Fall of Angels (The Saga of Recluce #6)(53)

"Yes, ser." The two nodded and looked at the sheep, then slowly circled downhill of the milling animals.

The herder moaned, and Berlis levered her blade out, wincing, but the point was firm as it rested against the herder's neck. The man's eyes bulged.

"Go ahead. Explain it to him, Narliat," Ayrlyn suggested. She rummaged through the prepackaged medical gear.

"I have no copper."

Nylan fished out the purse he had taken from the dead bandit, extracted the single copper, and handed the worn coin to Narliat. "There."

Narliat looked at Nylan, turned to the herder, then to Berlis. Berlis retracted the sword. The herder swallowed, but did not move.

"Sit up," Nylan commanded in his poor Anglorat-good enough because the herder sat up slowly. "Go ahead," the engineer told Narliat.

"This is your payment. It is full payment for your treachery. There is no other payment, save death, should you reject this coin."

The herdsman gulped, looking toward Ryba. "Kind lady . . . they made me. They would have killed me. My ewes, they are half my flock ... my children will suffer . .. Take the fowl... take them as my gift, but... the flock . . . ?"

Ryba's eyes were as hard as emerald. "Your treachery has killed a dozen men, not that they were worth much, and one of my marines, who was worth much. Another has lost the use of her arm, and a third took an arrow in the thigh. Don't talk of suffering."

Narliat looked at Nylan, and the engineer realized that the herder had not understood a word. "Our people have suffered from your treachery," Nylan explained in Old Anglorat. "You helped make that treachery. The marshal has been generous. Will you take payment or death?"

Narliat's slight nod confirmed that Nylan's words met the formula.

"And," Nylan added, though he could not have said why, "do not think to take the coin and reject the offer. Do not take the coin and curse us. For then you will live all your days as though you had died, and you will be tortured endlessly." He could feel something flash before-or from-his eyes.

The herder fell forward in another dead faint.

"Friggin' torps," said Berlis. "Man has no guts. Faints twice, and nothing touched him."

"The . . . mage . . . did," stuttered Narliat. "He-the herder-will never think a dangerous thought again."

"Impressive," said Ayrlyn.

The herder groaned and slowly picked himself up. "The coin ... the copper . .. please ... please .. ."

Narliat handed him the copper.

"Please . . . can I take my cart? Please let me depart."

"Go on," said Ryba.

The herder looked at Nylan.

"Go. Never forget."

- "No, great one. No. No." The herder shivered as he slowly unstacked the four crates, each with a pair of chickens with reddish-brown feathers. Then he took the pony's reins and untied them from the stake in the ground. Leaving the white banner on the ground, he led the cart away, looking back over his shoulder every few paces.

"We need a cart," Nylan said, looking at the departing herder.

"A cart?" asked Ayrlyn.

"For firewood, bricks, you name it. . ."

"Fine," laughed Ayrlyn. "Saryn and I will work on it."

"You?"

"Why not? If you can build towers and forge swords, surely two of us can find a way to build a simple cart."

"Now that you've disposed of those logistics, how did you manage that last bit of terror, Nylan?" asked Ryba.

Ayrlyn frowned, but stepped back from the marshal as Ryba edged the roan closer to the engineer.

"What?"

"Terrifying that poor sot."

"He's not a sot, ser," said Berlis. "He's a worthless hunk of meat." Then she paused. "I have to admit that the engineer scared me for an instant, and I didn't even know what he was saying."

"I'm waiting, Nylan," said Ryba lightly.

The engineer finally shrugged. "A little applied psychology and a menacing tone in a foreign accent." His head throbbed slightly as he said the words, and he frowned.

"Psychology, my left toe," muttered Ayrlyn under her breath. "Wizardry, plain and simple."

Nylan flushed, but Ryba had eased her mount back slightly and missed the byplay. The engineer said more loudly, to catch Ryba's ear, "I still need to go down and check the brickworks. There's nothing I can do here right now, and I want to get the tower ready to live in."

Ryba opened her mouth, closed it, then said, "All right. I trust you'll use your senses to scout the way."

The slight emphasis on "senses" was not lost on the engineer, and he nodded. "I will, Marshal."

"Thank you, Honored Mage." She flushed at the title. "And Istril and Siret can ride with you." She laughed. "The silver angels."

Nylan frowned before he realized that the three of them all had the bright silver hair created by the underjump that had brought them to the Roof of the World.

"Siret can take Llyselle's mount," continued Ryba. "You can try one of the captured ones. They look spiritless enough even for you."

Nylan nodded. "That's fine."

".. . what was all that about?"