Fall of Angels

CXVII

SILLEK MUNCHES THROUGH a honey cake, trying not to scatter too many crumbs on the small table. From the cradle in the corner of the sitting room comes an occasional snuffle or snore.

“I can’t believe it. I’m here, and he’s actually sleeping. He’s really sleeping.”

“He does sleep,” points out Zeldyan.

“Not often. Not when I’m around.” He forces a leer at his blond consort.

“Later,” she says, gently taking his hand. “You’re still upset.”

“Upset? Me? The oh-so-cool and disinterested Lord of Lornth. How could I be upset? Lornth is more prosperousand secure now than in any time in centuries. Is anyone happy? Of course not. All the holders are ready to throw me out unless I march an army to the Roof of the World and destroy a tower and twoscore women, and, yes, one black mage, whose crime seems to be that he builds good towers, and forges excellent weapons of self-defense. Actually, they wouldn’t throw me out. They’d execute me for treason. And you and Nesslek as well, at least Nesslek. Why? Because they’re afraid that they’ll have to treat women more like people.

“If it weren’t for their demon-damned pigheadedness, we’d be doing well. We’ve gotten back the grasslands. Your father is getting Rulyarth organized, and trade duties are beginning to flow in, and soon your brother can take over there.” Sillek takes a deep pull of wine from the goblet.

“Why would you have Fornal there?” asks Zeldyan.

“Your father has asked that he not be my permanent representative there. I could use his counsel closer, and both Fornal and I could benefit from Fornal’s service in Rulyarth. So, I imagine, could your father,” adds Sillek dryly.

“Yes, Fornal does chafe at Father’s counsel.” Zeldyan smiles. “But you really think you must attack the Roof of the World?”

“No more than fish must swim, birds fly, and men die, and they will. Between Karthanos, Ildyrom, and my own beloved holders, I’m going to have to attack the Roof of the World. Karthanos got rid of any choice I might have had, without saying a word.”

“How?” asks Zeldyan. Her voice conveys that she knows the answer, but she wants Sillek to speak.

“He sent me a thousand golds and offered score forty armsmen, as well as an experienced commander. What does that tell you about his resources?”

“Are you suggesting that the most honorable Karthanos has intimated that, unless you remove the women from the Roof of the World, he will indeed remove you as Lord of Lornth?”

“Unless I overlooked something, think that was the message.”Sillek downs the rest of the wine in a single gulp.

“Perhaps you should talk to your mother,” suggests Zeldyan. “She has much experience in such intricacies.”

“She’ll only suggest that I take all the coins and all the armsmen and reclaim my patrimony. She’s played that tune from the beginning-with all her little talks with ‘old’ friends and her letters-all the signs she thinks I’m too stupid to see. And I can do nothing because all those old friends would agree with her, and I’d have even more trouble. After all, I only told her not to talk to me of honor.” He toys with the goblet, then sets it down hard. “Besides, even I can see I have no choices.”

“Then let her convince you,” suggests Zeldyan. “It will make her happy.”

“No, only justified, but it’s a good idea. I don’t know how I managed without you, dear one.” Sillek laughs, rises, steps around the table, and lifts her into his arms. “It’s later, now.”

“You are impossible.” But she lifts her lips to his.