The Giant's Lance, Vale of Arryn
Westeros, Dieron Military District, Draconis Combine
24 February 3073
The Karnov alighted on an airstrip between two high ridgelines. Once the wheels were chocked and the ramp lowered, Maysa walked down. The air smelled clean and wonderful; it had just rained, and it smelled of pine. It brought back memories of Grunwald for Maysa, and Sancrist on Virentofta. It smelled like home. But I'm not home, am I? she thought, and for the thousandth time, she asked herself why she was still doing this. Sheila and Senefa were different: Sheila claimed to dislike war, but Maysa saw the spark in her friend's eyes when an enemy flank collapsed and the Sentinels rolled forward. Senefa, of course, freely admitted that she lived only to fight. Maysa, on the other hand, hated war. Certainly she could walk away from the Sentinels any time she wanted. She loved the regiment like the family it was—the only family she'd ever known—but at some point one had to pull the pin, as the troops said, and call it a career. She was still young, and Daniel would be willing…
Maysa put those thoughts away. There would be time later, hopefully.
A tall man in battle dress walked to her, came to attention, and saluted, in the Kurita fashion, then gave her a stiff bow. Maysa returned the salute—Steiner style, as the Sentinels did, palm down to the brow—and returned the bow, as an equal, and held it a fraction of a second longer, as befitting a guest. "Lieutenant Commander Maysa Bari? I am Ser Donnel Waynwood. I hold the rank of Major in the militia of House Arryn, and Tai-i in the DCMS." Maysa noted that his battle dress was the tan and brown of House Kurita, but he also wore a blue cape with red trim, emblazoned with the eagle and crescent moon of House Arryn.
"Thank you, Ser Donnel." She hoped she got the honorific right. "I hope it's all right that I brought some personal guards." She motioned to the quartet of Sentinels Light Infantry guards—two men and two women, chosen from the elite unit on their basis of size, lethality, and fanatic willingness to die on command. They were all tough veterans, wearing the gray battledress of the Sentinels, with slung Rorynex submachineguns and polished naginatas. "This is Captain John Stengovich." Another exchange of salutes and bows. Stengovich did not smile. Maysa knew he wanted a larger guard force—like, say, the entire 3rd Company of the SLI—whereas Sheila insisted on ten and Maysa insisted on one or two. They compromised at four. Maysa wanted to bring Daniel along as well, but his post was with Gamma Battalion, pursuing the Word of Blake south towards Moat Cailin.
"Not at all, Lady Bari." Maysa found herself blushing at the honorific. "In fact, we would have been insulted had you not brought guards, for you would be implying we were nothing to fear. Allow me to welcome you—in the name of Robert Arryn, Lord of the Eyrie, Defender of the Vale, True Warden of the East, I bid you enter freely and charge you to keep the peace," Waynwood intoned formally.
"Thank you, and we will." I hope, Maysa added to herself.
They climbed into a wheeled personnel carrier, loaded what little luggage the Sentinels brought in the back, and drove away from the airstrip. Rainclouds clung to the mountaintops and ridges. It was quite beautiful, the Vale of Arryn, all green forest with white limestone karst jutting through the woods—again, very much like both Grunwald and Virentofta. Maysa marveled at the beauty of the land, and with effort tried to force herself into thinking of it in military terms—to see ridges as possible defense lines, to look at the fingers of mountains to see how one would best assault with a company. She glanced at Stengovich and could tell that was exactly what the infantryman was thinking. Maysa found she could not. It was just too wonderful; they could not fight here. Waynwood was silent, though she caught him stealing glances at her as well; Maysa realized that he was actually quite young, in his early twenties at best, probably not much older than Vikka. The tension in the APC could be cut with a sword blade. Abruptly he asked, "So what do you think?"
"About what?"
"Oh, um…the Vale." He rubbed the back of his head and grinned sheepishly. "I'm sorry, Lady Bari. I'm not much for protocol…"
She returned his grin. "That's okay. I'm not either." Stengovich gave a polite cough at that. "What's your normal, ah, job?"
"My family, you mean? Oh, we're farmers. My father owns farms north of here." Maysa checked his hands surreptitiously. They were unlined, uncalloused. She doubted Waynwood had ever actually farmed a day in his life. She and Stengovich shared a look. He smiled wryly, and she could read his thoughts: militia, noble officers. The kind that played at war when they felt like it, and were almost worthless in a real fight. Waynwood's title was inherited; he had not earned it in battle. Still, he looked eager enough, and Maysa knew one could make something of that. She caught the reflection of herself in one of the APC's armored windows. And whose grandmother are you, Maysa Bari? Are you that much of a battle-hardened veteran? Didn't you look like young Waynwood here, twenty years ago, when you were a snot-nosed kid who thought she knew something about fighting?
