Arms-Commander

XXIV

Lornth stood in the middle of a valley entered through a gentle pass in the rolling hills and on the higher ground west of the river. As Saryn rode closer to Lornth in late mid afternoon, the already-small holdings grew even smaller, with the space near the cots filled with gardens or crowded pens for livestock. A cat watched from under a scraggly bush, and a nondescript brown dog tied to the post of a rickety porch kept barking as the squad passed, but no one left the cot to investigate. Then the packed-clay road changed into a stone-paved highway-about two kays out from where the randomly crowded cots with their tiny plots were replaced by dwellings whose stucco was a pink so pale it looked white, especially under the bright spring sunlight. The larger dwellings had courtyards with walls finished with the same pinkish white stucco.

As Saryn neared the first of the more-permanent-looking stucco dwellings, a dark-haired and pregnant woman froze in place and almost dropped a shirt she was hanging on a line when she caught sight of the guards riding toward Lornth. Ahead and rising above and to the west of the modest dwellings and structures of the town was a taller redstone tower that Saryn recognized as part of the palace complex. As the guards approached the town proper, they were assaulted by a series of odors, most of them unpleasant, if not revolting, all emphasized by the warm stillness of the air. The side of the road to Saryn’s right held a stone-lined sewage channel, with pools of filth along the bottom, a stark contrast to the cleanliness of Westwind.

Once they were into the town, Saryn saw that the side streets were narrower and darker than she recalled, if paved irregularly, and all had sewage channels on both sides. Some of the larger buildings lining the wider main avenue were of the same reddish granite as the tower and the palace walls. The scattered handfuls of people along the streets reacted in different ways, some gaping, some retreating into the shops, and some remaining apparently oblivious as the guards rode past.

Beyond the small square in the center of the buildings, marked by a pedestal and a statue of Lord Nessil, the avenue narrowed for the three-hundred-odd cubits it continued, flanked by taller, more ornate dwellings, before ending at what passed for a green. On the far side of the green, two hundred cubits away, rose the wall and the palace complex beyond it, all constructed of a pale pink granite.

Saryn gestured for Xanda to take the road that circled to the right around the patchy grass of the green. As she and the guards followed the standard-bearer, once again it struck Saryn that Lornth was still little more than a big town and a keep with a low wall, hardly that defensible. Was that because Lornth was far from the borders with other lands? Or because it was that poor? Were the regents powerless to exact enough in taxes for a more impressive capital? Tariffs was the local term, Saryn reminded herself.

A set of wooden but ironbound gates in the ten-cubit-high wall around the palace and its outbuildings stood open, if guarded by four armsmen, two on each side. As Saryn raised her arm to order the Westwind contingent to a halt before the open gates, a young armsman-an undercaptain from his uniform-burst out of the guard house just inside the gates and came to a halt in the space between the gates. His eyes took in Xanda and the parley flag. Then he looked to Saryn.

“I’m Saryn, the arms-commander of Westwind. I came to see the regents.”

“Ah…yes, Commander.” The undercaptain paused. “Were they expecting you?”

“No. I would doubt it. When we discovered what the regents should know, it wouldn’t have made much sense to have sent a messenger when we would be here almost as quickly.” And we’re not about to have sent a single messenger through Lornth, anyway.

“I don’t…”

“We’ll wait here,” said Saryn with a smile. “You can go request instructions.”

The young officer glanced at the thirty armed women, then back at Saryn. “It might be best if you entered the courtyard and waited inside while I check on where you’ll be billeted.”

Saryn could sense no scheming and no malice in the young officer, only apprehension and worry. In that, in a vague way, he reminded her of Dealdron, although she suspected that Dealdron might well be more perceptive than the Lornian, officer or not. “We can do that.” She turned to Hryessa. “Have them ride through and form up inside and to the right.”

“Yes, ser.”

The undercaptain watched as the guards rode through and reformed on the stone pavement that stretched across the front of the palace. Then he walked swiftly across the uneven paving stones toward a smaller side door, avoiding the main steps-only six, Saryn noted-that rose to a modest receiving archway. Beyond the archway was a set of brass-bound double doors. The undercaptain walked to the lower door to the right of the steps and disappeared within. With the main body of the palace rising some three stories, the building stretched perhaps two hundred cubits from end to end, with the redstone tower centered in the middle, but at the rear.

“You took him off guard, Commander,” observed Hryessa.

“He recovered. I don’t think he’s ever seen so many armed women before.” Light as Saryn’s voice was, she was concerned. They had arrived without being observed, or if they had been, word had not been passed to the regents or the palace staff.

