Fall of Angels (The Saga of Recluce #6)(129)

"No ... but... he was mean."

"How was he mean?" pressed Nylan. "Did you see him hurt her?"

"No ... but she hated him ... she said ... her father made her join him .. . because he was the factor's only son."

"So .. . you left Rohrn because your consort beat you?"

Blynnal nodded.

"Did Jrenya kill Dyemeni?" asked Nylan.

Ayrlyn's eyes widened, as did Siret's.

Blynnal looked down at the stones.

"Did she?"

"I ... don't know . . . She stabbed him, and we ran. We meant to leave anyway, but he came home early, and he saw the packs, and he hit me. He didn't see her."

"What about her consort?"

Again the brunette looked down at the stones.

"She killed him, too, I suppose?"

The faintest of nods answered Nylan.

He looked at Ayrlyn. "I don't know. She's weak-probably because everyone beat her up. She doesn't seem evil or chaotic ... but two murders?"

"The dead one did both," pointed out Siret.

"I... was glad..." admitted Blynnal. "Dyemeni... hurt me ... so much . . ."

"Honesty helps," Nylan offered.

The brunette sat on the dust and mud of the causeway stones in her tattered trousers and tunic.

Ayrlyn glanced from the green and purple side of Blynnal's face to the two mounted guards. "What do you two think? She'll be sharing your quarters."

"Her problem seems to be men, and we sure don't have too many around here, especially since the weasel left," said Llyselle.

"The weasel?" Nylan said inadvertently.

"Narliat."

Ayrlyn looked at Siret.

"I'd say to give her a chance. First mistake, and she's gone."

The healer looked to Nylan.

"That's my reaction . .. but I'm a man."

As the conversation proceeded, Blynnal had turned from one face to the next, eyes puzzled, almost like a trapped hare.

"I think we agree," said Ayrlyn, "and none of us are exactly happy about it." She turned to Blynnal and switched to Old Anglorat. "We are not happy with how you came..."

Tears oozed from the local woman's eyes.

"... but... you will have a chance to prove yourself."

Blynnal threw her arms around Ayrlyn's legs. "Thank you, great lady. Thank you! I will be good. I will cook. I will scrub, but do not send me away."

"You may cook or scrub-we all do. Even the mage digs and lifts rocks. But once you prove yourself, we will also teach you the blade."

Blynnal's eyes widened. "I had not thought. . ."

"You will learn when to use it-and when not to. Both are important." Ayrlyn glanced at Nylan. "I just hope .. ."

"So do I."

"She'll be all right," said Siret softly. "She's just a scared little rabbit who got with the wrong people. That other one, though ..."

"Very bad person." Llyselle shook her head. "Very bad."

"Anything else?" asked the healer, looking toward the tower.

"Before you go ... I had a question," said Nylan. "Could I get two green trunks, around a half cubit thick, for the bridge?"

Ayrlyn looked over his shoulder at the stones stacked around the gorge through the road. "I'll talk to you about that after I get Blynnal organized with Istril. But I think we can manage that-if it doesn't rain." She gave Nylan a brief smile and touched Blynnal on the shoulder. "You need to wash, and to have your hair cut and to get clean garments..."

As Ayrlyn and her charge left, Llyselle looked to the sky. "It won't rain. I can tell."

Nylan wondered what else the silver-haired guard could tell. He looked back at the cart and the stones. Then he took a deep breath and started back toward the unbuilt bridge, trying to ignore the thoughts of the unbuilt smithy.





LXXVIII



THRAP!

Hissl glances up from the table to the half-open door to the outside landing, half-open to allow in the spring breeze.

"Yes?"

"I seek the great wizard Hissl," comes the voice from beyond the door.

Hissl rises and picks up the white bronze dagger from the table as he steps toward the door. "And why might you seek him?"

The door swings open, but the hooded figure standing there does not enter the room.

"I'm not exactly interested in cutthroats sneaking around with their faces hidden." Hissl's tone is faintly ironic.

"I am not a cutthroat, and I offer you the key to your wishes, honored Wizard," begins the hooded figure.

"My wishes? How would you presume to know my wishes?" asks Hissl.

"An unnamed brethren of yours presumes, not I." The hooded figure extends an object. . . very slowly.

Hissl reaches, then draws back his hand. "Iron! That is no token of friendship!" His fingers tighten around the dagger.

"Look again, I was told to tell you."

Hissl's eyes narrow, but he studies the object on the other's palm. "Chaos, bound in iron, and yet, the chaos binds the iron. How can that be?"

The hooded man steps forward and sets the object on the white oak table. "I will leave that for you, and for you to consider." He turns and walks down the narrow steps from the upper room.