L. Modesitt - Arms-Commander

People… She refrained from shaking her head and waited until the four guards dealing with Sineada and the dead figure of Fynna were in position before the platform and ready to ride. Then she looked to Hryessa.

“Guards! Return!” ordered Hryessa.

Fourth squad led the return procession to the palace courtyard.

As she and Hryessa rode slowly back, Saryn glanced to the guard captain. “They didn’t want a whipping and an execution. They wanted public torture.”

“Of course,” replied Hryessa. “It was good that you threw the sword. That way, no one will complain in public. They will mutter, but they will not say more where we can hear it.”

Once they were in the courtyard, in front of the stables, after dismounting, Saryn cleaned the blade, and her hands, before unsaddling the gelding.

When she was finished, she left the stables, heading for the palace. Dealdron was helping with the burial detail, such as it was. Not a single Lornian armsman was in sight, except for the four with gate duty.

Saryn’s next duty was to report to the regent, and she made her way to Zeldyan’s study. The regent was waiting, with a carafe and two goblets of red wine. She motioned to the chair across the small table from her.

Saryn took it. “It’s done.”

“I saw. I watched the execution and whipping from the tower. Several hundred people were there. It looked most impressive.” Zeldyan paused. “What if you had missed?”

“I would have looked very foolish. But I didn’t miss. I can’t afford to.”

“No, you cannot. You are wise to understand that.”

“Those who watched were looking for torture. I’m afraid we disappointed them.” Saryn didn’t bother to keep all the irony out of her voice.

“You also frightened them. They left the green quickly.” Zeldyan sipped her wine, then looked up. “The courier returned from The Groves. They rode much of the night both ways.”

Saryn couldn’t sense grief or despair. “So far, your father’s seen no sign of Kelthyn’s company of armsmen?”

Zeldyan nodded. “At least he knows, and he and Gadsyn can prepare. The courier might have reached The Groves before Kelthyn’s armsmen. The old east road is much longer.”

“They might be headed elsewhere.”

“He’s sending his own messengers to the others in the north.”

“You’ve done what you can,” Saryn said.

“I have heard those words before, Saryn. When all goes wrong, they are cold comfort.”

“We have to take comfort where we can.” Saryn took a sip of the wine before continuing. “There’s another matter…much smaller. One of our ostlers came with the last wagon from Westwind. He has been checking the feed for the horses, and the grain contains quite a bit of chaff and the tiny oats that are mostly hulls…”

“I will talk to the steward.” Zeldyan smiled coolly. “I will tell him that you are concerned about the quality of the feed.”

“Perhaps, at least, you could pay less or obtain more…” suggested Saryn.

“For a time, and then, when we are gone or occupied with greater matters, they will return to putting chaff and the poorer oats in the feed.”

Saryn nodded, not in agreement, but in understanding.

“Do you know what is the saddest of all of this?”

Saryn was afraid she knew, but she merely shook her head.

“Those who have helped me more in the past season and watched my back are those who killed my consort, while those who claim to be my lords and people scheme to bring me and my son down.”

“Where would you like us to visit next?” asked Saryn.

“We might try Kelthyn. If he has a company elsewhere, he might be more welcoming.” Zeldyan took another sip of wine. “Or perhaps Keistyn. Think it over, and tell me what you think in the morning.”

“I will.” Saryn didn’t press. Zeldyan was waiting for something, and what ever it might be was unlikely to be good. “We’ll be doing some mounted drills later this afternoon, mainly with the newer guards.”

“They already do not look much different from the others.”

“They still have much to learn.” And little time in which to learn it. “If you will excuse me.”

“Of course.” Zeldyan’s smile was faint, concealing some sort of worry, but not, Saryn thought, about her or the Westwind guards.

Most likely about Nesslek…or her father-or both.

In the meantime, Saryn and Hryessa had all too much training to do.

Despite Zeldyan’s words, it was close to midday on fiveday when Lyentha appeared in the courtyard where Saryn and Hryessa were working with the wooden wands to develop the blade skills of the recruit guards.

Saryn sensed the young woman’s approach and stepped back. “Yes, Lyentha?”

“At your convenience, Commander, Lady Zeldyan would appreciate a word with you. She is in her upstairs study.”

“You can tell the lady I will be there in a few moments.”

“Yes, Commander.” Lyentha hurried off, clearly relieved.

“What do you think it is, ser?” murmured Hryessa.

“Nothing good. There have been too many messengers, and none of them have worn purple. We’re going to have to ride somewhere and fight someone. This time, if it comes to that, I’ll take first squad and whichever recruit squad is farthest along.”

“They’re really not ready, ser.”

“I know that, but from what I’ve seen, they’re as good as the locals.” Saryn glanced at the waiting recruits. “Keep working them. I don’t want to keep the regent waiting, and I hate postponing bad news that can only get worse.”

Hryessa nodded understandingly just before Saryn turned and walked across the courtyard toward the palace.

Lyentha was standing outside the study door and opened it as Saryn approached. “The commander is here, Lady.”

Saryn had barely cleared the doorway when the door closed behind her.

Zeldyan turned from the window farthest to the right. “If you would, Saryn, I have received some messages. I would like you to read the one from Lord Jharyk first.” She extended a heavy sheet of parchment that had been folded and sealed rather than placed in an envelope.

Saryn took it and read, her eyes coming back to the key phrases.

…already have seen two Jeranyi attacks on small hamlets, and have lost a number of my armsmen. Those with lands bordering mine have offered sympathy, but feel that they cannot assist. They point out that since help from the regency is not forthcoming, they cannot afford to stretch their limited forces…

“That’s effectively blackmail,” Saryn said. “If you don’t help him…”

“Exactly,” replied Zeldyan. “It does not help that he has always been lax in maintaining armsmen because he claims that too many of them will drive a lord-holder to ruin. Lord Nessil almost took his holding years back in order to give it to a stronger lord-holder.”

Another type who wants someone else to shed their blood because defense isn’t cost-effective. “Why didn’t he?”

“He always paid his tariffs on time. He still does. Now…if you will read this one.”

Saryn took the second sheet, which had been sealed inside an envelope, and began to read the words beneath the blue-and-gray seal.

My dearest Lady Regent,

It has come to my attention that you have been visiting various lord-holders within Lornth. Your diligence in doing so is commendable, although, had those of us with the best interests of the future of Lornth been consulted, we might have suggested that the overlord-heir accompany you, since it is in his name and for his future that the regency exists. More disturbing, however, is the presence of the so-called arms-commander of the brigand land occupying sections of the Roof of the World on such visits, for it was those very brigands who not only usurped Lornian lands but whose acts resulted in the very need for a regency.