L. Modesitt - Arms-Commander

Zeldyan said nothing until Nesslek had left. Then she asked quietly, “What did you do?”

“I just looked at him,” replied Saryn.

Zeldyan glanced to her sire.

Gethen nodded, then chuckled. “That she did. It was a look I’d not disobey, even at my age. It would have frozen Lady Ellindyja in her tower in midsummer, and none ever did that.”

For a moment, Zeldyan said nothing.

After a long pause, Saryn spoke. “It would not have been right for me to speak, but I was angry. A child, especially one whose mother is a ruler, should never question her, and certainly not in public. I fear he saw my anger, and if that was so, I do apologize.”

Zeldyan smiled faintly. “That he would fear you…”

“My anger would matter little,” Saryn said, “if he did not know that I support you.”

“And that you are as fearsome a warrior as any he has known,” added Gethen. “The boy, whether we like it or not, is much like your brother.”

“And pride and rashness were his undoing.” Zeldyan’s voice was bitter.

“We do what we can, daughter. In the end, children become men and women and make their own choices.”

Saryn felt uncomfortable, as if she were in the middle of a private conversation. “I am sorry. It was not my place…”

“Nonsense,” said Gethen. “He may become Overlord of Lornth, but it will only lead to his ruin if he does not understand that the world has changed and that there are fearsome women as well as men.” He laughed gently. “There have always been fearsome women, but many times no one would admit it.”

“You did not say a single word,” said Zeldyan to Saryn.

Even so, Saryn could feel the sadness behind the Lady Regent’s words.

“He must also learn about what is not said, daughter,” added Gethen.

“I would that Nesslek could accompany us back to Lornth, especially with Saryn,” said Zeldyan. “…but…”

Personally, Saryn suspected that a few eightdays in the company of the silver-haired trio of Westwind would have done Nesslek more good than being with Saryn herself, but that certainly wasn’t feasible. Then, Westwind’s regimen had clearly benefited Dealdron, and the time spent recovering in Westwind had helped Zeldyan’s brother Relyn as well.

“He would be safe on the journey,” Gethen pointed out, “especially with your armsmen and the commander.”

“But then what? There are others we must visit, and they are not so friendly as those in the north. If he comes with us, that brings one set of risks, and if he remains in Lornth…”

“Then you are weakened in what you do,” said Gethen.

“You do not mind?”

“Hardly. Since your mother…it’s good to have him here-he can be a pleasure at times-and he can work with Tielmyn on his skills with weapons. He might be a bit more diligent now.”

The wry humor in Gethen’s voice brought a touch of a smile to Zeldyan’s face, but it faded quickly.

Gethen moved to the map spread on the desk. “Do you intend to take the west river road, or the old road to the east?”

“The west road is far swifter,” Zeldyan replied. “The only hold close to the road itself is Masengyl. Lord Shartyr will be pleasant enough, and it will not hurt to drain some of his golds, seeing as he is too inclined to follow Jaffrayt.”

“Lord Jaffrayt does have a well-trained pen,” conceded Gethen, “if not one so temperate as it might be.”

“Is he the kind who can complain in writing in a way that almost seems like praise unless you read the words closely?” asked Saryn.

“That would be a fair description of Jaffrayt. Occasionally, he is less circumspect, although he is always most courtly in person-as is Lord Shartyr. Shartyr can be exceedingly charming.” Zeldyan smiled wryly. “When he was younger, he was much admired by women who should have known better, and he still believes himself that exceedingly handsome young lord.”

“You do not want to tarry on the road,” cautioned Gethen.

“No. But a stop of a day or so at Masengyl will leave the horses far more rested when we return to Lornth.”

“What will you do when you return?”

“After resting the horses and letting all in Lornth know we have returned, we will visit some of the weaker holdings, such as those of our dear friend, Lord Jaffrayt, to suggest indirectly that his tacit alliance with Keistyn and Henstrenn is less than advisable. Hopefully, we can keep everyone quiet until winter. That will purchase another year, and, if the harvests are good, also help in building up the armsmen at Lornth.”

“When would you like me to return to Lornth with Nesslek…and Overcaptain Gadsyn and your first company?”

“If I had my way, he would remain here through the winter, but that would create another set of difficulties. I would judge the best time would be at the height of harvest, when our southern lords are worrying about their yields and golds,” replied Zeldyan. “If matters change, or you think otherwise, then I yield to your judgment.”

Gethen nodded. “Perhaps your visits will quiet some of those who have raised rumors.”

“They will reassure those who need it least, quiet those who are undecided or wavering, and irritate those who have no sense and never will. The last, unhappily, also have the greatest number of armsmen.”

Saryn understood all too clearly that Zeldyan had used the Westwind guards to solidify her support among the northern lords so that she would be in a better position to take on the recalcitrant lords of the south…or at least delay any immediate acts on their part.

“You will set out in the morning?” asked Gethen.

“At dawn. That will allow us to make Masengyl in two days, and arrive late enough that Shartyr will delay in sending messengers to those who might be interested until the next day.”

“Because it would be all too obvious?” asked Saryn.

“Shartyr prides himself on not being too obvious,” replied Zeldyan. “If he sent a messenger in the darkness, even if we did not discover the act, that would proclaim his concerns to whoever received the message, and that would not serve him well, either.”

Saryn accepted Zeldyan’s reasoning, but she also understood the unspoken words behind the situation-that the regent’s power rested on little more than a frayed thread, and one that might well have already snapped had Saryn not appeared.

Had Ryba seen that, as well? Saryn wondered if she would ever know.

The late-summer sun’s white heat blistered its way through the clear green-blue of the sky the entire two days of the ride from Carpa to Masengyl, and the closeness of the road to the River Yarth assured that the air was not only hot but damp-as were Saryn’s uniforms. The first night found them in the small town of Zadrya, where Zeldyan exercised the regent’s prerogative and commandeered the only two inns for the night.

An early start on eightday morning, and a long day’s ride, brought them to the town of Gaylyn, and Masengyl, the hold of Lord Shartyr, just at sunset. As they rode across the causeway over an ancient dry moat, Saryn could see immediately that Masengyl was a hold that dated back centuries, with moss and darkened stones on the lower walls, while the upper ends of the crenelated parapets were bleached a light gray that was almost white. The recessed gates in the main walls suggested that the causeway might once have held a drawbridge lowered from the twin towers.

A single player trumpeted their arrival from the southern tower. As she rode past the open gates, Saryn noted another thing. While the wrought-iron straps and braces binding the heavy wooden gates were black with age, the massive hinges had been recently oiled and cleaned, and the blades presented by the squad of armsmen clad in green-and-cream uniforms and arrayed in formation on the steps to the inner keep were polished…and sharp.