Nesslek glanced to his mother.
“It’s true,” Zeldyan said. “Those who attack the angels seldom live to regret their folly.”
Saryn sensed the old pain and bitterness behind the pleasantly spoken words. “I would that it were otherwise, Lady, but when a land is few in numbers, and its people have nowhere to go, one has no other choices.”
“No, you do not.” She looked at Nesslek. “You may go now. I will rejoin you shortly.”
Nesslek inclined his head politely to his mother, then to Saryn. “Good day, Commander.”
Both Saryn and Zeldyan watched as the youth turned and headed back toward the palace proper. The boy was handsome enough, Saryn thought, but she had the feeling that he was likely to be the type easily swayed by promises of glory and heroism. There had also been something about the bows…as if using a bow was looked down upon, or even cowardly.
“I had another reason for coming out here, Commander.” Zeldyan smiled. “I had thought you might like to have supper with my father and me. It will be simple, just the three of us, but we would enjoy your company.”
“I’d be pleased and honored.”
“Thank you. So would we.” Zeldyan inclined her head. “I’d best see to my wayward son.”
Only when Zeldyan had returned to the palace did Hryessa speak. “They want something from you, I’d wager. More than your company, ser.”
“I’m certain that they do, but it will be interesting to see what it might be…since we have very little to offer.”
“Except ourselves. Be careful that you do not commit to what we cannot do.”
“According to the Marshal, we can do anything.” Saryn didn’t bother to keep the edge out of her voice.
“You can do anything, ser. The rest of us are less able.”
The tone in Hryessa’s voice caught Saryn, not because it was sardonic or ironic, but because both the words and the feeling behind them embodied complete confidence in the arms-commander. “I can do a few things others can’t. That’s true of all of you. You’ve seen what a lousy archer I am.” That was accurate enough, because arrows flew farther than Saryn could reach with her senses, unlike the blades she relied upon.
“Yes, ser.” Hryessa’s voice was pleasantly agreeable.
Saryn could sense the disagreement behind the words, and she wanted to shake her head. Instead, she said, “Could you talk to the armsmen here in the palace about the best way to avoid Duevek, especially if we have any carts or wagons?”
“I’ve already asked about maps, ser, and they’ve promised some by tomorrow. They would like to see us gone. I think the maps will arrive.”
“Good…” Saryn shook her head. “You don’t need me.”
In return, Hryessa grinned. “It’s not about maps, ser. We need an angel.”
Less than a glass later, Saryn headed back to her chambers to wash up and change into what served as her dress uniform, although it lacked the adornments she’d seen on other officers the few times she’d left the Roof of the World.
Just before twilight, the same young lady-in-waiting who had escorted Saryn to meet with the regents reappeared and escorted her to a small dining room on the main floor at the north end of the palace.
Two figures stood talking inside the chamber, but Gethen and Zeldyan immediately turned.
“There you are,” offered Zeldyan warmly. “I’m glad you’re joining us.” She moved toward a table that was roughly eight cubits long, but was set with three places, one at the east end, and one on each side. She took the end place and gestured to the one at her left.
Saryn waited until Zeldyan had started to take her seat before slipping into the chair she had been offered.
Gethen seated himself last and with a smile. “It’s not often an old man gets to eat with two beautiful women.”
“Two younger women, at least, and only one of them beautiful,” replied Zeldyan, inclining her head to Saryn.
Saryn concealed her surprise because she could sense that Zeldyan believed every word. “I fear you are far too modest, Lady.”
“Always has been,” added Gethen.
“The red pitcher has red wine, from Father’s vineyards, no less, and the gray has a gentle white, but not from any of our lands.” Zeldyan smiled. “I prefer the red, but the white is good.”
Saryn poured the red into Zeldyan’s goblet, then into her own, before handing the pitcher across the table to Gethen. The serving girl brought just two items to the table-a pastry-covered casserole dish and a large basket of bread.
“It’s just a fowl-and-vegetable pie.” Zeldyan handed a large silver serving spoon to Saryn.
“Thank you.” Saryn served herself an ample helping, then handed the spoon back. She did not eat-or drink-until Zeldyan did, although she sensed nothing amiss in either the pie or the wine. She took several bites and sipped the wine. Both the fowl pie and the wine were good, but certainly not outstanding.
“Thank you for allowing Nesslek and me to watch you spar.”
“And me,” added Gethen. “I was watching through a glass from the tower.”
“What did you see?” asked Saryn, allowing a grin to cross her lips.
“I saw that Kelthyn could have used the observation,” replied Gethen. “I’ve seen him work out, and he wouldn’t have lasted three strokes against you or the other one.”
“Hryessa is a guard captain. She is most accomplished with both blade and bow.” Saryn turned to Zeldyan. “Did Nesslek say anything about the sparring?”
“He seldom does, but he was most reflective.”
That could mean anything, thought Saryn.
“He should have noticed.” Gethen shook his head. “Your choice of officers guards your back well, Commander.”
“Those who accompanied us are almost as good.”
“Could you train others to be that effective?” asked Zeldyan.
“In time…if they wanted to work that hard. I don’t think most armsmen do.”
“Why do yours, then?” asked Zeldyan, with little inquiry in her tone, as if she knew the answer but wanted Saryn to offer it.
“Our guards know that they have no choice. There is no one to rely upon but themselves. They see that great skill is the best way to assure their future. And, of course, the Marshal does not accept slackers or sloppiness.”
“Nor do you, I’d wager.” Gethen’s voice was dry.
“We all do what we must.” Saryn shrugged. “I did not see Lord Kelthyn depart. He must have left after our meeting. If I might ask…how did he seem?”
Zeldyan laughed, humorlessly. “Kelthyn was not pleased, although he was most polite and circumspect. I’m certain you could tell that.”
“He did seem less than pleased,” observed Saryn. “I got the impression that he didn’t like being put in a position where he couldn’t disagree without seeming totally unreasonable.”
“Ah…yes…young Kelthyn always likes to seem reasonable,” said Gethen. “That is so even when he is least reasonable.”
Saryn could sense the age and fatigue in Gethen, but the older man’s eyes were intent and clear, giving the impression that he was trying to draw out something. “There are always those who cultivate the impression of warmth and reason.”
“Are you one of those, Commander?”
“I think not. Although women are supposed to be more devious than men, I have great difficulty in looking for the least obvious path to an objective. No one has ever accused me of great warmth, either.” Saryn smiled at Zeldyan. “Unlike you, who combine warmth and shrewdness.”
“Shrewdness without power avails one little.” Zeldyan paused, then asked, her tone casual, “Do you think the Suthyans will attack you first…or us?”
“I do not think they will attack Westwind at all. Not at present, at least. They have seen how costly it would be, and they measure everything by cost. I am not certain that they will attack you, either. Not directly, in any case.”
Gethen frowned, but Zeldyan nodded.
“What else can they do that is not direct?” asked Gethen. “They’ve already taken Rulyarth and exact high tariffs on goods coming upriver to us. It also appears they have persuaded the Gallosians to keep traders from the east from traveling to us overland. They are trying to enlist Deryll to their cause as well. What is left?”