Fall of Angels (The Saga of Recluce #6)(90)

"I respect Sillek, more than most would ever know. You are my consort's mother, and, out of my deep respect for him, always to be honored and respected," says Zeldyan, inclining her head to Ellindyja again.

"I am so pleased to be included in your respects, dear, especially since your mother has always been one of my dearest friends." Ellindyja knots the yellow-green thread with deft motions, and takes up the needle.

"She would count you among her dearest and most trusted friends," answers Zeldyan, stepping toward the alcove where Sillek's mother begins an embroidered leaf on the white linen. "And a wise woman."

"Wise? I would think not," says Ellindyja as the needle completes another loop of green comprising the leaf. "For my son has less of his heritage than his father."

"I am confident that situation will change, my lady, and that the greatness of Lornth will increase."

"With enemies on three sides, Lady Zeldyan?"

"While I would certainly defer to those who understand arms and other weapons far better than I do, I have great faith in my lord Sillek." Zeldyan pauses. "And great faith that you will offer counsel to him."

"I have always attempted to be of service to the Lords of Lornth, to his father, and to Sillek." Ellindyja completes the small leaf, knots the thread, and rethreads the needle with crimson.

The faint whine of the late fall wind rattles the closed tower window, but neither woman looks to it.

"And you have," responds Zeldyan. "You surely have."

"Thank you, my dear." Ellindyja knots the crimson thread and makes the first stitch in the small segment of the linen that will be a drop of blood. "I understand that your father has remained here in Lornth for a time."

"He plans to leave for Carpa tomorrow, now that he has seen me safely joined to Sillek."

"And your mother?"

"She will arrive to see you presently. I prevailed upon her to allow me a few moments with you to convey my respects."

"You know, my dear, Sillek may have been even wiser than I had thought. Together we might be of great assistance to him." The crimson stitches bring the hint of arterial blood to the linen.

"My lord Sillek respects you greatly, Lady Ellindyja, and I would prefer not to intrude upon that bond or that trust. I would be most happy for any and all advice that you might have."

"As I said, Lady Zeldyan, Sillek chose wisely." Ellindyja's voice is dry, but she holds the needle still for a moment. "I would trust that you might pay some heed to the possibility of ensuring the succession of Lornth."

Zeldyan bows slightly. "I would like nothing better, my lady."

A muffled thrap sounds on the door.

"That would be your mother, I presume?"

"Yes, my lady."

"If you would be so kind as to bid her enter?" Ellindyja's needle flashes again as Zeldyan steps toward the door.

"But, of course. She has looked forward to seeing you for some seasons." Zeldyan smiles and opens the door.

"Cakes and sweets should be arriving shortly," announces Ellindyja, "for the three of us. I had hoped we might converse." She stands and sets aside the embroidery hoop. "Erenthla!"

The heavier white-haired woman bends forward and brushes Zeldyan's cheek with her lips before stepping fully into the room and responding. "Ellindyja, I am so pleased to see you."

Zeldyan closes the door and, with a faint smile, stands, waiting.

Part II - THE WINTER





XLVII



As HE WALKED back from the bathhouse, and the jakes he was getting gladder and gladder about having completed, Nylan pulled down the ship jacket that had a tendency to ride up over the lined leather trousers. The lining consisted of the synthetic material left from his tattered work shipsuit, inexpertly stitched in place. The combination was warmer than the shipsuit, and certainly less drafty.

In the archway between the bathhouse and the tower, just before the closed north door, ice was already forming on the walls, from the collected and frozen condensation of the breath of those who passed through, and from the moisture coming from the completed showers.

"Too far from the furnace or the water-heating stove." The engineer opened the north door and then closed it behind him, his fingers tingling from the chill metal latch-not quite cold enough to freeze skin to it.

He could sense the residual warmth from the furnace ducts as he walked into the great room, although he could tell from the lack of air motion that no logs had been added to the firebox recently.

He stopped at the staircase when he saw Ayrlyn bent over her lutar. For a time, he listened to the soft words which she half-sang, half-hummed.

On the Roof of the World, all covered with white,

I took up my blade there, and I brought back the night.

With a blade in each hand, there, and the stars at my boots,

With the Legend in song, then, I set down my roots.



The demons have claimed you, forever in light,

But the darkness of order will put them to flight.

Will break them in twain, soon, and return you your pride.

For the Legend is kept by the blade at your side.



The blade at your side, now, must always be bright,

and the Legend we hold to is that of the right.