L. Modesitt - Arms-Commander

At that moment, another figure stepped out from the doorway onto the porch-a much younger girl bearing a tray. She carried the tray out to the small table before her mother and set it down there. On the tray were three crystal carafes and five fluted crystal glasses.

“Thank you, Abaya.”

Abaya nodded politely and took the chair beside her sister.

“I can offer you white, amber, or red wine. The amber and red come from our vineyards, and the white from those at Hendyn. All are good, but I personally prefer the red.”

“The red,” replied Zeldyan.

“Red, please,” said Saryn.

“And I know what you two want,” said Anyna with a smile, looking at her daughters. As she lifted the carafe of red wine, she looked to Saryn. “I hope you won’t mind, but I would so like it if you would tell us about Westwind, what it’s like on the Roof of the World, and what the Marshal is like.”

“I’ll do my best,” replied Saryn. “Westwind itself sits in a valley sheltered on the north by a ridge. The most important building is Tower Black….”

After a good night’s sleep and a leisurely breakfast with Zeldyan and the women of Quaryn, Saryn retrieved the weighted wands from her gear and brought them to the courtyard directly behind the rear porch. Both Ilys and Abaya were waiting, dressed in exercise tunics and trousers and riding boots.

“Why do you use the shorter blades?” asked Abaya.

“Because they’re more useful in a wider range of circumstances. Also, they’re better suited as a weapon for women, especially on horse back.”

“But the blades Father uses are much longer…” Ilys didn’t finish the sentence.

“I can throw my blades farther than his reach.” Saryn kept her voice even.

“I saw what you did at Cauyna,” said Zeldyan from the porch, where she sat with Anyna. “If it’s not too…intrusive, might I ask how many men you’ve killed by throwing a blade?”

Saryn glanced up at the regent. “I’ve never kept track, but it’s well over a score, perhaps two or three times that.”

For just a moment, Anyna’s face froze, and Saryn could sense the shock.

“You should understand that Westwind has been under attack in some way every year. Just this year, I’ve been in three battles or skirmishes. In every one, we’ve been outnumbered. The only way you can survive those odds is to kill them without suffering many casualties.”

Zeldyan nodded. The surprise slowly faded from Anyna’s face, but not from within her.

“Can’t you just drive them away?” asked Abaya.

“That doesn’t work. They’d just come back, and that means twice as much risk for us. They have thousands of armsmen. We only have hundreds of women…and their children.”

“Do you have children?”

“No. The Marshal does, but I don’t. Her daughter is about your age.” Saryn picked up one of the wands and handed it to the younger daughter. “We’ll start with one.” Then she stepped back. “Take your position.”

Abaya immediately took a stance.

“Put your feet a little closer together. They don’t have to be quite so far apart with a shorter and less weighty blade…”

A glass or so later, Saryn stepped back. “I think that’s enough for today.”

“Oh…” came from Abaya. “I was just getting better.”

“Thank you,” said Ilys, smiling and inclining her head.

“Thank you,” added the younger sister quickly before turning and looking up at her mother on the porch. “She’s very good.”

“I know. I watched her. Now…go get cleaned up so that you’ll look presentable for your father. I hope it won’t be that long before he arrives.”

“Yes, Mother.” Abaya nodded, then looked to Saryn. “Father lets us exercise and ride and spar, but only if we look like ladies the rest of the time.”

Once Abaya and Ilys had left, Saryn said, “Lord Maeldyn sounds unlike other lords with respect to his daughters.”

“Maeldyn is quite aware of both the proprieties and the realities.” Anyna laughed. “He’s also cognizant that they tend to conflict. Thank you for taking the time with them.”

“How could I not, when so few girls are given the chances that you’ve given yours?”

“Do you train all the girls at Westwind?” asked Zeldyan.

“When they’re old enough.” There was a moment of silence before Saryn spoke. “If you’d excuse me, I’d like to check with the guards.”

“Oh…don’t let us keep you. We’re not exactly going anywhere. I do hope it won’t be that long before Maeldyn returns.”

Saryn wasn’t certain whether she should be eager for the lord’s return or not as she made her way farther along the courtyard until she found Klarisa. The squad leader had just finished sparring drills and turned. “Commander.”

“Squad leader. How are matters?”

“The quarters are good. They have showers. The stables are clean, and there was plenty of food for breakfast, and even some fowl eggs with porridge and bread.”

“And your guards and mounts?”

“Garlya’s mount is lame, but we brought two spares. How long will we be here?”

“Until tomorrow, at least, possibly a day longer, but I wouldn’t count on that.”

“Then we will wash everything we can now.”

Saryn nodded. “How are things going with the Lornian armsmen?”

“They are very respectful.” Klarisa grinned. “They have been even more respectful since you sparred with Lord Barcauyn’s son.”

Saryn’s smile was as much sad as wry. Again, respect came only at the edge of a blade.

Later, after Saryn had washed up and after a light midday meal, Saryn, Zeldyan, and Anyna were talking on the northern porch when Lady Maeldyn pointed to the northeast.

“I do believe I see Maeldyn and Chaeldyn on the ridge trail. It won’t be all that long before they’re in the courtyard.”

Saryn followed the gesture and was slightly surprised to see that there were only six riders and two pack horses, certainly a small party for hunting, from what she had heard about the massive hunts with scores of men and staff. As she watched, no more riders emerged from the woods, and the six finally entered the north end of the long courtyard through the open gates.

“They’re not bringing back that much game,” observed Zeldyan.

“Maeldyn brings what we need,” replied Anyna. “We don’t maintain that large an establishment here. There are only about thirty armsmen here and just five staff. Of course, Maeldyn also pays the twenty armsmen who are patrollers in Ryntal, Hendyn, and Corsaera, and he can call them up as necessary.”

So Lord Maeldyn was supplying the patrollers who kept peace in the towns?

“Do other lords follow that practice?” asked Saryn.

“My father does,” replied Zeldyan, “and Lord Deolyn might. I think it used to be more common, especially here in the north.”

Before that long, the riders had reined up outside the stables and dismounted. One, presumably Lord Maeldyn, spent some time talking to a youth before turning and walking quickly past the courtyard fountain and toward the mansion.

As the lord strode up to the porch, Saryn studied him with both her eyes and her senses. Maeldyn was of medium height, less than a span taller than Saryn, and thin-faced, with a long chin and narrow lips that imparted the impression of dour grimness. His thinning hair was black but without a trace of gray. His tunic and trousers were a light brown, close to tan, and his riding boots were polished dark brown.

Once he climbed the five steps to the rear porch, his first gesture was to step forward and wrap his arms around Anyna. “I’m home, dearest. Chaeldyn is settling the mounts and gear.” After that brief but warm gesture, he turned to Zeldyan. “Lady Regent.” Then he faced Saryn. “You must be the arms-commander.” Maeldyn’s voice was cool and clipped, and his brown eyes seemed almost flat.