Arms-Commander

XLVIII

In the end, Zeldyan decided that the first regency visit should be to Lord Barcauyn.

“That way,” she had explained to Saryn, “you will see for yourself how little the eastern border means to the holders of the west. Then we can make our way farther north to see Lord Maeldyn and possibly Spalkyn, then visit Lord Deolyn before heading back and stopping at The Groves on the way.”

“You think Deolyn will tell us something of the Suthyans?”

“Either in words or actions,” Zeldyan replied.

And that was how, after a ride of four days that took them slightly south and all too far west for Saryn’s comfort, even with all of fourth squad and a squad of Maerkyn’s armsmen, they entered the holding of Cauyna. In time, she found herself sitting on the expansive second-story terrace of Lord Barcauyn’s villa, looking at the hills to the east beyond a meandering and placid stream, on the far side of which was the town of Arkyn. On that sevenday evening, the setting sun bathed the hills and the town in a reddish light, while the villa shaded the terrace, and a breeze from the east made the air almost pleasant for Saryn.

The comfortable cushioned wooden armchairs were set in a semicircle, facing outward, with Lady Zeldyan in the center chair, the gray-haired Barcauyn to her right, and Barcauyn’s eldest son, Joncaryl, to her left. Saryn was seated beside Barcauyn, while another son, Belconyn, sat beside his older brother. Barcauyn’s consort was nowhere to be seen.

“…a great surprise to see you, Lady Regent,” rumbled Barcauyn. “A most pleasant one, I must say. I had thought all your attention was devoted to the difficulties to the east.” He glanced toward Saryn. “The presence of the arms-commander gives me hope that now the regents might pay greater attention to our difficulties here.”

“There are difficulties everywhere these days,” replied Zeldyan. “How do you view the problems…to the north?”

“What problems? We had not the forces to hold Rulyarth, and we did not. The Suthyans wanted the port in a way that would have been far too costly for us to hold. Yet they will trade with any who care to trade. They care little for expanding, now they have reclaimed what they believe is theirs. On the other hand, that demon Deryll will bleed those of us in the west dry.”

“We will talk of Deryll in a moment,” Zeldyan said smoothly. “I have heard words that suggest the Suthyans have been in rather close contact with the Prefect of Gallos.”

Barcauyn laughed, a deep, rolling sound. “Most likely with his departed son.” He turned to Saryn. “I understand that Arthanos squandered an army of close to ten thousand men trying to retake the Roof of the World.”

“Nine thousand, Lord Barcauyn,” replied Saryn. “A few hundred escaped.” She paused, if briefly. “He may have thought of it as ‘retaking,’ but as I understand matters, when the Marshal created Westwind, the lands in question were thought to belong to Lornth. Perhaps I should leave sleeping snakes cold, but I have great doubts that, had he been successful, Arthanos would have returned the lands on the Roof of the World to Lornth.”

“Ha! Right you may be, but it’s not worth talking about, because your Marshal assured it didn’t happen, and I’ve never seen much gain in jawing about how things might have been.”

“Nor I,” answered Saryn. “I only raised the point as an indication that Gallos and Suthya are not to be dismissed when considering what may happen.”

“In the future, when Karthanos dies, and he well may have already, from what I hear, there will be a contest over who will be the next prefect. That prefect will have to consolidate his power. Only then, and that will be years from now, will anyone need to fear Gallos, and I dare say that your Marshal will put a stop to any designs that prefect has on the west. The Suthyans always want someone else to fight for them, so that they can sell weapons and goods to both sides. So long as we do not fight, they cannot profit from selling weapons and food. But the west, that is where the threat to Lornth lies. If I look to the hills that mark the west of our holding, I see all that separates us from the Jeranyi. Beyond those hills are grassy plains stretching all the way to Bornt. Those are the demon-cursed grasslands that spawned the Jeranyi.” Barcauyn’s voice was level but not free of the bitterness behind it. “You may not remember it, Lady Regent, for I was barely more than a boy when they last swept out of the hills into the western hamlets of the holding. They made off with hundreds of cattle and sheep and a score of women. I even knew one of the girls they took. Lovely thing.”

“You didn’t go after her?” asked Saryn.

