“They rode toward Jerans,” said Tonsar. “That will not please Ildyrom.”
“Better Ildyrom than Fornal right now.” Nylan surveyed the site and nodded. The Cyadoran supply wagons would have to come nearly to a halt as they climbed toward the mines. “This looks very good.”
“Good,” grunted Ayrlyn. She massaged her forehead.
“What are we doing?” asked Tonsar. “We scouted the other part of the road an eight-day ago, and you said that was good. Now this is good. Will we not use the other place, or…” The burly armsman’s hands and arms completed the question.
“That was good, and so is this. That was for one set of wagons. This is for another.”
Ayrlyn shook her head at Nylan’s obfuscation.
“The Cyadorans can’t live off the land. There are too many of them. Even we have to get some supplies by wagon. So, what happens if they start getting short on supplies?”
“But the lord of Cyador will send more-”
“Which we will take right here,” explained Nylan.
“That’s not-”
“It’s not honorable. War isn’t honorable, and the Cyadorans certainly aren’t. Is slaughtering children honorable?” He tried not to think about what would happen when the Cyadoran troops they had circled arrived in Jerans. Or what might happen all over southern Lornth and Jerans as the angel tactics became more successful.
After a moment, he rubbed his forehead. Even considering it gave him the echo of a headache. Was he becoming more and more like Ryba? Willing to do whatever was necessary to survive?
He winced again as his head throbbed, then closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath.
LXXXV
“Daughter.” Gethan bowed, slipping the scroll behind his back. “How is my young friend Nesslek?”
“Asleep, thank darkness.” Zeldyan offered a gentle laugh as she closed the door to the sitting room behind her sire. A gentle light and shifting shadows from the candelabra on the low table suffused the room. “He has the energy of three boys, but only a single mother.” Her voice lowered. “It is so hard to believe…the chaos fever…and now…”
“Was it chaos fever?” asked Gethen. “Fornal seemed to think otherwise.”
“Fornal…he…It was. Several children died in the town. You did not see what happened to the angels.” She gestured toward the larger armchair.
“Thank you.” He paused by the armchair. “They seem to be what they claim, and they have done only good for us. Yet…” He extended the scroll to her before seating himself. “I would like your thoughts.”
Zeldyan took the straight-backed chair and pulled it closer to the candles, then sat. Absently, she adjusted the malachite hair band before beginning to peruse the scroll, murmuring as she read. “The lord of the grasslands, the great Ildyrom, is unhappy…he claims that Fornal’s barbaric actions in destroying good horses-even if they were Cyadoran horses-prompted the white demons to fire and raze Bestayna.” Zeldyan swallowed. “The whites mutilated all the bodies-before they were dead.” After a pause, she asked, “Have you any word from Fornal?”
“None, but he has never been overly concerned to inform others.” Gethen’s tone was dry. “Especially his sire. I had thought you might have heard.”
“Not a scroll or a messenger.” The blond regent shook her head. After a moment she resumed reading.
“Lornth’s unwise actions…bring down the white empire on all of northwest Candar…must insist that Lornth reach an agreement with Cyador…or face not only the wrath of the Protector of Paradise but the undying enmity of Jerans…” She laughed harshly. “Sillek was right there, too.”
“Your consort and lord was right about much. He was better than the holders deserved, and many understand that now.”
“I am so pleased.” Her tone was icy.
“Zeldyan-”
“I know…I know, but who else will understand? Fornal does not. Like Lady Ellindyja, he is filled with the idea of an honor that will destroy us, much as he dissembles around us.” She stopped and returned her eyes to the words on the parchment.
“What think you?” asked Gethen when she lifted her eyes.
“Ildyrom is worried, but he wants us to face Cyador alone. If we weaken, he will take back the grasslands.”
Gethen nodded. “I am still bothered about the horses…that does not sound like Fornal.”
“No. That had to be the angels.” Zeldyan frowned, then asked, “Can a lancer ride without a mount? And can a mount be found in the Grass Hills of summer?”
Gethen pulled at his chin. “You think the angels destroyed the mounts to stop the white demons?”
“I do not know, but they would not stop if they felt it would work.”
“Perhaps Fornal was correct in one thing,” suggested Gethen. “These angels seek results.”
“You wonder if the price will be too high? Ask Sillek…if you can.”
“Zeldyan-”
“I am not fair, my sire. Sillek was fair, and tried to make his holders happy. He is dead.”
A gust of warm air puffed through the open shutters, and the candles flickered, and one almost guttered out before flaming up again.
The older regent sighed and touched his mostly gray beard. “The angels do their best to save our armsmen and your brother, and he doubtless finds fault with their methods each and every day. Ildyrom wants us to stop the white demons, but not if it carries the fight to his door, though it cost him not a single armsman or grassland raider.” He took a slow breath. “We have just begun, and Fornal was right. Lornth will change because of the angels.”
“Lornth would change without them, and not for the better, either. What other can we do?”
“I do not know. How would you answer Ildyrom?”
“You ask me?” Zeldyan laughed. After a moment of silence, she added, “I would suggest that the mighty lord of the grasslands far to the west of Clynya is welcome to join the fight against the white demons. Until then, he should not suggest conditions for those who fight and protect his borders.”
“He will not like that.”
“He will not like any course that is prudent for us.”
Gethen smiled. “You have a fair hand. Will you write such? I will sign and seal it with you.”
“Of course, my sire.”
“And let us hope that the angels can deliver us.”
Zeldyan nodded, but she did not smile.
LXXXVI
In the late-morning sun, Nylan studied the dust rising on the straight stretch of road to the south, the road from Syadtar. Ayrlyn sat in her saddle, glassy-eyed, her senses in the hot and still air somewhere over the source of the dust.
Tonsar glanced from one angel to the other. “Will stopping their wagons help that much?”
“They can’t live off the land. There are too many of them. Even we have to get some supplies by wagon. So what happens if they start getting short on supplies?” asked Nylan.
“They send for more supplies?”
“And if their messengers don’t get through?”
“They must forage.”
“And if we keep shooting arrows at their foragers?” asked Ayrlyn, picking up the thread of the argument.
“Ah…and if they send more supplies, we do this again?” Tonsar beamed, then frowned. “But they will send more lancers the next time.”
“More lancers eat more,” Nylan said dryly.
Tonsar scratched his head.
Ayrlyn shook herself, then coughed. Her mount sidestepped on the mixture of grass and dirt that capped the hilltop, raising puffs of dust that added to the dust already coating the chestnut’s lower legs. The redhead reined up the chestnut and looked to Nylan. “There are three supply wagons. From what I can tell, there are less than a score in guards, and they’re not paying much attention.”
“Any archers?”
“I didn’t see any,” answered Ayrlyn.
The silver-haired angel nodded.
“With a glass, I have seen such screeing, but never without. Truly, she is a dark angel.” The subofficer on the mount beside Nylan coughed after he spoke.