“And what might a fearsome arms-commander be doing here in the lowlands? I had heard that the angels had asked a favor, and when the regent had granted it, you had returned to your heights, never to trouble Lornth again.”
“We have not come to trouble Lornth,” Saryn replied pleasantly, “but to respond to a request of the regents. Because the regents, unlike the Gallosians, who paid most dearly for their faithlessness, have kept their word and faith, when the regents asked us to return to meet with them, we were pleased to accede to their request.”
“I had not heard of the faithlessness of the Gallosians, but being people of little honor, could you have expected otherwise of them?” A short bark of laughter followed.
“Until someone proves otherwise, we accept their word,” Saryn said. “They proved otherwise, and the Prefect’s son, Arthanos, and his army of nine thousand are no more.” She smiled politely at Keistyn.
“Nine thousand…I beg your pardon, Angel, but that seems…unlikely.” A skeptical smile followed Keistyn’s words.
Saryn shrugged. “Unlikely as it may seem to you, that is what happened. Sooner or later, you will hear, and there will doubtless be those who will not believe.” She paused. “But that is what happened. You should recall that, twice, Lords of Lornth attacked the Roof of the World, and both perished. The second time armsmen from all across Lornth perished as well. You might also recall that a single mage who left Westwind brought down the great empire of Cyador. Doubting is all well and good, Lord Keistyn, but it is also dangerous to doubt what has already occurred, especially when thousands have already died because they, in turn, doubted.”
“Oh…I do doubt. I doubt anything that I have not been able to verify myself, or through those I trust to be most truthful.”
Saryn smiled coolly. “I think you will find that angels do not stoop to lies or duplicity, but that is a matter in which you will find your own way.”
For just a moment, Saryn could sense that her words had chilled the young lord, but that chill was followed immediately by anger so strong that Saryn cast out her senses again to see if other armsmen lurked nearby. To her relief, she could sense none.
“I will indeed find what is true. I always do, Angel.” Keistyn smiled warmly. “Unlike many, I do not hamper myself with outmoded strictures, for a lord must do what he must to preserve his heritage.”
“You are most forthright, Lord Keistyn. I appreciate your directness, and I will convey that to the regents, as well as your courtesy in greeting us.”
“There is always a time for courtesy, but we will not delay you longer, for you have many kays to ride before you reach Lornth.”
Saryn could easily feel the anger and the hostility behind the warmly spoken and cheerful-sounding words, an anger so raw that it burned like chaos within Keistyn. She also saw no purpose in revealing what she sensed. “That we do, Lord Keistyn, and the regents await us.”
“I am most certain that they do and that they will tell you much. The Lady Zeldyan, especially, is a warm and most charming lady.” Keistyn smiled once more. “But I am most certain that you know that, and I digress.” He bowed from the saddle a last time, then turned his mount and rode down the back side of the rise, followed by his armsmen, toward a narrow road that stretched westward to where it passed between two wooded hills, flanked by a smaller stream that meandered out from the hills generally eastward toward a small stone bridge perhaps two kays farther along the road and just outside of Haselbridge.
Saryn nodded to Hryessa.
“Company, forward!”
Saryn urged the gelding onward, her senses still focused on the departing Keistyn and his armsmen, even while she waited to hear what Hryessa might say. They rode down the other side of the rise and past the road that Saryn supposed led to Keistyn’s holding or country lodge.
“Lord Keistyn sounds pleasant and cheerful,” observed Hryessa. “I do not think he is either.”
“Why not?” asked Saryn.
“He smiles, and even his eyes and his voice are warm, but they lie. He is evil behind all his pleasant words and smiles. So were those with him. Did you not see that?”
“I saw we should not trust Lord Keistyn the length of a short sword, perhaps even less.”
“Much less. He is the kind that men so often trust because he seems warm and friendly, until he places knives in their backs.”
“And twists them,” added Saryn.
Hryessa nodded, her eyes straying to the west and the nine riders.
Another thought struck Saryn. There were only two even halfway-direct routes from Westwind to Lornth, and one led through the Lord of Duevek’s domains and the other through Lord Keistyn’s lands. She had chosen their route to avoid Duevek…and had been met and greeted by Keistyn, as if the young lord had been expecting the Westwind contingent. That suggested a number of possibilities, none of them exactly to Saryn’s liking, and that Keistyn and Duevek might well be allied in more than their dislike of the regency.
If even a fraction of the holders in Lornth were like Kelthyn and Keistyn, Saryn could see why Lady Zeldyan and Lord Gethen had their troubles. Still…short of wiping them all out, which hardly seemed possible, she had to wonder exactly what she could do to help Zeldyan.
XLV
As on her previous journey to Lornth, when Saryn and her detachment rode the last kays toward the town in the late afternoon of eightday, they saw no scouts who might have conveyed information on the presence of Westwind guards to the regents. When they entered the town proper, the only reaction was a sullen sort of fear, where women eased away from laundry tubs and into their summer-sweltering stucco houses, dragging children after them, until the guards had ridden well past.
Even more pungent smells rose from the stone-lined sewage channels into the still, hot air, mixing with the odor of hot, and at least some burned, cooking oils. The unpleasantness of the odors intensified as the guards rode into the center of Lornth, with its narrow and roughly paved streets. Those out on the streets glanced toward the riders, then generally looked away.
When Saryn saw the small square ahead, with its statue of Lord Nessil, she began to search intently in all directions for a signboard or something that might indicate the presence of the Square Platter. Not until she was past the statue did she finally catch a glimpse of a signboard with a cream-colored square platter set against a green backdrop, down perhaps half a block on the right side of the second narrow side street on the south.
Then she rode through the narrower section of the avenue, with its taller and more ornate dwellings, and out onto the road around the green before the palace, whose pale pink walls looked even more washed-out in the late-afternoon summer sun.
“To the right!” ordered Saryn, gesturing for the scouts riding ahead to follow the right section of the road circling the now-browning patchy grass of the green.
The ironbound gates stood open, and Saryn had to wonder if they had ever been closed. Probably not, because the ten-cubit wall around the palace complex was hardly enough to stop a determined enemy of any great numbers, although it might suffice against a mob. But then, Saryn wondered, could the lord-holders or anyone else raise a large force?
As Saryn raised her arm to order the Westwind contingent to a halt before the open gates, an older armsman half hurried, half waddled out of the guard house just inside the gates and stopped dead, not even reaching the space between the gates.