L. Modesitt - Arms-Commander

Suhartyn nodded, then inclined his head northward. “I see that you are building a larger hold uphill from the black tower.”

“After a time, any successful community finds it must grow,” replied Ryba, moving toward the targets. “Growth on the Roof of the World requires solid stone and careful planning.”

“I can see that you have, what, several full companies of your guards?”

“We do, and we will have even more before long. Guards are not our only defense, as you may recall. Our abilities do not lie in just the numbers and skills of the guards, as Lord Sillek and his sire discovered.”

“Ah, yes. How could anyone forget that? Still…that was some time ago.”

“You should watch the demonstration, Envoy Suhartyn. It might answer some of your questions. If not, afterwards, I will be more than pleased to do so.” Ryba’s voice was calm and cool, like a polished short sword.

Saryn had stepped back, matching steps with the four men behind Suhartyn, the closer two of whom wore officers’ cold-weather jackets of a dark green wool.

One inclined his head. “You’re the arms-commander?”

“I am. Saryn. And you?”

“Lygyrt, Captain of Horse. This is Undercaptain Whulyn.”

Lygyrt was young, barely twenty local years, while the grizzled Whulyn looked to be a good ten years older than Saryn…and probably wasn’t. Saryn marked him as the equivalent of a noncom who’d come up through the ranks, even more rare in Candar than in the UFA.

“Then you both should find the demonstrations of interest.”

“I’m certain we will,” Lygyrt replied.

Whulyn nodded brusquely.

Ryba stopped in the middle of the field. Almost as she did, the twenty riders of Hryessa’s first squad, two abreast, started down the stone road at a quick trot. Lygyrt and Whulyn immediately began to watch the guards. The other two Suthyans, more richly dressed in golden brown leather coats with black brocade-trimmed sleeve cuffs, did not survey the riders but kept their eyes on Ryba and Suhartyn.

Saryn glanced to Catya, the nearest guard, then inclined her head toward the two civilians, both with short-trimmed beards, doubtless the equivalent of Suthyan gentry-or dressed to convey that impression. Catya nodded and dropped back slightly, easing gradually westward so that she took position behind the two. Another guard-Trecya-joined her.

Whulyn’s eyes flickered toward the two guards as they shifted position, then back to Saryn, before returning to scrutinize the mounted squad as the riders turned onto the packed gravel on the west end of the arms field.

Just before the southwest end of the field, the column turned, and the riders urged their mounts into a canter, then a gallop, with the guards on the north side holding their mounts back just enough that each file was staggered, but with each rider maintaining the same interval between mounts.

Each target received two flung blades, released from ten yards away. Every one struck the torso area of the designated target.

“Rather impressive,” offered Suhartyn, “if not terribly practical in large battles.”

“They’re not finished,” said Ryba.

At the end of the field, the squad turned right and headed back westward along the south end. They continued due west up the long slope that served as the archery range.

“Bows?” asked Whulyn, looking at Saryn.

She nodded. “At two hundred yards.”

Near the top of the slope, short of the cliffs that formed a natural backdrop, the squad turned and reformed. Barely had they done so than their bows were out. Each guard loosed three shafts.

In instants, every single target had sprouted shafts.

“You will notice that every shaft penetrated a vital area,” Ryba said conversationally.

“Picked squads can do that,” noted Suhartyn.

“Have you ever seen one that could do what that squad did?” Ryba looked hard at the Suthyan.

“I’m certain it is possible,” Suhartyn said pleasantly.

“Indeed it is. We just proved that. But have you seen any other squad do that?” She paused. “Still, we have another demonstration.”

Two guards ran across the field carrying a leather-covered sphere slightly less than a yard across. They set it on the ground twenty yards in front of the Marshal, then ran back to their positions with a squad to the east of the Marshal.

“Do you see the ten archers on the road above the smithy?”

Suhartyn turned. “Yes.”

“They are a different group, and the distance is about three hundred yards.” Ryba raised her arm, then dropped it.

In instants, the wicker globe became a hedgehog of feathered shafts.

“One hundred shafts in a target a yard across at three hundred yards in little more than a score of heartbeats.”

Saryn could sense the concern and the tension in the two Suthyan officers, but none from Suhartyn. Didn’t the envoy have any idea just how accurate the archers were?

“That is most impressive marksmanship,” acknowledged Suhartyn.

“In the field, of course, they would all target different armsmen, all across the front lines, so that any charge would slow, if not halt. Then they would pick off those trapped behind.”

Whulyn nodded, if almost imperceptibly. Lygyrt glanced at his undercaptain, but Whulyn did not look at his superior.

“We have one last demonstration for you, Envoy Suhartyn. Would you indicate an officer to accompany my arms-commander?”

Suhartyn turned. “Undercaptain? If you would?”

One of the junior guards led two horses out onto the field. Saryn mounted her gelding, where the heavy black hood was draped over the front of the saddle. Whulyn was almost as quick with the other mount, and he rode beside her as they headed uphill on the road.

Less than a hundred yards above the northwest corner of the field, Saryn turned her mount and reined up. Then she extended the heavy black hood to Whulyn. “Look it over, then put it over my head.”

Whulyn edged his mount closer with an ease of long experience, then bent forward.

Saryn leaned toward him, waiting until the hood was in place. “Is there any way I can see?”

“No.” Whulyn’s voice contained veiled amusement. “There wouldn’t be, would there?”

Saryn managed to keep from smiling, not that the undercaptain could have seen her expression under the hood. “No. There’s no trickery involved. You can follow me to watch and see what you think.”

“Thank you, Commander.” The amusement had vanished from Whulyn’s voice.

Using her senses, Saryn guided the gelding back down the road toward the arms practice field. Her free hand checked the blades in the shoulder harness and the one in the sheath at her knee. At the west end of the field, she turned south, then, once she was past a point even with Ryba and Suhartyn, she urged the gelding eastward and into an easy canter.

When she was still a good twenty yards from the wicker target, she released the first blade, smoothing the flows and sending it toward the breastplate once worn by a Lornian lancer. The second blade was away at about fifteen yards. Then she turned the gelding, and with her back to the target, flung the last blade.

She slowed the gelding gradually, wishing she hadn’t had to ride on the field, then turned and rode back to where Ryba, Suhartyn, and the Suthyan captain stood. After reining up, she removed the heavy black hood and gently tossed it to the captain. Ten yards away, all three blades were buried to their hilts in the iron breastplate, each spaced two fingers from the one beside it.

She dismounted, and a guard hurried up and handed Saryn another blade, which she slipped into the left shoulder scabbard one-handed. The guard took the gelding’s reins and led him away. Saryn walked forward to Suhartyn, inclining her head politely. “I trust that these small demonstrations provide some idea of what our guards can do.”