“Not while I am here,” he murmured. “No.”
Fissar opened his mouth, then closed it.
The white mage sighed and closed his eyes, standing silent in the sun for a time before reopening those tired orbs and starting to walk westward toward the next section of green-infested ash.
LXXXI
Hanging just above the western horizon, the sun beat against the right side of Nylan’s face in the stillness that came with late afternoon or early evening-not that there was any real difference between the two in southern Lornth. Both were hot.
Beneath him, the mare half-panted, half-whuffed.
Swaying with the motion of the dark mare, the engineer rubbed his nose gently, trying to take away the itching from the gritty yellow dust-without rubbing it raw and bloody. Finally, nose still itching, he forced his fingers away and looked eastward to rest his eyes and face from the glare of the sun, rather than in hopes of seeing anything.
“Grass and more grass.”
“Real grass is green, not faded brown,” suggested Ayrlyn as she rode to his right.
On his left, Tonsar grunted or mumbled, but the engineer made no attempt to decipher the sound.
A dozen of the more able levies rode behind the three, the last two leading the pair of packhorses bearing the catapult and the clay fire grenades. All rode quietly enough that the loudest sound was that of hoofs on the hard surface of the trail, a surface so dry and hard that not even the dust muffled the hoof impacts.
Ayrlyn’s eyes glazed over, as they did periodically when she resorted to using the infrequent breezes and the upper winds to scout the land ahead.
“That way,” she said abruptly, pointing to the right and toward a hill slightly higher than those around it.
“The mines are ahead,” said Tonsar.
“So is a Cyadoran patrol,” answered Ayrlyn.
Nylan turned in the saddle. “Toward the hill there. Follow us.”
A chorus of “yes, ser” followed the order. Nylan ignored Tonsar’s frown, even as he squinted into the almost-setting sun. At times, he didn’t feel like explaining, and Tonsar needed to realize that.
The hill was farther than Nylan realized, and he began to look over his shoulder, but he saw neither dust nor riders. His eyes watered with the shift in vision from the glaring orange sun and the long shadows.
As the levies reached the depression between the hills that led to the western side of the designated hill, a cloud of dust appeared on the southern horizon where the trail disappeared over a ridge.
“A great many horses,” murmured Tonsar, “a great many.”
“Discretion is the better part of valor,” said Ayrlyn, with a half-laugh.
Nylan blotted his forehead, perpetually burned and raw, it seemed. At least the Grass Hills harbored few flying insects. Dust and grit and heat, but not much in the way of flies, mosquitoes, or the like.
After having the levies dismount behind the hill, the three left their mounts and walked up the slope, a slope offering uncertain footing with dry slick grass and crumbling soil. From just behind the crest of the hill, the angels and Tonsar lay in the grass and watched as the dust rose out of the south along the trail they had been taking. The cloud of dust was a detachment of Cyadoran lancers-if as many as threescore riders could be called a detachment.
Yet, even before the white forces reached the flat expanse where Ayrlyn had waved the squad off the road, the Cyadorans reined up, remaining stationary for some time, their white banners hanging limply in the windless afternoon heat.
“What do they do?” whispered Tonsar. “If they rode a half kay farther, our tracks-”
“Patrolling a perimeter of sorts-just to check things out,” Ayrlyn said. “They really don’t want to find anything-at least the officers leading this group don’t.”
Nylan smiled faintly, wondering in how many times and places patrols and scouts had avoided discovering the unpleasant. He bet that the entire group had remained within a few kays of the mines-a perimeter patrol.
“I wouldn’t want them after us,” Tonsar muttered. “With not even two squads here.”
“Numbers won’t help us,” Nylan pointed out. “Not with something like score-fifteen or twenty mounted armsmen inside those walls. And all of them bunked behind earthen walls.”
Tonsar looked back toward the pack animals and frowned.
After a time, almost as abruptly as they had appeared, the white troopers turned and rode back southward.
“It is strange,” observed Tonsar. “Even Lewa would not be such a fool.” He looked at Nylan guiltily.
“I won’t say anything, Tonsar, but I’d be careful around ser Fornal.”
“Yes, ser.”
“We’re less than four kays from the mines.” Ayrlyn stood and stretched after the last of the Cyadorans had vanished to the south. “We can move in slowly to the last line of hills before the mines, so long as we stay out of sight. Then we’ll set up, and after dark, the catapult team will ride down into that gully to the south of the walls. They won’t be looking at the south, not so much anyway. Tonsar, you’ll keep the rest of the squad ready to ride out at a moment’s notice.”
“They may not even want to chase us, but we can’t count on that,” Nylan added. After dropping incendiary canisters where you intend to drop them? Are you deluding yourself? Even Fornal will be furious…but there isn’t any choice.
Ayrlyn only raised her eyebrows, and Tonsar actually nodded.
The three eased their way over the dry and slick grass and back to the rear of the hill and the waiting levies.
“The whites turned back to the mines. It was just a patrol,” Nylan said.
“We’ll head for where we’ll leave most of the armsmen,” Ayrlyn explained as she mounted. “It’s no more than four kays, if that.”
A low groan, almost inaudible, greeted her announcement, but both angels ignored the sound, watching as the levies who were becoming armsmen mounted.
Before they reached the base of the hills flanking the mines, the sun touched the horizon. As it dropped behind the western hills, a reddish orange glow spread across the brown of the grass hills, creating the impression that the hills were smoldering, like the banked coals of a forge.
“Some day, this will be that hot,” predicted Ayrlyn, “like a forge or a furnace.”
“It is already,” protested Nylan, half-standing in the stirrups and stretching his legs. His knees creaked. At least, that was the way they felt.
“The ecology’s fading, and it’ll get worse.”
Was she seeing visions, too, like Ryba? Nylan moistened his lips.
“Not visions. Common sense.”
“Sorry.”
“It is hot,” Ayrlyn said. “Makes us jumpy.”
After riding into a lower spot, sheltered from both the mines and the road, Ayrlyn reined up. “This is as good a spot as any.” Her voice was flat.
“Stand down,” ordered Tonsar, his voice low, but firm. “And keep it quiet. The noise-it carries across the grass.”
Reins still in one hand-there was nothing to tether the mare to-Nylan stretched out on the hard and dusty ground, ground that the dried grass did little to soften.
Ayrlyn sat beside him. “You’re worried.”
“Wouldn’t you be? We can’t reach most of their troops, not behind earth walls. What I’m planning won’t set well with anyone.” He sat up and shook his head. “But not doing it will ensure we lose, and before long. Damn honor, anyway.”
“Do you ever think we’ll get away from this?” she asked.
“I hope so, but I have my doubts. I’ve been thinking. It takes strength and power to manage a comfortable living away from society.”
“But people make it harder,” she observed.
“Do they? That assumes people are different from nature in a fundamental way, and I’m not so sure we are. Trees-”
“Trees again?”