“Fornal’s over there,” said Ayrlyn, half-gesturing toward the left.
The two rode toward the house and reined up, not bothering to dismount.
“More banditry and murder, angels?” asked the coregent pleasantly.
“Copper and supplies, and we got rid of another score of white lancers,” Nylan answered tiredly.
“How many did you lose?”
“Two,” said Ayrlyn.
“We just filled the air with arrows and then charged. Very Lornian attack, ser Fornal.” Nylan could sense two figures in the shadows of the stoop-Huruc and Lewa.
“Why…the holders would be most pleased. You actually fought…directly.”
“Yes, we did.” Nylan forced himself erect. “You’ll need to detach some guards to accompany the wagons back to Lornth.”
“Guards for what?” asked Fornal. “I had thought you brought more supplies.”
“The wagons are filled with copper ingots. We’ll keep the supplies here, not that there were a lot. But I assume you don’t want to lose the copper to brigands, and the wagons themselves are worth something.”
“You would not wish to take the wagons to Lornth yourself?”
“Not particularly,” Nylan answered.
“Even with the transfers from Huruc’s forces, we still only have a score and a half,” added Ayrlyn tiredly. “The copper wagons need at least a squad as an escort.”
“Guards for copper. That would make us like merchants, not warriors.”
Fornal was more than that, reflected Nylan, more of a warring pain in the ass with his pomposity. No wonder Gethen kept his son at arm’s length and then some. The engineer still wondered about heredity. How could one man have a daughter so bright and a son so dense? Or did the cultural imperatives stifle male intelligence?
“Ser Fornal,” the engineer said slowly, “the copper on these wagons is worth several dozen golds, maybe more. Your sister and your sire need those golds to supply you. They also need to claim some victory to the holders, as you have pointed out. Sending the wagons to Lornth will do both.” Nylan paused and added. “Especially with your armsmen guarding them.”
After a moment, Fornal nodded, slowly. “That does make sense, ser angel, and I could send a request for more armsmen to replace our losses, also.”
Nylan could sense both the anger and discomfort from Ayrlyn, as well as a feeling of grim amusement.
“The other thing is that we’re going off for a few days-call it a magely quest.” Nylan held up his hand. “It’s important, but I can’t tell you why.”
“You will be taking your squads?”
“No. I’d thought perhaps three men, and, of course, Sylenia and Weryl. Three would not make a difference here.”
“A magely quest-that I could scarcely deny. Not after such a handsome result from your arms.”
And you’ll need us more than ever when the whites finally react. Which they will. Nylan locked eyes with Fornal, until the regent looked away. Then he turned his mount toward the corral.
Ayrlyn followed, chill still radiating from her.
XCIV
…And when the white lancers of Cyad had come at last to the copper mines of the north, those of Lornth threw down their picks and shovels and their blades, and fled into the Grass Hills, for they well knew that the copper mines were not theirs, and they were sore afraid of the righteous wrath of the Lord of Cyador.
The white lancers rebuilt and refurbished the mines, and brought order and discipline back into the Hills of Grass, nor did they afflict the peoples nor their hamlets.
The wily Nylan, like the mountain cat who cannot face the well-prepared hunter in the light of day, advised the guileless council of Lornth behind heavy doors, saying, If the Cyadorans cannot eat and they cannot sleep, they will not hold to the mines that your fathers and forefathers have worked. And they will depart.
The delvers and diggers of Cyad labored long and with great effort to bring forth the copper from the mines, trusting in the honor of the Lornians and in the forces of the most honorable white lancers.
For in that time, none believed that even the wily Nylan would stoop to slaughtering innocent horses, nor to murdering hapless wagoners, nor to raising fireballs in the night and dropping them upon lancer and digger alike while they slept. All this did Nylan, and more, terrible and dishonorable deeds better lost in tumult of time. Yet remember we must, for this is how the dark angels came to power in Candar….
XCV
The angels reined up at the crest of the low hill, where Nylan unfastened his water bottle and took a deep swallow. Sylenia twisted in the saddle and offered water to Weryl, who swallowed, splashed water across his tanned legs, and then thrust the bottle back before Sylenia was ready. The bottle slid off the saddlebags and bounced into the dust of the road.
Even before Nylan could put down his own water bottle, Fuera had vaulted from his saddle and recovered the water bottle, handing it up to Sylenia. A dark splotch remained in the road.
“Thank you.” The black-haired nursemaid smiled.
“Just tell Tonsar that we looked out for you.” Fuera flashed an openly charming grin.
Sylenia shook her head, but the smile remained as Fuera remounted with the same dash.
Ayrlyn offered the faintest of ironic smiles. Nylan smothered his own smile, then looked at the vista before them.
Under the mid-afternoon sun, and a green-blue sky with a few scattered and puffy white clouds, the road wound down the hill to the right, and then angled up yet another grass-covered hill, topped by a small grove of low trees. A flock of sheep grazed on the mostly green meadow west of the road, and beyond the animals were several low buildings and a sod-roofed dwelling.
“Still that way?” asked Nylan, inclining his head in the general direction of the road ahead.
“There’s a hint of order. It’s stronger that way,” suggested Ayrlyn.
Nylan let his own order senses follow hers, feeling a thread of order, and something more, still to the northwest.
“It’s stronger now.”
He nodded, restowing the water bottle and wondering if they would reach the order grove, if that was what it was, before sunset.
Perhaps ten kays and three lines of hills later, the group reined up at the top of another low hill, looking out óver the patchwork of continuing meadows and scattered flocks of sheep.
“We’re close,” Ayrlyn said.
Nylan glanced downhill, and his eyes wandered back to the opposite hill crest. He frowned. He’d meant to look downhill.
Rather than look, he listened in the stillness broken only by the hint of a breeze. Was that the gurgling of a brook or stream?
He started to look downhill again, and his eyes blurred.
“There’s something there.” The redheaded healer frowned.
“I know. It’s shielded somehow.”
“There are trees, pines of a sort, and they’re tall.”
Out of the corner his eyes, Nylan could sense Sylenia’s puzzlement as she squinted out into the glare of the low sun, trying to make out whatever the two angels discussed.
“Just a hillside…”
“Why are we sitting here?” asked Fuera.
“The smith and healer see something,” answered Sias.
“Don’t see anything,” added Buretek.
“They see a lot we don’t. He sees inside metal. She sees inside people.” The apprentice smith and armsman paused. “I’m not sure it be good to see everything they see.”
“We’ll see,” said Buretek cheerfully. “They see something, or they don’t.”
Except it wasn’t that simple, thought Nylan. Nothing that involved the order and chaos fields was-that he’d already discovered, unfortunately.
“There’s nothing there,” said Ayrlyn. “I mean, no animals, no big ones. There are the trees, and the stream.”