“Don’t worry, Sylenia,” Nylan lied hoarsely. “We’re experimenting. Just experimenting.” He swallowed.
“Experimenting? What is that? You are making lightnings from the ground? That is experimenting?”
In a way the nursemaid’s statement wasn’t a bad analogy, since most lightning did result from a power buildup and disparity between a cloud and the ground, but the engineer didn’t want to get into that. “There won’t be any more strange lights. Not tonight.”
“You are sure?”
“I am sure.” Nylan blotted a forehead that was both hot and cold. Suddenly, he felt like he reeked, reeked of sweat and of sheer terror.
“He won’t do it again,” Ayrlyn added.
“Thank-you, healer,” Sylenia lay back on her bedroll, murmuring just loud enough for the angels to hear, “…bad when they fling blades through armor. Now…now they bring fires from the ground…what would Tonsar say? Oh…he would say much…”
“He would, too,” whispered Nylan.
“You,” said Ayrlyn. “You have been known to say more than a few words when-”
“Enough.” The smith touched her chin, then covered her lips with his, holding her tightly, letting her hold him, trying not to shiver too much.
What might happen on the morrow was left unsaid, unthought. So was the possibility that they had alerted every wizard in kays. But they were short of time, knowledge, and experience-and very alone and exposed.
CXXXI
Two black vulcrows flapped up from the road ahead, black forms outlined momentarily against the green-blue sky. Nylan leaned forward slightly in the saddle and squinted to see what they had left behind.
For once, a breeze blew across the hills, out of the northeast, rustling the dry grass and the scattered trees and scrub oaks. The wind carried a residual coolness from the Westhorns where Ryba and the guards of Westwind, Nylan supposed, were doubtless forging another link in the chain of destiny that would change all Candar for all time.
The engineer snorted. So did his mare, stepping sideways momentarily on the dusty road to avoid the carcass of some sort of lizard, the form half-picked already, though the residual order and chaos seeping from it indicated that it had not even been dead when the vulcrows started.
Nylan’s forehead felt hot, even though the light wind was enough to keep him from perspiring the way he usually did. He uncorked the water bottle and took a deep swallow, then splashed a little on his face.
“Your face is red, even redder than normal,” Ayrlyn said.
“So is yours.” Nylan glanced back at Sylenia, riding quietly behind the redhead, but the nursemaid’s smooth skin seemed unchanged. “You think that last night…?”
“Releasing chaos that way is dangerous, I think.”
“I know. Any alternatives?”
“Not offhand.” Ayrlyn followed Nylan’s example and drank from her own water bottle, but did not splash any on her own reddened forehead and cheeks.
No alternatives-that had been the problem since they’d landed on the Roof of the World nearly three years earlier. Had it been less than three years? Nylan took a deep breath. It felt longer, much, much longer.
“Angels, there’s someone behind us,” Sylenia pointed out, gesturing with her left arm.
Nylan turned in the saddle. A wind-flattened line of dust hugged the hilltop beyond the one a kay behind them, dust created by fast-moving mounts ridden by figures in white, still more than three kays back.
Nylan had known it would be a risk…but all the choices they’d had were either bad or worse.
“Let me check.” Ayrlyn’s face blanked, and she half-slumped in the saddle.
The engineer looked around as he drew his mount next to hers, in case she started to slip from the saddle. He couldn’t help worrying when Ayrlyn half-left her body behind.
Beyond the grass-covered ridges to the west, on the low road that flanked the river, marched the main Cyadoran force, with so many bodies that even Nylan could sense them from kays away. According to Ayrlyn, the angels had slipped past that force earlier in the morning, but they weren’t that much farther north than the Cyadorans, not yet.
Behind them was what seemed to be a squad or more of lancers. To the east were the rougher hills and, another five kays or more, a twisted and steep-sided gully carrying a thin trickle of water that eventually joined the main river at Rohrn, still a good three to four days ride ahead.
“They ride quickly,” observed Sylenia.
“Ooo…orses,” added Weryl from his seat behind the nursemaid’s saddle. “Orses.”
“Yes, horses. I wish they didn’t have so many horses,” Nylan told his son. Alerted by a shift in Ayrlyn’s posture, he turned back toward the redhead.
“Little problem here.” Ayrlyn coughed and tried to clear her throat.
Nylan flicked the reins to speed the mare into a quicker walk while he waited.
“We can’t go east. We’re not far enough in front of the Cyadoran van, and if we angle that way…” She coughed again.
“They’ll catch up because we’ll be going slower in trying to cross rougher ground.”
The flame-haired angel nodded. “They also have a pretty big group ahead of us.”
“Frig…” muttered Nylan. “We’re surrounded, in effect, and they’ve listened to whoever was at the mines. They’re scouting with forces large enough not to be picked off.”
“They’re not stupid,” said Ayrlyn, “but we knew that.”
“Can we go back and stand off the ones who are chasing us, and then sneak around-”
“I’d guess that there are nearly a score and a half behind us, and they’ve sent some off to the east along that trail we passed awhile back to cut us off from the little river. Up front looks worse. Close to fourscore of those white lancers. They must have one of those wizards. I can feel that off-whiteness. I should have looked farther this morning…but it’s tiring.” Ayrlyn took a deep breath. “I’m sorry.” Sorry…sorry…
“It’s not your fault.”
“It is, but I can’t do much about it now,” she admitted. “It’s what happens when you try to keep stupid promises.”
Except…they weren’t stupid. The last thing we need is Cyador taking over all of Candor. Then where do we go?
“About where we seem to be going now,” suggested Ayrlyn.
“Frig, frig…frig,” muttered Nylan. “Why is it that any time that we make the slightest mistake, it comes back in fluxes…or anvils?”
“Balance,” suggested Ayrlyn dryly.
“Is that because we’re more susceptible or sensitive?”
She shrugged, glancing back to the south.
“I know. Now’s not exactly the time for theoretical speculations.”
“The white ones are closer,” pointed out Sylenia.
“It has to be all or nothing,” Nylan said. “I have this feeling that we won’t be worth much once we disrupt the balance. So we have to do something to take them all out.”
“They’re closing in from just about every direction.”
“Put the chaos in a cakelike shape-one of the fancy ones-with the holes in the middle-we’re in the hole, and-”
“I get the image.” Ayrlyn coughed again. “Sorry…it’s dusty. We’ll have to hurry. We need to get closer to the lancers in front of us.”
“How far are they?”
“Another three or four kays.”
“Frig…we definitely need to speed it up.” Nylan flicked the reins and eased the mare into a faster gait-a slow canter? He’d never been much on riding terms. Then, he’d never even seen a horse up close until finding himself plunked down in a mountain valley in an improbable world and being called upon to do the impossible-continually, it seemed.
Could he create a double order line and channel the forces between the boundaries? He wouldn’t know until he tried, and he couldn’t try yet. Their opponents were too spread out. He tried not to grit his teeth and concentrated on riding, occasionally looking back over his shoulder or to the east, checking the dust plumes in both directions.