His behaviour told her a great deal about her status within the Mathidrin, as did that of those they passed on the way, all snapping to attention. She acknowledged each with a nod and a direct look in the eyes, marking each face and response for future reference.
I’ll rot your corpse from its very head, Dan-Tor, she thought.
She was particularly struck by the look of uncer-tainty clearly visible in every gaze. Fear is the bonding of this structure, she realized suddenly, and, as if on cue, the Sirshiant stopped at a door and licked his lips before knocking.
The same look was in Commander Urssain’s eyes, but briefly it gave way to a ruthless shrewdness, before a calculating blankness hid everything. Without knowing why I’m here, he’s already thinking how he can turn my visit to his advantage, the Queen thought, as he came forward and bowed politely.
‘Majesty. This is an unexpected surprise. You do us great honour,’ he said. ‘I’m Commander Urssain.’
‘Yes, Commander, I remember you,’ Sylvriss replied. ‘I recall your promotion ceremony.’ And I recall wondering what you’d done to deserve such promotion so quickly, she thought. Nothing pleasant, I’m sure.
Urssain had the confident, arrogant presence that seemed to be the predominant feature of the Mathidrin, but she could sense he was aware of it and was attempt-ing to control it. The room, too, bore signs of a personality in transition. Spartan and functional, but furnished with a strange mixture of brash cheapness and tasteful elegance. The whole looked incongruous, but she realized that Urssain was learning a new trade. The room represented the first fumbling steps on a ladder of unknown height. One of the rising stars. Would he flare and dazzle for a brief instant, or would he take a permanent place in a constellation that would hover around Dan-Tor?
‘I hope I’m not disturbing your routine, Com-mander,’ she continued. ‘I’m afraid I’ve called purely on impulse. It’s such a long time since I’ve been in the Westerclave, and it used to be such a dismal place. It occurred to me as I was passing that as your Com-mander-in-Chief I really should see how you’re all faring here.’
Urssain opened his hands in a gesture of resigna-tion. ‘We’re all soldiers, ma’am. Any place that feeds us and keeps out the weather is a good place. I’m afraid we’re rather insensitive to our surroundings generally.’
I can see that, you thug, she thought, taking in the room again.
‘But I appreciate your concern, ma’am. As will the men also.’
‘Perhaps you could spare a little time to show me round,’ Sylvriss said.
‘Ma’am.’ Urssain clicked his heels and bowed deeply to hide the look in his eyes which he knew was beyond his ability to control.
Out in the corridor again, Sylvriss could hear the place buzzing and hissing with news of her unexpected arrival. It’ll be interesting to see what Dan-Tor makes of this, she thought. But the very thought made her stomach turn over. This visit’s an impulse, she repeated to herself. Somewhere between foolish female curiosity and an equally foolish female wish to do something for the men over whom she was in charge, albeit only nominally. I must act accordingly.
As she toured the building, her memory of the place returned somewhat. Very little had changed, though it was cluttered with all the paraphernalia of a permanent barrack. The main difference was the bright lighting that illuminated every cranny. It is an improvement, she thought again. It was the first time she had ever seen Dan-Tor’s globes enhance anything. Yet though they clarified, they did not enliven. Rather, they heightened an unpleasant inner bleakness, a harshness in the building. Your lights expose your own soul here, Dan-Tor, she thought. But the discovery chilled her.
She insisted on going down into the cellars to exam-ine the kitchens, this being decidedly a foolish woman’s prerogative. While there she noted carefully the faces of the servants. It was the only place in the building where she had seen other than Mathidrin.
‘I suppose that big beggar’ll complain he’s being poisoned again.’ The voice came faintly through the rattling din of the kitchen and Sylvriss bent forward hastily to peer into a bubbling, anonymous concoction to hide her interest. Casting round, her eyes lit on a surly-faced individual picking up a tray carrying four dishes. Dishes that were more elegant by far than the unadorned and battered metalwork that was hung and stacked about the place.
Straightening up, she allowed her gaze to fall acci-dentally on the man who was heading towards a nearby door.
‘Oh, you’ve someone sick, Commander?’ she said, indicating the man as he pushed open the door with his foot and began down a flight of steps. There was a flicker in Urssain’s eyes. ‘Surely you don’t have your sick bay downstairs? So far below ground?’ Before Urssain could answer, Sylvriss took maternal charge of the situation. ‘Sick men, Commander, need fresh air and sunshine. They should be where they can see the Palace gardens and the parks. Where they can stroll and convalesce.’ As she spoke, she moved slowly but steadily towards the door which the servant had used, venturing at one stage to take Urssain’s elbow with a guiding hand. The look in Urssain’s eyes bordered on the frantic, but he kept the rest of his face under control.
At the door, Sylvriss paused, waiting for someone to open it for her. She could almost feel Urssain’s mind racing. Then she heard him take a very deep, quiet breath through his nose and, leaning past her, he took the door handle in his powerful hand and opened the door briskly.
He smiled. ‘I’m afraid we’ve no one sick, ma’am. That’s to say… ’ He acted out an apologetic little fluster. ‘… I’m glad we’ve no one sick. The food on the tray was for prisoners.’
On those dishes, she thought. ‘Prisoners?’ she ech-oed, stepping back a pace. ‘You keep prisoners here? Why not in the Palace cells?’
‘They’re just military prisoners in transit, ma’am,’ Urssain replied, extending his arm down the stairway to indicate he was awaiting her pleasure to show her the offenders in question. ‘There are always one or two who have to learn their discipline the hard way. They’ll only be here for a few days, and it’s easier for us to keep them here than over in the cells.’ Then, frankly, ‘And to be honest, we prefer to look after our own.’
‘Yes,’ said Sylvriss uncertainly, backing out of the door and looking as if she wished to change the subject. ‘I’m sure I can leave such matters in your capable hands, Commander.’
Urssain was barely aware of the rest of Sylvriss’s tour of the building and was almost surprised when he found himself unnecessarily cupping his hands together to offer his Commander-in-Chief a support from which to mount her horse.
‘Thank you, Commander,’ said Sylvriss, looking down at him. She appreciated the fleeting look of triumph in his eyes. ‘I hope my visit hasn’t caused too much disruption to your routine.’ Then looking at the scarred facade of the Westerclave she said reflectively, ‘It isn’t the happiest of buildings, Commander, but I think you’ve made the best you could of it. Please accept my congratulations.’
Urssain saluted briskly and the Queen rode off. He watched her as she headed towards one of the side gates, gently urging her horse into a trot. Women, he thought. She’d come so close to blundering into those damned Lords. Dan-Tor would’ve had my head pickled in a bottle, or worse, if she’d found them. He congratulated himself on his nerve and his luck, but mainly on his nerve-to have opposed the woman at that door would surely have been to provoke her into going through it. Yes, he’d handled that very well.
Sylvriss cantered through the streets towards her favourite park almost oblivious of her surroundings. She had the servant’s face, she had the place, and her act had convinced Urssain well enough. It had been a useful and revealing venture, for all her heart was still pounding. But what would Dan-Tor make of it?