Arms-Commander

LXXXI

Just before the harvest sun sank over the half-harvested fields to the west of the river road, Saryn and the Westwind guards led the way into the old town of Carpa. Almost every shutter was closed tight, and the only creature Saryn saw, between the slowly diminishing flashes of the lightknives stabbing into her eyes, was a brown-and-tan dog that ran down a narrow alleyway. The sound of hoofs on stone echoed in the slowly dimming light.

Saryn studied the shops and the shuttered inn off the main square, absently massaging her head with her free left hand, but she could see no signs of looting or damage. Did that mean that the rebel lords had enough sense to confine their fighting to each other? She hoped so. The land could recover if the rebel lords were destroyed-provided the shops and crops were not ravaged.

The stone bridge across the Yarth was likewise untouched…and empty. Saryn sensed no groups of men ahead; but she felt traces, perhaps of wounded men or men hiding, and the scouts reported nothing.

Less than a half kay east from the bridge, Saryn saw the first body, that of a man in the gray-and-yellow livery of The Groves, lying facedown in the ditch on the north side of the road. The lower section of his tunic and the upper part of his trousers were stained dark, a shade that looked black in the fading light.

She signaled for the column to halt and rode back along the shoulder of the lane until she reached the first Lornian armsmen…and Maerkyn and the regent.

“You might wish to stay with the undercaptain while we enter the grounds, Lady. There may be a few wounded, but no more than that, and most of those will not live.”

Zeldyan shook her head. “I will join you at the van. I will be among the first to see the ruination of The Groves and Lornth.”

“As you wish.” Saryn inclined her head in respect. All that lies ahead is the devastation resulting from what came before.

The two rode back along the shoulder of the road, took position just behind the scouts, and resumed riding toward The Groves. Ahead along the gently rising road, Saryn and Zeldyan saw more figures sprawled along the road. There was no smell of fire, as Saryn thought there might have been. Several horses lay alongside the road, and ahead, the tall iron gates hung open in the low wall surrounding the structure that was half keep and half villa, if with a narrow isolated tower farther east. As she rode closer, she could see that the only bodies wore yellow and gray, although a large soil mound a half kay to the north looked as if it had just been heaped there.

Saryn wagered that the dead of the attackers lay under that hastily piled soil.

She turned in the saddle to Hryessa. “Once we’re inside the gates, have two squads flank the villa and secure it. There may be hangers-on or looters.”

“Yes, ser.”

Once past the gates, Saryn stiffened in the saddle. She could sense the lingering whiteness of chaos. She began to look more closely at the bodies left beside the lane. Several were charred, she realized. One charred figure still held a bow, the first one Saryn had seen in the hands of a Lornian. Was the ability of a mage to shield himself with chaos another reason why the armsmen of Lornth scorned the bow as a weapon of war? “The attackers had a white wizard with them.”

“There are none…” Zeldyan paused. “The Suthyans, you think?”

“I don’t know who else it could be. The Gallosians wouldn’t send any. They may not have any remaining. The Jeranyi…?” Saryn shook her head.

“Treachery…deceit…everywhere.” Zeldyan’s voice died away.

As they rode toward the villa, two squads moved away, one to the right and one to the left. Saryn sensed, then saw, two men running through the twilight, each with a bag in hand.

“Looters.” Zeldyan’s voice was flat.

Both looters staggered, then fell, shafts through their back. Saryn knew the shafts had come from fourth squad.

When they reined up at the front portico, the entire villa was dark, but one of the guards from first squad hurried forward with a striker and lit one, then the other, of the two large brass lamps flanking the archway and main doors.

Saryn sensed no one within the villa. “It’s empty. There’s no one in there.” Not alive, anyway. After a moment, she dismounted, handing the reins to a guard.

“Squad two, first eight,” ordered Hryessa, “escort the commander and the regent.”

Flanked by guards, Saryn and Zeldyan walked through the archway and the double doors into the main foyer of the villa. Behind them strode Maerkyn.

Another guard lit the foyer lamps, revealing to sight what Saryn had already sensed. A long table had been dragged into the foyer. On it rested three bodies, one gray-haired, in a gray-and-yellow blood-soaked tunic, still wearing a sword belt, with the blade laid across his chest. The second had tightly curled blond-and-silver hair and a thin silver mustache, and wore a green-and-yellow tunic Saryn recognized. The angle of his head suggested his neck had been broken, probably from behind. His long blade had been laid out at his side. The third was smaller, with thick blond hair, wearing a plain green tunic. A dagger remained in his breast, the cloth around the weapon dark with blood.

“They…captured him…and then killed him,” Zeldyan said.

Her voice was cold, but the anguish behind the words was like glass knives shredding her silently from within. That was how it felt to Saryn as she looked at the youth who would never grow up to be Overlord of Lornth. After a moment, she said quietly. “He fought, Lady. He has slashes on both arms and bruises on his face.”

“He was only a boy.”

“He was, but the lust for power respects nothing,” Saryn replied. Especially when a woman stands in the way.

Zeldyan said nothing for a moment, then turned to the undercaptain. “Guard them for the night.”

“Yes, Lady.”

