Fall of Angels (The Saga of Recluce #6)(107)

"I am no sage, no magician." Lygon rubs his forehead.

"I have little use for either," answers Ellindyja dryly. "As you remarked at the dinner the other night, my son faces a difficult situation. Lord Ildyrom has created some difficulties to the south, while the demon women have seized part of his patrimony in the Westhorns. These women are said to be alluring, not just to men, but to malcontented women here in Lornth." She pauses. "And all across the western lands, even in Suthya. Would you want women leaving Suthya to create a land ruled by women? How would you trade with them? Would they not favor traders from, say, Spidlar?"

"I could not say. I have not heard of such." Lygon licks his thick lips.

"Let us trust that such does not come to pass, then." The needle flickers through the white fabric. "Yet how can Lord Sillek my son support such a cause merely because it would benefit the traders of Suthya?"

Lygon's brows furrow. "If you would go on ..."

"It is simple, honored trader. My son is concerned that the honor of merely regaining his patrimony is not enough to justify the deaths and the coins spent. His lords are concerned that their daughters and the daughters on their holdings do not find the wild women alluring, but they cannot speak this because they would be seen as weak or unable to control their own women."

Lygon shakes his head. "What has this to do with trading?"

Ellindyja's lips tighten ever so slightly before she speaks. "We have few weaponsmiths, and armies require supplies. If the honor of upholding your-and our-way of life is not sufficient for you to speak to my son about the need to uphold his honor, and that of his lords, then perhaps the supplies needed in such an effort will offer some inducement. Except you need not speak of supplies to Lord Sillek. That would be too direct, even for him."

"My lady . . . you amaze me. Lord Sillek is fortunate to have a mother such as you."

"I seek only his best interests, trader. Happily, they coincide with yours."

"Indeed." Lygon's eyes wander toward the door.

Lady Ellindyja rises. "You must have matters to attend to more pressing than listening to an old lady. Still, if you could see it in your heart to offer your observations about honor and about how you see that lords would not admit their concerns publicly . .. why, I would be most grateful."

Lygon stands and bows. "I could scarcely do less for a mother so devoted to her son."

"I am deeply devoted to his best interests," Ellindyja reiterates as she escorts the tall trader to the door.

The tower door opens, and Lygon steps into the hallway and strides toward the steps to the lower level, his face impassive, his eyes not catching the blond woman who is descending from the open upper parapets.

As she follows the trader down the steps, Zeldyan's eyes flick to the door to Lady Ellindyja's room, and her mouth tightens.





LIX



IN THE CORNER of the woodworking area of the tower, Nylan slowly traced the circular cuts he needed to make in the scrap of poorly tanned leather. That way, he got longer thongs and could use the leftover scraps. Even so, his makeshift net was turning into a patchwork of cord, leather thongs, and synthcord.

He glanced at the pieces of the unfinished cradle, then at the rocking-chair sections. Both needed more smoothing and crafting before he glued and joined them, but his hands cramped after much time with the smoothing blade-and Siret and Ellysia had a more urgent need to finish their cradles.

From the other side of the tower came the smell of meathorse meat, cooking slowly in the big oven. There was also the smell of bread, with the hint of bitterness that Huldran and others had noted.

Nylan found himself licking his lips-over horse meat?

It had been a long winter. For a few days, they'd eat well. And then they wouldn't, not for another eight-day or so. He tried not to dwell on the fate of the poor swaybacked and tired gelding and instead looked at the fragile-appearing net.

"How do you catch the snow hares?" Nylan had asked Murkassa.

"Weaving I know, and cows, and sheep, but not hunting. Men hunt, Ser Mage." The round-faced girl had shrugged, as if Nylan should have known such. Then she had added, "It is too cold to hunt here, except for you angels, and I must stay behind the walls."

Hryessa had been more helpful. "My uncle, he once showed me his snares and his nets .. ."

After listening to descriptions of snares and setting them, Nylan had decided nets were more practical in the deep snow of the Roof of the World.

Then, he hadn't considered the sheer tediousness of making the damned net. With a slow deep breath, he started cutting, trying to keep his hands steady, knowing that, as in everything, he really couldn't afford to make any mistakes, to waste any of the leather.

He rubbed his nose, trying to hold back a sneeze. With the dust left over from building and the sawdust from woodworking and the soot from the furnace, he wondered why they weren't all sneezing.

Kkhhhchew! Kkkchew! The engineer rubbed his sore nose again.

"It's hard to keep from sneezing," said Siret from where she smoothed the sideboards of her cradle. "I hate it when I sneeze, especially now."

Behind and around Nylan, guards worked on their own projects. Ayrlyn was attempting a crude lutar, using fiber-cabling from one of the landers as strings. Surprisingly, Hryessa also worked on a lutar.