Arms-Commander

XXXIV

Each of the penetrators had to be filled with powder, with the fuse placed and sealed with wax, even before any could be lowered into place. Saryn had had each one filled and fused, but not lowered, because the afternoon thunderstorms turned the crevice into a waterfall, and she couldn’t be certain that the fuses would stay dry under such a deluge. Instead, they remained on a rocky rise on the mesa, covered with the personal tarpaulins of individual guards, which were waterproof enough to keep the devices dry. That meant, unfortunately, that Saryn and fourth squad would have to place each one essentially at the last moment, once they had word that the Gallosian forces were about to enter the valley. It also resulted in Saryn and those at the upper camp ending up wetter than they would have liked.

Slightly after noon on fourday, Saryn finished inspecting the penetrators and began to walk back westward on the mesa. Unlike many afternoons in the Westhorns, the sky remained clear, without any sign that an afternoon thunderstorm might be building. With luck, Saryn thought, there wouldn’t be any more storms until the time came to place the weapons.

“Commander! The Marshal’s headed up here.” Thalya, one of the younger guards in fourth squad, ran from her observation post. “You can see her standard.”

That meant Arthanos was on the march, but how far he was from the valley was another matter. Saryn picked up her pace, but Ryba and three guards had reined up short of the twisted pines and waited for Saryn. As Saryn neared, Ryba eased her mount forward.

“Marshal, welcome to one of the more lovely and fertile spots on the Roof of the World,” offered Saryn sardonically.

“I can see that. How are you coming with the weapons?”

“We can’t lower them into place until the day the Gallosians enter the valley. The thunderstorms drench where they need to be. But they’re filled and sealed and in their harnesses near where they’ll be placed. We’ve used most of our personal waterproofs to keep them dry.”

Ryba merely nodded. “Arthanos and his army are moving westward along the route we anticipated. He could make the valley in two more days, but it might be three.”

Saryn forbore to point out that Ryba, not Saryn, had been the one to foresee which of the three approaches the Gallosians would take. Instead, she said, “I thought I’d leave Klarisa here to light off the penetrators. That way-”

“You need to be here,” Ryba interrupted. “Everything depends on the penetrators, and no one else has your skills.”

“But as your arms-commander, I’m totally out of touch up here.”

“I can rely on you, and none of the other guards really understand explosives.”

All of what Ryba said was true, but it wasn’t the whole story, Saryn knew. “What else?”

“I can’t be certain matters will work out unless you’re here. Besides, I’ll have both the captains you trained.”

“What exactly do you have in mind?” asked Saryn.

“A barricade across the road that will appear after we’ve cut off their advance company. It will look like a picket of pikes.”

“Placed so as to slow them down and put them in a battle formation, where the easiest ground to flank us is south of the road on the sloping meadows where no one can hide?”

“Approximately…yes.”

“How many men does he have?”

“He couldn’t fill all the companies, it appears. There were still around eight thousand. There are a few less now. I’m having the best archers pick off as many officers and squad leaders as they can from a distance. That should give them the impression that we don’t have the troops to fight a massed battle. It will also keep outliers close to the main formation.”

Saryn turned and glanced back at the valley below and to her right. Not surprisingly, what Ryba planned wasn’t all that different from what she’d had in mind.

“We had an interesting morning,” Ryba said.

Saryn didn’t like the way Ryba said “interesting,” but she just looked back at the Marshal. The circles under the Marshal’s eyes were dark, and a tracery of fine lines radiated from the corners of those eyes. Fine silver hairs were interspersed with the short jet-black. With a jolt, Saryn realized that Ryba was no longer young, something she had known, but not really felt. Not until now.

“We captured two Gallosian scouts. The older one was the obnoxious, dominating-male type. The younger one was just worried. Scared, even. The obnoxious one decided to tell me that Arthanos would torture me within a digit of my life for all that I’d done, and that I ought to let him go. Before he started talking, I’d thought about it, because releasing him would have confused them and showed a certain arrogance. But then…he spat at me.”

Saryn winced.

“I changed my mind,” Ryba continued. “Instead, I took off the battle harness and the dagger, and had them remove his scabbard and check him for hidden weapons. Then I told him that he could go free if he bested me, but that I’d kill him with my hands and feet if he couldn’t. He couldn’t wait to charge me. I smashed his knee, broke one arm, then the other. I could have broken his neck, but that wouldn’t have done what was necessary. So I crushed his throat and let him suffocate. It didn’t take very long.”

“And you sent the other one back?” asked Saryn.

“I told him that was what an unarmed woman could do to the most experienced armsmen. Then I had Murkassa take him-and the broken body of the arrogant one-down to where he could ride and report to Arthanos. I told her, while he listened, to kill him if he didn’t ride straight to the Gallosian lines.”

“You’re trying to infuriate them even more, aren’t you?” asked Saryn.

“Fury weakens. It impairs judgment, and it burns out strength too soon. Besides, I’m tired of men who seem to think that might makes right but only when they have the might.”

“They may kill the younger scout because he didn’t fight,” Saryn pointed out.

“They may. That’s his problem and theirs.”

Saryn saw no point in commenting on that. “You still haven’t said when I’ll know to light off the fuses on the weapons.”

“We’ll flash you with the mirrors. Just long flashes. From there.” Ryba pointed to a low hillock on the south side of the road not far from the southern end of the mountain meadows.

“Won’t the signaler have to get clear?”

“That hill is higher than it looks from here.”

“What if there’s no sun?”

“There should be,” replied Ryba. “But if there’s not, we’ll torch a fire with a column of smoke-heavy smoke. I brought some oil mixtures that do that. Just make sure that they explode at close to the same time.”

“I’ve timed the fuse burn rates, but it’s still a guess. Some of the fuses have to be longer than I’d like.”

“I’m sure you’ll work it out. Remember, Saryn, the future of the Legend lies in your hands.”

The future of the Legend?

“The Legend of Westwind and the hope of women on this forsaken world,” Ryba added.

“It rests more on you,” Saryn replied. “You’re the one who created Westwind.”

“And you’ll help save it. You’ll see.” Ryba smiled, a trace sadly, then turned her mount. “We need to get back down. You understand why I came, I trust?”

“Yes.” To make sure I’ll detonate the explosions that will destroy more than eight thousand men and who knows how many mounts.

“Sometimes, there are no good choices, no matter what those who might follow will say.”

As she watched the Marshal ride slowly downhill, Saryn shook her head. She had never envied Ryba, and she certainly didn’t now.