Arms-Commander

XXVII

Eightday at the palace was quiet, and although Saryn ate supper again with Zeldyan, but not with Gethen, who had departed for his estates, the lady regent was most careful to keep the talk to matters other than the relations between Lornth and Westwind, the Suthyan threat, and the problems posed by the old holders. Zeldyan did not mention Saryn’s pledge, either, but it hung over the commander like an unseen burnished blade, and she fretted about why she had given her pledge so easily. Ryba certainly would not have. Yet for all her worry…it had felt right, and that nagged at her even more.

She was both relieved and glad when, late on oneday, the first creaky wagon arrived, bearing barrels of saltpeter and smaller kegs of sulfur. Two more wagons arrived on twoday. Saryn wondered about returning the wagons and the swaybacked horses that pulled them, but Zeldyan insisted that both could be sent back later, whenever practicable.

Saryn didn’t protest, and on threeday, she and the guards set out, at first retracing the route they had taken previously. The following day, they took a ferry across the river at the narrows to follow a road that, had they gone its full length, would have taken them to Rohrn. After another two days, they turned eastward and eventually recrossed a stone ford north of Henspa. Twilight was turning to evening as they entered the town, but Saryn was still sweating, and she kept having to blot her forehead, while her undertunic was plastered to her body.

The big innkeeper Essin stood out on the porch of the Black Bull. “I thought you might be back,” he called as he left the porch and walked toward Saryn, still mounted on her gelding. “Same terms as before?”

“That would be acceptable,” Saryn replied.

“Ma’s doing poorly, but she told me she wants to talk to you. She said you’d be back. Just come in here when you’re set. I’ll tell the girls to heave to…be a simple supper.”

“Simple is fine.” Any decent supper they didn’t have to prepare would be welcome, and Essin’s charges were moderate enough that they might actually return to Westwind without using all the golds that Ryba had provided.

“I’ll tell Ma.” Essin paused. “I was hoping…she’s pretty sick.”

“I’ll be there,” Saryn promised, “but I’m not like the other angel. I’m not a healer.” What was she, really, besides a pilot who’d discovered a talent for weapons and killing in a strange and magical world she still wasn’t certain she truly understood?

“Be good for Ma to see you.”

Saryn could sense the disappointment in the big man, and his concern and love for his mother, but all she could say was, “I’ll be there.” Then she rode around to the stables.

After making certain that guard details were posted for the wagons and that horses and guards were settled in, as well as after grooming her own gelding, Saryn finally made her way across the rear courtyard and back into the inn where Essin was waiting.

“Be another half glass or so before supper’s ready,” he announced.

“That’s fine,” Saryn replied. “Where is your mother?”

Essin gestured toward the narrow staircase, then started up. Every step creaked under his boots, and the wooden panels on each side of the staircase vibrated as well. Saryn followed several steps behind. By the time she reached the top, Essin was standing by the open door at the end of the hallway to Saryn’s right. She walked toward him, grateful that the floorboards didn’t shake under her boots as they had under his, and followed him into the chamber, some three yards by four.

The white-haired woman was propped up with pillows in a narrow bed. Her face was drawn, and the circles under her eyes were black. Her eyes remained as intent as Saryn recalled, but her voice was hoarse. “Told Essin you’d be back afore long.” She smothered a cough.

“Word is that the Lord of Duevek had some difficulty when you passed through his lands.” Essin looked to Saryn expectantly.

“He blocked the road and said we had no business going to the regents. His undercaptain sent half a company of cavalry against us. They ended up wounded or dead, mostly dead.”

Jennyleu laughed, a dry, cackling sound. “Coulda told the lord that. Wouldn’t have done any good. None of the men who rule understand.” A racking cough punctuated her words.

Saryn studied the old woman with her senses, picking up hints of the reddish white chaos she knew was some kind of illness.

“Essin said you got wagons…”

“Trading goods from the regents,” Saryn admitted.

“You going to help them if it comes to that?”

“Lady Zeldyan seems to be the only one who doesn’t want Westwind destroyed.” That wasn’t quite true, Saryn realized, even as she spoke. Zeldyan might not mind the destruction of Westwind; she just didn’t want Lornth to pay any more for Westwind’s annihilation. “Or to go to the trouble of doing it, anyway.”

“…don’t like not telling the truth, do you, Angel…?” Another series of coughs racked Jennyleu, so much so that her pale face turned red, then almost gray.

Saryn found herself stepping forward and grasping the old woman’s forearms. While she was no healer, she had to try to do something. Using the darkness, much as she might have with her blades, she cut away the reddish white that she knew was wound chaos, or infection, but only that, and nothing that felt “physical.” After that, she smoothed and ordered with the blackness.

A wave of dizziness passed over her, but she straightened, released the older woman’s arms, and stepped back, putting her hand on the footboard of the bed to steady herself.

Essin looked at her strangely but did not speak.

“What did you do?” asked the old woman, after a long silence.

“Something…I can’t describe, but…I think it will help you get better.” Saryn studied Jennyleu with her senses again. Most of the chaos had vanished, and she had the feeling that the rest was fading.

“That’s better.” Jennyleu smiled. “I’ll be able to rest now.”

“You shouldn’t talk anymore,” Saryn said. “Not for a while.”

“I feel better already.”

“Ma…you heard the angel. It’s time to rest.”

“All right…suppose you’ve listened to me more ’n a few times about things like that.” Jennyleu paused, then said, “Feed her good, you hear.”

“Yes, Ma.” Essin stepped back to the door, then out into the hallway.

After a last look and a smile at Jennyleu, Saryn followed the innkeeper.

Once they were down in the front foyer of the inn, Essin turned and looked hard at Saryn. “You said you weren’t a healer.”

“I’m not. I just know a few things. I helped her a little. She’s a strong lady.”

“You helped her more than a little.”

“I hope so, but I can’t promise anything.”

“She said she wanted to see you when you come again.”

“I don’t know if that will be soon,” Saryn pointed out. “The last time was years ago.”

“You didn’t stop here then.”

“I didn’t know enough to stop in Henspa.” Saryn grinned in the dimness of the foyer, lit by but one oil lamp in a wall sconce. She still felt slightly light-headed.

“You will next time.” Essin gestured to the dimly lit public room. “You need to eat.”

She wasn’t about to argue, not as tired as she suddenly felt. Was that because of what she’d done for Jennyleu? Ayrlyn, Istril, and Siret had always said that healing left them exhausted, but Saryn had never thought of herself as a healer. “Lead on, innkeeper.”