She and Waynwood made polite small talk, Maysa nodding appreciatively and commenting when appropriate. The drive took thirty minutes, then they pulled to a stop. The rainclouds moved on, and as they got out of the APC, even Stengovich looked impressed. Maysa could not suppress a gasp.
"Lady Bari, the Eyrie," Waynwood said.
Maysa knew from maps that the stark needle of karst that jutted out of the valley floor was actually named the Giant's Lance, but Eyrie seemed more appropriate: it hinted at a high, mysterious retreat far above the world, and the Eyrie was definitely that. The mountain seemed to go impossibly high, with a single waterfall spouting from its side, to fall in sheets of mist; Maysa doubted that the water even made it to the valley floor except as vapor. A dusting of snow cloaked its upper reaches, and she could see a castle clinging to the needle's side. "My God," she breathed. "Is that the Eyrie itself?" She pointed to the castle.
"Yes, ma'am," Waynwood said with no little pride. "The three other castles are waystations." He gestured at each in turn. "Stone, Snow, and Sky." He nodded. "The Eyrie has never been taken in battle. It is regarded as impregnable." Waynwood chuckled. "Yesterday we did have a mercenary claim that he could 'impregnate' the Eyrie with six men and some climbing gear. I would like to see him try."
Stengovich was evidently thinking the same thing, but Maysa faced Waynwood pointedly. "Mercenary? I thought we were the only mercenaries onworld."
Waynwood seemed to realize he had said too much. "Um…he's just a bodyguard. Just him, Lady Bari. He's not a MechWarrior, as far as I know." The beauty of the Eyrie at once disappeared. Maysa remembered that she was really in some danger here. Waynwood sensed the mood change as well, and hastily changed the subject. "We'll ride a jeep to Waystation Stone, but the rest of the way is either by foot or elevator. I'll have your luggage transferred; you'll be staying at the Eyrie tonight, by Lady Arryn's leave." He smiled to show no offense. "We would be honored by your presence, Lady Bari, but I hope you're not afraid of heights."
She waved it off. "Not at all." Maysa chuckled to herself; Sheila would rather fight her way through an Elemental swarm naked than stay in a place like the Eyrie.
Waynwood excused himself while he made the arrangements and Maysa went over to Stengovich. "Six men and climbing gear?"
Stengovich nodded. "My people could do it. It's not sheer. Limestone has lots of caves and handholds. It wouldn't be easy, but it's not as hard as it looks."
"'Mechs?"
"No chance. But you wouldn't need to." He waved at the top of the Eyrie. "If you wanted to make a job of that, you'd call in an airstrike. Couple of big citybusters on that and you'd take the top off. Hell, a couple of Arrow IVs could do it. Whoever built this place did it for decoration. You could make a mess of anyone stupid enough to make a frontal assault, and God help someone who got caught scaling it, but the idea is to scare hell out of you. Think about it for a bit and it's an anachronism." Stengovich shook his head. "All respect to our hosts, but this Lady Arryn's off her rocker if she thinks she's safe here."
The jeep ride to Waystation Stone was pleasant enough, though Maysa was sure to ask the driver, with the edge of command in her voice, not to go particularly fast. It took only twenty minutes, but it was twenty minutes of hairpin turns and switchbacks; Maysa suspected that the jeep driver would have taken the turns at breakneck speed to impress his passengers. She was not wrong: after dropping off his passengers, the driver sprayed pinecones and pebbles as he peeled out and headed back down the mountain at hair-raising velocity.
Waynwood served them a small meal of skewered meat and onions, which was particularly good, then excused himself. "Lady Bari, I'm afraid I need to return to the valley."
The hairs on Maysa's neck stood on end. "Oh? Surely we're not going to proceed on our own."
"Not at all." He motioned to a woman no taller than Maysa herself, which was not considerable. Her hair was cropped short, though not like a MechWarrior, and night black, with severe but attractive features; Maysa thought she looked like a young Sheila Arla-Vlata. "This is Corporal Mya Stone. She will lead you to Waystation Snow." Maysa exchanged salutes and bows with Waynwood and followed Stone into a courtyard. To her surprise, there was not another jeep. Instead, there were saddled mules. "Mules?" Maysa asked incredously.
"Yes, ma'am. Is that a problem?"
Maysa did not know how to answer that. At length, she said, "Um, I guess not…"
"Mules are much better the rest of the way than vehicles, ma'am. More efficient and sure-footed. They'll not let you down."
"She's right." Stengovich checked the bindings on the saddles with an expert eye. "Mules are much better in mountains. I've been meaning to acquire some for the SLI, but I haven't been sure about how to word the requisition request for a piece of ass." He carefully hauled himself atop one. The mule flicked its ears, but otherwise paid no attention.
