L. Modesitt - Arms-Commander

“That is because it is one of the best wines in Lornth,” replied Shartyr.

“You must be able to sell it to the Suthyans for a goodly price,” suggested Saryn. “Pardon me, but my inquiry does show my lack of subtlety.”

“One can be too subtle about some matters,” commented Zeldyan.

“Alas, I part with some of it for practical purposes, and for not so much as it is truly worth, yet one must do what one must in these troubled times.”

“Have you hosted many others this summer?” asked Saryn. “You have such a distinctive keep here.”

“Distinctive?” Shartyr laughed. “It is one of the oldest in Lornth, and its greatest distinction is that I have been forced to spend many golds in rebuilding it. My father, alas, was not the best in managing the lands, and so I have had to spend much time almost as a factor and trader in order to make things prosper once more.”

“You have done well,” added Zeldyan. “Your armsmen look most accomplished, and you have, what, six companies?”

“Hardly that, my dear Lady Regent. I have barracks that will hold eight, and adequate stables, but no lord-holder of Masengyl has maintained any number close to that in generations. I count myself fortunate to have two companies. Of course, having the space does mean that I can accommodate your men.” Shartyr turned to Saryn. “And your guards, without any crowding.”

“For which the guards and armsmen are both grateful,” replied Saryn, “as am I, and, I suspect, so is Lady Zeldyan. Tell me, since I am new to Lornth…you must come from a long tradition of success with arms. A hold this strong and this established would not seem likely to have endured without such.”

“Such a perceptive inquiry,” mused Shartyr, beaming at Amelyna, “don’t you think so, dearest?”

“She recognizes your stature and worth,” replied the black-haired woman, her voice barely short of simpering.

“As do all in Lornth,” added Zeldyan.

“I cannot claim much prowess in arms,” admitted the lord-holder. “Without such, I am most careful in selecting those who are, for are we all not judged not just by what we are and what we do ourselves, but by what those with whom we surround ourselves are and do?”

“Most certainly,” replied Saryn. “It is clear that you have thought this matter through with great foresight, as you must have many things.”

While Saryn had no doubts that she and Zeldyan would survive dinner and the evening, it was clear that it would be exceedingly and politely cutting and arduous, and that she would learn little except just how courteously slithery Shartyr could be.

Saryn was more than happy to leave her chamber-and more than ready to depart Masengyl-early the next morning. Dinner had been as long as she had feared, and as tiring, given that she had to watch every word and weigh every phrase uttered by Shartyr. As she fastened her gear behind her saddle, while the other guards were doing the same, Klarisa hurried over to her.

“Commander?”

“What did you find out?”

“There are four barracks buildings,” said Klarisa. “Each can hold two companies. One is filled with armsmen. The second is half-filled. Lady Zeldyan’s armsmen were in the third, and no one else, and we were in the fourth.”

“Had the third and fourth barracks been used recently?” asked Saryn.

“They were clean. The storage areas were empty, and there was some dust. They have been used, but only for short periods. I did ask one of the old women who clean the buildings. She said that armsmen in brown and yellow had stayed here in early spring, and in early summer a company in blue and gray also stayed for several days. A company of armsmen in orange and black left little more than an eightday ago. She does not know what lord they belonged to because no lord accompanied them. They did not speak much, except among themselves. They were headed north.” Klarisa paused. “Blue and white are the colors of Lord Orsynn, but I do not know whose are blue and gray, orange and black…or brown and yellow.”

Klarisa’s recollection of Orsynn’s colors reminded Saryn that the squad leader was from Lornth. “Brown and yellow are the colors of Duevek.” Saryn was hardly surprised that Henstrenn had visited Masengyl, but she had no idea whose men sported orange and black. “What else?”

“Lord Shartyr has always bred horses, but he has been selling more of them in the last seasons, yet there are more in the stables, and more grain has been laid up.” Klarisa paused. “I would not claim to know everything, but I would venture these lords are readying for war.”

Saryn nodded. “At the very least, they’re preparing for some sort of fighting. Let me know if you find out anything else…or if any of your squad does.”

“Yes, ser.”

Once Saryn was mounted and had made certain the guards were ready, she rode across the courtyard to the front entry of the keep, where Zeldyan was saying her farewell to Shartyr.

As Saryn reined up, Shartyr turned and smiled. “You do look fearsome in battle garb, Commander. Remind me not to cross you.”

“I doubt that you need any reminders about anything, Lord Shartyr,” replied Saryn. “A lord who can offer such hospitality to a former enemy on such short notice is extraordinarily formidable himself. I do thank you for your charm and grace, and for your skill in enlightening me about so many facets of Lornth that I had not considered.”

“It was more than my pleasure.” Shartyr bowed.

Saryn inclined her head politely, then turned her mount back toward the section of the courtyard where fourth squad had formed up. She could sense a certain play of chaos around Shartyr, as well as a clear dislike of Saryn. That hardly surprised her.

Within moments, Zeldyan rode to join Saryn. The two women followed the Lornian outriders and scouts out through the massive gates and across the causeway onto the road to Gaylyn. Not until they were a good kay east of the small town and almost on the river road south to Lornth did Saryn ease her gelding directly beside that of Zeldyan and close enough that those riding ahead of them would not catch her words.

“What lord-holders have colors of blue and gray and of orange and black?” asked Saryn.

“A brilliant blue and dark gray? Those are Lord Jaffrayt’s. The orange and black are those of Veryna. No other lord has those particular colors.”

“That’s Lord Kelthyn.” Saryn paused. “A company of his armsmen were here, without him, an eightday ago, and they were headed north.”

“North? A company?” Zeldyan’s face clouded. “We didn’t see any trace of them. They must have taken the old east road. I’ll need to send a courier to The Groves.”

“With escorts,” suggested Saryn.

Zeldyan nodded. “If Father is warned, he should have more than enough armsmen to handle a company-if it even comes to that.”

“Could they be headed anywhere else?”

“To any northern holding,” Zeldyan pointed out. “That’s the problem.”

“But wouldn’t that…”

“Yes. It would mean a war among the holders. But unless they do something that offends those who support the regency, I cannot afford to attack any of them.”

And once you find out, it may be too late.

“Nor do I have enough armsmen to chase a single company across Lornth. Nor any mages, not that any have such…these days.”

That might be, but how long before one of the rebels finds one…or the Gallosians or Suthyans send one? Again, Saryn found herself regretting something-this time, that she hadn’t worked more on ways to deflect chaos-bolts. She also couldn’t help but wonder how matters had gotten so bad…except that she was beginning to understand-and Ryba’s words came to mind-“To succeed you will need to be more ruthless than any man, for only then will they respect you.”