Fall of Angels (The Saga of Recluce #6)(172)

Gerlich loomed over the group, and his blade cleared a guard from her mount, almost bisecting her.

Nylan winced at the additional pain of more death, but leaned forward in the saddle, still gripping his blade.





"Now, we'll see, Angel and Marshal!" yelled Gerlich, spurring his mount toward Ryba, pushing aside one of his own armsmen as he came up on her left side, the huge blade spinning like night toward the marshal, even as she turned.

The dark-haired leader dived sideways as the blade clove through the neck of the roan. The big red horse crumbled, but Ryba tucked and rolled out, staggering erect into a space in the midst of the dust and horses.

One of Ryba's arms hung loosely as Gerlich wheeled his mount toward her.

Her shoulders slumped, and Nylan watched helplessly. Gerlich's blade rose again.

At the last moment, the forgotten slug-thrower came up ... and four even shots stitched four welts of red across Gerlich's chest. The big blade slipped from his fingers as his mouth dropped open.

As the ten or so armsmen turned, as if to attack the dismounted marshal, Saryn lifted both her blades. Each glittered like black fire in the midday sun, each impossibly reflecting the sun. Saryn and the half-dozen guards beside her charged the remaining armsmen, splitting off half the group and backing them away from Ryba. The guards' black blades glittered in the late morning light, glimmered like black fire.

A second group of five guards, led by Fierral, formed a tight circle around Ryba against nearly twice their number.

Nylan turned toward Ryba's attackers, and the mare pulled up short, almost slamming into an armsman's mount from behind. As the man turned, seemingly in slow motion, Nylan's iron blade slashed.

With the cold white of another death, Nylan shuddered, and his senses screamed.

No matter how hard he tried to hold on, the engineer could feel himself slumping in the saddle, almost in slow motion, as the power of that exploding whiteness slammed into him, and his fingers grasped at the mare's mane, trying to hold on. Trying ...





CXI



ZELDYAN SITS NEARLY upright in the rocking chair, Nesslek on her shoulder, patting him as he cries. "Now ... now ..." She nods to Sillek. "What did Terek tell you? You went running out of here like the Westhorns had burst into flame."

Sillek looks down at the uneaten remnants of his midday meal. "I'm worried."

"That is obvious." She continues to pat Nesslek.

Her son arches his back slightly and gives an uuurpppp.

"There . . . does little Nesslek's tummy feel better? There . . ." Zeldyan raises an eyebrow. "Does this have to do with your adventuresome wizard's exploits?"

"He's dead. Somehow they turned his wizardry back on him and cut him down with cold iron." Sillek stands and walks to the window, his eyes looking toward the fields filled with grain turning gold, a gold he does not see though his eyes rest upon the fields. "They have demon blades-or angel blades-or something. Hissl threw his fire at the head angel, and she turned it with her blade. I didn't see it in the glass, but Terek swears it happened."

"Do you believe him?"

Nesslek whimpers again, and Zeldyan brings him up to her shoulder, patting him once more.

"I've never seen him look that shaken."

"How many of Hissl's armsmen survived?"

"A handful, if that. They were led by a big man who was one of the best I've seen. He had a big blade, as big as my father's, and he used it like a toothpick. It wasn't enough."

"What about the angels?"

Sillek turns from the sunlight and the window. "They lost some. How many I couldn't say, but there seem to be as many as before. Their leader was wounded, but she was still giving orders. I don't know about their mage. They were carrying him off the field, but the glass didn't show any blood. Terek thinks he was only stunned, says that he tied Hissl's magic in knots at the end."

"You're very worried."

"You know why," Sillek answers. "They'll get more women after this. They know how to train them. They have blades that turn wizards' fire and cut through plate armor. They have bows that send arrows through anything. I have Ildyrom stirring up* rumors that I'm a coward, and that I intend to turn Lornth over to the women. I have my own holders who will demand that I destroy this abomination, and what will I get out of it?" Sillek snorts. "If I'm unlucky, I'm dead. If I'm lucky, I'll win a victory that will destroy me. To win, I'll need to raise an army-not a force, but an army as big as the one that took Rulyarth-and I can't pull your father out of Rulyarth, or the forces that support him. So I need more mercenaries and levies, and both are expensive. That means a tax on the holders. Who else has got coins? That will make them mad, and they won't remember that it's their bitching that created the mess."

"It is that bad, isn't it?"

Nesslek burps again before his father can respond.

"It's worse. I hate those women. Just by existing, they're going to destroy me, one way or another."

"No they won't. Life is never easy, but you can defeat them. I know you don't want to, and I don't, either, but we don't want a holder revolt, either." Zeldyan smiles. "When you come back, then you certainly won't have any trouble with Ildyrom."