L. Modesitt - Arms-Commander

There was a knock on the door. Saryn could sense Zeldyan. “Yes?”

“Might I come in?”

“Please.”

Zeldyan slipped into the chamber, closing the door behind her. She looked at Saryn. “I saw you spar in Lornth, and I was impressed…but you could have killed young Joncaryl within instants, couldn’t you?”

“Yes,” Saryn admitted. “I struck him gently, and he did not understand. Then he started insulting me under his breath.”

“I thought so. When he considered it, so did Lord Barcauyn. You have left him sorely troubled.”

“I trust I have not upset matters too greatly.”

Zeldyan shook her head. “You have not. But I must confess that when I saw you fight, I saw death held in restraint. Each time I meet an angel, I fear more. You have already changed all of Candar, and yet there are but a handful of you. For all the power I saw in the black one, I fear you more.”

Saryn laughed softly. “I’m just like you, Zeldyan. I’m trying to make my way in a world I didn’t create in a place I never expected to be, dealing with men who don’t like women who have any sort of power and ability.”

“We share that,” admitted the regent. “Yet I must dissemble and smile, and play one against another, and lean upon the reputation of my sire, the position of my late lord, and the tradition of the land. You…you can strike fear into their hearts.”

“I wish that it were merely respect. Men hate women they fear. They will often respect, if grudgingly, men whom they fear.”

“We will do what we must.” Zeldyan paused. “I have told Lord Barcauyn that we have many to visit and will be departing on the morrow.”

“I’m certain he was agreeable.”

“He was. He did suggest that, if I could manage it, I should set you and your guards against Deryll.”

“Doubtless he’d prefer mutual annihilation.” Saryn’s tone was bitter and dry.

“He well might, but even he thinks Deryll would be the loser. I have no doubts.” Zeldyan inclined her head. “I will soothe Barcauyn, as I can.”

Saryn merely nodded.

She remained in her quarters for a glass, if not somewhat longer. When she finally emerged, she followed the corridor toward the western terrace, but before she reached the terrace, Joncaryl stepped out from a side hallway.

“Do you wrestle?” asked Joncaryl, a crooked yet sly smile on an injured face, already turning black-and-blue. Pain mingled with anger behind the words.

“After a fashion,” replied Saryn politely. “Except we call it unarmed combat, and it’s designed to kill people as quickly as possible without using weapons.”

The smile vanished. “Are all your people like that?”

“Not all the guards are trained in that. Just those who were trained from birth to be warriors.” That wasn’t exactly true in the Sybran sense, but it was accurate enough for Candar, and the young man wouldn’t have understood the distinctions no matter how hard Saryn tried to explain.

Even so, she could sense Joncaryl’s puzzlement, and she continued, “Angels are trained to do what ever they do in any way necessary and possible. We were fighting an enemy across the stars. Weapons could be destroyed in an instant. We were trained to be able to kill with anything at hand…or with nothing. You don’t train armsmen that way. We do.”

“You’re not…armsmen. You’re killers.”

“No,” said Saryn. “We’re only killers when people try to kill us or take our land. I offered to use wooden wands against you. I struck you lightly to warn you. You paid no heed. Westwind never attacked Lornth and never attacked Gallos. Both paid no heed and attacked us.”

“But it was a matter of honor.”

“For us, it was a matter of survival. We had nowhere else to go. Survival trumps honor any moment of the eightday.”

“Without honor…there is nothing.” Behind Joncaryl’s words was a sense of exasperation…and anticipation.

Saryn sensed someone moving from behind her, and whirled, using Belconyn’s momentum to throw the younger brother into the wall. A second movement broke the dagger from his hand. While his hand was limp, Saryn was fairly certain she hadn’t broken his wrist, but he wouldn’t have much use of the hand for days.

At that moment, Zeldyan and Barcauyn appeared, walking through the archway from the terrace. The lord’s eyes went from Belconyn, who was supporting his injured wrist with his good hand, to the dagger on the polished tile floor, then to Joncaryl, whose face bore an expression of anger mixed with shock.

“Both of you. To your quarters. You will remain there until I determine what to do with you. Be grateful that you are still alive.”

Saryn said nothing, but watched both young men as they hurried away. The dagger remained on the polished floor tiles.

“What happened, Commander?” asked Zeldyan, clearly preempting the lord.

“Joncaryl attempted to find out what I knew of wrestling while his brother approached from behind me.” Saryn shrugged. “I tried not to injure Belconyn too much, but his head will ache from where he hit the wall. His wrist should heal. It’s not broken.”

“You can tell that?” asked Zeldyan.

“Yes, Lady. If I’m near someone.”

Barcauyn’s countenance was ashen. “I must offer my deepest apologies for the unforgivable behavior of my sons.”

Saryn paused a moment. “Lord Barcauyn, I accept your apology, and appreciate your grace in this matter. Also, because Lornth has no experience with women warriors, I understand your sons’ failure to understand my abilities at first. What I find…distressing…is not their failure to understand, but their inability or unwillingness to understand once I showed those abilities, and their subsequent anger. I attempted to show Joncaryl what I could do without hurting him. His response was to taunt and belittle me under his breath when we sparred, then to have his brother attack me from behind while he distracted me. Were I a man, they would have accepted my abilities without question, and I hope you will understand that I find that distressing as well.”

“You must admit that it is not common to see a woman of your skills,” ventured Barcauyn.

Saryn could sense a certain irritation, even anger, in the lord and bit back the statements she might have made and nodded politely. “It has not been common in the past, but it will be far more common in the future, and I would hate to see your sons injured or even killed because they did not recognize that women can also be fearsome warriors. I would hope, with all my heart, that Westwind will never have to fight with Lornth again. That is one reason why I am here, so that you and other lords can see the value of Westwind as an ally rather than as an enemy.” She paused and softened her voice. “I am sorry for the injuries to your sons, and for any distress I may have caused you in this matter.”

“Commander.” Barcauyn smiled faintly. “You have my admiration. My distress is as much at myself for failing to understand truly what you represent. You must understand that you are changing the world. That change is hard on those of us who have worked so hard to preserve our heritage.”

“I understand that, Lord Barcauyn, for I have lost my heritage and must make my way in a world as strange to me as the one you fear Westwind may be creating is strange to you.”

“You are a woman, and you talk of making your way.” The lord shook his head. “Women in Lornth, in all of Candar, do not speak so.”

“They have not spoken that way in the past, but they will in the future. Even if I had not come to Lornth, matters would still be changing, because women have seen what other women can do.”

“That may well be, but times of change are not easy for anyone.”