L. Modesitt - Arms-Commander

Saryn continued to study the Lornian forces as her own squads neared the crest of the road, but from what she could sense, the Lornians had yet to learn that a regency force was approaching them. A regency force? She shook her head, thinking about the irony of Westwind guards being the strongest forces available to Lady Zeldyan.

She still wondered about the wisdom of confronting the Lornians, but she certainly couldn’t determine their intentions by fleeing from them, and she’d rather have the high ground, gentle as the southern slope seemed to be.

Less than a quarter glass passed before the Westwind squads reached the crest of the road.

“Squads halt!” Saryn ordered. “Reform ten across, first squad on the left, second squad on the right.”

“Squads halt!..” Both Shalya and Yulia repeated the orders, modified for their own squads.

Saryn studied the oncoming riders, who continued for almost another two hundred yards before coming to a stop.

For a time, nothing happened.

Then a single figure rode up the gentle slope toward the Westwind lines, bearing a white parley banner.

Saryn rode forward slightly and reined up, but took the precaution of unsheathing a blade and resting it across her legs.

The young man, an undercaptain, reined up. “I bring terms from Lord Orsynn.”

“Terms?” replied Saryn. “Since when does a lord-holder impose terms on the regency?”

The young man scanned the ranks of Westwind guards. “How can you claim to represent the regency? You are the enemies of Lornth.”

“We have a treaty,” Saryn pointed out. “We are here at the request of the regency.”

“The regency no longer represents the lord-holders of Lornth. Women are not fit to rule the land, and such a rule is against the natural order of life. Still…the lord-holders have no quarrel with Westwind, and if you choose to return to the Westhorns, none will hinder you.”

“Oh?” asked Saryn mildly. “That is a most suspect assurance, given that various lord-holders have already attacked us.”

“Lord Orsynn has given his assurance, and he is a most honorable lord,” said the young officer.

“Honorable so long as women remain in what he regards as their rightful place,” suggested Saryn, keeping her voice even. For some reason, the image of the shimmering metal link-ring in the old Cyadoran dwelling flashed into her mind.

“What other place…”

“Oh…” replied Saryn, “they might rule, or command, or otherwise infringe on the traditional prerogatives of men. And, in response to the most generous gesture of your lord, I will offer my terms in return. If he returns to his lands and swears allegiance to the regency, the regency will accept his allegiance without prejudice.”

“You are outnumbered,” pointed out the officer.

“We are indeed, but you may convey my terms to your lord. If he turns his forces and returns to his holding, I will know he has accepted the regency’s terms.”

“And if not?” The undercaptain’s smile was more like a smirk.

“Then what will be will be,” replied Saryn.

“He cannot accept those terms. He has pledged-”

“He broke his pledge to the regency. He can certainly break his pledge to a group of rebel lords.”

“They are upholding the true traditions of Lornth.”

Inherited from Cyador, no doubt. “Undercaptain…convey my terms. Lord Orsynn can accept or receive the consequences.”

The undercaptain flushed, and Saryn could sense his anger.

“I will tell him you have refused his terms.”

“Tell him my terms as well.” Saryn’s voice was even, but the undercaptain flinched at her eyes.

Without another word, the young officer turned his horse and rode down the slope.

“He did not even ask who you were,” observed Shalya.

“We’re women. In his eyes, and those of Lord Orsynn, we don’t count, unless consorted to a powerful man.” Saryn looked out at the more than three companies. Can you do it again? she asked herself. Do you have any choice?

For several moments, she watched the undercaptain ride down the road. Then she turned. “Squads! Reform to five abreast, four deep.”

Shalya and Yulia repeated the orders but both looked to Saryn.

“With us only two deep, they could sweep through us. Besides, I want the Lornians in a more compact formation.”

For a time, the Jeranyi and Cardaran forces remained as they had halted. Then, both began to re-dress their lines, until they had three companies abreast, each with a ten-man front. After a short wait, they began to ride forward, if only at a quick walk.

“Make sure everyone holds fast,” Saryn said firmly. “I can’t take them on until they’re close, and it’s going to look like they’ll run over us. We’ll charge at the last moment and go through them.” Don’t ask how. “Keep the formation tight.” She turned to Shalya. “Once we’re through them, don’t waste guards trying to capture or chase down stragglers.”

“Yes, ser.”

Saryn made a conscious effort to relax her grip on the short sword, her eyes and senses on the approaching Cardarans and their Jeranyi allies. With the hazy clouds, and the white sun higher in the sky, she didn’t have to worry about her forces facing into a low, bright light.

As she waited, she extended her senses, beginning to link the junctures and nodes in the air into a chevron-shaped pattern, with her at the apex, and with the same knife-edge of chaos she had created before, cradled in unyielding order. She worked to extend that unseen blade far enough to both sides so that it would cover the flanks of the Cardarans.

At a hundred yards from Saryn, the attackers began a full gallop toward the regency force. Saryn waited until they were close to eighty yards away. Then she finally ordered, “Charge! Forward! On me!”

She urged the gelding into a full canter, linking the chaos-knife to her short sword and knowing that she needed as much momentum as possible to increase the force of her blade. She searched for the leading rider in the center company, her eyes sweeping the attacking force, nodding as she sensed that the attackers had fallen into a rough, if barely perceptible, wedge, with the middle of the center company at the point.

Less than twenty yards from the leading rider, Saryn finally released her blade, strengthening the links and flattening herself against the neck and mane of the gelding as the unseen black-framed whitish knife blade slashed through men and mounts, cutting them down and scattering them away from the Westwind squads.

Even before Saryn reached the shattered rear of the Cardaran force, black voids filled with cold whiteness arrowed into her, pulling and hammering at her, so much that her entire body felt as though it had been penetrated by hundreds, if not thousands, of unseen needles.

Her fingers clutched at the gelding’s mane.

She started to lift her head, but she could not see through the assault of shimmering lightknives that stabbed through her eyes. She reined in the gelding, conscious of riders around her, hoping they were Westwind guards, before the needles, the lightknives, and another black void all slammed into her.

Hot darkness and chill icy white engulfed her…then she felt nothing.

As if emerging from an unseen drizzle, Saryn felt the dampness running down her forehead, water that was neither hot nor cold, and she shook her head, trying to speak, to get out of the rain.

“Commander?”

She tried to speak again, but her throat was so dry that her “yes” was more like a croak. “Water…please.”

Someone placed a water bottle at her lips. She lifted her head, ignoring the pounding inside her skull, and drank.