“You’d think someone would have reported our nearing the city,” said Hryessa. “We’d have known if thirty armsmen approached Westwind.”

“You would think so,” replied Saryn. “If they did, no one told the guards.”

While they waited, Saryn studied the front courtyard of the palace, an expanse of unevenly laid cobblestones a good seven hundred cubits across the front and with perhaps a hundred cubits between the wall and the mounting blocks at the base of the wide stone steps leading to the main entry. The area behind the palace proper was also paved, with a series of two-story outbuildings set before the rear wall of the complex, presumably stables, barracks, and workshops of various sorts. Scraggly grass had sprung up between the cobblestones, imparting a ragged look to the courtyard, and the lowest line of stone on that part of the north side of the outer walls of the palace bore the greenish sheen of moss or lichens. Outside of the gate guards, Saryn saw only two other individuals-armed doormen standing at the top of the main steps, one on each side of the entry archway.

After a time, the small door beside the base of the main entry staircase opened, and the undercaptain hurried back toward Saryn and the guards. With him was another armsman.

The undercaptain halted well short of Saryn. “The Lady Regent bids you welcome to Lornth. There is ample room on the main floor of the second barracks for your…troopers. The adjoining stables offer enough vacant stalls for your mounts, and there are quarters on the second level for your officers, Commander. Lady Zeldyan would like to offer you quarters in the palace. Once you have refreshed yourself, she would like to greet you personally.”

“Thank you, Undercaptain.” Saryn inclined her head. “If you could direct us…”

“Squad leader Cardaryn and I would be most happy to do so.”

The undercaptain understood a commander’s concerns because he walked beside Saryn as the armsman led the way around the north side of the palace. The second barracks were those in the rear at the far west end, and while they appeared well tended from outside, it was clear that no one had used them recently. Once Hryessa was satisfied, and Saryn and the guards had stabled and groomed their mounts, the undercaptain and Saryn walked across the rear courtyard to the nearest door. She carried her own saddlebags.

“This is the south wing of the palace, where guests are housed,” offered the undercaptain, opening the brass-bound door. He led the way up a flight of steps and turned to the right. The wooden floors creaked under his boots. “Your chamber is at the end on the left.”

A young woman scurried out of the end door, then stepped to the side, almost against the ancient dark, wood-paneled wall, and bowed her head. “Your chamber is ready, Angel.” Her eyes lingered on the battle harness and the pair of blades it held.

“Thank you.” Saryn smiled.

The undercaptain stopped at the door and turned to Saryn. “One of Lady Zeldyan’s ladies-in-waiting will escort you to her quarters once you are ready, Commander. She should be here shortly, but Lady Zeldyan suggested that you not rush.”

“Thank you.” Saryn smiled politely.

He stepped back, then turned and walked swiftly back down the hallway, wide for a dwelling but narrow for a ruler’s palace, only a fraction over two yards in width.

Saryn stepped out of the dim corridor and into the corner chamber, large enough that it might well have been a third the size of the great hall of Tower Black-but the ceiling was far lower, barely above the fingertips of Saryn’s fully extended arm. Centered on the north wall was a large bed with a high headboard, carved with ornate images of armed men and cornered animals. Pale green hangings framed the headboard. Three long but narrow windows, recently opened, Saryn suspected, looked out on the front courtyard, while two on the south wall overlooked the side courtyard.

Between the two south windows was a narrow fireplace, and against the west wall was a large armoire, its carvings matching those of the headboard, with a dressing table to the left, and a washstand in the corner, with two large bowls of water, one warm, and towels on the side rungs. To the right of the armoire was an ancient weapons rack. A writing desk was set back slightly from the middle window of those opening to the front of the palace. The dark wooden floor was largely covered with a green carpet, bordered in purple.

After closing the door behind her and slipping the bolt into place, Saryn eased the weapons harness off and draped it over the arms rack beside the armoire that she scarcely needed. While she did not dawdle, it was close to half a glass later by the time she had washed up and changed to one of the cleaner uniforms she had remaining. While no one had knocked on the door, she had sensed someone outside and assumed that the woman waiting was her escort.

When she finally did open the door, a very young woman, scarcely older than any of the Westwind silver-haired trio, stepped forward and offered what seemed to be a cross between a bow and a curtsy.

“Honored Angel…I am here to escort you. Tomorrow, you will meet the regents in the tower council room, but Lady Zeldyan thought it would be more suitable for you two to talk in her private chambers.”

Not only suitable but doubtless far more discreet. “I look forward to seeing the lady.”

