Fall of Angels (The Saga of Recluce #6)(9)

Nylan forced his thoughts from the fragile flowers and turned toward the lander itself. From what he could see, the ablative coating on the belly had been largely removed by the shrubbery and rocks.

"We've got some work to do-quickly. We need to set up the beacon and see if we can move the lander a bit." He headed toward the lander and the emergency beacon it contained. Fierral followed.

One of the marines walked the several hundred steps eastward from the lander, pausing just short of the sheer dropoff.

"... frigging long way down ..."

Nylan nodded. They had come a long ways down. He just hoped that they didn't have to fall any farther.





VI



HISSL STUDIES THE images in the glass. Four rounded metal tents squat amid the late spring grasses that carpet the Roof of the World. On the high ground in the northwest corner of the grassy area, the silver-haired man hammers stakes in place in a pattern which Hissl cannot determine through the mists of the glass.

Thrap! At the sound, Hissl squints and the image in the screeing glass fades into swirling white mists that in turn vanish, leaving what appears as a circular flat mirror in the center of the small white oak table. He turns. "Yes?"

"Hissl, Jissek has recovered, and we are here."

"Do come in." The man in white erases the frown and stands, waiting, as the two other men in white step into the room.

Terek closes the door and smiles.

Hissl returns the smile and bows. "I am honored."

"What do you make of the people of the iron tents?" asks the rotund Jissek. "From where did they come, do you think?"

"From beyond the skies-that is certain."

"Why do you say that?" asks Terek.

Both Jissek and Hissl look at the older wizard. Terek looks at Hissl as if waiting for an answer.

Hissl takes a deep breath before he speaks, ignoring the frown his sigh evokes from Terek. "There are many signs. It would appear that the tents flew down to the Roof of the World-"

"Flew? Iron cannot fly."

"They flew," confirmed Jissek.

"The people who were in the tents look mostly like us, but they are not. I have never seen silver hair on young people or hair that is red like a fire. And they sweat, as if the Roof of the World is warm, as though it might be hot like in the Stone Hills or the high plains of Analeria in midsummer."

"That seems little enough. What else?"

"They are mostly women. Out of a score, only three are men. Their leader is a woman. At least, she is shaped like a woman. And all the women bear what look like weapons, though I cannot be sure."

"The angels, you think?" asks Jissek.

Hissl shrugs.

"Angels? Bah . . tales to frighten children with. That's all."

"Every wizard who can scree will see these women, and such tales will get passed, especially to those few who follow the black."

Terek pulls at his smooth chin. "Such tales ... that would not be good. Perhaps someone should travel west."

Hissl and Jissek exchange glances. Finally, Hissl, the youngest wizard, the only balding one, clears his throat. "Would it be... proper for us to undertake such a mission- given the concerns raised by Lord Nessil of Lornth?"

"That might work to our advantage," points out Terek. "Lord Nessil would not wish the example of armed women to be made known, especially to the Jerans. Their women ride with the men, and he has had some trouble ..."

The other two wizards nod.

"He would appreciate our concern, and he would be most intrigued with women of silver or fiery red hair."

"These ... angels... might not take to being taken," says Hissl.

"Have they shown weapons? Thunderbolts, or firebolts such as we can bring?"

"No," admits the balding wizard. "Not that we have seen used."

"Then fourscore armsmen should be more than enough."

"As you wish." Hissl inclines his head.

"I will recommend, of course, that you accompany His Lordship." Terek smiles. "Since you have discovered the strangers, you should share in the rewards. And one wizard should be more than enough. We would not wish to imply a lack of confidence in the abilities of His Lordship."

"No... no, indeed," murmurs Jissek, wiping his forehead.

"You are most kind, High Wizard." Hissl offers a head bow. "Most kind."





VII



THE LANDER SHELLS formed a square on the rocky upper slope of the alpine area, adjacent to one of the two small streams that wound through the grass and shrubs, and below the staked-out pattern that Nylan had made. One of the shells contained several body-sized dents, and plastic foam filled a long gouge on the left side. On the uphill side of the shells were several plastic-covered stacks-the disassembled sections of the landers' exterior removable parts.

The wind whispered in from the north, barely above freezing.

Nylan and Ryba lay together in the forward part of lander one, sharing the command couch, under the light thermal blanket that was more than warm enough for them.

Only the faintest light crept in through the short corridor from the hatch, but Nylan had no difficulty seeing. With the silver hair had apparently come some form of enhanced night vision that took in the objects around him in the dimmest of light. He looked at Ryba, short hair tousled, face calm in sleep-not quite relaxed, but he had never seen her completely relaxed.