L. Modesitt - Arms-Commander

“You carve as well, I see,” added Saryn. “Did you consider that someone might not like a flowered headboard?”

“You have many guards, ser. I thought there might be one…” Dealdron lowered the tiny knife, then shrugged.

“There are probably a few.” Saryn smiled. “If you want to carve designs, I’ll get you a drawing of the Westwind crest.”

“Might I ask a favor, Commander?”

“You can ask.” Saryn stopped, although she had been about to turn and leave the shop since she had little else to say.

“I was never trained in arms. Your guards would have spitted me like a capon if I had had to fight. Could I take the exercises that even the older women do in the morning?”

“You are barely walking.”

“That is true. I could only do some of the exercises, but I could begin to learn.”

“It’s not really necessary, is it?”

“Commander…ser…if you would…”

“Yes?” Saryn had to work at not snapping. She’d never liked male puppy dogs.

“There are but three things that will happen to me. The Marshal will order me killed. You will send me away from Westwind. Or I will stay in Westwind. If I obtain a little training in arms, it will do me little good against what I have seen of you and your guards. If you send me out, I will need to fend for myself because every man in Gallos will turn against me, and those in other lands will as well because they will know me only as a stranger. Any skill in arms will help me survive. And if I am allowed to remain here, then would it not help if I could at least defend myself should any outsiders attack?”

Saryn couldn’t help smiling, if slightly. The Gallosian did have a few points, and that suggested that he might show some promise…and he wasn’t begging, just explaining. The rigor of the exercises and the training couldn’t hurt in instilling more respect in him, either.

“You may begin the exercises with the junior guards whenever the healers allow you to do so-only the basic exercises that you can do without hurting your leg. Once you are healed, then we will see.”

Dealdron inclined his head. “Thank you, Commander.”

“We’ll see,” Saryn repeated, not wanting to commit to more. After a moment, she turned and stepped back through the archway, all too conscious that Dealdron’s eyes were on her.

As she walked back up the steps, her boots barely whispering on the stone, the way he had phrased the last alternative struck her. If I am allowed to remain here. That suggested he might want to remain. Was that because returning to Gallos might be a death sentence…or a sentence to a life of misery because he’d been captured?

She shook her head. Men! Why did they have to think that if a woman bested a man in anything, the man was worthless? At the same time, she was impressed by the way the young man had stood up to Ryba, without bluster but without begging, and by his efforts to prove he had worth. He’d made the decision to learn more, but how much of that was because he was calculating that would make a favorable impression and how much because he had an honest desire to prove himself? She’d sensed both, but more of the latter, she thought.

Time would tell which was more important to him. She hoped it was the desire to prove his worth and improve himself…but she wasn’t counting on it. Not after ten years on the Roof of the World, fighting off all too many men who wanted women as serfs or slaves.

A glass before the evening meal on sixday, after the thunderstorm passed, Saryn hurried up to the stables to meet with Duessya, the head ostler of the Westwind Guard. She’d asked Duessya to question Dealdron, but between Duessya’s duties and Saryn’s, more time than Saryn would have liked passed before she had a chance to meet with Duessya again.

The tall guard stood at the west end of the stables, peering at the runoff channel that angled southward away from the stables and joined the stone channel on the south side of the stone-paved road leading down past the smithy to Tower Black.

“What is it?” asked Saryn. “You look worried.”

“We’re gettin’ more water in the channel. Must have something to do with the quarry.”

“It’s south of here.”

“May be so, Commander, but nothing else has changed, and there’s nothing says water can’t run northward when it goes downhill.”

“I’ll tell Siret. Some of her assistants can handle that. Daerona should be able to do it.” Saryn paused. “I wanted to ask you if you’d talked to the Gallosian about horses.”

Duessya nodded. “On threeday. He knows about dealing with hoof rot, and he says he can make up a pasty solution that will help, but you can’t use it too much because it will crack a mount’s hoofs. Like us, he thinks the best way is to keep ’em out of the wet and mud and to clean and dry the whole hoof area every time they come back from a muddy ride. He thinks it would be better if we had more hoof picks…”

Something else that needs to be forged. Would there ever be an end to what they didn’t have, or what they didn’t have enough of?

“…thinks we ought to add some of that coarse high grass to their feed in the winter…says that eating the rough grass seems to keep ’em warmer in cold weather. It also might keep their teeth from getting too sharp when they can’t graze. Leastwise, might not have to float their teeth so much.”

“That might be useful. The young ones could gather the grass just before the snows hit. Anything else?”

Duessya frowned for a moment, as if trying to search her memories. “Lot of little things. When he heard the stables were stone, he did say that it might be better if the mangers were set so that the hay or feed didn’t touch the stone.”

“Condensation,” mused Saryn. “Cold stone catches the dampness, turns it into little rivulets. If there’s anything left in the bottom, the water that collects on the stone could drip down and spoil the hay or anything above…”

“Oh…”

“We should give him a try here once his leg is healed more.” Saryn paused. “Thank you for talking to him. Once he can walk, you’ll have to decide if he’d be a help.”

“Anyone who’d be interested in the horses besides riding them would help.” Duessya shook her head.

As she left, Saryn studied the stone runoff channel. It definitely was running higher.

Her steps were long and quick as she headed back down to Tower Black to catch Istril after her afternoon blade session with the older guards. Between trying to work out a plan for teaching Temple and accelerating arms training for the inexperienced young and newer guards, and all the other minor and continual items brought to her attention, Saryn hadn’t seen Istril except in passing in days. She was striding past the smithy.

Istril was leaving the practice field but stopped and waited at the edge of the road once she saw the arms-commander. “You’ve been running everywhere lately.”

“No more than you,” replied Saryn. “How is Suansa doing with that arm?”

“It’s healing. Likely be harvest before she’ll be close to having any real strength in it.”

“What about the Gallosian?”

“He’s as bad as some other people I know.”

Istril’s voice was even, but Saryn could sense a certain amusement. “Go on.”

“I had to spend some time explaining what he could safely do and what he couldn’t and why.” Istril began to walk down the road toward the causeway and the tower beyond.

Saryn glanced at the water in the stone runoff channel beside the road, then back to Istril. “Did he tell you that he wants to learn the basic arms exercise and training?”

“He did. I told him he shouldn’t try even the basic exercises for another eightday, except for the simple arm-strengthening ones that he can do sitting down. He really doesn’t need those, but I gave him some of those crude weights you had Huldran forge years back. I said they’d build up his arms more. That might keep him from doing what he shouldn’t.”