L. Modesitt - Arms-Commander

Saryn nodded. The design suggested clearly what Ryba had in mind for the Gallosians. “They’re designed to…” She paused. “They’ll have a special use against the Gallosians.”

“Be helpful to know what that is,” replied Huldran.

“They’re designed to focus a blast,” Saryn hedged. “Where, I don’t know.”

“Fill them with old-time powder?”

“Something like that, but I’d have to ask her.”

“Wicked-looking devices.”

With that and suspecting their use, if not in exact detail, Saryn could agree.

From the smithy, Saryn walked up the road to the stables, where she found Duessya instructing a group of young guards on which stalls to clean. She stayed in the shadows until the head ostler finished, and the guards fanned out to their assigned chores.

“Commander. The mounts you brought back were fine, and the spares you picked up along the way are all in good shape. A couple of really good mares, and the one stallion has promise. The drays…though…they’re a sorry bunch. Old and overworked.”

“Can you get them in better shape?”

“One for sure. Another one…maybe. The third…” Duessya shook her head.

“Do what you can.” Saryn sensed no one near. “Do you know where the Marshal went?”

“I’d not be the one to ask her, ser, but she was headed toward the ice fields to the northwest. She’s ridden there several times this season.”

Ice fields? Why does she need to go there? “I wonder why.”

“She brings back ice, but I’d guess that’s not why she goes. She doesn’t say, and she always goes alone.”

“Is there anything else I should know?”

“Well…ser…not about the horses…”

“Is that a polite way of suggesting that we’ll lose horses to the weather, come fall, if you don’t get the stable space back from all the newcomers?”

“Winters are real chill up here, ser.”

“I know. The Marshal and I are working on it.”

“Thank you, ser.”

After she left the stables and headed back down to Tower Black, Saryn couldn’t help but wonder how long they could juggle the problems of too many people and too little space, not to mention those of food and fodder for the next winter. And those problems didn’t even include the difficulties with Lornth, Suthya, and Gallos. Once she reached Tower Black, she hurried down to the carpentry shop.

There, Dealdron was working on planing sections for foot chests for the newer guards. At the other end of the shop, Vierna was instructing two new guards on what looked to be the proper way to sharpen a saw. Dealdron stopped and set the plane on the workbench. “Commander, ser.” He looked Saryn directly in the eyes.

Since she’d been gone, he’d had his hair trimmed short and shaved off the short beard. Without it, he looked older, surprisingly, and passingly good-looking. She pushed that thought away, even as she sensed that the directness of his gaze was anything but a challenge. She realized that he was making a determined effort only to look into her eyes. “You seem to be doing better with the exercises and the sparring.”

“I could not have done worse than when I started.” A faint smile followed his words. “I wake up sore every morning from the bruises that the girls have given me the day before.”

“How did you end up sparring with them?”

Dealdron shrugged apologetically. “There was no one else. The older guards are beyond me. The newer guards are not so strong as me and could not teach me what I need to know.”

“What do you need to know?” pressed Saryn.

“Enough to defend myself when attacked. More would be better.”

“You think we will be attacked here?”

“You will be attacked. That is certain. I thought Lord Arthanos would have no trouble reaching Westwind. Now…I am less sure.”

“Why?”

“Your Marshal, she is…” Dealdron paused. “She is the spirit of the mountains. There is no other way to say it. She is like the winter storms. No one ever defeats winter.”

Saryn hadn’t thought of Ryba that way, but the image fit. She didn’t see how Dealdron could have formed such an impression, so seldom did the young man even see Ryba, except from a distance. “How did you decide that?”

“I can see what I see, Commander.”

That was all he was going to say, Saryn realized. “Where are you sleeping now?”

“I have a corner here in the shop. That seemed better.”

“It probably is.” After the briefest pause, she asked, “Dealdron…what do you know about masonry…stonework?”

“A little, ser. Sometimes, my da…my father, he had to redo some of the stonework when he was replastering older places. He spent a little time as a stonemason’s apprentice. He didn’t like it. So he became a plasterer’s apprentice. He taught me some stoneworking because my brother had trouble handling the heavier stones. Getting the stones cut right is hard, and when they’re not finished proper-like, over time they can settle and crack any plaster laid over them…”

As she listened, it appeared to Saryn that plastering in Candar included what she would have called outside stucco as well as interior wall finishing. “It sounds like you know more than a little about stonework.”

“I know some things.”

“In another eightday, or so, once you finish more of the foot chests, and your leg is stronger, you’ll start working with Siret on stonecutting.”

Dealdron frowned, and Saryn could sense his concern.

“No…you haven’t done anything wrong,” she replied to his unspoken question. “We need to finish at least part of the barracks before winter. If we don’t, we’ll lose horses to the cold because we’re using parts of the stables to shelter refugees-”

“Refugees?”

Saryn realized that the Rationalist word for “refugee” wasn’t in the local vocabulary. “The women and children who fled Analeria because Arthanos tried to kill them.”

“What is the word the angels use?”

Saryn told him the word in Temple, then asked, “Are you trying to learn Temple?”

“As I can, Angel,” he replied in Temple.

“Keep at it. Istril or Siret will tell you when you’re to start at stonecutting.”

“Yes, ser. What ever you think best, ser.”

As she turned and headed out through the archway from the carpentry shop, Saryn was struck by what lay behind his words-or what did not. There was no feeling of resentment or anger, just a calm acceptance of her decision. She also realized how wasteful traditional low-tech cultures could be. Dealdron was intelligent and talented-and he’d accomplish far more in Westwind than he ever would have been allowed to do in Gallos…even with Ryba’s concerns.

And Istril was right. For all his background, Dealdron was a good man.

Ryba did not return from the heights until late afternoon, and then she sent Aemra to fetch Saryn from the armory. Saryn set aside the blade she was sharpening and hurried up the stone steps that seemed to get longer as the day progressed.

Ryba was seated, waiting. The table was bare. She gestured to the chair across from her.

Saryn seated herself, and since Ryba did not speak, asked, “How are you finding the ice fields?”

“That suggests you want to know why I’ve been riding to the heights. Do you really think that knowing that would be useful to you as arms-commander, Saryn?”

“I couldn’t say without knowing what you’re accomplishing up there…besides returning with ice to preserve various foods.”

Ryba smiled, a distant expression. “Do you know why I need to ride up there?”

Wasn’t that what I just asked, if more politely? “I’d appreciate it if you’d tell me, ser.”