Fall of Angels (The Saga of Recluce #6)(149)

"I get so nauseated I can't hold anything down." Her eyes dropped. "It seems so ... weak. I tell myself it must be in my mind, but the reaction's so immediate, so physical..."

"It's more like a splitting headache for me. The last few times, it's been so intense I couldn't see or move for a moment or two."

"Great survival reactions for a violent culture." Ayrlyn's tone was dry.

"It's more violent here because Ryba's changing things, and change usually is violent."

"We're part of that change," Ayrlyn said. "And there's not much way to get around that."

After a long silence, Nylan finally asked, "You're really not going to sing that song, are you?"

"No. I've got another trading run to make." Ayrlyn laughed. "So I won't be singing it. Not now. I'll teach it to Istril. It's simple enough, and she's actually getting passable with the simple lutar we built. It doesn't have the depth of tone this one does, but it works."

"Why are you going to teach her that song?"

"Why not?" answered Ayrlyn. "As many untrustworthy people have said, 'Trust me.' "

"I guess I have to." He stood. "But the song's awful . . . 'a mighty mage'? You have to be joking." He paused, then asked, "Is it safe for you to keep trading?"

"It's as safe as sitting here waiting to be attacked, if I'm careful. We avoid the larger towns, and I've got some ideas where this Lord Sillek has his garrisons."

"I don't know. I don't like it." He shook his head.

"I'll be all right."

"Be careful."

"I will."

"And try not to sing that song anywhere."

"As these things go, it's a good song."

"Try not to have it sung for a while." Not until I'm dead, preferably, and I hope that s a long while, he added to himself.

"After I teach it to Istril... we'll think about it."

"Please don't." Nylan frowned. "I've sat around too long. After I get something to drink, I've got to find another lander panel to turn into low-tech weapons of destruction."

"Good luck." Ayrlyn rose. "I'm going back down to the loggers. It's amazing how experience changes people's views. After the cold of the winter, now all they can think about is making sure there's enough wood for next winter. That bothered them more than the short rations."

"Food wasn't that short. How are we doing now?"

"Those horses have helped a lot, and so have our local recruits. There's more out there in the forest than we knew." Ayrlyn shrugged. "For now, we're all right, but we'll need a lot more coin for supplies-a lot more."

Nylan started back uphill, conscious that Ayrlyn's eyes stayed on his back for a long time.





XCII



HISSL GLANCES AT the candle, then at the darkness outside. A lamp in the barracks courtyard casts a faint glow across the wooden steps that lead up to his quarters.

He looks at the beaker of wine on the table, already beginning to turn, for all that he has had the bottle less than a day, then back out through the window. Beyond the courtyard, on the far side, the windows of Koric's room are dark.

"Out with his woman," snorts Hissl. "He has his power and his woman, and Terek rides beside Sillek, and I... I wait for an attack that will never come, not while I am here. Not while Ildyrom knows I am here."

He fills the beaker from the bottle and drinks fully half what he has poured, wincing as he swallows.

A sense of unease fills him, and he looks at the flat glass on the table. Leaving the beaker half-full, he walks to the doorway.

A tall figure slips up the stairs, gracefully, yet not furtively, followed by a second smaller figure.

Hissl touches his dagger, but does not draw it as the others approach. Instead, he opens the door and waits.

The man who stops in the doorway fills it, and towers over both Hissl and the sturdy armsman in the cloak behind the stranger.

"I understand you bid me visit you, Wizard?" asks the visitor in accented speech. The tall man wears only a sleeveless tunic in the cool evening, yet his brow is damp, and his face appears flushed in the indirect light.

Hissl nods, "I did. What would a warrior, a true warrior from the Roof of the World, wish from a poor wizard?"

"To make our fortune. To keep the world from being changed. To provide you with fame and position." The tall stranger glances toward the table and the flat glass and the beaker. "Might we come in?"

"Of course." Hissl steps back and offers a deep and ironic bow; "My humble quarters await you."

The tall man takes the high stool and leans forward, waiting until Hissl seats himself. The cloaked armsman stands by the door.

"Why have you taken so long?" Hissl begins.

"I beg your pardon, Ser Wizard, but it has taken somewhat longer to accomplish the necessary."

"The necessary?"

The stranger smiles coldly. "To travel here. To raise coins. Such coins, I understand, are necessary. Gold, after all, is the mother's milk of ambition, is it not?"

"I had not heard it expressed quite that way," admits Hissl.