“That’s Hissl, all right,” murmurs Sillek. “And the smaller one, he looks familiar, but I don’t know why.” He studies the image for a time longer. “That looks like the road past the Ironwoods into the Westhorns, just into the real mountains.”
Terek, sweat now pouring down his cheeks, clears histhroat. “Ah … ser … do you need to see … any more?”
“Oh, no.” Sillek pauses, then asks, “Do you know who the other fellow was? The big one?”
Terek clears his throat, once, twice. “No, ser. He feels a little like a beginning white wizard, but I know I’ve never seen him,” Terek takes out a large white square of cloth and slowly blots his forehead. After a time, he slides off the stool and shakes the white robes away from his body.
“Hissl must have gathered twoscore armsmen there.” Sillek purses his lips.
“He wants to be Lord of the Ironwoods.” Terek’s voice is flat.
“If he can defeat those angel women, I’d be most happy to grant him the title and those lands.” Sillek forces a laugh. “It would take a wizard to make that maze of thorn trees productive.”
“I wish him well,” adds Terek.
“I know you do. He’s difficult to work with, isn’t he?” Sillek’s eyes fix on the white wizard.
Terek takes a long look at the Lord of Lornth, then speaks in measured tones. “Hissl has a great willingness to work hard, great talent, and a great opinion of that talent.”
“As I said … difficult to work with.” Sillek chuckles. “Don’t mind me, Master Wizard. And I thank you for your images. They make things clearer.”
He turns and walks from the small room, adding under his breath, “But not that much clearer.”
CVIII
NYLAN DISMOUNTED AND led the brown mare into the stable. His working clothes were almost tatters, and damp through, either from sweat or water, and his feet squished in his boots with each step he took. Mud streaked his arms and hisclothes. As always, his arms ached, and so did his legs, and most of his muscles.
Still, the footings and the base of the millpond wall were completed, and he had another day before he had to return to smithing. Behind him, Rienadre led her mount into the stables. If anything, she was damper and muddier than Nylan.
The engineer-smith struggled with the cinch and girth, and finally unsaddled the mare. Mechanically, he brushed her, occasionally patting her flanks or neck. After stalling her and ensuring that her manger was full, he walked silently down the road and past the now-deserted smithy. The sun was almost touching the western peaks. Behind the faint chirping of insects and the intermittent songs of the green and yellow birds came the low baaing of the sheep grazing around the cairns.
He shivered slightly, knowing there would be more cairns, and hoping that he would not be laid under those rocks.
He crossed the causeway, entered the tower, and paused. Ryba, Fierral, and three guards were clustered around the last table in the great room. Nylan extended his perceptions, feeling faintly guilty for his magical eavesdropping but being curious nonetheless.
“The second canyon over-the one that looked like a dead end? It’s not,” declared Istril. “It’s narrow. Then it climbs before it widens, and it’s almost a flat run down to the trading road. I can’t say that Gerlich was there, but there are some marks on the trees, a good four to six cubits up in places, small crosses, and they were made recently.”
“How recently?” asked Fierral.
“Last spring or late winter. The bark’s puckered a bit. In one place, there’s a broken limb that has growth buds that died.”
Hryessa nodded.
“Anything else?” asked Ryba, her eyes circling the table. After a long silence, she continued. “We’ll need a place for an outpost-one that can be watched, but isn’t in the canyonitsetf-and a clear route to get back to the tower. I want two guards there all the time from now on.”
“Two?”
“One to watch, and one to get back the warning to us.”
“Why don’t we just block the canyon?”
“Because then I don’t know where Gerlich will attack from,” pointed out Ryba. “Oh … there’s a back path from the canyon to the stable-or a way Gerlich’s men will take to try to fire the stables. Find it, and work out the best place for an ambush. That will be a quick way to take out four of his armsmen, and they won’t be expecting it at dawn.”
Fierral and Saryn exchanged glances.
Nylan slipped past the stairs and headed for the north door and the bathhouse. He hoped that Ryba’s visions were correct, but he wasn’t about to question her, not when her perceptions had been so accurate so far. And this time, if Gerlich did as she foresaw, there wouldn’t be any question of guilt.
CIX
GERLICH HOLDS UP his hand, and the column slows to a halt. The early-morning mist rises out of the trees to the east of the road that continues to climb as it turns northward.
“All right, Ser Wizard,” the big man announces. “Get out your glass or whatever you need, and scout out that trail.” He points to a gap between the trees on the side of the road. “I want you to make sure no one is on it.”
“That’s not even a real trail, and it goes right into the mountain,” protests Hissl. “What good will that do?”
“It is a trail,” answers Gerlich. “I’ve scouted it, and it curves through this slope and rocky ridge and comes out right behind the tower-inside their watch posts and defenses. And it’s close enough so that there’s a back way totheir stables. You have the map on that, Nirso.” The hunter nods to the squat armsman riding behind Narliat.
Narliat’s eyes flick from the wizard, who dismounts and eases a padded and leather-covered glass from one saddlebag, to Gerlich and then to the road ahead. His lips tighten.
“Worried, friend Narliat? You have seen what I can do with the blade and bow, and they certainly will not be expecting an attack-especially from here.” Gerlich laughs.
Hissl squats on the ground, concentrating on the glass before him, and the mists that appear. After a time, he rises, wipes his forehead, and repacks the glass.
“Well?”
“There is no one on the trail. It is narrow, but I could see no tracks and no horses.”
“Good.” Gerlich turns his mount uphill, and the others follow.
CX
“FRIED RODENT, AGAIN,” muttered Huldran from beside Nylan. “Demon-damned stuff to put in your guts before smithing.”
“The rodents serve two saving purposes,” answered Ayrlyn with a smile. “Serving them saves other food for the winter, and killing them keeps them from eating the crops. They like the beans and, for some reason, they want to dig up the potatoes. So they also serve who are served.”
Nylan hastily washed down a mouthful of fried rodent meat. “That’s a terrible pun.” He followed his comment with a mouthful of cold bread.
“Oooo,” commented Dyliess from the carrypack Ryba wore.
“That’s fine, dear,” said Ryba, “but you’re not the one who has to eat it.” Her eyes flicked toward the doorway, again.
Ryba seemed on edge all the time, Nylan reflected, but especially in the morning, as the days had dragged out since Istril had discovered what seemed to be Gerlich’s back route to the Roof of the World.
“How soon, do you think?” he asked.
Ayrlyn rubbed her forehead, and Nylan smiled faintly. Thinking about a battle and all those who would need healing would certainly give any healer a headache-at least, he thought it would.
The sound of hoofbeats on the paved section of the road from the smithy to the tower rat-a-tatted in through the open windows to the great room. Ryba stood, unstrapping the carrypack, even before Liethya burst into the room. The young guard glanced toward the marshal and then to Fierral, as if uncertain as to whom she should report.
“I presume the traitor has returned,” Ryba said, her voice hard as she eased Dyliess, still in the carrypack, to Nylan.