she again tried to sense whether anyone was hiding nearby…or even approaching. So far as she could tell, no one was nearby, not besides their force and the parley squad.

Once she reined up, she reread Henstrenn’s insulting note once more and mentally worked on a response until Maeldyn passed her the pen. Writing in the saddle with what amounted to a quill and an inkwell wasn’t exactly easy, but she managed to write out her reply without any terrible errors or ink blots, then read it over one last time.

My dear Lord Henstrenn:

One really should not make threats that one cannot carry out. Such threats have a tendency to make your betters irritated, and such irritation can only redound to your disadvantage. Your attitude toward women is also unacceptable, and the time will come sooner than you believe that you will have to deal with women more powerful than you. Needless to say, your offer is neither practical nor acceptable.

She signed what she had written, then held it for a time to dry. As she folded the sheet and slipped it back into the envelope, she frowned. Something wasn’t right. She was sensing a fuzziness somewhere to her left…an almost-chaotic swirling, although she could see nothing.

That wasn’t right. It was as though her eyes slid away from that patch of bushes that were barely waist high. She thrust the envelope inside her tunic.