L. Modesitt - Arms-Commander

“We’re overcrowded. Most of them are in the stables for now, and that’s fine for the moment, but when the weather turns in the fall…”

“Can we turn them to doing something on the new barracks and keep?”

“Siret has a bunch of them hauling stones…and there’s one who actually knows something about masonry. But the rest…” Llyselle shook her head. “They’re farmers, and half of what they know won’t work on the Roof of the World.”

Saryn wondered if what Dealdron knew about masonry was enough to be helpful. She’d have to ask him. “They’ll have to learn or freeze.” Then she shook her head. “No one has the time to teach them more than the minimum now, not until we deal with the Gallosians. Have your guards continue to keep a close eye on the Gallosians. For the moment, that’s all we can do. I should know more in a day or so.” Saryn hoped that was so.

“Yes, ser.”

Saryn followed Llyselle’s example of grabbing several biscuits from the kitchen before checking the armory, as well as running a quick inspection of the tower. Before all that long, she was out on the arms field limbering up with all the other guards. After Istril’s comments of the night before, Saryn positioned herself so that she could watch Dealdron. No sooner was she in place than Ryba joined her.

The Marshal said nothing, and Saryn could still watch Dealdron. The young Gallosian now wore a bulky brace and splint on his leg and was able to do a much wider range of exercises. He did each precisely, yet with a certain awkwardness that suggested that they were not yet habit.

The sparring sessions followed, and Saryn squared off against the Marshal. She was on the defensive, possibly because she kept trying to watch Dealdron. She was startled, but not exactly surprised to find that the trio of silver-haired girls had taken on the duty of instructing Dealdron. As she continued to catch glimpses, one after another of the three worked with Dealdron, and not a one showed him favors or mercy. If anything, they pressed him more than would have been usual for an inexperienced guard. The only mercy they showed was not striking his injured leg.

At the end of the sparring, Ryba inclined her head to Saryn. “You could concentrate more, Saryn.”

“I have a few things on my mind.”

“The trio can take care of themselves. I’ll see you this afternoon.” With that, Ryba turned and strode uphill toward the stables.

Once the rest of the guards broke from their sparring sessions and split up for their daily duties, Saryn motioned to Istril and Siret. Under a sky that held scattered clouds, the three gathered at the west end of the causeway, where it joined the road to the smithy and the stables.

“Now…” began Saryn, looking at Istril, “last night you said you had something to say about Dealdron, except that it wasn’t that he was a problem. Just how is he doing?”

“You saw him during the exercises and the sessions…” began Siret.

“Did you see him working with the trio this morning?” asked Istril.

“I saw them working him over pretty unmercifully. If they’ve been doing that very long, he’s got to have bruises over most of his body.”

“He asked for someone to press him as hard as possible. We thought they’d be ideal, because, even with the leg, he’s strong, and they need to learn to deal with strength and discover that technique has its limits. He needs to learn technique, and besides…” Istril broke off.

“No one else besides you two and Llyselle will press them?” asked Saryn.

“They are looked on as the heirs to the Marshal.”

“Only one is,” Saryn pointed out.

“She doesn’t treat them that way,” replied Siret. “It’s as if they’re all hers, at least when it suits her.”

“They are sisters, and it would be worse if she openly favored any one of them,” Saryn pointed out. “What else can she do? It seems to me that she and you are all doing the best you can.” She paused. “But what does this have to do with Dealdron?”

“He’s still looking for your approval,” Istril said.

“I haven’t even been here.”

“That doesn’t matter.”

Saryn would just have to deal with it. “I’m going to talk to Dealdron. I’ll also see what he knows about stonework. If he knows something, can you use his help?” Saryn looked to Siret.

“We can use any help we can get. While the weather’s good, he’ll be more use there than in the carpentry shop. We need to finish the walls on the new barracks.”

“If he could be a help, when should he start…I mean, with his leg?”

“I’d give him another eightday at carpentry,” suggested Istril. “That way, he’ll be stronger, and he can finish those foot chests that Vierna never had time to do.”

“Why not?”

“Because things like bunks and replacement shutters and trying to teach new guards some basics so that she doesn’t have to do everything take up most of her time.”

Saryn nodded tiredly. It’s always been like that. For ten years, never enough of anything.

“You’re right,” said Siret, looking from Saryn to Istril. “There’s something there…”

“Something what?” asked Saryn.

“About you, ser.”

“Could you two just say what you mean?”

“We can’t, ser,” replied Istril. “Not the way you mean.”

“Tell me what you can, then.”

The two exchanged glances. Finally, Istril said, “We see or feel, but it’s like half feeling, half seeing mixed together, a blackness or a reddish white when people like the engineer-”

“I know that. The blackness is more like order, and you can move things and build and heal with it, and the reddish white is chaos, and it tears things apart. Those mages that were with Lord Sillek used the whitish red chaos to throw their thunderbolts or what ever they were.”

“You, ser…you sort of had them all mixed together, except now there’s more of both the black and the white, and they’re all separate.”

“Why would that be?” asked Saryn. “I haven’t done that much that’s different. Maybe not anything.”

“With us,” added Siret, “it was healing. The more we did, the blacker things got. Have you tried anything like that?”

“Just once…just a little bit.”

“That could do it.”

“Just once?”

“Sometimes, it only takes once,” Istril said dryly.

Saryn found herself both flushing and trying to stop the urge to laugh. “You two can be impossible.”

“Yes, ser,” agreed Istril. “You will talk to Dealdron?”

“Later. Is there anything else I should know?”

“No, ser. Not right now.”

“Good.” Saryn turned and began to walk up the road toward the smithy, thinking over what the two healers had said. Why would her trying to heal Jennyleu incline her more toward separating order and chaos? Would that hurt her ability in battle? How much?

Huldran was checking the forge fire when Saryn entered the smithy, but immediately turned and walked to meet the arms-commander. “Ser?”

“How are the bows coming?”

“Good as we can do, ser,” replied Huldran. “We’ll have near-on thirty frames laid down by the middle of summer. That’s all we’ve got enough horn and glue for right now.”

“Arrowheads?”

“Daryn and Ydrall have been working on them steadily…”

Saryn listened as Huldran provided a rundown on everything in the smithy.

“…and the Marshal ordered seven of these, ser.” Huldran pointed to a series of objects on the workbench against the smithy wall. Each resembled a funnel a half yard across at the larger end, but the end of the funnel was capped with a heavy wedge. Beside each was a circular iron plate, designed to plug the larger end. “She didn’t say why, but she gave me a drawing with the specs.”