Arms-Commander by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

dead.”
    “What did you think about that?”
    “I did not like it.”
    “Why didn’t you say anything?”
    Dealdron looked directly at Saryn. “The eightday before we left Fenard, I said that they were riding the horses too hard. I got whipped for speaking out. Some armsmen agreed, but the undercaptain said I wasn’t ever to question him. So he whipped me… and put salt on my back.”
    Saryn sensed the truth in the words. “You won’t get whipped here.”
    “You will just kill me if I do not obey. Is that not so?”
    “Not quite. If… if you have a good reason, then we’ll listen. If you’re being willful or stubborn… that’s another question.”
    “Another inquiry?” The puzzled look appeared once more on Dealdron’s face.
    Saryn almost smiled. Some idioms didn’t translate into Old Rat. “Another matter. How many armsmen is Lord Arthanos mustering to bring against us?”
    “I cannot say, ser. He has raised ten new companies since the fall…”
    Ten new companies? A thousand more armsmen?
    When Saryn finally finished interrogating Dealdron, she left and crossed the lower level to the base of the stone steps, where she paused, dissatisfied in a vague way that she could not identify. Finally, she made her way up to the main level.
    Hryessa was waiting for her in the entry foyer of Tower Black. “Commander? The day before yesterday, while you and second squad were gone, Murgos… he’s the sometime trader from Rohrn… he brought these missives for the Marshal.” Hryessa handed the three to Saryn.
    Saryn recognized the script on two. One was addressed to “Ryba, Marshal of Westwind,” and the second was addressed to “Dyliess, in care of the Marshal of Westwind.” The third bore only the words “The Marshal.”
    “They arrived two days ago?”
    “Yes, ser.”
    “You didn’t want to take them up to her?” Saryn smiled wryly.
    “No, ser. I know better when those two arrive. I knew you would be back before long.”
    Knowing the chill that Ryba could project—and her anger—Saryn could understand the guard captain’s reluctance either to deliver the missives or merely to leave them for Ryba. “Wait here for me.”
    With the three heavy sealed missives in her hand, Saryn walked up the stone steps past the now-empty spaces on the upper levels and the area that had once been an arms practice area during the winter until too many bodies had filled the tower. As she neared the top level, she called, “Marshal… I have some missives for you.”
    “The door is open.” Ryba’s words were cool.
    Saryn climbed the last three steps, aware that she was breathing a little heavily. She wasn’t in the condition she should have been, or would be later in the spring. Then she stepped through the open doorway and set all three sealed missives on the table, directly before Ryba, who sat with her back to the window.
    “These didn’t come today.”
    “They came while I was gone. They were waiting for me to give to you.”
    “They all fear to hand me anything from him.”
    “Do you blame them?”
    “No.” Ryba’s green eyes fixed on Saryn. “If you would wait below until I read these.”
    “Yes, ser.”
    “While you’re waiting, I’d also like you to consider another problem. Too much of the guards’ business is being handled in the local tongue. We need to keep Temple the language of the guards. I’ve asked Istril to think on this as well. The young ones must speak Temple first.” Ryba held up a hand. “Don’t say a word. You’ve insisted that the guard captains give commands in Temple, and the guards all know those. That’s not enough. We need to work in schooling for the children and the new guards. Schooling in Temple.”
    Saryn inclined her head, turned, and made her way out back down to the main level.
    “That was quick,” said Hryessa.
    Her words were in the degraded form of Old Rationalist that the locals used, Saryn noted. “She asked me to wait until she read the