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

"What about the big southern continent?"

"Isn't it hot?" asked Saryn. "It's not that far south of the equator."

"Very hot," admitted Nylan.

"You don't seem very positive, Ser Nylan," commented Ryba. "Each unit we sit and talk costs us power, and all you do is say no."

Nylan shrugged. "I'd vote for the second-largest continent. It's got some high mountain plateaus in that western range. It's spring or early summer now, and we can land. There's greenery there, but no signs of habitation-probably too cold for the locals, and it might be helpful not to tramp on anyone's boots."

"It's hundreds and hundreds of kays from any access to oceans or major rivers," pointed out Ayrlyn.

"We're not exactly into seafaring," Nylan said dryly.

"Fine," said the captain. "We land on this mountain plateau. We get a defensible position-maybe. We get snow and ice over our head in the winter, a short growing season, and probably not much access to building materials."

"We also have more time to establish ourselves before the local authorities, or what passes for such, show up," answered Nylan.

"It's insane to try and put a lander into a mountain pasture. It could be just a high-altitude swamp," protested Saryn.

"The odds are against that, and there are two areas where we could land. Each is twice as long as a lander's set-down distance."

"Twice as long in the middle of mountains that could rip a lander into little shreds."

Nylan shrugged. "How long will anyone last if we set down on those hot and flat plains?"

"We don't even know if they have local authorities, or if the locals are intelligent, or if they even look remotely like us," protested Saryn. "This is insane."

"I think you just validated the engineer's suggestion," said Ryba. "There's too much we don't know, and we don't have the energy to shuttle things off the ship. Besides . . ." She left the sentence unfinished, but Nylan knew the unspoken words. Except for removable power supplies, weapons, and tools, the Winterlance would shortly be unusable in any case.

"Trying to hit mountain landing areas? That's crazy."

"You're right," Nylan agreed. "Except that trying to land anywhere else would be even riskier. The landing is high risk, but it makes survival lower risk. Take your choice."

"We're opting for long-term survival," announced the captain. "I'm not interested in merely prolonging existence enough to die of heat exhaustion on a nice flat plain where landing is easy. I'll begin computing the entry paths," the captain announced. "Nylan, would you do a survey of your equipment to see if there's anything else that could be useful planetside?"

The engineer nodded as the captain assigned the responsibilities for cannibalizing the Winterlance.





IV



"HAVE YOU DETERMINED the cause of the great perturbation between order and chaos-the one that shook the world last evening?" asks the white-haired man dressed in the more traditional flowing white robes.

The younger, but balding, man straightens and looks up from the circular glass in the middle of the white oak table. "Ser?"

"I asked, Hissl, about the great perturbation. Jissek still lies in a stupor, and my glass shows that waves flooded the Great North Bay."

"Waves always flood the Great North Bay, honored Terek." Hissl inclines his head to the older magician, and the summer light that reflects off the roof of the keep of Lornth and through the window glistens on his bald pate. "I do believe that order fought chaos in the skies, and that times will be changing."

"A safe prediction," snorts Terek. "The times always change. Tell me something useful."

The man in the white tunic and trousers stands and bows to the older white-clad man. "There are strangers approaching from the skies."

"There are always strangers approaching. How do you know they are from the skies?"

"The glass shows a man and a woman. The man has hair colored silver like the stars, and the woman has flaming red hair, like a fire. They are seated in a tent of iron."

"An old man and a redheaded weakling?"

"The man is young, and the woman is a warrior, and they bring other women warriors."

"How many?" Terek walks to the unglazed window of the lower magicians' tower, where the shutters tremble against the leather thongs that hold them open. His eyes look out upon the barely green hilly fields above the river.

"A score."

"I should tremble at a score of women warriors? This is the message of such a great disturbance?"

Hissl bows again. "You have asked what I have seen, and you mock what I tell you."

"Bah! I will wait until Jissek wakes."

"As you wish. I have warned you of the danger."

Terek shakes his head and turns toward the plank door that squeaks on its rough hinges with each gust of the spring wind. He does not shut it as he leaves.

Hissl waits until he can no longer hear the sound of boots on the tower stairs. Then he smiles, recalling the lances of winter that the strangers bear, and the breadth of the women's shoulders.