Fall of Angels (The Saga of Recluce #6)(128)

Ryba stepped out of the tower doorway, dressed in clean leathers, both blades at her waist. Just inside the door, Nylan could make out Ellysia, Dyliess in one arm, Dephnay in the other. The marshal surveyed the group, her eyes halting on the two women.

Both would-be refugees prostrated themselves. "Refuge, Angel of Darkness."

"You can get up," she said wryly in Old Anglorat. "I'm the marshal of Westwind, not an angel of darkness." She turned to Nylan and asked, "Have you talked with them?"

"No. The brunette seems all right. The black-haired one is trouble, filled with chaos."

"Chaos?"

"The white stuff that means no good. It's like an aura." Nylan glanced around. "She's like a white wizard."

Ryba winced, then turned to Ayrlyn. "You're the healer. What do you think?"

"I'd go with the engineer's assessment."

Ryba looked at the black-haired woman. "You still carry the evils of men, and of chaos. We will not harm you. We will not receive you. We will give you food and let you make your own way." The black-haired woman swayed, and put a hand out to hold the causeway wall.

"She's acting," snapped Ayrlyn.

"Faker," added Siret in a low voice.

Nylan nodded in agreement.

"You're sure?" Ryba asked Ayrlyn.

"Yes."

"You are bid to leave," ordered Ryba. "Now. Walk up to the-"

The dark-haired woman turned. Something glinted in her hand, and she jumped toward the healer.

Siret's blade flashed down, almost in reflex, cutting across the dark-haired woman's shoulder and into her chest. Blood splashed, striking the stones of the causeway almost as fast as the corpse from which it came.

Nylan staggered at the wave of whiteness coming from the death. His skull felt as if it might split for an instant, before the sensation subsided to a dull aching.

Ayrlyn eased back and quietly retched into the depression behind the causeway.

The brown-haired woman flattened herself on the stones. "Spare me!"

Denalle stepped forward and kicked back me dead woman's hand. Under it was a dagger with a jagged blade.

"Nice," said Ryba dryly. "What about the other?" Her eyes went to the groveling brunette.

"No chaos. We can't tell intent," Nylan said, his eyes darting toward Ayrlyn, who had finally straightened up. Their eyes crossed, sharing the knowledge and the chaotic feeling of death.

"Ayrlyn? Would you and one of the guards-and the mage"-her eyes focused on Nylan-"talk with the other one? If she seems all right, have Hryessa and Istril get her set up. If not, feed her, and send her on her way with some food, not a lot."

Nylan glanced at the marshal, as if to ask if she had any visions.

"Not this time. They're not always reliable."

Although Rienadre looked puzzled at the exchange, she said nothing. Ayrlyn nodded almost imperceptibly.

"We've all got work to do. Let's get on with it." Ryba turned and went back into the tower.

"You may rise, woman," Nylan said in Old Anglorat.

The brunette looked up, her eyes going to Siret, who remained mounted, cleaning the black blade on a scrap of cloth, then to the closed tower door.

Ayrlyn glanced at Denalle. "Would you and Rienadre bury ... don't make a big deal of it, out by the bandits, deep enough .. ."

"We'll take care of it, healer," answered Rienadre.

Denalle glanced at Nylan and nodded.

"The rest of you can get back to planting. I'll be there before too long," said Ayrlyn. "Siret and Llyselle, and the mage, are enough guard for one woman."

Denalle slipped the jagged blade into her belt before she and Rienadre lugged off the body.

The brunette had gathered herself into a sitting position on the stones as the majority of the guards left. The entire left side of her face was yellow and green from a recent series of bruises.

"Who are you?" began Ayrlyn.

"Blynnal... I'm from Rohrn ... I... we heard ... there was a place..." Tears began to stream down her cheeks. "But .. . women ... don't. . . kill. .."

"Why not?" asked Ayrlyn. "Men do. Women have strong arms, too."

"But..."

"Child ..." said Ayrlyn softly. "If we are attacked, we defend ourselves. Is that wrong?"

"Jrenya, she was strong. She said no man would ever force her, and you killed her."

"Why did you and Jrenya come here?" asked Nylan.

Blynnal's eyes dropped to the stones, to the patch of blood that marked where Jrenya had fallen.

Ayrlyn and Nylan waited. So did Siret and Llyselle. Llyselle's mount whuffed, and the guard patted its neck.

"Dyemeni, he was my consort, he beat me after Kyel died ... he kept beating me . . ." More tears rolled down Blynnal's face. "Jrenya said it was wrong. She said we needed to do something. When ... the snows melted ... Dyemeni, he took out his big leather belt... he did ... things ..."

"What about Jrenya?" asked Nylan, ignoring the faint glare from Ayrlyn. "Why did she come with you?"

"She .. . she said, Nortya was mean ..."

"Did Nortya beat her?" asked Nylan. "Did Jrenya have bruises like yours?"