Arms-Commander

XVII

Over the next eightday, the Roof of the World warmed, as much as it ever did. The root crops continued to grow, and the hardy redberry bushes showed signs of blossoming. Predictably, Ryba showed irritation at the time it would take to create the horn composite bows, then ordered the bow-making to continue as quickly as possible with the limitations.

Because a thundershower was drenching Westwind in mid afternoon on sixday, Saryn decided to stay inside until it passed and undertake a thorough inspection of Tower Black from the level below Ryba’s quarters to the lowest level, which held the carpentry shop as well as sickbay and the armory. Everything was largely in place on the upper levels. Sickbay itself was empty, and she walked quietly to the carpentry shop, stopping well short of the entry archway when she saw Dealdron seated on an old bench, using a small plane to smooth out a headboard for one of the narrow pallet bunks that would be used by the younger guards. After a time, he set the plane down and slipped a small knife out of his belt, one so small it fit almost within his palm. He began to cut a design in the middle of the headboard. Behind him, several other guards worked on various projects, but none paid much attention to the young Gallosian.

“Why are you doing that?”

Saryn couldn’t see the speaker, but sensed it had to be one of the silver-haired trio because of the swirl of blackness that surrounded the girl.

“Flowers are supposed to bring pleasant dreams,” replied Dealdron. “Carved flowers last longer than real ones, and there are few flowers in winter.”

“What kind of flower is that?”

“It’s a ryall. There aren’t many. They grow in rocky places where little else grows, and they do not bloom often.”

“What color are they?” Aemra stood, stretching and holding a stave she had trimmed to fit the broken bucket on the narrow workbench before her. She slipped it into place, with just enough force that it was clear she had shaped it perfectly. Then she turned and waited for Dealdron to reply. Behind her appeared Adiara, who looked at the Gallosian, half fearfully.

“They’re black, mostly, with thin lines of white that outline the petals. A ryall is bigger than the one I’m carving. Each flower is bigger than a guard’s hand.”

“They don’t sound pretty.” Aemra stepped over toward Dealdron and studied the small carving. “I like the carving, though.”

“They’re not pretty. They’re beautiful, like an icicle or a foggy morning.”

“Icicles are freezing, and foggy mornings are cold and damp,” Aemra pointed out.

“Here on the Roof of the World, that might be true. They still can be beautiful.”

Saryn concentrated on feeling what was happening between the two, but so far as she could sense, there were no feelings on Dealdron’s part beyond exactly what she heard in his words and tone. Aemra was curious and possibly a bit pitying when she looked at the young man’s splinted leg, but the pity vanished as she looked at the first cuts of the design.

“I suppose so.” Aemra didn’t sound that convinced.

Dealdron didn’t press the issue but bent forward and continued to cut and deepen the lines of the ryall. Saryn sensed the dull throbbing in his leg, but the young man kept working, and Aemra went back to carefully measuring and cutting a second stave for the other broken bucket on the workbench. After a time of watching, Saryn stepped into the carpentry shop. Several of the guards glanced up, then resolutely looked away.

“Commander,” Aemra murmured, inclined her head, then stepped away from Saryn and closer to the bench. Adiara did not move at all, her eyes fixed on Saryn.

“What are you doing here?” asked Saryn, looking squarely at Dealdron. “Did the healers say that you could leave sick bay?”

“They told me not to try to climb the steps without help. Here…it is not far, and there are no steps. I can at least smooth wood. I asked Vierna. She seemed to be in charge.”

“You carve as well, I see,” added Saryn. “Did you consider that someone might not like a flowered headboard?”

“You have many guards, ser. I thought there might be one…” Dealdron lowered the tiny knife, then shrugged.

“There are probably a few.” Saryn smiled. “If you want to carve designs, I’ll get you a drawing of the Westwind crest.”

“Might I ask a favor, Commander?”

“You can ask.” Saryn stopped, although she had been about to turn and leave the shop since she had little else to say.

“I was never trained in arms. Your guards would have spitted me like a capon if I had had to fight. Could I take the exercises that even the older women do in the morning?”

“You are barely walking.”

“That is true. I could only do some of the exercises, but I could begin to learn.”

“It’s not really necessary, is it?”

“Commander…ser…if you would…”

“Yes?” Saryn had to work at not snapping. She’d never liked male puppy dogs.

“There are but three things that will happen to me. The Marshal will order me killed. You will send me away from Westwind. Or I will stay in Westwind. If I obtain a little training in arms, it will do me little good against what I have seen of you and your guards. If you send me out, I will need to fend for myself because every man in Gallos will turn against me, and those in other lands will as well because they will know me only as a stranger. Any skill in arms will help me survive. And if I am allowed to remain here, then would it not help if I could at least defend myself should any outsiders attack?”

Saryn couldn’t help smiling, if slightly. The Gallosian did have a few points, and that suggested that he might show some promise…and he wasn’t begging, just explaining. The rigor of the exercises and the training couldn’t hurt in instilling more respect in him, either.

“You may begin the exercises with the junior guards whenever the healers allow you to do so-only the basic exercises that you can do without hurting your leg. Once you are healed, then we will see.”

Dealdron inclined his head. “Thank you, Commander.”

“We’ll see,” Saryn repeated, not wanting to commit to more. After a moment, she turned and stepped back through the archway, all too conscious that Dealdron’s eyes were on her.

As she walked back up the steps, her boots barely whispering on the stone, the way he had phrased the last alternative struck her. If I am allowed to remain here. That suggested he might want to remain. Was that because returning to Gallos might be a death sentence…or a sentence to a life of misery because he’d been captured?

She shook her head. Men! Why did they have to think that if a woman bested a man in anything, the man was worthless? At the same time, she was impressed by the way the young man had stood up to Ryba, without bluster but without begging, and by his efforts to prove he had worth. He’d made the decision to learn more, but how much of that was because he was calculating that would make a favorable impression and how much because he had an honest desire to prove himself? She’d sensed both, but more of the latter, she thought.

Time would tell which was more important to him. She hoped it was the desire to prove his worth and improve himself…but she wasn’t counting on it. Not after ten years on the Roof of the World, fighting off all too many men who wanted women as serfs or slaves.