“Defend myself, if badly, and know that it is best not to argue with an angel.”
Saryn managed not to laugh, although she suspected Dealdron had kept much of what he’d thought to himself. “How did you persuade the Marshal to let you go?”
“I did not. I just slipped into the wagon and waited. Daryn helped.” Dealdron shrugged. “I think she knew that was what I would do.”
“Then why…?”
“She said that you needed help and that Westwind needed you to be successful. I can help, if in a small way, and I would not be able to if it had not been for you.”
“And you don’t totally trust the Marshal so far as men are concerned?”
“The Marshal will keep her word,” replied Dealdron. “How she will keep it I cannot say. I know how you will keep yours. That is one reason why I am here.”
Saryn glanced toward the palace. “I’ll talk to you later about how to keep making yourself useful, not that you seem to need any advice from me. I need to talk to the regent.”
“I have always listened to you.” Dealdron smiled. “Have I not?”
Saryn shook her head, again, even as she admitted, “So far.”
He extended his hand for the gelding’s reins. “I will unsaddle and groom him, and your gear will be safe.”
“Thank you.”
Even after he led the gelding into the stable, and she turned and crossed the courtyard, now clean of the sparse grass that had infested it, she felt as though Dealdron’s eyes were on her back. Although she appreciated his devotion, she couldn’t help but worry that he was already making her into something she wasn’t.
Saryn made her way to the upper-level private study, where Lyentha ushered her inside, past the guardsman, who resolutely looked away from Saryn and her weapons.
Zeldyan sat at the table, where several missives were neatly stacked. “You have that look upon your face, Commander.”
“What look?” Saryn offered what she hoped was a puzzled smile.
“The pleasant one that hides news you think I will not find to my liking.” Zeldyan sighed. “Little news is to my liking these days. What is yours?”
“Mine does not bear on the land of Lornth, but upon a murder and a theft committed by two of the young women who asked to become Westwind guards…” Saryn went on to explain, ending with, “…and it is my judgment that the thief should be whipped publicly, then sent as a servant or the like to another town. The one who killed Rhytter must be publicly executed, and soon, so that the people of Lornth know that Westwind will not tolerate offenses.”
“If you would send the thief to Rohrn, that might be best. They need people there, and she will find work. The other…Will you need an executioner? An axeman?”
“No. I’ll take care of it personally.”
“You would execute one of your own?” asked Zeldyan.
“She’s my responsibility. It would be wrong and cowardly to turn it over to anyone else.”
“I appreciate the courtesy of your coming to me, but you didn’t have to, you know?”
“I think I did. I will announce that the sentence is in accord with the laws of both Westwind and Lornth. While I do not wish to wait, I would think that at noon the day after tomorrow might be best. That way, there will be some notice to the townspeople.”
“Even that will not please Henstrenn and Kelthyn, you know? If you did nothing, they would claim you flouted the laws of Lornth. Now, they will claim that you are a ruthless killer, even of those who flee to you.”
“A ruthless, heartless, killing bitch?” offered Saryn.
“They will not use those words, but that is what they will suggest.”
“So be it. The alternative is worse.”
“All choices for a woman in power are unsuitable. We can only pick the one that does the least damage.”
“That’s true of all rulers, I would think,” Saryn offered, not sure that she believed her own words.
“It is, but the people, and especially the lord-holders, are more willing to forgive men when they make the best of two bad alternatives.”
Saryn silently agreed, but merely asked, “Have you had any word about any of the southern lord-holders?”
“Only a missive from Lord Jharyk of Nuelda. He is greatly concerned because his men have seen Jeranyi riders within a few kays of his lands.”
Saryn frowned, trying to remember where exactly Nuelda was located.
“Nuelda is southwest from here, north of Rohrn and Cardara, and on the old borders with Jerans,” explained Zeldyan. “If I had heard from Jaffrayt or Keistyn, I’d let them use their own armsmen and hope they took heavy losses. But Jharyk has been most loyal to my father…”
“And he supports the regency because of that loyalty?”
Zeldyan nodded.
“Do you need to send armsmen yet?”
“He did not ask…”
“But a loyal lord-holder should not have to ask, especially of a woman regent?”
“There is that.”
“Can you send him a missive telling him that you will be sending him aid shortly?”
“I cannot strip the palace…”
“We have some recruits. I can take a full squad and a squad of them.”
“They are not as well trained, the new ones.”
“No, and some of them may die. But then, two-thirds of the original angels died on the Roof of the World in the first year.”
Zeldyan’s mouth opened, just slightly. “I did not know.”
Saryn could sense something. If she’d had to guess, it would have been that the regent would have said something suggesting that it was no wonder the angels were so cold toward Candar. “We’ve never said. Now, it makes no difference.”
“The more I learn about you, Saryn, the more I fear what you bring to Lornth. Yet…”
“Neither of us has many choices.” Saryn forced a smile.
“No…as women, we do not.”
“Is there anything else I should know?”
“Not at this moment.”
“Then, if you will excuse me…”
“Go…do what you must, as will I.”
Saryn inclined her head, then turned and departed.
She still needed to make her way to the Square Platter to talk to Haelora and explain what would happen, but it was already getting late, and Haelora had said, clearly, that she preferred to talk about things in the mornings.
LXIV
Saryn was up early on twoday morning. She had to admit she did enjoy being able to eat when she wished and to hand her dishes and laundry off to the chambermaid, since she’d done her own laundry at Westwind, as did everyone. Just those two conveniences made it easier to get out in the courtyard early to supervise and observe the exercises and drills.
After the initial drills, she drew Hryessa aside. “Do the palace armsmen exercise or drill?”
“They practice arms at times,” replied the captain. “They don’t exercise.”
“Riding drills?”
“No. We haven’t seen any.”
“What do they do?”
Hryessa shrugged. “They watch us. They accompany messengers. They serve as gate guards. They go out at night and drink too much. Mostly at the Green Dog.”
“Which is why the guards go to the Square Platter?”
“It’s quieter. The wine and ale are better.”
Saryn nodded politely. “Where did you get all the gray cloth for their uniforms?”
“We traded a few extra items that Daryn brought hidden in the wagon. Plunder he had the foresight to bring.”
“More than a few items, I’d venture, to get cloth for forty women, and all of it yours.”
“First company’s,” replied Hryessa. “Things the Marshal would have no use for but that could be traded.”
“You had them sew their own uniforms?”
“We had to sew ours when we became guards. So should they. No one complained. I did let them work it out among themselves. That was because two of them had been trained as seamstresses.”
“And scabbards?”
Hryessa grinned. “We found old leather ones here that had been piled up as useless, but since our blades are smaller…”