Black mage and flame mage? Saryn realized she had to be talking about Nylan and Ayrlyn. “They cost the Cyadorans far more dearly.”
“Yes. Cyador is no more, not as it was. But Lornth is not as it was, either. The lands they scoured with fire south of Rohrn all the way to Clynya have only begun to recover…even now.”
“…and you have so few armsmen that the Suthyans have retaken Rulyarth and threaten Lornth itself,” finished Saryn.
“You do not ask for much,” Zeldyan said, “not for such a long journey, but why do you need such comparatively useless items as saltpeter and sulfur?”
“To create things that are more useful against the Gallosians.”
“And not against Lornth?”
“We are few in number, compared to either Lornth or Gallos. We wish to be left in peace. Lornth has done so. Gallos has not. Why would we wish to anger and trouble a land with whom we are at peace? Especially when we face the attacks and enmity of two others?”
Zeldyan laughed, with a bitterness not revealed in the sound but only the feelings behind it. “I thought as much, but one must ask.”
Saryn said nothing but took a sip of the wine. Her goblet was still almost half-full.
“You have given information, and you have weakened one who might yet be a traitor,” Zeldyan went on. “Yet you do not offer us much hope.”
“What would you have of us…of me?” replied Saryn.
“What ever you can offer…after you deal with the Gallosians.” A tight and wry smile crossed Zeldyan’s lips, then vanished. “Unlike my sire and Kelthyn, I know one cannot demand of angels. One can trust their word, and I would like your word that you will provide what assistance you can so long as it does not require you to lose Westwind to Arthanos.”
“I cannot commit Westwind, Lady.”
“Can you commit yourself, Angel?”
Saryn did not speak for a moment. Zeldyan knew Saryn could read her feelings, and the regent was hiding nothing-not her fears, nor her wish to preserve what she could for her son, and for those who would follow. We have to have the sulfur and saltpeter…or Westwind will not survive…and how many women and their children will die then? What hope will remain to the others who look to Westwind and the legend that Ryba is forging?
“I will give what I can of myself and what I can raise, Lady, if you ask it of me. That is all I can promise.”
“You will have all the saltpeter and sulfur I can summon.” Zeldyan smiled, and there was relief, hope…and anxiety behind the expression. “You might try the lamb…or more of the stuffed skins…”
Saryn understood that what lay before her was her supper, and she almost smiled at Zeldyan’s finesse in keeping Saryn away from the others in the palace before they met more formally. As she picked up one of the small pastry pies, Saryn wondered how much she would rue her promise.
Yet…what else could she have done? What other real choice did you have?
XXV
The next morning, Saryn was awake early, but within moments after her feet hit the thick carpet over the wooden floor, there was a knock on her door.
“Yes?” She walked to the wardrobe and pulled out the dressing gown left for her-the first such that she’d seen in the more than ten years since she’d found herself in Candar.
“Would you like your breakfast, Commander?” asked a feminine voice.
Saryn pulled on the gown and tied it shut. “Now would be fine.” She walked to the door, pausing to let her senses range beyond it, but there were only two women in the hall. Neither radiated hostility, only worry and apprehension. She slid the bolt back and opened the door.
Without looking at Saryn, the serving girl hurried into the chamber, where she quickly laid out a place on the small writing table, then set out all the items on the breakfast tray. She straightened and bowed. “Will there be anything else, Commander?”
Saryn glanced over the breakfast-a small loaf of fresh-baked bread, with a dish of dark conserve or jelly; several strips of ham; a mound that looked like egg and cheese; a sliced pearapple; and two pitchers, gray and green, with two mugs. “That will be fine, thank you.”
Another bow, and the serving girl was gone, but another young woman entered, and she quickly replaced the washbasin and the two pitchers of water. She, too, vanished as quickly as she had come, and Saryn found herself alone as she seated herself at the side of the table, looking out through the window to her left. The table was set just far enough back that she could see the early-morning shadows on the courtyard below.
A note was set on one side of the tray, folded and sealed, the imprint presumably that of the Lady Zeldyan. Before starting to eat, Saryn broke the seal and read:
Commander:
The regents would be pleased to meet with you at the tenth glass of the morning to discuss matters of mutual import and concern. In the meantime, the palace and grounds are open to you.
Below the precise Anglorat script was a single letter-Z.
The breakfast offered far more than she normally ate. Because the greenjuice was bitter, she only drank the cider, although it bore a trace of fermentation. After eating, Saryn washed and dressed, only to hear another knock.
“Yes?”
“Commander…I’m here to take what ever you need washed…”
That was welcome news. “Please come in.”
Saryn gave the young laundress almost everything she had brought, except the uniform she wore and another that passed for a dress uniform. She’d thought about wearing that but decided against it, because she was meeting the regents officially, but not formally.
Then she followed the laundress out of the chamber, almost past a startled-looking young woman.
“Commander-”
“I need to see to my guards.” She had probably slept far too late and spent too much time on breakfast, and she needed to see how they had fared.
“The regents will be expecting you in a glass and a half.”
“I will be ready. You can accompany me…or wait here. I’ll be checking the barracks.” Saryn hurried down the corridor and down the south steps she had taken the night before, out the door, and across the uneven pavement of the rear courtyard.
Even before Saryn reached the second barracks, Hryessa stepped out into the courtyard, looking more rested than she had on too many of the previous mornings.
“How are they?” asked Saryn.
“Everyone’s fine. The food is decent, better than what we’ve had, and there was plenty. I figured we wouldn’t be traveling today. So I’ve got everyone cleaning their gear and equipment and washing uniforms.”
“And Kalasta and the other wounded guards?”
“They’re healing well.”
“Good. I’m meeting with the regents shortly. I met with Lady Zeldyan last night.”
Hryessa raised her eyebrows.
“She’s worried, but she’s promised the saltpeter and sulfur. She didn’t say how long we’d have to wait for it.” Or if the other regents will agree with her decision. That was something Saryn didn’t see any need to mention. Not yet.
“How long will we have here?”
Saryn shrugged, offering a wry smile. “I couldn’t say, but I wouldn’t plan on leaving before tomorrow at the earliest.” She paused. “Until I know more, they’d best stay within the palace walls. I don’t think Lornth will be that friendly to Westwind guards. They can certainly take care of themselves, but doing so might create some injured males and their pride-if not worse. We don’t need that.”
“I’m afraid you’re right.” The captain shook her head.
Saryn wondered how many years-or generations-it might be before that changed…or if it ever would. “What about grain for the horses?”
“There’s enough. I had to run down the ostler in the other stable for fodder. This one hasn’t been used in years. Even that one is only half-full.” Hryessa looked to Saryn.