Saryn could sense that there was more behind Maeldyn’s words, but with her headache and the lightknives that her last attempt to extend her senses had caused, she wasn’t about to try to discover what, especially since she had seen, time and time again, how honest the stern-faced lord really was.
“There’s no provision for an overlord, either,” Spalkyn said.
Maeldyn looked to Saryn. “It would seem appropriate and necessary that we gather all the remaining lord-holders of Lornth to discuss the matter. Do you have any objection to that?”
“So long as none of them brings more than a squad of armsmen,” Saryn replied. “There’s been enough bloodshed.”
“Some of them will claim they need more protection,” Spalkyn observed.
“Tell them that we will protect them from each other,” Saryn replied. “You might also point out, if they question, that we have attacked no one who did not attack first.”
“You might also suggest that they need not come,” said Zeldyan, “but that, if they do not, they will have no voice in what happens, and none will entertain their complaints. When would you suggest?”
“Two eightdays from oneday,” said Maeldyn. “It may take five days even to get the word to some…”
After discussing more mundane arrangements, such as quartering and supplies, the four left the study. They had just started down the hallway toward the entry foyer when a dull clank of metal on the stone tiles, followed by a set of lesser clinks, jolted Saryn.
“Son of a demon!” exclaimed Maeldyn, bending down to recover his belt dagger, still in its scabbard with part of the belt that had held it, along with his coin wallet, and the silvers and golds that had spilled from the wallet.
“It looks like someone cut a lot closer to you than you thought, friend.” Spalkyn laughed and began to scoop up some of the stray coins.
Zeldyan glanced back, then kept walking.
Saryn stayed with the Lady of The Groves, sensing Zeldyan had something to say, although she couldn’t help but wonder what Maeldyn was discussing with Spalkyn.
“What will you do now?” asked Zeldyan cautiously.
“That will depend on who becomes Overlord of Lornth…and how. The whole reason I was sent was to assure that the overlord remained friendly to Westwind.”
“You could claim Duevek, you know. There aren’t any heirs.” Zeldyan glanced back toward where Maeldyn was attempting to find somewhere to put his coin wallet, the dagger and scabbard in his hand, then added in a lower voice. “Maeldyn would certainly prefer you as a lady-holder than any would-be lord-holder from the south.”
“I hadn’t thought that was an acceptable possibility until a few moments ago.” A possibility, but not one acceptable to many lord-holders. “I doubt many of the lord-holders would like that.” Saryn could also see from where Zeldyan was coming.
“What ever happens, they will not like it,” Zeldyan pointed out. “The more practical the solution, the less they will wish it. Sillek wanted to be practical. He saw war with Westwind as impractical. He was forced to fight, one way or the other, either to fight Westwind or his lord-holders. Since he knew he could not win against the lord-holders, he chose to fight Westwind. He was doomed, no matter what. He did not know it then. That was why I requested your aid.”
“And now?” asked Saryn, as they walked though the archway and started down the steps.
“Lornth still needs you, as do I.”
What do I say to that? How much should I say? Saryn was silent for several moments before speaking. “What is needed is often not what those who have or seek power would prefer.” She glanced to the paved area beyond the steps, where, in the lower portico and receiving area, waited fourth squad-drawn up across from the steps, some twenty yards back-a smaller group of Lornian riders and their squad leader just to the right of the mounting blocks at the base of the stairs, and, to the left, Dealdron, who stood beside the lead horse of the team drawing the wagon, apparently checking or adjusting the harnesses.
“Lornth must accede to what it needs, not what individual lord-holders would have,” replied Zeldyan. “You, more than anyone, must know that.”
“I know that, but I’m an outsider.”
“You have risked more than any lord-holder.”
“Except you and your father,” Saryn pointed out.
“That may be, but you have power that we did not…”
Even with her aching head and the intermittent lightknives stabbing into her eyes, when Saryn stepped down onto the pavement of the courtyard and past the mounting blocks, heading for fourth squad and the waiting gelding, she sensed…something and looked up. As she did, the five Lornian armsmen, who had been holding sabres in a salute, charged forward toward Zeldyan and Saryn.
“No more bitch rulers!” yelled the squad leader.
Zeldyan looked up in total surprise.
With one hand, Saryn drew the remaining blade from her harness, and with the other she grabbed Zeldyan’s sleeve and threw her up the steps. Then her blade came up into a guard position, because she was almost between two riders.
At that moment, another figure attacked the armsman on Saryn’s right, driving a blade up into the man’s gut before the armsman’s mount ran him down.
Saryn went almost to her knees as she half parried, half blocked the heavy hand-and-a-half blade. Then she dropped her own blade and threw herself into a rolling dive past the second armsman, coming up behind the man’s mount, looking for her blade.
She didn’t need it. Fourth squad had surrounded the attackers, and in moments, cut all five out of their saddles.
Dealdron lay motionless on the stone beside the mounting block.
Saryn ran toward him.
Even before she knelt beside him, she could see that he was breathing, but that one arm was at an angle that indicated it was broken. She could also sense a mass of chaos within his chest, as if his ribs had been pressed in on his heart.
The arm could wait. She had to relieve the chest pressure…somehow.
She forced herself to concentrate, to come up with some strands, some flow of order, straightening…forcing…coercing…the ribs…muscles back…away. She could sense, despite the brilliant lightknives slashing into her eyes so intensely that she could not see, that the chaos-pressure on his chest had eased…mostly.
Slowly, she straightened, her eyes burning. Ought to be able to do more…somehow…
But there was nothing left within her to give, no control of order…nothing. She struggled to her feet.
“Commander!” Klarisa reined up beside Saryn and looked down. “Are you all right?”
“Don’t put any pressure on his chest…Don’t. His ribs are broken.”
“Are you all right?” demanded the squad leader.
“Don’t touch his chest,” Saryn said again. “I’m fine,” she began to add, when a wall of unseen black and white crashed over her, and she felt nothing.
XCIII
Saryn woke up lying on a wide bed. Her head felt as though unseen hammers were beating on both sides of it, and she could barely see through the lightknives stabbing through her eyes. She thought it was light outside, but was it still fourday? After several moments, she could make out that Hryessa stood on one side of the bed, with Zeldyan on the other.
“Commander?” asked Hryessa.
“I’m here.” Saryn moved her fingers, her toes, and turned her head slightly. That made the unseen hammers beat harder. Finally, she sat up, if slowly, swinging her boots over the side of the bed. Her heels barely touched the heavy bedside carpet.
Hryessa extended a goblet. “It’s ale.”
Probably better than water here at the moment. Saryn took the crystal goblet with both hands and slowly sipped until she finished half the ale. The pounding subsided slightly. The lightknives did not. She handed the goblet back to Hryessa.