“Then…Dealdron is your responsibility.”
“You still should question him,” Saryn replied. “You’ll doubtless discover more than I did, and he needs to know just how intimidating you can be.”
“I think I can manage that,” Ryba said, her tone so dry it was cutting.
Saryn inclined her head politely, then lifted the brandy goblet and sipped. “This is good.”
“It is. Did you know that, while you were gone, Dyliess managed to hit the center of the swinging targets from seventy yards?”
“She takes after you…”
“She has some of my better traits, and some of his, but she’s far more practical than her father…”
Saryn smiled, but did not relax, as Ryba continued.
XIII
After breakfast and the morning muster on the causeway outside Tower Black, where duties were handed out for the day, Saryn headed back into the tower to meet with Istril but found Istril coming up the steps from the lower level.
The healer smiled. “Suansa’s doing well, and the other three are fine.”
“Is the girl all right?”
“Adiara’s healthy. She needs to eat more, and she’s scared of her own shadow. The trio have taken her under their collective wings for now.”
“That’s good.” Good for her, and for Westwind. “How is the Gallosian’s leg?”
“It wasn’t badly mangled, not for that kind of injury. The bone end didn’t break through. The splint repositioned it, and he’ll heal. A couple of the whip wounds had chaos in them. Not bad, and I took care of that.” Istril paused. “You scared him worse than the broken leg.”
“Me? All I did was tell Murkassa not to kill him.”
“Oh? He saw you kill three men, then ride down another and bring him back dead. I did tell him that was what you did-and that you were the one who taught all the others to fight. He seemed to need that.”
“Why?” Saryn snorted. “So his fragile male ego wasn’t shattered by seeing his comrades slaughtered? Besides, Ryba designed the training, and you have as much to do with it as I do.”
“Maybe at first. Not now. You know I’m limited to teaching blade skills for defense.”
“Those are the most important,” Saryn pointed out.
“You’re kind to say that.”
“Did the Gallosian say anything about Karthanos or his son? Or anything else?”
“No, ser. He did ask why we bothered to save him. I told him that was because he hadn’t taken part directly in the massacres. He asked how I knew. I just told him the truth-that you knew when someone lied.”
“So do you.”
“He was more interested in what you thought.”
Saryn shook her head. “I need to talk to him more before Ryba does.”
“You got her to agree not to kill him?”
“So long as he behaves himself. If he doesn’t, it’s my responsibility.”
“Will you tell him that?”
“Only that his life depends on his good behavior.” Saryn nodded and headed down the stone steps.
She found Dealdron propped up on a narrow bed in the lower level of the tower-in what Saryn called sickbay, a term meaningless for all the local-born guards-who comprised most of those at Westwind. While his face was pale, and she could sense the chaos around the broken bones, she could also recognize that he was what she might have called passably handsome. That might cause problems, especially after her promise to Ryba.
“How are you feeling?” Saryn shifted from Temple into Old Rationalist.
“Better than if I were not feeling.” Dealdron’s words bore a different cadence than did those of the Lornians or those who lived west of the Roof of the World. The Gallosians and the Lornians didn’t speak different languages so much as differing dialects, suggesting that their common origin wasn’t that far back, not as languages went. “What will you do with me?”
“That depends on you. If you’re well-mannered and prove yourself useful, you might have a long, healthy life here. If you don’t, then you won’t have much time to worry about it.”
The young man nodded slowly. “The healer said that you are the arms-commander for all of Westwind. You rode out on patrol with but twenty…blades.”
“Even the Marshal rides with patrols.” Not that often in recent years, but she still does. “Shouldn’t someone who commands others be willing to do all that she orders them to do?”
“Rulers…most rulers…do not ride…not in the fore…”
“We aren’t most people.” Saryn decided to change the subject. “You know horses. What else do you know?”
“Some things.”
“What things?”
“My father was a plasterer. I can do that.”
“Can you make the plaster?”
“Of course.” Dealdron’s tone suggested that making plaster was elementary. “If you have a kiln.”
“We fire pottery.”
“That is too hot.”
That meant that they could build a plaster kiln. “Could you make plaster here on the Roof of the World?”
“Is there limestone here?”
“We haven’t looked,” Saryn admitted.
“There is limestone in many places.”
“Could you find it?”
Dealdron glanced down at his splinted leg.
“It will heal, and you will walk as you did,” Saryn replied to his unspoken question.
“Then if limestone is here, I will find it.”
“What else can you do?”
“A man can only do so much.”
“Whereas women can do many things,” replied Saryn ironically, “and do them well without having to talk about it.”
Dealdron merely looked bewildered, as if Saryn had replied in Temple or another language foreign to him.
“Who was your undercaptain?”
“Flassyn. He came from Subas.”
“What did he say the squad was supposed to do?”
Dealdron’s eyes moved ever so slightly so that he was not quite looking at Saryn, but not obviously avoiding her, before he spoke. “He said nothing until we had ridden out two days from Fenard. Then he said that they had to kill as many travelers as they could to prove the angels could not keep the Westhorns safe.”
“Did he give orders to violate the women?”
Dealdron moistened his lips. Finally, he looked straight at Saryn. “No, ser. It was not like that. He said…he didn’t much care what happened to them so long as they ended up dead.”
“What did you think about that?”
“I did not like it.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
Dealdron looked directly at Saryn. “The eightday before we left Fenard, I said that they were riding the horses too hard. I got whipped for speaking out. Some armsmen agreed, but the undercaptain said I wasn’t ever to question him. So he whipped me…and put salt on my back.”
Saryn sensed the truth in the words. “You won’t get whipped here.”
“You will just kill me if I do not obey. Is that not so?”
“Not quite. If…if you have a good reason, then we’ll listen. If you’re being willful or stubborn…that’s another question.”
“Another inquiry?” The puzzled look appeared once more on Dealdron’s face.
Saryn almost smiled. Some idioms didn’t translate into Old Rat. “Another matter. How many armsmen is Lord Arthanos mustering to bring against us?”
“I cannot say, ser. He has raised ten new companies since the fall…”
Ten new companies? A thousand more armsmen?
When Saryn finally finished interrogating Dealdron, she left and crossed the lower level to the base of the stone steps, where she paused, dissatisfied in a vague way that she could not identify. Finally, she made her way up to the main level.
Hryessa was waiting for her in the entry foyer of Tower Black. “Commander? The day before yesterday, while you and second squad were gone, Murgos…he’s the sometime trader from Rohrn…he brought these missives for the Marshal.” Hryessa handed the three to Saryn.
Saryn recognized the script on two. One was addressed to “Ryba, Marshal of Westwind,” and the second was addressed to “Dyliess, in care of the Marshal of Westwind.” The third bore only the words “The Marshal.”