Arms-Commander

Westwind
I

In the late afternoon on the Roof of the World, the guards stood silent on the practice ground, their eyes fixed on the blackness rising just above the western horizon as Istril stepped out of the main door of Tower Black and crossed the causeway. Saryn, arms-commander and former command pilot, stood beside Ryba of the swift ships of Heaven and Marshal of Westwind. The tip of the Marshal’s wooden practice wand touched the ground, and she gestured toward the silver-haired guard and healer to approach.

Istril continued her measured pace toward the Marshal and the arms-commander. The other guards waited, their eyes moving from the Marshal to Istril and back again, while Saryn of the flashing blades studied the darkness rising in the western sky.

The silver-haired healer halted three paces from Ryba and inclined her head. “Marshal?”

“What do you think of that?” Ryba glanced from the pregnant and silver-haired healer to the west, beyond the imposing ice needle that was Freyja. “That has to be the engineer.”

Darkness swirled into the sky, slowly turning the entire western horizon into a curtain of blackness that inexorably enfolded the sun, bringing an even earlier twilight to the Roof of the World. For a moment, Freyja shimmered white, then faded into the maroon darkness that covered the high meadows and Tower Black.

“I could already feel the shivering between the black and white,” Istril said slowly. “So did Siret.”

“And you didn’t tell me immediately?” asked the Marshal.

“What could we have done? Besides, it’s more than him. More than the healer, too. Something bigger, a lot bigger.”

Ryba shook her head before asking, “Do you still think it was right to send Weryl?”

“He’s all right. I can feel that.” Istril paused. “That means Nylan is, too…but there’s a lot of pain there.” Her eyes glistened, even in the dimness.

“When the engineer gets into something…there usually is.” Ryba’s voice was dry.

Saryn said nothing, wondering still how Ryba could be so chill.

“He doesn’t do anything unless it’s important.” Istril continued to look past Ryba toward the horizon.

“That just makes it worse, doesn’t it?” Ryba’s voice was rough.

“Yes, ser.”

It’s worse because you forced him out, you and your visions. But Saryn did not speak the words, nor look in at the Marshal. Visions have high prices, and deeper costs.

After another period of silence, Istril nodded, then turned and walked swiftly back across the practice ground and the causeway into the tower.

For a time, Ryba continued to study the growing darkness of a too-early night as the faces of the guards shone bloodred in the fading light. Then, Saryn gestured, silently, and the guards slipped away, filing quietly back into the tower for the duties that never ended.

The faintest of shivers ran through the ground beneath the Marshal’s and the arms-commander’s feet, and the meadow grasses swayed in the windless still of unnatural twilight.

Another ground shudder passed, then another, as the gloom deepened. The Marshal waited…and watched. Then, abruptly, she turned and walked back across the practice ground and the causeway into Tower Black.

Long after the Marshal had returned to Tower Black, Saryn remained on the stone causeway just outside the door to the tower, her eyes still gazing toward the west and the darkness that glowed, framing the ice peak of Freyja, as if to suggest that even the mightiest peak on the Roof of the World was bounded by forces beyond mere nature.

Between darkness and darkness. Again, she did not voice her thoughts. That, she had leaned from the engineer and the singer…that was unwise.