As they reached the point where the rutted-and-packed clay of the road was replaced with stone pavement and where the dwellings with their pale pink stucco walls began, a dark-haired woman holding an infant beside a line of laundry just stood and watched. Immediately beyond that first stucco-walled dwelling, Saryn smelled the first whiff of the open sewers, a scent somewhat mitigated, she suspected, by all the recent dry weather.
The first strange thing that struck her was that she saw more people alongside the main avenue. And ahead, toward the square, she could see people coming out onto the street, and even a few windows opening. She could feel eyes turning to her, and the sensation was so powerful that she knew it was not her imagination.
Farther on, two blocks before the square, from those who stood along the avenue and watched, she heard low voices, murmurs that she could barely make out.
“That’s her…the one with the brown hair that has flame in it…”
“…all wear twin blades…”
“…sad time coming…”
“…see her silver eyes…”
“…every lord…didn’t bow to her…they’re all dead…”
“…take an angel from the mountains…set things right…”
“…cold as the ice from where she came…”
Yet, when she rode through the small square in the center of the town, it was empty, as were the walks flanking the narrower part of the avenue between the square and the green before the palace.
Is that because those with wealth fear what will happen? And those without it hope somehow that life will be better? Saryn didn’t know, not for certain, but she suspected her guesses reflected at least some of the truth.
The patchy grass of the green before the palace walls was almost all brown, and dust had drifted against many of the clumps. Saryn’s eyes took in the weathered platform where she had held her first and only execution, then moved to the pale pink granite walls of the palace, walls that looked old and tired, now more than ever.
The pair of armsmen guarding the gates straightened as they saw the column of guards approaching, and they remained at attention.
“Commander,” offered one, bowing deeply, “the stables and barracks are ready. Only Lady Zeldyan has yet arrived.”
“Thank you,” returned Saryn.
As she entered the palace courtyard, she saw that some of the grass between the stones had returned, and there was a haze of dust over the pavement.
“It could use cleaning up again,” murmured Hryessa.
“I didn’t see Undercaptain Maerkyn before Lady Zeldyan left,” Saryn said, thinking about the nervous young officer.
“He was killed in the fighting. Some said it was from behind, by the squad leader you killed, Commander,” replied Hryessa.
“Oh…I should have known.”
“I thought you did, ser, or I would have mentioned it.”
Saryn almost wondered aloud if anyone had been appointed to take Maerkyn’s place, but who could have made such an appointment? The overcaptain and captain had died at The Groves. Zeldyan was no longer regent, and Gethen and Nesslek had both been killed. Her eyes noted that there were two wagons waiting by the front steps to the palace, and two armsmen carried a chest down the steps and placed it in the second wagon.
Once she had unsaddled and groomed the gelding, Saryn headed for the palace. She found Zeldyan in the overlord’s third-level bedchamber, packing items into a crate. So absorbed was Zeldyan that she did not even look up as Saryn slipped into the room.
“Zeldyan?”
The blond woman who had been regent straightened and turned.
Saryn could see-and sense-traces of tears.
“Commander…I have only taken what I brought here…”
“Zeldyan,” Saryn said gently, “you should take everything of a personal nature that was either yours or Sillek’s, as well as any furniture that has been in your family or his. Also, if there are any golds here, or in strongboxes, they are yours by right…and by my wish.”
“But if you become overlord…?”
“Henstrenn left quite enough for now, and I have no doubt that you and your father ended up paying out of The Groves strongboxes what others should have paid.” Besides, all the lord-holders will pay their tariffs, and they’ll do so on time. She’d seen enough to know that they could…and she’d see that they would. Aren’t you getting a little ahead of yourself? “Also, there’s the small matter of getting them all to approve of a woman as overlord.”
“All you have to do, Commander, is to ask who might be opposed to the idea.”
“I suspect all of them except Maeldyn and possibly Spalkyn are opposed.”
“That may be,” Zeldyan replied, “but all you have to do is ask who is opposed.”
“You’re suggesting that no one is about to speak up.”
“Against you? I would think not. If anyone does, it would be Chaspal. He’s not always perceptive. I don’t know if there will be any heirs who will try to claim their fathers’ holdings, but there might be some stupid enough to show up and try.” Zeldyan slipped a small box wrapped in cloth into the crate beside her. “What will you do if that happens?”
“Assuming people look to me, I’d accept any true blood heir…and make certain that they are treated exactly like any other lord-holder.”
“You can tell that, can’t you?”
“I can usually tell when people tell the truth and when they don’t.”
“Usually…or always?”
Saryn offered what she hoped was an enigmatic smile.
“I’ll be through here before long,” Zeldyan said.
“The quarters here are still yours, and they will be for now, and until you return to The Groves as lady-holder.”
“But…”
“The guest chamber I had before is perfectly adequate. This has been yours forever.”
“Just twelve years. At times, it seems like forever.”
“Could we have dinner together, Zeldyan…and without you calling me ‘Commander’?” asked Saryn warmly. “Please?”
Zeldyan’s eyes brightened. Then she swallowed…and nodded.
Saryn stepped forward and put her arms around Zeldyan.
XCVIII
Saryn woke early on eightday, half-dreading what the day might bring, knowing that Maeldyn, Spalkyn, and Wethryn had arrived late the evening before, and that most of the other surviving lord-holders would doubtless show up before long. She ate by herself in her chamber, then dressed and checked with Hryessa to make sure that first company was ready for any eventuality, before returning to the palace to see Zeldyan.
The former regent insisted that Saryn use the third-level sitting room for any private meetings. She also suggested that Saryn provide her own guards from first company. Saryn did not protest, and within the glass she was waiting there for Maeldyn, with two guards stationed outside.
“Lord Maeldyn and Lord Lyndel of Lyntara, Commander.”
Lord Lyndel? That has to be Deolyn’s son. “Have them come in.”
Maeldyn stepped into the chamber along with a slightly built young man with tight-curled and short brown hair. “Commander…”
Both men bowed, and as she stood from behind the table, Saryn saw immediately the resemblance between the son and his late father. “Lords…please join me.” She gestured to the table, waiting for them before she reseated herself.
“I thought Lyndel should meet you before all the lord-holders assembled,” began Maeldyn.
“I’m pleased to see you, Lord Lyndel,” Saryn said, “although I wish that your accession to being lord-holder had occurred under different circumstances.”