L. Modesitt - Arms-Commander

Saryn understood. In addition to hopefully burying part or all of Arthanos’s army, such an avalanche would reduce the number of routes through the Roof of the World to two, both of which had narrow passes that were far more easily defended and controlled.

“You see that overhang?” asked the Marshal. “Where the reddish stone bulges out?”

“Yes, ser. Is that where you want the explosive penetrators, or what ever you call the iron funnels that you had Huldran forge?”

“Precisely. How long will it take you to get them in place?”

“Two or three days, but it could take an eightday. It’s hard to tell from here. We can cut across from the pass back there to reach the mesa, and there’s a saddle that looks clear enough. But we’ll probably have to use ropes to place them. The rock on top looks rugged and not too stable, and we don’t want to trigger anything before Arthanos’s army is down below.”

Ryba nodded. “You’d best get started as soon as we return. I’m counting on you to determine the optimum placement so that the entire overhang comes down.”

“How will we know when to set off the charges?”

“It will be sunny enough. We’ll use mirrors. Smoke if it’s not sunny. I’d prefer mirrors. I want the bastards to see what’s coming.”

They’re not all bastards. A lot of them are poor armsmen just following orders.

As if she had read Saryn’s thoughts, Ryba replied, “We’ve been here ten years. We’ve never attacked their lands. We’ve never invaded. We’ve never threatened. But they keep trying to stop those who would join us. They’ve cut off trade and supplies. Even after we destroy this army, the winter will be long and hard. Destroying ten thousand armsmen will keep Gallos off our back for a good twenty years, if not longer, and we’ll need every year.” She paused, then continued in a softer tone. “In your own time, Saryn, you’ll see. You’ll come to understand that there are times when any sign of fairness or decency is only perceived as weakness, that there are times when only being a tyrant will suffice for the greater good. You will wonder, time and again, if you’re rationalizing when you do what must be done. Remember that when a male ruler does what is necessary, he is a strong and forceful leader of his people. When a woman does exactly the same, she’s a cruel bitch who is extreme and unfair.” Ryba laughed, harshly. “Already, the world has begun to forget what Nylan did to Cyador and how many tens of thousands perished. You saw that with the Suthyans. Yet two lands and the holders of a third want to attack and destroy a single settlement of perhaps five hundred women and children. Why? Because Westwind is ruled by a woman for women.” After another brief silence, she finished. “It’s better to be a just tyrant who provides freedom than a dead ruler who tried to be fair in an unfair world.”

Strangely, Saryn heard no bitterness in Ryba’s tone. Her words had been delivered with a pleasant yet chilling calmness.

Abruptly, the Marshal turned her mount. “We’ve seen what we came to see.”

Saryn eased the gelding around and beside the Marshal. They had a long ride back.

Ryba and Saryn returned to Westwind late on sixday, and Saryn started working on her own expedition sevenday morning. She assigned Hryessa’s fourth squad, two carts, plus the two decent wagons of those that she had brought back from Lornth. Standing just downhill from the smithy, Saryn watched while Huldran, Ydrall, Cessya, and Nunca loaded empty penetrators into the two wagons. Huldran had added a metal loop on each funnel so that the penetrators could be lowered on a rope, as necessary. The two carts were at the powder house beyond the quarry, where the kegs of finished powder were being loaded.

Except for fourth squad, whose guards were getting their gear together, the remainder of the guards were on the arms practice field, sparring. Saryn’s eyes drifted across the groups, then stopped on Dealdron and the trio, who were on the section of the field immediately below the smithy. There was something happening there, involving order, but Saryn couldn’t sense what it might be. She waited until Huldran and Cessya had lowered another iron funnel and plug plate into the first wagon, then said, “I need to check something. I shouldn’t be too long.”

“Yes, ser.”

With that, Saryn eased down the slope, at enough of an angle, she hoped, that it wasn’t obvious that she was more interested in the trio and Dealdron than in the newer guards toward whom her steps appeared to be directed. Although Dealdron still wore the heavy splint, he was moving more easily than he had an eightday earlier, and his blocks and parries were much surer. Dyliess was attacking him with her weighted wand, and, as sure as some of the young man’s moves were, Dyliess still wove her wand through and around his efforts enough that she struck him on his good thigh once and got a solid crack on his ribs another time.

The use of order wasn’t coming from Dyliess, Saryn realized, but from Aemra, who was somehow using it to help Dealdron anticipate Dyliess’s attacks. She continued to try to sense what the youngest of the trio was doing, but from what she could tell, somehow Aemra was not so much guiding Dealdron’s moves as making him more aware of what Dyliess was doing.

Saryn had never seen order-skills used quite that way, let alone by girls who weren’t even properly women yet, but it was clear from the way Aemra was helping the Gallosian that she, and doubtless the other two, had been doing something like that for a time. If they had used that skill among themselves, that did explain why they performed so much better than would have been normal for even skilled junior guards.

Abruptly, Aemra glanced from Dealdron to Saryn, then back to Dealdron, but Dealdron did not falter, even when Aemra stopped helping him. He did get hit again, if by a glancing blow.

Saryn could only obtain the sense that Aemra was measuring something…and that it involved Saryn. What ever heritage they had received from their parents, especially from their father, made it difficult, if not impossible, for Saryn to sense much of what Aemra was feeling, but then she had been able to do so less and less as the three had grown older.

“Aemra…a moment.” Saryn’s words were not a question.

“Yes, ser.” The youngest of the trio walked away from the two who continued to spar.

“You were using a touch of order to help Dealdron learn moves.”

“Yes, ser. We had to.” Aemra kept her voice low, so low that Saryn could barely hear her. “He’s strong enough, ser, but he doesn’t have any sense of where the blades go, where they can strike. We’re using a lot less. He’s almost got it, now.”

“Why?” asked Saryn.

“It’s not like that, ser. He’s…”

“Like a clumsy big brother,” added Kyalynn, who had followed Aemra. Her voice was also low and intense, as if she didn’t want Dealdron or anyone else but Saryn to hear. “He was going to get himself hurt bad if we didn’t help.” She shot a glance at Aemra.

Saryn caught that the look was a warning, but couldn’t sense about what Kyalynn was cautioning the younger girl. “Does the Marshal know this?”

“No, ser,” interjected Kyalynn. “Please don’t tell her. We’re almost done, and you wouldn’t want him killed.”

“We helped him enough so he can defend himself against lowlanders,” added Aemra.

Saryn hadn’t thought that Ryba would have Dealdron killed, but when order and her daughter were concerned…Still, while Saryn couldn’t sense all that much from the trio, two things were clear. There was no love, lust, or romantic attachment involved, and the three really were just trying to give the young man what amounted to a chance at obtaining the skill to be able to defend himself.