L. Modesitt - Arms-Commander

“Are you one of those, Commander?”

“I think not. Although women are supposed to be more devious than men, I have great difficulty in looking for the least obvious path to an objective. No one has ever accused me of great warmth, either.” Saryn smiled at Zeldyan. “Unlike you, who combine warmth and shrewdness.”

“Shrewdness without power avails one little.” Zeldyan paused, then asked, her tone casual, “Do you think the Suthyans will attack you first…or us?”

“I do not think they will attack Westwind at all. Not at present, at least. They have seen how costly it would be, and they measure everything by cost. I am not certain that they will attack you, either. Not directly, in any case.”

Gethen frowned, but Zeldyan nodded.

“What else can they do that is not direct?” asked Gethen. “They’ve already taken Rulyarth and exact high tariffs on goods coming upriver to us. It also appears they have persuaded the Gallosians to keep traders from the east from traveling to us overland. They are trying to enlist Deryll to their cause as well. What is left?”

With Gethen’s last words, Zeldyan focused on Saryn.

“More of what happened to us with the Lord of Duevek, except directed at you and Lady Zeldyan as regents. The old holders are not pleased with matters as they are…are they?” Saryn took a sip of the wine, then another mouthful of the fowl pie.

“Are they that foolish?” Gethen snorted, then, after a moment, went on. “Of course they are. They think that if they overturn the regency they can reestablish the old ways, with one of them as overlord. Each believes that he will be the one the others will accept.”

“When all the squabbling and fighting is over, and no one can still agree, and swords remain bloody,” added Zeldyan, “the Suthyan Council will offer to make Lornth part of Suthya. Most of the lesser holders will finally agree after they find they have no golds left, and the Suthyans will then pay them to overturn the handful of larger ones. Those who remain will beg to be part of Suthya just to end the bloodshed.”

“You paint a dismal picture, daughter.”

“What other picture is there? Already, half the holders offer excuses rather than their tariffs, so much so that we have half the armsmen that we had five years ago, and that number was but a third of what Sillek took against Westwind and lost.” Zeldyan looked to Saryn. “You see to what state we are reduced when the only one in whom we can trust is the arms-commander of the land that destroyed us.”

“We did not destroy you, Lady. Your holders did. We did not invade Lornth. We only asked to be left in peace.”

Zeldyan’s lips tightened, and Saryn wished she had not had to say what she had.

“That is so, much as it pains me to admit it. Lady Ellindyja, may the demons rend her spirit forever, set all this in motion. I feared it then, and I begged Sillek to stand against his lord-holders. But he did not, and we cannot change that. You had to do what you did to survive, and I cannot change that.” Abruptly, Zeldyan straightened. “We cannot change what will be, and nothing more we say here tonight will alter that.” She lifted her goblet. “Best we enjoy each other’s company. Do tell us what you found of interest on your journey here. Are the ironwoods as desolate as ever?”

After sensing the pain and frustration within Zeldyan, Saryn offered a smile as warm as she could make it. “I would not call them desolate, but rather severe and forbidding. Majestic in their own fashion. The size of the streams and rivers is also a wonder, because in the heights, they are so small, and yet in Lornth they have grown so large…there are valleys in the lower mountains with little but boulders in them, many standing alone, and some nearly the size of the palace here…” Saryn went on to offer the best travelogue she could, trying to keep her tone light.

At some point, the serving girl removed the platters and set before each of the three a small pielike dessert consisting of thin leaves of pastry with a mixture of honey and berry jam between. Saryn did enjoy that, as well as the stories Zeldyan told of being a young girl in The Groves.

In time, some three glasses after she’d entered the small dining room, Saryn made her way back along the empty corridor to her quarters. She had to admit that, despite the earlier part of the dinner, the latter part had been pleasant and that having supper with just three people had been far more enjoyable than eating alone, or than eating amid a score or so in the hall in Tower Black.

Just how many years had it been since she’d had a small and intimate dinner?

Later, after undressing, as she lay on the wide bed in the guest chamber, all too awake, she couldn’t help but believe that Lornth looked to be on the verge of collapse or rebellion, if not both. What had she done in promising to help Zeldyan? Even after dealing with Gallos, assuming Ryba’s plans were successful, what could Saryn possibly do?

What should she do?

Eightday at the palace was quiet, and although Saryn ate supper again with Zeldyan, but not with Gethen, who had departed for his estates, the lady regent was most careful to keep the talk to matters other than the relations between Lornth and Westwind, the Suthyan threat, and the problems posed by the old holders. Zeldyan did not mention Saryn’s pledge, either, but it hung over the commander like an unseen burnished blade, and she fretted about why she had given her pledge so easily. Ryba certainly would not have. Yet for all her worry…it had felt right, and that nagged at her even more.

She was both relieved and glad when, late on oneday, the first creaky wagon arrived, bearing barrels of saltpeter and smaller kegs of sulfur. Two more wagons arrived on twoday. Saryn wondered about returning the wagons and the swaybacked horses that pulled them, but Zeldyan insisted that both could be sent back later, whenever practicable.

Saryn didn’t protest, and on threeday, she and the guards set out, at first retracing the route they had taken previously. The following day, they took a ferry across the river at the narrows to follow a road that, had they gone its full length, would have taken them to Rohrn. After another two days, they turned eastward and eventually recrossed a stone ford north of Henspa. Twilight was turning to evening as they entered the town, but Saryn was still sweating, and she kept having to blot her forehead, while her undertunic was plastered to her body.

The big innkeeper Essin stood out on the porch of the Black Bull. “I thought you might be back,” he called as he left the porch and walked toward Saryn, still mounted on her gelding. “Same terms as before?”

“That would be acceptable,” Saryn replied.

“Ma’s doing poorly, but she told me she wants to talk to you. She said you’d be back. Just come in here when you’re set. I’ll tell the girls to heave to…be a simple supper.”

“Simple is fine.” Any decent supper they didn’t have to prepare would be welcome, and Essin’s charges were moderate enough that they might actually return to Westwind without using all the golds that Ryba had provided.

“I’ll tell Ma.” Essin paused. “I was hoping…she’s pretty sick.”

“I’ll be there,” Saryn promised, “but I’m not like the other angel. I’m not a healer.” What was she, really, besides a pilot who’d discovered a talent for weapons and killing in a strange and magical world she still wasn’t certain she truly understood?

“Be good for Ma to see you.”

Saryn could sense the disappointment in the big man, and his concern and love for his mother, but all she could say was, “I’ll be there.” Then she rode around to the stables.