Arms-Commander

XLI

More than two eightdays passed, and Saryn regained control of her vision and all of her abilities to sense order and chaos flows. The road patrols reported travelers returning to the Westhorns; a trader in leathers even came to Westwind. Dealdron returned from the lower canyon with kegs filled with lime, and Aemra told Istril that Dealdron had showed her everything necessary to create the lime and the mortar. The last of the horn bows were set in their frames for their long curing. More Analerian women appeared, asking for refuge, and some even brought goods and tools and small wagons, and a horse or two. The walls of the new barracks continued to rise, and the foundations of the larger keep planned by Ryba took shape.

And Saryn kept worrying, wondering when she would hear from Lady Zeldyan.

On the fourth threeday of summer, in late afternoon, as Saryn made her way back down from the smithy to Tower Black and the armory, where she anticipated more work in sharpening newly forged short swords, she saw three guards riding down the road from the ridge to the north of Westwind, accompanying two unfamiliar riders. Although neither rider bore a banner, the purple-and-green uniforms announced their purpose clearly enough.

Saryn reached the causeway well before the riders did and stood there waiting as they neared, then reined up.

“Commander,” offered Haesta, “the Lornians have a message for you.”

The younger courier eased his mount forward and extended his gloved hand…and an envelope on which was written in ornate script: Saryn, Arms-Commander of Westwind.

Saryn looked at the envelope again, then up at the courier. “Thank you.” She turned to the guards. “See that they are fed and their mounts taken care of.”

“We’ll take care of your mounts. Then you can eat,” said Haesta. “This way…”

Once the guards escorted the riders back across the causeway and onto the road up toward the stable, Saryn slit the envelope with her belt knife and extracted the single sheet of parchment.

Dear Arms-Commander-

On behalf of the Regents of Lornth, I would like to invite you to meet with us, at your earliest practicable convenience, to discuss in what manner your assistance might be most valuable.

Below Zeldyan’s clear and flowing signature was her seal.

After a moment, Saryn walked toward the entry to Tower Black. She did not replace the parchment in its envelope, but opened the heavy door one-handed and stepped into the tower.

Ryba was standing in the foyer, alone. “The Lady Regent has requested you go to Lornth.”

Saryn crossed the distance between them and handed the Marshal the single sheet.

Ryba read it, then looked up. “Politely worded.”

“But a definite reminder of my pledge.”

“Do you intend to keep it?” asked Ryba. “You are not strictly obligated to do so. It was made under duress.”

“That doesn’t matter, does it? If I do not go, no one will trust the word of Westwind except when backed by force of arms, and that will require that every pledge be so backed.”

“That is true. Did you think of that when you pledged your assistance?”

“I did. That was why I pledged only my personal aid.”

Ryba shook her head. “Zeldyan knew you would not come alone. No matter how we try, we end up enmeshed in the affairs of the others. That’s the way of the world-on all worlds.”

“I’m not asking for great support. A squad would be enough, and there must be that many guards who would be willing…”

“You will need two,” affirmed Ryba, “and Hryessa. A good second-in-command will be vital for you.”

“Are you sure you can spare two…and a good captain?”

“We can’t afford to have you fail, and you’ll need two squads for you to have a chance at succeeding.”

“Why two?” Saryn knew that Ryba had foreseen something, and Saryn wanted to see if she could get Ryba to reveal more of what might be.

“Two squads aren’t threatening enough for any of those holders opposing Zeldyan to claim that Westwind is invading Lornth, but our two squads are worth a company or more of the lord-holders’ armsmen, especially under you and Hryessa. You also may be able to recruit and train some Lornian women…that is, if you’re there a while, perhaps two more squads, and that would give you a full company. You may be there that long, unfortunately, because internal unrest is not something that is quickly or easily resolved, as you will discover.”

“We might need some spare mounts,” suggested Saryn.

“You can take ten of the captured Gallosian mounts. We might have trouble enough with fodder this fall and winter.”

“What else do you suggest?” asked Saryn.

“Additional blades. We can’t spare many, but we can spare an extra for each guard.”

“You’re saying that I’m likely to be there a long time,” Saryn replied with a wry smile. “How long, do you think?”

Ryba shrugged. “What I foresee doesn’t come with dates attached. You’ve seen that already. Nor do I understand exactly the context of the images. I’ve seen you in snow and cold rain, though. That suggests you won’t be done with what you need to do by the end of harvest. I can spare but twenty golds, and half that because you were so careful on your last trip. You will have to make certain that the regents support your guards with food and fodder. At that, you will be far cheaper than any other armsmen.” Ryba’s smile was cold, yet wry. “You can take two of the wagons for supplies and spare equipment, and two of the drays. Since one wagon fell apart, and we had to rebuild it, and since you are coming to the aid of the regents, that is only fair. Also, the Suthyans will only supply or bribe a few Lornian lord-holders. That is because they wish the revolt to be long and bloody, so that Lornth will fall easily into their hands. Do what ever you must do, wherever that may lead. I would that it were otherwise.” Ryba shook her head. “When will you leave?”

“We can leave by eightday, if that is agreeable to you.”

“That’s likely for the best. From what you have said, the Lady Zeldyan would not request your assistance unless matters were truly urgent. You are her last hope, and possibly our best chance for keeping hostilities from our western borders.”

The Marshal’s words carried resignation and sadness, Saryn could tell, both from the feelings she could sense and from the tone of the Marshal’s voice. “Then it will be on eightday.”

Ryba nodded.

Saryn offered a wry smile, then turned and headed out to find Hryessa.

From Ryba’s comments and suggestions, and the fact that Ryba had allowed Saryn to take Hryessa and the two squads of her own choice, Saryn was well aware that not only would she have a long and hard struggle in trying to preserve the regency from the greed and the chauvinism of the lord-holders of Lornth, but that even Ryba was uncertain as to where matters would lead or exactly how long Saryn would be away from Westwind.