The route to Zeldyan’s chambers was simple. They walked almost the length of the palace and past the top of a large formal staircase to the north end of the palace, up one flight of stairs, then back to the left perhaps ten yards to an unmarked door.

A single armsman stood outside. He did not look at Saryn as the young Lornian woman opened the door, but Saryn could sense his curiosity.

“The angel, Lady.” The escort stepped back to allow Saryn to enter.

Saryn nodded to the young woman. “Thank you.” Then she entered the chamber.

The door closed behind her, and she stood in a sitting room that featured three windows looking out on the front courtyard, but with an archway leading into a chamber to the left.

A slender blond woman, with piercing green eyes, wearing black trousers and a tunic trimmed in purple, stood from a small square table with a chair on each side and on which were set several covered dishes, two bottles, and a pair of goblets. “Welcome to Lornth. Undercaptain Maerkyn indicated that you are an arms-commander?”

“Saryn, Lady Zeldyan. I am the arms-commander of Westwind.” Saryn inclined her head politely. She could see strands of white intermingled with the blond ones, and there was a slight darkness under Zeldyan’s eyes.

“Seldom do angels leave the Roof of the World,” offered Zeldyan. “Never have any done so without cause. I would doubt that the Marshal sent her arms-commander and more than thirty guards were there not great cause.”

“There is certainly cause for concern, Lady.”

“I imagine you could use some refreshment, and I thought we might talk while you refreshed yourself. I’ve arranged for your guards to be fed in the barracks mess and for your officers to join ours this evening.”

“Thank you.”

“Please sit down.” Zeldyan gestured to the chair across from her, then reseated herself.

Saryn took the chair, thankful that it had a thick cushion.

“I can only offer red or white wine, Commander…”

“Saryn, Lady.”

“Then you must call me Zeldyan when we are in private. Red…or white?”

“I like both. Whichever you think the best.” Saryn sensed a welter of emotions behind the regent’s collected facade, most clearly anxiety and curiosity, and a touch of fear.

“The red, then.” Zeldyan filled both goblets half-full, then lifted her goblet. “To your safe arrival here.”

Saryn raised the goblet before her in return. “And to your grace and hospitality.” She took a small sip of the deep red vintage, appreciating the natural fullness and the hints of flowers.

Zeldyan set down her goblet and removed the tops of the three porcelain dishes. “This one has small lamb pies. These are currant-and-meat-stuffed potato skins, and these are cheese pastries. I prefer the cheese, but the currant stuffing is also good.”

“And the lamb?” asked Saryn with a smile.

“Good, but very filling.”

Saryn took one of the cheese pastries, just large enough for a single mouthful, and found it moist and surprisingly light. “It’s very good.”

“It was one of my mother’s favorites.”

Saryn sensed the momentary sadness…and realized that Zeldyan’s mother was dead. She’d known that one of the other regents-Ser Gethen-was her father, but no one had ever mentioned Zeldyan’s mother. “I can see why.”

After a time, Zeldyan took a sip of her wine. “You have come far.”

“And with reason. Earlier in the spring, we found a large body of Gallosian cavalry in the lower reaches of the Roof of the World. They were posing as bandits and attacking travelers and traders who were attempting to cross the Westhorns.”

“Knowing how your Marshal pledged to keep the Westhorns free of brigands, I imagine you took some action.”

“We did. All the armsmen are dead. We have their ostler at Westwind.” Saryn took another sip of wine, and one of the currant-stuffed skins. “We also discovered from the ostler that Lord Karthanos’s son-Arthanos-has not only removed all of his brothers, but that he has also recruited some ten additional companies, and it appears likely that they will attack.”

“From what you have said already, that would appear likely…and perhaps unfortunate.” Zeldyan sipped her wine. “Yet…you are here, rather than in Fenard.”

“We had thought, as a result of that occurrence, and another, that Lornth and Westwind might have similar interests. We also have seen few traders, apparently for reasons linked to what we have learned, and the Marshal was interested in obtaining some sulfur and saltpeter and thought you might be of assistance.”

Zeldyan frowned, but behind the frown was more curiosity than anything…and worry. “I fear I have yet to understand why our interests might coincide.”

“The Suthyan Council sent an envoy to Westwind, accompanied by a high trader named Baorl and the son of a Lord Calasyr. That is how they were represented. The envoy and the lord’s son were seated beside the Marshal.” Saryn paused, waiting for a reaction.

“That sounds as it should be.”

“The Suthyan envoy talked generally about the difficulties Westwind faced in finding traders to supply its needs given the problems that might arise among our neighbors.”

“Was that how he phrased it?”

