L. Modesitt - Arms-Commander

At that moment, Saryn’s vision flickered back, and she saw the heavy dressing on Ryba’s upper left arm. “You were in the front lines, weren’t you?”

“Second line, but one company of theirs was good. Not as good as us, but much better than anything we’ve seen.”

“One of those special companies,” suggested Saryn.

“In the end, it didn’t matter. They all died, too.”

“All of them?”

“They couldn’t face the fact that they weren’t that special. Not one would surrender. There seems to be a certain disgrace to being bested by a woman at arms.” Ryba snorted.

“So…you didn’t spare anyone?”

“I’m not that cruel, no matter what Arthanos told his men. There are close to a hundred wounded and fifty who did yield. We took their weapons, and let them have two of their wagons and sent them back to Karthanos. I also sent a message with them, suggesting that peace would be far less costly than war. I also said we had no intentions on his lands, but that we would suffer none on ours, nor on traders or others who wished to travel the Westhorns.”

“Will he get it?”

“I had Istril with me. I gave it to a wounded undercaptain. She said he was honest and would deliver it.” Ryba’s smile was twisted. “We will see.”

“What about their mages? How many did they have?”

“Two, I think. Chaos-fire isn’t that effective against an avalanche.” Ryba paused. “I’m going to take two squads, along with the wounded, and head back to Westwind first thing in the morning with Siret. I’m leaving you in charge here to manage getting the Gallosian wagons to the road and acting as our rear guard.”

“I can do that,” Saryn said dryly. But I’ll need someone who can see all the time.

“I know. I need to think about the Suthyans.” Ryba laughed, sardonically and hoarsely. “We can’t block every road in the Westhorns, or we won’t have either travelers or trade.”

Saryn looked pointedly at Ryba’s bound arm, only to find that, again, she saw nothing except a sparkling blackness punctuated with what felt like blows to her skull and eyes. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

“It’s only a slash. Istril says that it will heal but not to use it for a while.”

“Please don’t.” From the pallor Saryn had seen briefly in Ryba’s face and the tiredness in her eyes and posture, Saryn had the impression that the Marshal’s wound wasn’t just a slash. She couldn’t use her own senses to tell, not at the moment, and she wondered how long it would be before she regained her own abilities.

“I doubt that I could. If you’d look things over and take charge, I’d appreciate it.” Ryba paused. “Hryessa and first company are east about a hundred yards.”

As the Marshal turned her mount, Saryn tried to extend her senses, since her sight had not returned, and before dizziness and pain washed away her perceptions, felt another locus of chaos, and a splint of sorts, on Ryba’s lower right leg. Second line? As she forced herself to try to relax, Saryn had her doubts about that.

She had to wait for a time before her sight returned, and she could urge the gelding forward, riding toward several wagons and what looked to be a camp ahead on the right side of the narrow road.

Hryessa was mounted, and when she caught sight of Saryn, rode to meet the arms-commander, easing her mount around the end of one of the wagons. As the captain neared, Saryn reined up. She could see several guards stretched out in the wagon, one with a dressing that covered her entire upper face.

“Arms-commander, you are back. When the top of the mountain exploded, we feared that none would survive and return.”

“It wasn’t as bad as it looked,” Saryn replied. “How bad was it here?”

Hryessa reined up close to the arms-commander. “It was terrible, but our guards, they were magnificent. The Gallosians were beasts. Some had sabres smeared with poison, and others…” She shook her head. “I worried that the Marshal waited too long, but she did not. If she had called for you to bring down the rocks any earlier, there would have been many more Gallosians who escaped their fate.”

“Where did you come up with that last company to take the wagons?”

Hryessa grinned. “We used barely trained junior guards, but they were led by first squad. The Gallosians in the rear were not thinking after they saw their army disappear under the rocks.”

“Was that your idea?”

“I offered it to the Marshal. She agreed. It was a long wager, but we need the supplies.”

“I’m certain we do. The Marshal will be taking two squads and the wounded back tomorrow. We have the task of salvaging everything we can and getting those supply wagons from the other end of the valley here.”

“I already have guards searching for the best path through the woods.”

Saryn smiled. “You’re ahead of me.”

“Is that not what a captain is for, ser?”

“A good one, and you are,” Saryn said with a laugh she did not feel, as her vision vanished again, and she swayed in the saddle.

All in all, it took nearly two full days for Saryn and the remaining healthy Westwind guards to reorganize and to move the ten supply wagons less than three kays through the woods, as well as collect anything useful that could be reclaimed from the avalanche and from what the surviving Gallosians had discarded in their flight. Personally, Saryn suspected that the fifty-odd Gallosian mounts they had captured might well prove to be of the greatest value, those and the supply wagons themselves, since they would allow Westwind to send its own traders out with enough cartage capacity to bring back meaningful quantities of goods.

Finally, at first light on oneday morning, they set out on the return journey to Westwind. Saryn rode just behind Hryessa’s first squad, which provided the outriders and scouts and served as vanguard. Beside her rode Istril, since Hryessa was leading the vanguard.

Saryn said little for the first several glasses after they left the valley, lost as she was in her thoughts about the battle. She really hadn’t had time to think about it since she’d rejoined the main force, not with all that she had been required to organize and supervise, not to mention that she had worried that some of the Gallosians might turn into marauders, whom she wouldn’t have been able to discover. Her ability to sense anything without blinding herself or risking unconsciousness had only begun to return late on eightday, and she hadn’t pressed herself. She still had spells during which she could not see.

On one level, she understood why Arthanos had tried to destroy Westwind, but she had trouble understanding emotionally. Even if he had succeeded, he would have lost hundreds of men, if not thousands…and for what? To destroy only a few hundred women in the middle of mountains that no one really wanted? Was it an attempt at revenge for the fact that Balyea-his former mistress-had left him for Westwind? Saryn almost couldn’t believe he had mounted such a massive campaign because he opposed a tiny land where women ruled…and yet she could.

“You’re deep in thought, ser,” Istril finally said.

“I’m still having trouble with the idea that a ruler’s son would sacrifice thousands because he couldn’t stand a few women who didn’t have to bow and bend to men.”

“There are men like that everywhere. Some places have more, some less, but all have some. It’s not just men, either. Some women would like it the other way.”

“It’s a sad comment on people.”

“Everyone wants to be in charge.”

Saryn wondered about that. Did everyone want to be in charge, or did most people just want control over their own lives?