“Then you are weakened in what you do,” said Gethen.
“You do not mind?”
“Hardly. Since your mother…it’s good to have him here-he can be a pleasure at times-and he can work with Tielmyn on his skills with weapons. He might be a bit more diligent now.”
The wry humor in Gethen’s voice brought a touch of a smile to Zeldyan’s face, but it faded quickly.
Gethen moved to the map spread on the desk. “Do you intend to take the west river road, or the old road to the east?”
“The west road is far swifter,” Zeldyan replied. “The only hold close to the road itself is Masengyl. Lord Shartyr will be pleasant enough, and it will not hurt to drain some of his golds, seeing as he is too inclined to follow Jaffrayt.”
“Lord Jaffrayt does have a well-trained pen,” conceded Gethen, “if not one so temperate as it might be.”
“Is he the kind who can complain in writing in a way that almost seems like praise unless you read the words closely?” asked Saryn.
“That would be a fair description of Jaffrayt. Occasionally, he is less circumspect, although he is always most courtly in person-as is Lord Shartyr. Shartyr can be exceedingly charming.” Zeldyan smiled wryly. “When he was younger, he was much admired by women who should have known better, and he still believes himself that exceedingly handsome young lord.”
“You do not want to tarry on the road,” cautioned Gethen.
“No. But a stop of a day or so at Masengyl will leave the horses far more rested when we return to Lornth.”
“What will you do when you return?”
“After resting the horses and letting all in Lornth know we have returned, we will visit some of the weaker holdings, such as those of our dear friend, Lord Jaffrayt, to suggest indirectly that his tacit alliance with Keistyn and Henstrenn is less than advisable. Hopefully, we can keep everyone quiet until winter. That will purchase another year, and, if the harvests are good, also help in building up the armsmen at Lornth.”
“When would you like me to return to Lornth with Nesslek…and Overcaptain Gadsyn and your first company?”
“If I had my way, he would remain here through the winter, but that would create another set of difficulties. I would judge the best time would be at the height of harvest, when our southern lords are worrying about their yields and golds,” replied Zeldyan. “If matters change, or you think otherwise, then I yield to your judgment.”
Gethen nodded. “Perhaps your visits will quiet some of those who have raised rumors.”
“They will reassure those who need it least, quiet those who are undecided or wavering, and irritate those who have no sense and never will. The last, unhappily, also have the greatest number of armsmen.”
Saryn understood all too clearly that Zeldyan had used the Westwind guards to solidify her support among the northern lords so that she would be in a better position to take on the recalcitrant lords of the south…or at least delay any immediate acts on their part.
“You will set out in the morning?” asked Gethen.
“At dawn. That will allow us to make Masengyl in two days, and arrive late enough that Shartyr will delay in sending messengers to those who might be interested until the next day.”
“Because it would be all too obvious?” asked Saryn.
“Shartyr prides himself on not being too obvious,” replied Zeldyan. “If he sent a messenger in the darkness, even if we did not discover the act, that would proclaim his concerns to whoever received the message, and that would not serve him well, either.”
Saryn accepted Zeldyan’s reasoning, but she also understood the unspoken words behind the situation-that the regent’s power rested on little more than a frayed thread, and one that might well have already snapped had Saryn not appeared.
Had Ryba seen that, as well? Saryn wondered if she would ever know.
LX
The late-summer sun’s white heat blistered its way through the clear green-blue of the sky the entire two days of the ride from Carpa to Masengyl, and the closeness of the road to the River Yarth assured that the air was not only hot but damp-as were Saryn’s uniforms. The first night found them in the small town of Zadrya, where Zeldyan exercised the regent’s prerogative and commandeered the only two inns for the night.
An early start on eightday morning, and a long day’s ride, brought them to the town of Gaylyn, and Masengyl, the hold of Lord Shartyr, just at sunset. As they rode across the causeway over an ancient dry moat, Saryn could see immediately that Masengyl was a hold that dated back centuries, with moss and darkened stones on the lower walls, while the upper ends of the crenelated parapets were bleached a light gray that was almost white. The recessed gates in the main walls suggested that the causeway might once have held a drawbridge lowered from the twin towers.
A single player trumpeted their arrival from the southern tower. As she rode past the open gates, Saryn noted another thing. While the wrought-iron straps and braces binding the heavy wooden gates were black with age, the massive hinges had been recently oiled and cleaned, and the blades presented by the squad of armsmen clad in green-and-cream uniforms and arrayed in formation on the steps to the inner keep were polished…and sharp.
At the top of the stone steps stood a tall man arrayed in green and silver who waited until Zeldyan and the entire group had halted. Then he waited longer until the courtyard was totally silent. Finally, he spoke.
“My Lady Regent, we are so glad that you have chosen to grace us with your presence and that you’ve taken the time to visit Masengyl. If we had known sooner, we could have offered you a truly grand reception.” The silver-haired and angular lord turned his flashing smile, and his slightly yellow teeth, toward Saryn. “Arms-Commander! Such a great honor. Seldom have any holders had two such powerful and noted women in residence at the same time, however brief that residence may be. We will endeavor to make your stay as refreshing and as restful as possible, but not without offering you the best repast possible on such very short notice…”
“We deeply appreciate your hospitality, Lord Shartyr,” replied Zeldyan, “and particularly your support of the traditions of Lornth that the regency has continued to maintain.”
“And in the name of the Marshal of Westwind,” added Saryn brightly, “I also thank you for your kindness, especially toward those with whom you have far less acquaintance.”
“Both of you are most charming to a lord who so seldom sees power and beauty combined. I bid you welcome and look forward to dining with you.” Shartyr bowed and stepped back.
Another trumpet flourish sounded, and Shartyr stepped back into the keep.
“Shartyr does like appearances,” murmured Zeldyan, before she rode forward to the keep staff who awaited her at the foot of the main steps.
Saryn rode beside Klarisa around the side of the main keep, following a functionary in dark green-and-gray livery.
“Squad leader,” Saryn said in a low voice, “find out everything you can about the arms and armsmen of the holding, and who may have visited. Do it casually, and don’t mention a word to anyone else until you report to me…after we leave tomorrow.”
“Yes, ser.” Klarisa nodded.
“Keep your eyes open and post a watch.”
Once Saryn was satisfied with the arrangements for the guards, she walked back across the courtyard to the side door of the keep. She carried her own saddlebags.
There, at the door, the nearly silent functionary bowed. Beside him was a young woman. “Mistress Eralya will see you to your quarters, Commander.”
“Thank you.”
Eralya bowed in turn. “If you would follow me…”
Not until they reached the third level and Eralya had closed the chamber door did the young woman speak again. “Commander, if you need anything…anything at all…I’ve poured warm water for you, and fresh towels.” The girl’s eyes flicked to the battle harness and blades.