When she finally did open the door, a very young woman, scarcely older than any of the Westwind silver-haired trio, stepped forward and offered what seemed to be a cross between a bow and a curtsy.
“Honored Angel…I am here to escort you. Tomorrow, you will meet the regents in the tower council room, but Lady Zeldyan thought it would be more suitable for you two to talk in her private chambers.”
Not only suitable but doubtless far more discreet. “I look forward to seeing the lady.”
The route to Zeldyan’s chambers was simple. They walked almost the length of the palace and past the top of a large formal staircase to the north end of the palace, up one flight of stairs, then back to the left perhaps ten yards to an unmarked door.
A single armsman stood outside. He did not look at Saryn as the young Lornian woman opened the door, but Saryn could sense his curiosity.
“The angel, Lady.” The escort stepped back to allow Saryn to enter.
Saryn nodded to the young woman. “Thank you.” Then she entered the chamber.
The door closed behind her, and she stood in a sitting room that featured three windows looking out on the front courtyard, but with an archway leading into a chamber to the left.
A slender blond woman, with piercing green eyes, wearing black trousers and a tunic trimmed in purple, stood from a small square table with a chair on each side and on which were set several covered dishes, two bottles, and a pair of goblets. “Welcome to Lornth. Undercaptain Maerkyn indicated that you are an arms-commander?”
“Saryn, Lady Zeldyan. I am the arms-commander of Westwind.” Saryn inclined her head politely. She could see strands of white intermingled with the blond ones, and there was a slight darkness under Zeldyan’s eyes.
“Seldom do angels leave the Roof of the World,” offered Zeldyan. “Never have any done so without cause. I would doubt that the Marshal sent her arms-commander and more than thirty guards were there not great cause.”
“There is certainly cause for concern, Lady.”
“I imagine you could use some refreshment, and I thought we might talk while you refreshed yourself. I’ve arranged for your guards to be fed in the barracks mess and for your officers to join ours this evening.”
“Thank you.”
“Please sit down.” Zeldyan gestured to the chair across from her, then reseated herself.
Saryn took the chair, thankful that it had a thick cushion.
“I can only offer red or white wine, Commander…”
“Saryn, Lady.”
“Then you must call me Zeldyan when we are in private. Red…or white?”
“I like both. Whichever you think the best.” Saryn sensed a welter of emotions behind the regent’s collected facade, most clearly anxiety and curiosity, and a touch of fear.
“The red, then.” Zeldyan filled both goblets half-full, then lifted her goblet. “To your safe arrival here.”
Saryn raised the goblet before her in return. “And to your grace and hospitality.” She took a small sip of the deep red vintage, appreciating the natural fullness and the hints of flowers.
Zeldyan set down her goblet and removed the tops of the three porcelain dishes. “This one has small lamb pies. These are currant-and-meat-stuffed potato skins, and these are cheese pastries. I prefer the cheese, but the currant stuffing is also good.”
“And the lamb?” asked Saryn with a smile.
“Good, but very filling.”
Saryn took one of the cheese pastries, just large enough for a single mouthful, and found it moist and surprisingly light. “It’s very good.”
“It was one of my mother’s favorites.”
Saryn sensed the momentary sadness…and realized that Zeldyan’s mother was dead. She’d known that one of the other regents-Ser Gethen-was her father, but no one had ever mentioned Zeldyan’s mother. “I can see why.”
After a time, Zeldyan took a sip of her wine. “You have come far.”
“And with reason. Earlier in the spring, we found a large body of Gallosian cavalry in the lower reaches of the Roof of the World. They were posing as bandits and attacking travelers and traders who were attempting to cross the Westhorns.”
“Knowing how your Marshal pledged to keep the Westhorns free of brigands, I imagine you took some action.”
“We did. All the armsmen are dead. We have their ostler at Westwind.” Saryn took another sip of wine, and one of the currant-stuffed skins. “We also discovered from the ostler that Lord Karthanos’s son-Arthanos-has not only removed all of his brothers, but that he has also recruited some ten additional companies, and it appears likely that they will attack.”
“From what you have said already, that would appear likely…and perhaps unfortunate.” Zeldyan sipped her wine. “Yet…you are here, rather than in Fenard.”
“We had thought, as a result of that occurrence, and another, that Lornth and Westwind might have similar interests. We also have seen few traders, apparently for reasons linked to what we have learned, and the Marshal was interested in obtaining some sulfur and saltpeter and thought you might be of assistance.”
Zeldyan frowned, but behind the frown was more curiosity than anything…and worry. “I fear I have yet to understand why our interests might coincide.”
“The Suthyan Council sent an envoy to Westwind, accompanied by a high trader named Baorl and the son of a Lord Calasyr. That is how they were represented. The envoy and the lord’s son were seated beside the Marshal.” Saryn paused, waiting for a reaction.
“That sounds as it should be.”
“The Suthyan envoy talked generally about the difficulties Westwind faced in finding traders to supply its needs given the problems that might arise among our neighbors.”
“Was that how he phrased it?”
“I believe the exact words were something to the effect that ‘If any ill should befall Lornth, even the most doughty of traders might find it difficult to reach the Westhorns…except, of course, from Suthya.’ He also made an observation that the older lord-holders in Lornth feared that you and the other regents would not turn over power to your son when he reached his majority.” Saryn knew she was conflating two statements, but the truth behind them remained. “The Marshal seemed unimpressed, and the young lord attempted to poison the Marshal’s wine. When he was given the choice of drinking the wine or swallowing iron, he attempted to attack the Marshal. Needless to say, he did not succeed, and the Marshal expelled all the Suthyans from Westwind within the glass, bearing his body, despite the darkness and the chill of the evening.”
“That seems unduly generous.” Zeldyan’s voice dripped with sarcasm.
“Had we slaughtered them all, who would have believed us?” Saryn smiled politely. “What happened after that is even more interesting….” She went on to explain how the Suthyan party had split and how Ryba had dispatched her to Lornth. “…and now I find myself reporting to you that, because of the Suthyans, we were forced to defend ourselves against an unprovoked attack when we were riding here to warn you about the Suthyan intentions toward Lornth.”
“An unprovoked attack? By whom?”
“The armsmen of Duevek.” Saryn went on to explain.
Zeldyan nodded slowly. “What does the Marshal think the Suthyan intentions might be?”
Saryn sensed that, while the events were a surprise to her, the general situation was not entirely unexpected. “She does not yet know of the attack by the Lord of Duevek, but even before that her feeling was that the Suthyans were planning for some sort of attack against Lornth, possibly shortly after the likely attack by Arthanos against Westwind.” Again, Saryn was guessing in her representation of Ryba.
“She must be greatly gifted with foresight to have seen all that, even before it happened.” This time the irony was gentle. Behind the words was a mixture of worry and skepticism.
“She has seen much that has come to pass, often long before it has, Lady Zeldyan.”
“That may be, from what I have seen with the black mage and the flame mage. Though they helped us, they cost us most dearly.”