Zeldyan turned back to Saryn. “I leave all arrangements to you for now. The east tower has been unused for years, since the death of Lady Ellindyja. It is a fitting place for me.” Sadness and bitterness mixed in her words. Then she turned and walked back out the front of the villa, past the open doors that had not even been forced.

Saryn did not move until Zeldyan had left. Then she continued her inspection of the villa, moving toward the sitting room, then the grand salon, and the dining chamber, and the family quarters. The furniture had been largely untouched, but most small items had vanished. There were no silver candlestick holders, nothing small and metallic, no small vases, as if anything that could be quickly pocketed had been taken.

Still, as she surveyed the dwelling, she had the feeling that the looting had been quick and almost incidental, as if Henstrenn and the others had not wished to tarry, nor to take the time to search too deeply.

Saryn left Gethen’s study for last, entering from the main hallway in the darkness. She could sense that the leather-bound volumes still rested in the dark cherrywood bookcases, seemingly untouched. So was the desk at one end, except for odds and ends strewn on the floor beside it, and a few scraps of paper and parchment fluttering in the light night breeze that gusted through the doors at the north end of the room. The fountain outside and beyond the doors still splashed, although Saryn thought the water’s sound was muted in some fashion.

Saryn just stood in the darkened chamber, thinking.

Now what? Technically, there was no regency, although Saryn supposed that Zeldyan could claim something similar over The Groves, at least as holder for her brother Relyn, if in absentia. Henstrenn and Keistyn had obviously left with their forces by the old eastern road, sending Kelthyn and Jaffrayt down the river road for a possible battle with the regency forces. That, all too conveniently, had left the lord-holders of Duevek and Hasel in the strongest positions to claim power as Overlord of Lornth. Saryn didn’t like the idea of either taking power.

Yet she had but a single company, if oversized, and more than half consisted of women who were barely beyond being raw recruits. She had a little ability with order-chaos flows. Against her were three companies from Duevek and Hasel, and at least one white wizard, and there was no telling who else might weigh in, although she’d already decimated the forces of all the southern lords except those two.

Either Henstrenn or Keistyn would be a disaster, both for Lornth and Westwind. But would the surviving northern lords support any action against them? Did Zeldyan even care any longer? Even if the other lords did not want to move against Henstrenn and Keistyn, could Saryn afford to leave them in a position to seize power?

“Commander?” came a voice from the half-open doors to the verandah, one she recognized.

“Dealdron…I’m here, thinking.”

“There is a chamber for you on the lower level of the tower. Your guards have secured the villa and moved into the barracks.”

“Thank you.” Saryn did not move.

“You should eat, Commander. It has been a long day, and you used much magery.”

“I’ll be there shortly.”

“That would be good.” He said nothing more. He also did not move from his position on the verandah.

Saryn realized that he wouldn’t, not short of a direct order.

With a muted sigh, she crossed the study and stepped out onto the smooth stones, then closed the doors behind her. “We might as well go.”

“There is food waiting in your chamber.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. You have been inspecting the villa for a time.”

Saryn turned and began to walk toward the tower.

“They killed the young lord because they cannot kill you,” offered Dealdron, matching her steps.

Saryn noted that he did wear a blade, a short sword.

“Now the lord-holders will claim that you have no right to be in Lornth,” he added.

“I suppose there’s some truth in that, but the only right they truly recognize is might. Why should I recognize any other right in dealing with them?”

“So long as you were not the first.”

Saryn was curious as to why he might say that, although she certainly had her own belief. “What difference does that make?”

“If a lord seeks power over others by force when they have done him no evil, that is wrong. By using might, he has justified the right of others to use force against him.”

“That may be, but…what about his armsmen? I’ve killed hundreds or more. Most of them were only following orders.”

“They chose to be armsmen and to take up arms. Do you not know that every time you go into battle you might suffer the same?” Dealdron’s voice was low, almost gentle in the darkness as they neared the tower, which showed but two lights, a lamp in the window of the topmost chamber and a brass lamp outside the ground-floor door.

“I do my best to avoid being killed, but…yes…it is a possibility.”

Dealdron shrugged, as if to suggest that the answer was obvious. He stepped forward and opened the main door. The narrow hallway led to stone steps upward, but Dealdron gestured to the only door on the right, then pushed it open.

Saryn stepped inside. A single lamp was lit in the small square chamber with the narrow bed. A covered tray rested on the small writing desk. The floor had been swept and linens placed at the foot of the bed. Two pitchers of water and a washbasin stood on the washstand with a chamber pot in the corner. Her saddlebags were set beside the bed.

Saryn surveyed the chamber, noting the heavy bar beside the door and the inside shutters on the two windows, already closed and barred shut.

“Good night, Commander.” Dealdron stepped back and closed the door.

Saryn looked at the back of the door, knowing that Dealdron had made all the arrangements for her. She sensed his pleasure at surprising her.

She wasn’t certain she even wanted to consider that-not after the events of the day. And yet…how could she not? He was concerned about her, honestly. He found her attractive, and yet he was sensitive enough not to press her in any way. If only…

She shook her head, then eased the battle harness off.