“I believe the exact words were something to the effect that ‘If any ill should befall Lornth, even the most doughty of traders might find it difficult to reach the Westhorns…except, of course, from Suthya.’ He also made an observation that the older lord-holders in Lornth feared that you and the other regents would not turn over power to your son when he reached his majority.” Saryn knew she was conflating two statements, but the truth behind them remained. “The Marshal seemed unimpressed, and the young lord attempted to poison the Marshal’s wine. When he was given the choice of drinking the wine or swallowing iron, he attempted to attack the Marshal. Needless to say, he did not succeed, and the Marshal expelled all the Suthyans from Westwind within the glass, bearing his body, despite the darkness and the chill of the evening.”

“That seems unduly generous.” Zeldyan’s voice dripped with sarcasm.

“Had we slaughtered them all, who would have believed us?” Saryn smiled politely. “What happened after that is even more interesting….” She went on to explain how the Suthyan party had split and how Ryba had dispatched her to Lornth. “…and now I find myself reporting to you that, because of the Suthyans, we were forced to defend ourselves against an unprovoked attack when we were riding here to warn you about the Suthyan intentions toward Lornth.”

“An unprovoked attack? By whom?”

“The armsmen of Duevek.” Saryn went on to explain.

Zeldyan nodded slowly. “What does the Marshal think the Suthyan intentions might be?”

Saryn sensed that, while the events were a surprise to her, the general situation was not entirely unexpected. “She does not yet know of the attack by the Lord of Duevek, but even before that her feeling was that the Suthyans were planning for some sort of attack against Lornth, possibly shortly after the likely attack by Arthanos against Westwind.” Again, Saryn was guessing in her representation of Ryba.

“She must be greatly gifted with foresight to have seen all that, even before it happened.” This time the irony was gentle. Behind the words was a mixture of worry and skepticism.

“She has seen much that has come to pass, often long before it has, Lady Zeldyan.”

“That may be, from what I have seen with the black mage and the flame mage. Though they helped us, they cost us most dearly.”

Black mage and flame mage? Saryn realized she had to be talking about Nylan and Ayrlyn. “They cost the Cyadorans far more dearly.”

“Yes. Cyador is no more, not as it was. But Lornth is not as it was, either. The lands they scoured with fire south of Rohrn all the way to Clynya have only begun to recover…even now.”

“…and you have so few armsmen that the Suthyans have retaken Rulyarth and threaten Lornth itself,” finished Saryn.

“You do not ask for much,” Zeldyan said, “not for such a long journey, but why do you need such comparatively useless items as saltpeter and sulfur?”

“To create things that are more useful against the Gallosians.”

“And not against Lornth?”

“We are few in number, compared to either Lornth or Gallos. We wish to be left in peace. Lornth has done so. Gallos has not. Why would we wish to anger and trouble a land with whom we are at peace? Especially when we face the attacks and enmity of two others?”

Zeldyan laughed, with a bitterness not revealed in the sound but only the feelings behind it. “I thought as much, but one must ask.”

Saryn said nothing but took a sip of the wine. Her goblet was still almost half-full.

“You have given information, and you have weakened one who might yet be a traitor,” Zeldyan went on. “Yet you do not offer us much hope.”

“What would you have of us…of me?” replied Saryn.

“What ever you can offer…after you deal with the Gallosians.” A tight and wry smile crossed Zeldyan’s lips, then vanished. “Unlike my sire and Kelthyn, I know one cannot demand of angels. One can trust their word, and I would like your word that you will provide what assistance you can so long as it does not require you to lose Westwind to Arthanos.”

“I cannot commit Westwind, Lady.”

“Can you commit yourself, Angel?”

Saryn did not speak for a moment. Zeldyan knew Saryn could read her feelings, and the regent was hiding nothing-not her fears, nor her wish to preserve what she could for her son, and for those who would follow. We have to have the sulfur and saltpeter…or Westwind will not survive…and how many women and their children will die then? What hope will remain to the others who look to Westwind and the legend that Ryba is forging?

“I will give what I can of myself and what I can raise, Lady, if you ask it of me. That is all I can promise.”

“You will have all the saltpeter and sulfur I can summon.” Zeldyan smiled, and there was relief, hope…and anxiety behind the expression. “You might try the lamb…or more of the stuffed skins…”

Saryn understood that what lay before her was her supper, and she almost smiled at Zeldyan’s finesse in keeping Saryn away from the others in the palace before they met more formally. As she picked up one of the small pastry pies, Saryn wondered how much she would rue her promise.

Yet…what else could she have done? What other real choice did you have?