Arms-Commander by L. E. Modesitt Jr. Page A

messages.”
    “So fortunate you should be.”
    “She also wants us to use Temple for everything and teach it to the young ones.”
    Hryessa frowned. “Only you angels know it well.”
    “You speak it, and it might give us an advantage in battle and in trading, especially in years to come when all the young ones know it.”
    The guard captain shrugged. “As the Marshal wills.”
    Always as Ryba wills. Nylan understood that early . Yet what could those like Llyselle, Istril, and Siret do? They were full-blooded Sybrans, and trying to live in the hot lowlands would have been a slow death sentence. And the women who had fled to Westwind would suffer the same fate as those slaughtered by the false brigands. Even as a half-Sybran, Saryn had found the lowlands oppressive the few times she’d visited Lornth.
    After a moment, Saryn smiled at Hryessa. “You might as well get on with your duties.”
    “Yes, ser.” Hryessa offered a smile that contained both understanding and sympathy.
    “Commander!” Ryba’s voice carried down the five levels of the stone stairs with ease.
    Saryn retraced her steps back up the tower. No sooner had she stepped into the small study than Ryba gestured for her to take the seat across the circular table from her. Saryn did, but did not speak, waiting to hear what Ryba had to say.
    “You know that Nylan has sent Dyliess a letter every year on her birthday?” Ryba’s words were not quite a question.
    “I had wondered when the first messages always came in the spring, and there was always one from the west, sometimes through Lornth, for you.”
    “They have to come from there. Nylan and Ayrlyn are living like hermits in some forest to the southwest, but there’s always a letter for Dyliess… and another one for me. One with information he thinks I’ll find useful.”
    Saryn did not comment.
    “It usually is,” Ryba continued. “The engineer has always known what is useful.”
    “Has Dyliess read the letters?” Saryn asked.
    “Yes. I’ve read them to her since before she could read. I make copies for her now. I’ve kept the originals in a book for her.” Ryba frowned. “The engineer is generally kind and thoughtful in his writing. He also is careful not to write anything he thinks will offend me.”
    “Dyliess doesn’t speak of him.”
    “I’ve told her not to, except to me, or to you, if she chooses. It’s better if everyone thinks of him as both mighty and departed for good, and not as a father who is human enough to write letters.” Ryba laughed, softly and bitterly. “If only once a year, long as those missives may be.”
    “She must know that he hasn’t forgotten her.”
    “That’s true.” Ryba glanced over her shoulder toward the window, still closed, but with the gray hangings pulled back to allow the morning sunlight to pour into the small chamber, illuminating the dust motes that hung in the air.
    “Is there anything I should know, then?” asked Saryn. Ryba would not have mentioned the letters without a reason.
    “He wrote that our troubles to the west are not over, and that, without aid, Lady Zeldyan may have difficulty holding Lornth.”
    “She does provide a buffer,” Saryn temporized. “Do her difficulties lie with Lord Ildyrom’s son? The Jeranyi have always been a problem.”
    “That’s but one aspect of it. The Suthyans have reclaimed Rulyarth as well, and have imposed close-to-punitive tariffs on goods bound to Lornth.”
    “She’s being squeezed on both sides then. Do we have to do anything?”
    “Both young Deryll and the Suthyans would be far less to our liking as neighbors than is Lady Zeldyan. Still… we will have to see, after we deal with Arthanos and the Gallosians.”
    Saryn had the chilling sense that Ryba had already seen. “The Gallosians… and not the Suthyans?”
    “The Suthyans fight with golds… or use them, or the promise of golds, to get others to fight. We will have to face the Gallosians first. After we deal with