"Well, it's new to me." Maysa was acutely aware that all eyes were on her, and had the distinct feeling that not of a few were hoping she would fall off the mule trying to mount it. They were infantry, groundpounders, while she was a lofty MechWarrior, a queen of the battlefield, and an officer besides. Gingerly, with Stone holding the reins, Maysa got herself on a mule. When Stone released the reins to get on her own mount, the mule looked back at Maysa, inspected her with dull eyes, then returned to grazing at the sparse grass, evidently satisfied that she was no threat. "How do you make it…how do you make it go?" Maysa asked.
Stone clicked her tongue twice and gave a shake of the reins, and her mule plodded forward. Maysa aped her, and nothing happened for a moment, but then the mule gave a bored shake of the head and started moving as well. Soon the train was heading up the slope. The path was wide, but unlike the road up, there were no guardrails. The trees began to noticeably thin, the air grew slightly colder—though not unpleasant—but the view was magnificent. The going was slow, but Maysa decided to enjoy herself. She had never been on a mule or horse before. Behind her, the SLI guards chatted in low tones, as soldiers do; despite differences in rank, Stengovich fell into conversation with them. That left Maysa and Mya Stone. The problem was, the younger woman was as silent as the stones around them.
Maysa, like nature, abhorred a vaccum. "So, Corporal Stone…how long have you been in the militia?"
"About a year, ma'am."
"What do you do normally?"
Stone briefly looked at her. "This is what I do normally, ma'am. I'm part of the permanent garrison."
"Oh." Maysa smiled, but it made no impression on Stone. "I apologize. I did not know that the Arryn militia had permanent soldiers."
"A small contingent, ma'am. To guard the Eyrie. We do have enemies here." Another look. "There are hill tribes. Small numbers of outlaws. They attack travelers, sometimes. We spend much time hunting them down, when and where we can."
Something in her eyes told Maysa what she wanted to know. "You've been in combat." It was a statement.
"Yes. Twice. Small firefights with the hill people." The hard expression faltered just a little. "Not as experienced as you, ma'am."
Maysa saw the small break and took advantage. "What do you think about the Word of Blake, Corporal?" It was a risky sally, but Maysa felt she was likely to get the truth. While Maysa was not offended by Waynwood's guarded responses—that was politics—she wanted to know what the rank and file thought. It would be soldiers like Mya Stone who would be the ones at the tip of the spear. "Please, tell me. I won't repeat it."
Stone chewed her lip for a moment, and suddenly looked like the girl she was. Maysa revised her age downwards; she probably was the same age as Vikka, about eighteen. She glanced around, though there was no one else on the trail. Finally, she said, "I hate them, ma'am."
"Why's that?"
"We heard what they've done. On Dieron and other places. They came here and the King, he wanted to fight them, but the Lannisters—" she fairly spit the name "—they convinced King Robert not to fight. The ones I've met, they've lorded it over us. Act like they own the place, they do. We're hoping to fight, now that the Sentinels—you—are here, but Lady Arryn—" Stone stopped and faced the trail. "I say too much, ma'am. In any case, my words mean nothing."
"Why? Because you're a corporal?" Maysa chuckled. "Sometimes when you're at the bottom you see more clearly than at the top. That's why I asked."
"No, that's not the reason, ma'am."
"Because you're a bastard?" Stone's head snapped around, anger reddening her face. Maysa shook her head and continued to smile. "I thought I recognized the naming convention. Me too."
"You…you're…?" Stone's expression became one of complete astonishment.
"Did you know your father and mother? I know neither. I was raised by the Sentinels."
"But your name—"
"It means 'beautiful redhair' on Zebelgenubi, where I think I was born. My adopted mother named me that." She inclined her head towards the diamonds on her shoulder boards. "Where I was, you are now. Where I am…" Maysa let the words trail off, knowing the girl was finishing the old saying in her head: you someday will be.
They arrived at Waystation Snow, which was ironic, because there was no snow. This far south, a full three hundred kilometers south of Winterfell, the temperatures were a very comfortable sixty Fahrenheit, and in the mountains, only in the low fifties. Maysa noticed that Stone wore a light jacket; the Sentinels, used to the much colder temperatures of Virentofta, did not even bother with that. She read in the briefing packet on the way down from Winterfell that King's Landing, another 150 kilometers south, was humid and hot. She was not looking forward to that.
