“If I can.”
“If we can,” corrected Ayrlyn.
The smith laughed, less harshly. “I stand corrected…as always. If we can…and we can. I just don’t know how yet.”
“Harnessing that power won’t be as hard as surviving it,” predicted Ayrlyn. “Especially in one piece.”
Nylan feared her assessments were all too correct.
Ayrlyn reined up beside the shed and glanced toward the rear door of the house. As she looked, Sylenia appeared.
“You were not gone that long.”
“You didn’t want us to go at all,” Nylan said.
“If one must do something…”
The smith glanced helplessly at Ayrlyn. While a glimmer of a smile flitted around her lips, she remained silent.
“We probably need to get moving tomorrow,” Nylan said as he dismounted and turned to Weryl.
Ayrlyn pursed her lips.
“Will we learn any more by staying?”
“Probably.” The redhead slipped lightly from the saddle.
“Will we learn it fast enough?”
The redhead frowned. “Probably not…but…”
“I know. It’s risky…everything’s risky.” But do we have a choice? And we did give our word, and…
Ayrlyn nodded sadly…and there’s a tie between keeping a promise and order…
“Unfortunately.”
Sylenia cleared her throat, loudly. Both angels turned to her.
“I have made all the bread we can carry, and dried beans, and even some wasol roots. They were in the garden.” Sylenia beamed. “Much better than cheese and biscuits.”
Nylan would have been surer about their travel fare before she mentioned wasol roots, whatever they were.
CXXIV
In the darkness, Nylan slipped out past the bushes and downhill, stopping only after he crossed the first dry irrigation ditch.
What did he have in mind?
Did he really know, except that he somehow needed to raise and channel the power of or in or from the forest? Ayrlyn’s comments about not knowing enough had worried at him, and worried. Yet he knew that the Cyadoran hordes were about to descend on Lornth-if they hadn’t already, and there was a time to act whether they had enough knowledge or not. Somehow, someway, they had to raise the power of the forest, or a power like that of the forest, in Lornth, against the Cyadoran hordes. And he didn’t have any ideas, except in a general sense. Too general.
He took a deep breath, drawing the mixed fragrances that held the hint of reisera and others he could not have named.
Slowly, slowly, he opened himself to the pulse of the forest, of the order and chaos, of the flows, so similar to those between the poles of a fusactor, except the flows were a construct of the power differentials…
No! Get back to the basics.
Power…order to hold chaos.
Not to hold…to guide…always in balance…
The sweat popped out on his forehead, despite the cool breeze out of the east.
Guide…balance…
Rather than reach, he tried to open himself to that power, visualizing himself as a conduit, a circuit, insulated by order.
He staggered under the impact of the twin flows-darkness and the crushing might of chaos welling from the hot magma far beneath Candar, chaos hot enough to melt even ship alloys, with enough free electrons, unstable quarks, leptons…the terms swirled through his thoughts, but the energy was real.
Around him light grew-from a glow to a glare, so much of a glare that he closed his eyes, and yet the not-quite-cold light turned the area around the house into nearly day.
…heat…but not too much…
Despite his efforts to hold off the heat, he could feel it building, feeling the surges of power.
…careful…
The ground beneath him trembled, ever so slightly, but insistently, as though the chaos beneath wished to obliterate that thin barrier laid between the surface and the depths so many generations earlier by the Old Rats.
…not now…later…when we get to Lornth…
Slowly, he eased the flows away, letting them subside.
His breath was ragged, and his heart pounded so hard that he felt the sleepers inside the house could have heard it.
For a time he stood, gasping, just trying to get his body back under control.
Then he turned toward the house.
“Very impressive.” Ayrlyn sat on the patch of grass remaining in front of the bushes. “I’m glad I understand you. Someone else might not have taken it well. They might have thought you were out to get the power for yourself.”
“I never-”
“I know. You were afraid it wouldn’t work. Or that I’d get hurt. Like all good engineers, you wanted to test your idea with no one around in case it went wrong, and, as usual, you didn’t want to worry me. So…all I knew is that you were worried, and I couldn’t sleep anyway.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You are so dense…sometimes. Don’t you understand?” Nylan…don’t shut me out…please…
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know, and I wasn’t sure how it would work.” He put his arms around her. Didn’t want you hurt…if it didn’t…
“It will work. You could have asked me.”
“It’s such a change. I forget, still.” He shivered, feeling weak. He released Ayrlyn and sat on the grass.
“Try not to.” Or I’ll do…something dreadful! Long before we ever get back to Lornth! She sat beside him.
The engineer blushed at her unspoken comment.
“In fact…” I’m going to do something dreadful right now. Her lips were upon his before he could speak again, and she pushed him back on the grass. While you’re too weak to resist…Her hands were at his waistband. And if anyone hears…you get to explain….
CXXV
Gethen did not unroll the scroll he held as he sat in the green upholstered armchair across the ancient carpet from his daughter and coregent. “The traders-the ones who ported in Rulyarth. They bring disturbing news, daughter and regent.”
“That the white demons ready an attack? We knew that. Do they say when?”
“They bring no news of what we face from the south.” Gethen cleared his throat. “The lord of Cyador builds a fireship like one of the ancients that swept clean the Great Western Ocean. It nears completion.”
“We need not worry of that.” With a quick look at Nesslek, who banged two blocks at each other, not exactly in a coordinated fashion, Zeldyan raised her goblet of greenjuice, taking a small sip. “Not soon, in any instance.”
“Perchance not. Has there been word from Fornal?”
“Except for another plea for coins and levies…no. We sent him all that the sale of the copper raised. It was not enough, he claims. Yet he did not seize the copper, not according to Diwer. The angels did, and Fornal called them highwaymen.”
“Would we had more such highwaymen.” Gethen snorted.
“They may yet suffice.”
“You have faith in the angels, yet we have heard naught.” Gethen stood and walked to the serving table where he filled a goblet, not with the greenjuice, but with a dark wine. “The demons must be nearing, and we hear little. I must leave for Rohrn before long.”
“How soon, my sire?”
“No more than a few days.”
“So soon?”
“So late.”
“So late, yet I must have faith.” She set the goblet on the side table, leaned over, and disengaged Nesslek’s busy fingers from where he picked at the ancient green silk border of the chair’s upholstery. “What else is there? We have no coins left. No way to raise more levies beyond that poor handful you take. Our holders are openly grumbling, and the harvest has been poor.”