Fall of Angels

CXIX

SILLEK PAUSES BEFORE the open tower window, letting the faint breeze, warm as it is, lift the sweat off his face.

Despite the late-summer heat, the lady Ellindyja sits in the alcove, away from the breeze, wearing a long-sleeved shirt and an overtunic. The embroidery hoop in her lap shows the figure of a lord, wearing a gold circlet, with an enormous glittering blade ready to fall upon a woman warrior in black. The face of the lord is blank, unfinished.

“How nice to see you, my lord,” she says politely.

“You are looking well, Lady Mother.” He offers a slight bow as he turns from the window and steps toward the straight chair.

“Well enough for an old woman who has outlived her usefulness.” She threads the needle with crimson thread, her fingers steady and sure.

“Old? Scarcely.” Sillek laughs as he seats himself opposite her.

“Like any grandmother, I suppose, I see more of my grandson than his father. He looks much like you. And your lady is most solicitous of my health and opinions.”

“You imply that I am not.” Sillek shrugs. “I am here.”

Ellindyja knots the crimson thread and takes the first stitch, beginning a drop of blood that falls from the left arm of the lord in the embroidery hoop.

“You know of Ildyrom’s envoy, and his proposal …” Sillek lets the words trail off.

“I was under the impression that it was somewhat more than a proposal. He sent a sealed agreement, a chest of golds, and removed all his troops back to Berlitos.” Ellindyja completes another loop in the first droplet of blood. “That should free you to reclaim your patrimony.”

“With what?” Sillek laughs. “I have nearly a thousand armsmen still in Rulyarth, and that doesn’t count those supplied by Gethen.”

“I understand-or was I mistaken? — that Lord Karthanos offered to place score forty troops under your command for the purpose of taking the Roof of the World.”

“You understand correctly.” Sillek leans back in the chair. “It is truly amazing that my former foes have suddenly become so solicitous of my need to reclaim my patrimony. Truly amazing.”

“Those who do not use resources while they can often wish they had.” The needle flashes, as though it contained a silver flame.

“A good thought, provided one knows the price of such resources.” Sillek leans forward slightly.

“You lost a wizard-a foolish one, but a strong one-because you attempted to regain your heritage indirectly. Indirection does not become your father’s son.” The first droplet of blood is complete, and Ellindyja’s needle begins the second, darting through the pale linen like a rapier.

“I suppose you’re right, especially since I have no choice.”

Ellindyja sets the embroidery hoop down, and her eyes fix on her son’s. “Lord, you never had a choice. A lord whose holders believe he cannot hold his own lands will not trust him to guard theirs. A lord who allows their women to flee will find his holders demanding his women, and his head. A lord who will not protect his holders against attacks on what they hold dear cannot long count on holding even his own tower, let alone his lands.” She lifts the embroidery, and the needle flashes.

Sillek nods ever so slightly, but says nothing.

“It has been so nice that you came to visit me, dear,” Ellindyja says sweetly. “And do tell your lady that I appreciate her kindness. I would not keep you now, for there must be much you must do.” The needle knots at the back of the second droplet of blood.

Sillek rises. “I do appreciate your wisdom, Mother, and your indirectly forthright expressions, as well as all thoseconversations with your old friends, which have helped to leave me little choice. Still, I trust you will recall that I sought your counsel before I began my preparations to reclaim my patrimony. And I will certainly convey your thanks to Zeldyan. She is most respectful of you.”

“And I of her, dear.” Ellindyja smiles as Sillek bows before departing. “And I of her.”