L. Modesitt - Arms-Commander

“You didn’t go after her?” asked Saryn.

“It’s a day’s ride from there to here. My father did send me out to see what they had done and to offer some coins to those who lost livestock. The Jeranyi were long gone when we arrived, and trying to track them into the hills and out into the grasslands beyond…that would have been senseless.” Barcauyn shook his head. “After that, Ildyrom and his bitch consort turned to raiding the south, and little around Rohrn was spared. The one good thing that came out of the battles between the angel mages and the Cyadorans was the devastation that fell on Jerans. We’ve had ten years without a single raid, but the Jeranyi are riding again, and closer and closer to us.” He turned to Zeldyan. “That is why I fear the Jeranyi far more than those on any other border.”

“The Jeranyi are far greater devils than all others on our borders,” murmured Joncaryl.

Belconyn nodded, not quite enthusiastically.

“You make a strong argument, lord, and I hear your concerns.” Zeldyan smiled sadly. “Yet, as a child, I saw our armsmen at The Groves fending off Gallosian and Suthyan raiders, and those in Clynya were beset by the Cyadorans. Lord Deolyn has told me about Suthyans who were not so interested in trading as taking. On all sides are enemies.” She glanced to Saryn. “In the past ten years, the only land that has done much against our old enemies has been Westwind, sad as that may sound, and you know of my own grievous losses in regard to Westwind.”

“What does Westwind say, then, Arms-Commander?” asked Barcauyn.

“You know what we have faced with Gallos, and for the moment, they are less of a threat. After that, we tracked Suthyan armsmen up to the lands of Lornth. What they were doing there, we do not know, for we would not intrude in following them. The Suthyans have attempted both bribery and treachery to attempt to persuade Westwind to ally with them against Lornth. We have not. That is one reason why I am here.”

“Would you have us fight your battles, then?” Barcauyn’s voice turned chill.

Saryn turned her eyes…and the flow of dark power…on the lord. “We ask no one to fight our battles. We came to the regents because Lornth has treated with us fairly, and we thought they should know what we had learned about Suthya and the traders’ intent. We have no need and no desire for lands beyond what we hold.”

Barcauyn sat back in his chair, silent for a long moment.

Joncaryl frowned, as did his brother.

“Ah…” Barcauyn finally said. “I see now why you are arms-commander. Yet you seem more like a mage, for all the arms you bore when you rode in.”

“All the arms?” asked Joncaryl, adding quickly, before Saryn could respond, his voice light, not quite mocking, “I saw your guards-and you, Commander. Tell me…are those daggers the only weapons you have?”

“They’re short swords, not daggers, and we also use bows.”

“The blades are really only long daggers, it looks like to me.”

“They can be very effective, especially in close combat,” replied Saryn.

“I don’t see how, not against a proper blade,” pressed Joncaryl. “You give away far too much space.”

“They’ve proved that against anyone who’s tried.” Saryn smiled politely.

“Then they couldn’t have been very good with their blades…begging your pardon, Commander. And bows…well…they don’t prove much about their wielder.”

Saryn could sense the inflexible arrogance of youth, yet felt as well that she could not afford to concede the point, not when the reputations of the Westwind Guard and Westwind itself were at stake. “So far, over ten years, Lord Joncaryl, every force that has attacked Westwind or her guards has failed, most killed to the last man.”

“That was because of magery, not skill at arms, at least from what I’ve heard.”

“Magery played a part in destroying whole armies. That I will concede, but in smaller conflicts settled only by arms, even when faced with larger forces, the guards triumphed overwhelmingly.”

“You’ll pardon me-”

“Words seldom settle such matters of opinion,” interjected Barcauyn smoothly. “If I were younger, I’d give it a try in a thorough sparring, perhaps against you, Commander.” He shrugged. “I am too old to spar, but I would like to see how you might fare against a truly skilled man-at-arms, such as my son. Perhaps tomorrow?”

“I’d be most happy to demonstrate in sparring,” Saryn said, even as she knew that the contest had been a setup.

“Excellent!” Barcauyn beamed. “Now…if we might talk of other matters…ones more pleasant before we repair to the dining chamber to eat…”

Saryn understood. From that moment on, nothing of substance would be discussed, and tomorrow, she would have to prove what she and the guards could do with weapons-again.

Saryn joined Zeldyan for breakfast in a small room off the main hall of the villa. Zeldyan was quiet, perhaps because Saryn was preoccupied and did not eat all that much of the heavy and hearty fare, which included heavy ham strips, a cheese, egg, and noodle concoction, and hot, fresh, dark bread. Saryn appreciated the bread most. After eating, she excused herself and went to ready herself for sparring with Joncaryl, limbering up and exercising just enough so that she didn’t feel mentally cloudy.

There was no question as to where the sparring would take place. The west courtyard contained a well-maintained and swept paved area in the center of which was a large circle marked by inlaid black stones. The courtyard was also where the armory was located, its ironbound and heavy oak door distinguished by the round shield affixed thereto. In the center of the black-rimmed yellow shield was a crest featuring a mailed fist crossed with a deep blue flower that Saryn did not recognize.

Saryn brought her fighting blades, a pair of blunted blades, and a set of wooden wands down to the section of the western courtyard below the terrace-what amounted to a private arena, since people could sit on the terrace and watch sparring over the low balcony wall. She laid the weapons out on one of the benches set against the villa wall-right below the west terrace, still partly shaded by the morning sun.

Above her on the terrace a group was gathering, one that included Zeldyan, an older graying woman who was likely Barcauyn’s consort, and two young women. Behind her, she sensed several other figures approaching. She half turned from the bench.

“What are those?” asked Joncaryl, gesturing to the wands.

“Sparring wands,” replied Saryn, already sensing the young man’s contempt.

“I can’t say as I’ve ever seen such,” added Barcauyn from several paces behind his son.

“We use them because it reduces injuries when guards are learning.”

“That may be fine for your guards, but not for armsmen,” said Joncaryl. “Blunted blades are one thing, but I will not stoop to wooden planks.”

Saryn smiled politely, looking up slightly at the well-muscled young man. “I would not think of having you stoop to anything, Lord Joncaryl.” She stepped to one side, then toward his father. “Lord Barcauyn, we use wands because our short swords are, despite their size, rather deadly, even when blunted. I will endeavor not to cause any permanent harm to your son, but I ask your understanding that, even with a blunted blade, injury is possible.”

“It is also possible to you, Commander,” Barcauyn pointed out. “Far more possible, I would judge.”

“We will see,” replied Saryn. “I will use a pair of blunted short swords.” She stepped forward and picked up the blades, one in each hand.

Joncaryl accepted a long and wide blade from his brother Belconyn.