“It’s a day’s ride from there to here. My father did send me out to see what they had done and to offer some coins to those who lost livestock. The Jeranyi were long gone when we arrived, and trying to track them into the hills and out into the grasslands beyond…that would have been senseless.” Barcauyn shook his head. “After that, Ildyrom and his bitch consort turned to raiding the south, and little around Rohrn was spared. The one good thing that came out of the battles between the angel mages and the Cyadorans was the devastation that fell on Jerans. We’ve had ten years without a single raid, but the Jeranyi are riding again, and closer and closer to us.” He turned to Zeldyan. “That is why I fear the Jeranyi far more than those on any other border.”

“The Jeranyi are far greater devils than all others on our borders,” murmured Joncaryl.

Belconyn nodded, not quite enthusiastically.

“You make a strong argument, lord, and I hear your concerns.” Zeldyan smiled sadly. “Yet, as a child, I saw our armsmen at The Groves fending off Gallosian and Suthyan raiders, and those in Clynya were beset by the Cyadorans. Lord Deolyn has told me about Suthyans who were not so interested in trading as taking. On all sides are enemies.” She glanced to Saryn. “In the past ten years, the only land that has done much against our old enemies has been Westwind, sad as that may sound, and you know of my own grievous losses in regard to Westwind.”

“What does Westwind say, then, Arms-Commander?” asked Barcauyn.

“You know what we have faced with Gallos, and for the moment, they are less of a threat. After that, we tracked Suthyan armsmen up to the lands of Lornth. What they were doing there, we do not know, for we would not intrude in following them. The Suthyans have attempted both bribery and treachery to attempt to persuade Westwind to ally with them against Lornth. We have not. That is one reason why I am here.”

“Would you have us fight your battles, then?” Barcauyn’s voice turned chill.

Saryn turned her eyes…and the flow of dark power…on the lord. “We ask no one to fight our battles. We came to the regents because Lornth has treated with us fairly, and we thought they should know what we had learned about Suthya and the traders’ intent. We have no need and no desire for lands beyond what we hold.”

Barcauyn sat back in his chair, silent for a long moment.

Joncaryl frowned, as did his brother.

“Ah…” Barcauyn finally said. “I see now why you are arms-commander. Yet you seem more like a mage, for all the arms you bore when you rode in.”

“All the arms?” asked Joncaryl, adding quickly, before Saryn could respond, his voice light, not quite mocking, “I saw your guards-and you, Commander. Tell me…are those daggers the only weapons you have?”

“They’re short swords, not daggers, and we also use bows.”

“The blades are really only long daggers, it looks like to me.”

“They can be very effective, especially in close combat,” replied Saryn.

“I don’t see how, not against a proper blade,” pressed Joncaryl. “You give away far too much space.”

“They’ve proved that against anyone who’s tried.” Saryn smiled politely.

“Then they couldn’t have been very good with their blades…begging your pardon, Commander. And bows…well…they don’t prove much about their wielder.”

Saryn could sense the inflexible arrogance of youth, yet felt as well that she could not afford to concede the point, not when the reputations of the Westwind Guard and Westwind itself were at stake. “So far, over ten years, Lord Joncaryl, every force that has attacked Westwind or her guards has failed, most killed to the last man.”

“That was because of magery, not skill at arms, at least from what I’ve heard.”

“Magery played a part in destroying whole armies. That I will concede, but in smaller conflicts settled only by arms, even when faced with larger forces, the guards triumphed overwhelmingly.”

“You’ll pardon me-”

“Words seldom settle such matters of opinion,” interjected Barcauyn smoothly. “If I were younger, I’d give it a try in a thorough sparring, perhaps against you, Commander.” He shrugged. “I am too old to spar, but I would like to see how you might fare against a truly skilled man-at-arms, such as my son. Perhaps tomorrow?”

“I’d be most happy to demonstrate in sparring,” Saryn said, even as she knew that the contest had been a setup.

“Excellent!” Barcauyn beamed. “Now…if we might talk of other matters…ones more pleasant before we repair to the dining chamber to eat…”

Saryn understood. From that moment on, nothing of substance would be discussed, and tomorrow, she would have to prove what she and the guards could do with weapons-again.