Arms-Commander

LXXIX

By noon on eightday, Saryn was wondering if there was a harvest season in Lornth, or if the people there just called the last half of an endless summer harvest. Zeldyan and the Lornian guards under Maerkyn were leading the way up the road. While Saryn had spent much of the time riding with the Lady Regent, for the last glass Saryn had ridden at the head of first squad, beside Hryessa.

“You’ve had a long face all day, ser,” Hryessa finally said.

“A lot on my mind,” replied Saryn.

“You worried about the guards, ser?”

“How couldn’t I be? We’re fighting in a civil war in a land where neither side is truly to our liking, just to prevent those who would be worse from taking over. To one side, we’re a necessary evil. To the other, we’re the horrible demons out of a near-legendary history.” It’s all to preserve something that’s not that good from something worse. It’s not building anything, not really, and fighting to preserve the less bad…Does it really accomplish anything?

Saryn glanced to her right, across the summer-dried marshes that separated the road from the River Yarth. She hadn’t seen a single boat or barge on the water all day. When they had ridden south from The Groves to Lornth, there had been all manner of craft on the river, headed in both directions. Now….

“Ser…do you see any of the new guards complaining? Even those in second squad where some got killed?”

Saryn laughed softly. “They wouldn’t complain to me.”

“They see us, and they see you…as something better. Almost all of the women with us here are from Lornth. Those from Gallos and Analeria aren’t complaining, either, and they’re not complaining behind my back or yours.”

Saryn offered a brief smile. “Do you really think we’ll change anything for the better? Here in Lornth?”

“If you save the Lady Regent, do you think she’s going to cross you?”

“She might not, but every time she does something that’s less traditional, or that might make things better for women, some lord-holder will complain.”

“Not if we get rid of the troublemakers now.”

Hryessa had a point, but it was a blade’s point, deciding by force. Saryn shook her head. Had any change in any society ever been accomplished without some form of force? “I don’t know. I worry about young Lord Nesslek. He still seems to think that men and size are what count.”

“Men are always impressed with size. Especially if it’s their own. In all manner of blades, it’s how it’s used, not how big it is.”

Saryn laughed in spite of her worries.

“Ser?” Hryessa’s smile vanished. “What will you do if the worst has already occurred?”

“We’ll have to find some way to destroy whoever did it. We can’t let a lord-holder who believes as the southerners do take power.”

“We have but one true company. We are worth two or three of theirs, but…”

“If…if that happens, we will have to see if some of the northern lords will join the fight. Otherwise…” Saryn shrugged. “We will have to try something else.” And who knows what that might be.

“You will find a way.” Hryessa nodded.

What sort of a way? At what cost? Saryn feared that Hryessa was all too likely to be proved right, but to speak of that to Zeldyan would suggest that Saryn had known early enough to prevent what might already have occurred. And a grief-stricken mother was all too likely to turn on Saryn if matters turned out for the worst and if Saryn had suggested it before the fact.

She might anyway, Saryn reminded herself.