The stop at Waystation Snow was brief, and they were back on their way within ten minutes. Now the path started getting narrower, hugging the side of the mountain, stairs cut into the living rock. The mules did not seem to notice, nor did Stone, who informed Maysa that she made this trip several times a day. It was noticeable to the Sentinels, however, and now the jackets came out of their packs as the wind became a living thing, sweeping off the top of the karst. Trees and all vegetation but a hardy-looking green lichen disappeared, and there were pockets of snow. "That's unusual," Stone remarked. She was saying more now, comfortable in Maysa's presence. "My mother says she's never seen snow this far down before."
"On our planet, Virentofta, we'd be well into snowdrifts this time of year, at this altitude," Maysa replied.
Stone shivered. "I can't comprehend that, ma'am."
"Ah, but Westeros is tidally locked, right?" Stone nodded hesitatingly. "So it's nice most of the time, but every few years it gets cold?"
"Every few decades. My mother is forty—" Maysa winced; she was only three years shy of that mark "—and she's never seen snow except on high mountains. The northerners like the Starks see it more, of course, and the Wall always has snow. But not down here." Another shiver. "My mother used to tell me stories of the last great winter. It lasted a decade. People high and low-born froze in their castles and barns. Mothers smothered their babies rather than watch them freeze. Or so they say."
"And House Kurita did nothing?"
"Luthien is very far away, ma'am." That told Maysa how much Kurita cared about Westeros. Sadly, it was something no Successor House was innocent of; there were so many worlds and only so many resources. Planets became important only if they had something precious and/or unique to offer. Or if someone else wanted them. "Best to dismount and lead the mules here, ma'am. The winds can be a little scary."
Maysa dismounted, thinking she was getting the hang of this. She took the reins and led the mule forward, and abruptly the mountain dropped out from under them.
The Giant's Lance split into a crevasse here, and some brave souls had built a causeway across. It was as wide as a mule and a man, but not much more. On the right was the crevasse, hundreds of feet deep, with trees growing haphazardly at the bottom amongst smashed rocks. On the left was a yawning abyss. The valley floor was thousands of feet down, a sheer drop here, and the wind seemed to beckon Maysa to step into that abyss and fall to her death. Her stomach lurched dangerously, and Maysa made a mental note never to make fun of Sheila's fear of heights again. Maysa, for only the second time in her life, froze in utter terror. "I can't do this," she struggled out. Her mule blocked the path; the SLI could not help her. Stengovich's expression tried to give her courage, but that had deserted her. God help me, I can't move!
Stone reached forward and took her hand. "Allow me, ma'am. Just move your feet forward, nice and easy. Nothing to worry about."
"Says you!" Maysa exclaimed.
Stone smiled for the first time. It lit up her face. "If I can do it, ma'am, you can. Where I am…"
Maysa laughed despite herself. She moved one foot forward. Then another. "Close your eyes if you want," Stone advised. "I'll lead you."
"N-no…I think I'll pass on that." At least with her eyes she could see the path. She focused on that. One step. Another step. Ten minutes passed, then twenty. At forty minutes, they stepped off the causeway into a secluded glen, and then they were at Waystation Sky. Maysa felt like she had earned a medal. Stengovich—who to his amusement had to lead one of his troops across much as Stone led Maysa—grinned at her. "We're all bastards now."
Once past Waystation Sky, the path was much easier. It wound inside the mountain, and though Maysa's legs were screaming by the time they reached the Eyrie, nothing was as bad as the causeway. Two guards stood at the top of the staircase, more for show than anything else, though their assault rifles were real enough; Maysa knew that, as narrow as the causeway and staircase was, two men could hold off an army. Of course, that was assuming the army was dumb enough to try a direct assault.
A gray-haired man in a spotless dress uniform waited on them in the antechamber inside. He was probably in his fifties, Maysa guessed, and his gray eyes showed he was no novice. His uniform was white and blue, with a different pattern but the same colors as that of the Snowbirds. He came to attention and bowed stiffly. "Commander Bari? I am Ser Vardis Egan, commander of the Arryn household guards."
Maysa returned the bow. "A pleasure, Ser Vardis." She made introductions.
"Lady Arryn wishes to see you immediately."
"Ah." Maysa hesitated. "Er, would she give us a moment to change? I'd like us to look our best."
Egan smiled. It looked like a fissure appearing in granite. "I'm sure Lady Arryn won't mind that. Let me show you the way." He gave a small nod to Stone. "Corporal, you are dismissed."
"A moment," Maysa said, halting Stone. She reached up and took off the clasp that held her braid in place, then handed it to Stone. "If you don't mind a gift. I think you deserve something for that causeway."
Stone smiled and took it in her hands. "Thank you, ma'am." On impulse, Maysa hugged her. Stone and Egan looked surprised at the breach in etiquette, but Maysa didn't care. As Egan led them away, Maysa felt that, if nothing else, she made a friend.