Fall of Angels (The Saga of Recluce #6)(55)

He shook his head. The pain, the aches, the constant tension-they all seemed too real for death or dreams.

"Are you certain you're all right?" Istril's eyes continued to survey the forest to their left, then the cliffs to the right.

"Yes. Mostly." Nylan bent and went through the brigand's purse. A few coppers, and three shiny silvers. A thin gold ring. A beat-up knife. He checked the clothing and boots. "Boots worn through and stuffed with some old leather." He stood and sniffed. "He had to have a mount somewhere."

The engineer cast out his senses again, searching not for more brigands, but the horse. "I'm not sure, but I think his mount is tethered back there."

"What about more bandits?" asked Istril.

"We thought we had them all," said Siret, "and this one popped up."

The engineer shook his head. "There aren't any. Not alive."

"Narliat says you're a wizard, too-a black one. Do you know what that means?" Istril glanced back toward the trail and then focused on Nylan.

"No." Nylan took the reins and began to lead his mount through the trees toward the horse tethered behind a massive pine just past a large boulder sunk in pine needles. "A black wizard? I've got enough trouble just being an engineer."

Istril ducked and rode after him. After a moment, so did Siret.





XXXI



"NOW THAT YOU have reclaimed the grasslands, when will you reclaim the Roof of the World? And your father's honor?" The gray-haired Lady Ellindyja shifts her not-inconsiderable bulk on the upholstered bench in the alcove. Her fingers dart across the embroidery hoop, the needle shining like a miniature blade that she deftly wields. Sillek stands behind the carved chair with the purple cushion, resting his arms on the back. "The grasslands are reclaimed only so long as Koric and Hissl remain in Clynya. The moment they leave, Ildyrom's forces will return, in even greater numbers, no doubt. I send armsmen into the Westhorns, and I won't only lose the grasslands, but half the land between Clynya and Rohrn."

"If you cannot reclaim that honor, you must do something to solidify your position. You need an heir, Sillek." His mother's voice is flat. "You know you do."

"I also need score five more armsmen, control of Rulyarth, and Ildyrom in his grave."

"Not to mention regaining control of the Roof of the World." The needle continues to dart through the white fabric, trailing crimson-red thread.

"As I have told you, most honored mother, that might be a very bad idea, right now." Sillek straightens and purses his lips. "A very bad idea."

"A bad idea? To reclaim your patrimony? Given all that your father has done for you, Sillek, how could you possibly even think that, let alone say it so soon after his last sacrifice for you?" The glittering needle darts through the fabric like a cavalry blade chasing a fleeing footman.

Sillek waits until the pace of the needle slows. "I took your advice, dear Mother, and we are already reaping its benefit, and it has cost us little."

"Costs? You talk so much of costs." The needle shimmers, then plunges into the fabric. "Costs are for merchants, or for scoundrel traders."

"I am not being clear, I fear."

"Clear? I fear you are all too clear. You will give up your patrimony because your enemies are too much for you."

"I do not intend to forfeit my patrimony, Mother dear, and your assumption that I would do so speaks poorly for me, and not well for you. I would certainly never wish to relinquish that which my honored sire had gathered for my benefit or the benefit of our people." Sillek walks toward the alcove.

"Could you explain your logic to your poor benighted mother, Sillek, Lord of the Realm? How can you retain your patrimony when you refuse to reclaim it? Are you a magician now?" The needle stitches another crimson loop in a droplet of blood that falls from a gray sword.

Sillek smiles. "From what Terek has told me, and from my other sources, so far the angels on the Roof of the World have destroyed at least three bands of brigands trying to claim my reward-that reward you suggested so wisely. And two of the lesser angels have been killed, and four or five wounded, while close to a score of brigands have been destroyed." His smile turns into a laugh. "I couldn't do nearly so well, and I certainly am in no position to lose another score three of trained armsmen."

Sillek glances out the window and toward the river. "Next spring . . . after winter up there-then we'll see."

"I do hope so, Sillek, dear. I do hope so." The sharp needle stitches in another loop of blood.

Sillek's lips tighten, but he does not speak.





XXXII



NYLAN OPENED HIS eyes slowly in the gray light that came through the open tower window. Although fall had scarcely arrived, the nights had begun to chill, enough so that the single blanket seemed thin, indeed. Blankets were not used in large numbers on spacecraft, and the few that had been brought down felt less than adequate for the winter ahead. That meant another set of items to be bought from the all-too-infrequent traders. Nylan blinked as he wondered how they could pay for all that they still needed.

Although the landers had been stripped of what would make the tower more habitable, that had provided little enough. The marines occupied the third level of the tower. Gerlich, Saryn, Ayrlyn, and Narliat occupied part of the fourth level. The fifth was used for miscellaneous storage, and Ryba and Nylan rattled around in a sixth level that had little in it except for the two lander couches lashed together and a few weapons and personal effects.