“They’re guards.”
“They’re still girls who will be guards…when they’re older. Let them have a carved flower or two.” Istril’s voice was firm, and she looked directly at Saryn.
“Anyone can have anything carved on their bunk,” Saryn said dryly. After a moment, she added, “Anything suitable, and no larger than the Westwind crest. Flowers, crests, animals, designs.” She wasn’t about to fight that battle. “And the design and the carver have to be approved by Vierna. That’s just so things don’t get scratched into the wood.”
Siret and Istril exchanged glances.
Siret nodded. “Yes, ser.”
“We’ll tell Vierna,” added Istril.
After a moment of silence, Saryn said, “I need a moment with Istril.”
“I’ll be in the carpentry shop.” Siret stepped through the doorway and out of sickbay.
“What is it, Commander?” asked the older healer.
“The other day…you said that I would understand about sensing things. What exactly did you see?”
Istril offered a shrug. “I couldn’t explain it, Commander. Sometimes, what I see is as much feeling as foresight. There’s something all tied up with you and this trip and…people. I can’t say what. I had a good feeling about it, though. Or not a bad one, anyway.”
Saryn could sense the truth of that, but she also knew that Istril had seen more than she was willing to say. “That’s all you can say?” She tried to keep the irritation out of her words.
“That’s all I’d best say. I might make it worse if I said more. You know why.”
Saryn did. Trying to avoid or change what Ryba or the healers foresaw usually just made matters worse, often far worse.
“Except,” added Istril, “be kind to Lady Zeldyan.”
“That doesn’t sound good.”
“How could it, in her situation? Besides, being kind to her will only help you and us.”
While that was obvious, Saryn knew Istril was right and only trying to help. “One last question. The Marshal seemed drawn and tired. How is she? Physically, I mean? She doesn’t have some lingering illness or anything, does she?”
“There’s nothing physical wrong with her. She just sees too much. She’s trying to sort out what’s useful and what isn’t. Then she has to decide what she-and we-can do.”
“She’s always had to do that,” Saryn replied.
“She’s getting better at it. She’s written out an entire book of things. It’s for Dyliess and whoever becomes Marshal after her.” Istril paused. “How would you like to know chunks of future history and have to act on that knowledge? I wouldn’t want to. You’d never know if you could change things or if you should have done something different.”
Saryn nodded slowly. “Did she tell you that?”
“No. Not in words. I just…know.”
“Because you can do a little of it?”
“A little is too much. I wouldn’t want to know more.”
Saryn understood that. That kind of knowledge could be a set of chains. Was the tiredness she’d seen in Ryba the result of struggling with and against those chains? She shook her head. Was there any doubt about that?
Finally, she said, “Thank you.”
XXI
Saryn’s eyes studied the narrow road that wound downward through a slope strewn with boulders, the smallest of which dwarfed her gelding. From the infrequent pockets of soil gathered on the sheltered side of the giant stones grew occasional junipers, few overtopping the rocks themselves. Another three kays below and to the west, the road reached the flat and grassy floor of the narrow river valley that stretched a good ten kays before entering another gorge, one that neither the road nor the guards could follow. Instead, they would have to climb, riding over another pass through the still-rugged lower range that was the last before the hills of eastern Lornth. With the white sun pounding down on the rock, Saryn had already removed her riding jacket and folded it into her saddlebags. Her undertunic stuck to her back in places. One-handed, she lifted the water bottle from its holder and took a long swallow.
As Saryn’s eyes and senses scanned the rocky waste ahead, for some reason, one of Ryba’s parting instructions came to mind, in particular, the way in which Ryba had worded it. She had stated that finding out about Lord Ildyrom’s son Deryll might prove useful to Saryn. Not to Westwind or Ryba, but to Saryn. Exactly what had Ryba meant? At the time, with her greater concern about what the high trader and the Suthyans were doing, Saryn had taken it as a guideline for her negotiations. Now she wasn’t so certain, especially since both Istril and Ryba had made similar statements. Just what had they foreseen? She knew why neither would tell her, but that didn’t make her any happier.
After another swallow, Saryn slipped the water bottle back into its holder and shifted her weight in the saddle, then turned to survey the riders who followed. No one was straggling. Her eyes flicked forward, toward the outriders, a good half kay ahead. They hadn’t seen anyone in at least a day, nor had she sensed anyone, but that would likely change before long.
“This makes Westwind look like a garden, ser,” observed Hryessa, riding for the moment beside Saryn.
“Compared to much of the Westhorns, Westwind is, and it’s much more comfortable than Lornth is going to be when we reach it.”
“For you, ser,” Hryessa replied with a grin. “Some of the guards still have their riding jackets fastened all the way up.”
“Ryba and Istril would be in undertunics by now, covered in sweat,” Saryn bantered back. “Maybe not that damp, because it’s dry here, but they’d be hot. Once we get where the air is damp…” She shook her head, although it would be another day before they emerged into the high hills southeast of Lornth.
“Do you think we’ll run into any brigands?”
“Not if they’re smart, but with those types, you never know. I’m more concerned about some of the local holders in Lornth. Trader Baorl likely stirred up trouble of some sort.”
“With men like that, you can count on it. We can handle it.” Hryessa’s tone was dismissive. “Men…”
“You seemed to have worked out things well enough with Daryn.”
“He’s different. He also knows what I’d do to him if he ever did anything wrong.”
Saryn laughed. “I think all Westwind knows that.”
“He likes Dealdron,” offered the guard captain.
“Did he say why?”
“He said that Dealdron works hard and doesn’t feel sorry for himself, and that he’s a crafter at heart.”
“But he’s trying to learn arms as well,” Saryn pointed out.
“It doesn’t get in his way of working in the carpentry shop, and Vierna says he’s better than anyone there but her and Dyosta.”
“He was an apprentice plasterer…”
“They have to work with wood a lot, not just stone. People want plaster everywhere, and they have to carve it into decorative shapes, too.”
“If he happened to be so good at it, why did he join the Gallosian armsmen?”
“Daryn says that was because his older brother was lame and couldn’t do anything else but help their father, and times were hard. There wasn’t work for two apprentices.”
Dealdron had told Saryn there had only been work for one apprentice, but not that his brother was disabled. She had to wonder what else she didn’t know about him.
“He works hard,” Hryessa repeated.
Saryn turned in the saddle to look squarely at the captain. “You’ve said that.”
Hryessa shrugged. “He seems to be a good man. He’s decent-looking, and he’s kind to the children. We don’t have many.”
“I argued with the Marshal to keep him alive and allow him to stay at Westwind.”
“That was good of you, Commander. It was wise, too. Some guard will be most fortunate to have him as a consort.”
“It’s too early for that. Less than a season isn’t enough to determine how Westwind suits a man, especially not until his leg is fully healed. Then we’ll see.”
Hryessa offered an embarrassed smile. “Ser…we already said something like that.”
“In my name, I’d wager? Don’t tell me that some of the guards were already making a play for him?”