L. Modesitt - Arms-Commander

“Why did you allow the women travelers from Neltos to be ravaged and killed?”

“I had no way to stop it, ser, only a belt dagger.”

“Did you know that was what the undercaptain had in mind?”

“No, ser. Not until he said…that he didn’t care what happened to them.”

Saryn caught sight of several nods among the guards, nods not of approval, but acknowledgment of the attitude of the late undercaptain.

“You had no idea that he felt that way?”

Ryba looked at the Gallosian impassively, waiting.

Finally, Dealdron spoke, slowly. “I had heard that he was…hard…on women, but I never heard that he had injured one.”

“Beyond a slap or a bruise or two, you mean?” Faint irony tinged Ryba’s words.

“I did not know he would kill or order women to be…abused.”

“Did you think he might?”

“I did not know, ser. I had only taken care of the mounts before the majer sent me with the undercaptain.”

“I asked what you thought.”

“I did not think about it, ser. Not until I saw what was happening.”

Saryn could sense that Dealdron truly believed that, and that the young man truly had not understood the situation with the travelers until he believed he could do nothing. Her eyes took in Istril, who slipped into the chamber and along the wall until she was some five yards back from the Marshal.

Although Ryba had to have seen Istril, her expression did not change as she asked Dealdron, “You expect me to believe that you encountered no other travelers until you came across that group?”

“We saw tracks, but they hid in the woods or in other places before we could see where they had gone. The undercaptain was not going to split up the squad chasing peasants through the trees. He thought someone might ambush us.”

“You were whipped. How did that happen?”

“We had ridden hard the first days out from Fenard. I told the undercaptain that he was being hard on the horses and that they would not carry us well if he kept pressing them. He laughed. He had his men tie me to a tree, and he whipped me.”

“You stood up for horses…and not for women?”

“Ser…the first time I crossed the undercaptain, I was whipped. I did not think I would have lasted so long as the travelers if I had said anything.”

“So very courageous of you.”

“Courage is useless when you are dead, ser. I could not have helped them.”

True as that was, Saryn had doubts as to whether Ryba would see it that way.

Ryba looked to Siret. The healer nodded.

“How did your leg get broken?”

“I was trying to calm the horses after the attack. I was in the wrong place. Everyone was dying, and I crawled to a tree. I thought I might climb it, but the branches were too high.”

“How do you think other Gallosians would fare against the guards?”

“Most would not, I think. The Prefect’s Company would do best. They would lose, but they would kill many of your guards.”

“Is there any other company that good?”

“Lord Arthanos is training two special companies. That is what I have heard some say.”

“What do you know about Lord Arthanos?”

“I have only seen him. I have not tended his mounts. He has never spoken to me. I have never handled the mounts of those companies he has commanded.”

“A cautious reply. What have you heard about him?”

“He is brave and capable with both blade and bow. His voice can be heard above men and horses. He does not accept failure. He does not like excuses. He is said to be fair…mostly.”

“When is he not fair?” pressed Ryba.

“I have only heard-”

“When?” The single word was like a shaft of ice.

Dealdron swallowed. “He is fond of wine, ser.”

“And he is less than fair when he has had too much?”

“That is what is said. I do not know that from what I have seen.”

“There seems to be a great deal you have not seen,” observed Ryba.

“I have heard that angels can tell when a man does not speak the truth. I would not wish to say what I do not know.”

Ryba glanced to Siret, who nodded once more.

“How many men does he have in arms?”

“It is said that he will have ninety companies…”

“Who are the best captains in the Prefect’s forces…

“How many companies are ready to fight…

“How many archers…”

Ryba’s questions seemed endless, but the Marshal took less than a full glass before she stopped and looked squarely at Dealdron. “You may remain here in Westwind for now. Once you are healed, then we will talk again, and we will see what sort of man you are.” Ryba turned to Saryn. “Have him eat with the junior guards but at the lower end of the table.”

“Yes, ser.”

Ryba lowered her voice, and Saryn bent forward to catch the words. “Have Duessya talk to him about horses. And have Siret talk to him about building. See what they think.” Ryba turned from Saryn, stood, then said to the assembled guards, “I thought you should hear what Dealdron had to say. Please share what you learned with those who were not here.” In the silence that followed, her eyes ran across the group. For the briefest moment, her gaze stopped at Istril, who stood at the side of the chamber behind the guards. Istril met Ryba’s eyes without turning away. Neither spoke.

Then Ryba smiled pleasantly and strode between the tables to the back of the chamber and out into the foyer, to return to her study until the last seating for the evening meal.

Saryn waited until the Marshal was well clear of the chamber before she spoke. “You’re dismissed to your regular duties if you have any at the moment.”

As the guards rose, Huldran looked to Saryn.

“Move him to the table where he’ll sit. He can wait up here for half a glass.”

“Yes, ser.”

Saryn watched as the two smiths picked up the Gallosian. She could sense the pain from him as they lifted him under each arm and carried him to the end of the table farthest from the hearth, not that it made any difference with no fire. Then she walked toward Istril.

The healer said nothing until Saryn stopped less than a yard away. “She knows you’re trying to get around her.” Istril’s words were barely a murmur.

“She always knows,” replied Saryn. “That’s why she’s the Marshal.” What she didn’t voice were the questions that rose in her thoughts: Was knowing always enough? And how much did Ryba’s knowing restrict what she would try or accept?

Right after morning muster on the causeway outside Tower Black, Saryn hurried up the stone road to the smithy. While the starflowers at the edge of the fields were almost in full bloom, before long they would be lost in the grasses, leaving only the tall and individual stalks of the bloodflowers in easy sight. Behind Saryn, the junior guards moved to the lower exercise field and took their positions for the morning arms drills. Even the handful of older women who would never be guards took part in the basic drills, both for reasons of fitness and in case of undetected marauders, or the white demons forbid, an attack on Westwind itself.

Saryn pushed aside that thought as she reached the smithy.

The forges were hot enough already that the building was more than comfortably warm when Saryn stepped under the stone lintel of the entry door. Huldran had just set down her hammer as Ydrall returned something to the forge to reheat.

“How is the bow project coming?” asked Saryn.

“We’ve tested the new bow against the composite ones,” offered Huldran.

“And?”

“Why don’t you go see? Falynna just left with the second one to try it out at the range.”

Saryn could sense a certain satisfaction from the smith. Was the horn bow just somewhat better than the short yew bows, or was it equal to the composite bows Nylan had forged? Or equal to a long yew bow? Or somewhere in between? “You’re pleased.”