Saryn glanced to Catya, the nearest guard, then inclined her head toward the two civilians, both with short-trimmed beards, doubtless the equivalent of Suthyan gentry-or dressed to convey that impression. Catya nodded and dropped back slightly, easing gradually westward so that she took position behind the two. Another guard-Trecya-joined her.
Whulyn’s eyes flickered toward the two guards as they shifted position, then back to Saryn, before returning to scrutinize the mounted squad as the riders turned onto the packed gravel on the west end of the arms field.
Just before the southwest end of the field, the column turned, and the riders urged their mounts into a canter, then a gallop, with the guards on the north side holding their mounts back just enough that each file was staggered, but with each rider maintaining the same interval between mounts.
Each target received two flung blades, released from ten yards away. Every one struck the torso area of the designated target.
“Rather impressive,” offered Suhartyn, “if not terribly practical in large battles.”
“They’re not finished,” said Ryba.
At the end of the field, the squad turned right and headed back westward along the south end. They continued due west up the long slope that served as the archery range.
“Bows?” asked Whulyn, looking at Saryn.
She nodded. “At two hundred yards.”
Near the top of the slope, short of the cliffs that formed a natural backdrop, the squad turned and reformed. Barely had they done so than their bows were out. Each guard loosed three shafts.
In instants, every single target had sprouted shafts.
“You will notice that every shaft penetrated a vital area,” Ryba said conversationally.
“Picked squads can do that,” noted Suhartyn.
“Have you ever seen one that could do what that squad did?” Ryba looked hard at the Suthyan.
“I’m certain it is possible,” Suhartyn said pleasantly.
“Indeed it is. We just proved that. But have you seen any other squad do that?” She paused. “Still, we have another demonstration.”
Two guards ran across the field carrying a leather-covered sphere slightly less than a yard across. They set it on the ground twenty yards in front of the Marshal, then ran back to their positions with a squad to the east of the Marshal.
“Do you see the ten archers on the road above the smithy?”
Suhartyn turned. “Yes.”
“They are a different group, and the distance is about three hundred yards.” Ryba raised her arm, then dropped it.
In instants, the wicker globe became a hedgehog of feathered shafts.
“One hundred shafts in a target a yard across at three hundred yards in little more than a score of heartbeats.”
Saryn could sense the concern and the tension in the two Suthyan officers, but none from Suhartyn. Didn’t the envoy have any idea just how accurate the archers were?
“That is most impressive marksmanship,” acknowledged Suhartyn.
“In the field, of course, they would all target different armsmen, all across the front lines, so that any charge would slow, if not halt. Then they would pick off those trapped behind.”
Whulyn nodded, if almost imperceptibly. Lygyrt glanced at his undercaptain, but Whulyn did not look at his superior.
“We have one last demonstration for you, Envoy Suhartyn. Would you indicate an officer to accompany my arms-commander?”
Suhartyn turned. “Undercaptain? If you would?”
One of the junior guards led two horses out onto the field. Saryn mounted her gelding, where the heavy black hood was draped over the front of the saddle. Whulyn was almost as quick with the other mount, and he rode beside her as they headed uphill on the road.
Less than a hundred yards above the northwest corner of the field, Saryn turned her mount and reined up. Then she extended the heavy black hood to Whulyn. “Look it over, then put it over my head.”
Whulyn edged his mount closer with an ease of long experience, then bent forward.
Saryn leaned toward him, waiting until the hood was in place. “Is there any way I can see?”
“No.” Whulyn’s voice contained veiled amusement. “There wouldn’t be, would there?”
Saryn managed to keep from smiling, not that the undercaptain could have seen her expression under the hood. “No. There’s no trickery involved. You can follow me to watch and see what you think.”
“Thank you, Commander.” The amusement had vanished from Whulyn’s voice.
Using her senses, Saryn guided the gelding back down the road toward the arms practice field. Her free hand checked the blades in the shoulder harness and the one in the sheath at her knee. At the west end of the field, she turned south, then, once she was past a point even with Ryba and Suhartyn, she urged the gelding eastward and into an easy canter.
When she was still a good twenty yards from the wicker target, she released the first blade, smoothing the flows and sending it toward the breastplate once worn by a Lornian lancer. The second blade was away at about fifteen yards. Then she turned the gelding, and with her back to the target, flung the last blade.
She slowed the gelding gradually, wishing she hadn’t had to ride on the field, then turned and rode back to where Ryba, Suhartyn, and the Suthyan captain stood. After reining up, she removed the heavy black hood and gently tossed it to the captain. Ten yards away, all three blades were buried to their hilts in the iron breastplate, each spaced two fingers from the one beside it.
She dismounted, and a guard hurried up and handed Saryn another blade, which she slipped into the left shoulder scabbard one-handed. The guard took the gelding’s reins and led him away. Saryn walked forward to Suhartyn, inclining her head politely. “I trust that these small demonstrations provide some idea of what our guards can do.”
Suhartyn, a good half head taller than Saryn, smiled politely. “You are all most impressive. But there are not that many of you.”
“There were less than forty of us when we destroyed the thousands of Lornth,” Ryba replied calmly. “We would prefer not to fight, because fighting wastes golds and resources. That is why we destroy all those who try our patience. It keeps us from wasting resources too often.”
“Ah…yes.”
Saryn slowly drew the short sword, then looked to Lygyrt. “Would you like to see if you could put this blade, or your own, through the breastplate of the target?”
“I’d prefer not to dull my own.”
Saryn reversed the short sword and extended it, hilt first, to the captain.
She and Lygyrt walked to the target.
The captain jabbed, and the short sword skittered off the iron. “This is a useless, blunted weapon.”
“Please return it to me, then.” Saryn extended her hand.
The officer reversed the weapon and offered it.
Saryn took the short sword, stepped back some three paces, summoned the blackness around her, and released the blade. It turned exactly once before the tip sliced through the iron, directly below the middle blade of the three she had thrown from horse back. Like the others, it buried itself up to the hilt.
Lygyrt swallowed.
Saryn smiled. “It doesn’t seem that blunt to me. All the short swords are balanced to be used as both blade and weapon.”
“…demon-woman…all of them…”
“…wouldn’t have one chained and stripped bare…”
Saryn ignored the mutters her senses picked up and walked back across the field to where Suhartyn stood beside Ryba.
The Marshal turned to Suhartyn. “Do you still think it was a trick?”
“Perhaps…I should have said that it was a form of magic.”
“And all of the archers were using magic?” Ryba paused. “I suppose skill with weapons is a form of sorcery.”