CHAPTER 6
He pushed away the plate and stood up. Alder looked up, startled, and began, “My lord-”
“Oh, go ahead and eat,” Sterren said crossly. He was already getting tired of the strange new deference paid him. Alder had just started to eat, but he was obviously ready to leap up and follow orders, should his warlord care to give any.
His warlord did not. His warlord was feeling very much out of place. His moods kept swinging back and forth. This room, and title, and rank were all very well, and could be a lot of fun, but they also seemed to be permanent and involuntary, which could be tiresome, quite aside from the accompanying responsibilities and risks. It was clear, despite the submissive gestures from Alder and Lady Kalira, that he was still something of a prisoner; if he tried to just walk out of the castle and head back toward Ethshar, he was quite sure that Alder or Dogal or both would follow him and probably stop him before he got out of the village.
And he was tired of seeing Alder and Dogal, after several days spent traveling in their close, very close, company.
At least Lady Kalira was gone, and he would be meeting other people soon.
Of course, that, too, had both its appealing and frightening aspects. These people were barbarians, not Ethsharites; he was sure that he was not what anybody expected in a warlord and he had no idea just how the Semmans might deal with his shortcomings. That mention of summary execution, back in the tavern on Bargain Street, had stayed with him, always somewhere in the back of his mind.
Dogal and Alder had eaten in turns, and Dogal was now guarding the door, keeping Sterren’s officers, who had arrived a moment earlier, waiting in the hall.
“Dogal,” Sterren called, “send them in.”
Dogal said nothing, but stepped aside and allowed the three waiting men to enter.
Each in turn stepped into the chamber, bowed, spoke, and then stepped aside to make room for the next.
“Anduron of Semma, Lord Sterren,” said the first, with a graceful bow and a jingle of jewelry. He was tall and sturdy, richly dressed in blue silk, perhaps thirty years old, certainly much older than Sterren. Like every Semman Sterren had yet seen, he was dark-haired and deeply tanned. Sterren thought he detected a family resemblance to the king.
He also detected, more definitely, a trace of scent, something vaguely flowery.
“Arl of the Strong Arm,” said the next, bobbing his head. He was shorter, but Sterren guessed his weight to be no less than Anduron’s, and his age was probably similar. He wore a red kilt and red-embroidered yellow tunic and smelled of nothing but leather and sweat.
“Shemder the Bold,” said the third, without ceremony. He fell between the others in height, but clearly weighed less than either of them, being thin and wiry, and was younger as well, surely no more than twenty-five, but still older than Sterren. His garb was similar to Arl’s, but more ornate and better kept, and Sterren could detect no odor at all.
These three were more or less displaying the forms of deference due a superior, but it was obvious they did not really feel any of the respect those forms implied.
Lady Kalira had been subtler in her contempt.
“I’m Sterren of Ethshar,” Sterren replied, bowing in his turn. He pronounced “Ethshar” correctly, refusing to yield to the Semman usage. After all, he thought resentfully, Semmat did use the th sound, just not in combination with sh.
“Your pardon, my lord,” said Anduron, “but would it not be more proper to call yourself Sterren, Ninth Warlord of Semma?”
Anduron’s words were smoothly spoken, and Sterren would have liked to make a graceful reply. His limited knowledge of the language forced him to make do with, “I guess you’re right. I’m still new at this.” He smiled, not very convincingly.
Behind him. Alder was hurriedly stuffing the last few bites of gravy-soaked bread into his mouth.
The three new arrivals stood stiffly silent for a moment.
“Lord Sterren,” Shemder said, finally, “you sent for us?”
“Yes,” Sterren said. “Of course. Sit down.” He waved at the chairs in the various corners. Alder was just getting up from the chair at the desk, and after an instant’s hesitation Sterren settled on the foot of the bed instead of trying to maneuver behind the soldier.
The officers obeyed, bringing the chairs to a rough semicircle. Once seated, they stared stonily at Sterren.
He took a deep breath and delivered his little speech, two of the longest sentences he had yet contrived in Semmat.
“I called you here because I am told I am a warlord now, whether I like it or not. I think I need to find out what that means, and what it is I am expected to do.”
The officers still stared silently.
“You aren’t making this easy,” Sterren said, blinking at them.
“Lord Sterren,” Shemder said, “you still haven’t told us what you want of us.”
“What I want,” Sterren said, “is to know what I, your warlord, am expected to do. I want you three to tell me.”
The three exchanged looks.
“My lord,” Shemder said, “it is not our place to tell you what to do. It is your job to tell us what to do.”
Sterren suppressed a sigh. Whether they resented the elevation of a stranger as their superior, or whether they were testing him somehow, or whether they were simply stupid or stubborn or unimaginative, Sterren had no way of knowing, but he could see plainly enough that his officers were not going to be a great deal of help.
At least, not at first. Perhaps they would adjust eventually.
“Lord Shemder-” he began.
“I am no lord,” Shemder interrupted.
Sterren acknowledged the correction with a nod and said, “Shemder, then, tell me your duties.”
“My duties. Lord Sterren?”
“Yes, your duties.” He hoped he hadn’t gotten the wrong word.
“I-have no duties at present, my lord; I am the commander of the Semman cavalry, not a mere guardsman.”
“Cavalry?” The word was unfamiliar.
“Cavalry.”
Sterren looked at Alder, who supplied, “Soldiers on horses.”
Sterren nodded, filing the word away. “Cavalry. Good. You’re the commander of the Semman cavalry. Do you have a particular title? Do I call you my lord, or commander?”
“Captain, my lord,” Shemder said grimly. “You call me Captain.” “Thank you. Captain Shemder. And Captain Arl, is it?”
“Yes, Lord Sterren.” Where Shemder had sounded barely tolerant of his new lord, Arl sounded resigned and despairing.
“Captain of what?”
“Infantry, my lord, foot soldiers.”
Sterren nodded politely, appreciative of Arl’s trace of cooperation in explaining an unfamiliar word without forcing Sterren to ask.
“And Captain Anduron?”
“Lord Anduron, my lord. I am your second in command, in charge of everything that Captain Arl and Captain Shemder are not, archers, the castle garrison, supply, and so forth.” He spoke with studied nonchalance, sprawling comfortably on his chair.
“Ah!” That sounded promising, especially once Alder and Lord Anduron between them had explained the unfamiliar words. Sterren wondered if he could palm off all his duties on Lord Anduron and leave himseif to enjoy his
