Fall of Angels

XVII

“I WAS NOT exactly amused by your reference to the chief wizard the other day before Lord Sillek,” begins Terek.

“You are the chief wizard,” points out Hissl calmly, “and I only spoke the truth. To have done otherwise …” He shrugs.

“There is truth, and there is truth,” says Terek slowly, shifting his bulk as he ambles toward the table with the screeing glass upon it.

Hissl remains silent.

“Let us see if you can find anything which may impinge upon these … fallen angels. For if something does not, sooner or later we will be called to help avenge Lord Nessil’s death.”

“The longer before we ride to the Roof of the World, the better.”

“I would prefer never to ride there,” replies Terek.

Hissl concentrates. The white mists part, and a half-built tower appears, a tower whose walls seem as smooth as glass and as dark as winter water unruffled by wind. A silver-haired man struggles to position a long slab of stone to form the top step in a wide stone staircase.

“Great wizardry …” mumbles Hissl, the sweat beading on his forehead from the effort to maintain the image.

“It would take a score of scores to take that tower even now with the weapons they have.” Terek paces away from the table. “Those stones seem steeped in order.”

“Could you not fire it?” Hissl relaxes, and the image fades.

“Now-but what if they roof it with split slate? It would be two or three eight-days before Lord Sillek could assemble a force and ride there. Can you see Lord Sillek building siege engines upon the Roof of the World?”

“He could,” suggests Hissl. “Anything is possible for a great lord.”

“You are so dense. What would Lord Ildyrom be doing once he discovered Lord Sillek and his engineers and most of his armsmen were upon the Roof of the World?”

“So Lord Sillek leaves them alone? Is that so bad? It’s only good for summer pasture anyway, if that. What does he lose?”

“Honor … face. We told Lord Nessil about the strangers. If his son and heir cannot defeat them, what do you think he will do to us? And it will be us, not just me, Hissl.”

Hissl pulls at his chin. “It could be a cold winter.”

“In irons below the castle, your hands and arms would be burned apart-if you lasted that long.” Terek glances at the glass. “See if you can find anything else.”

“What?”

“Anything.”

Hissl concentrates once more, and a band of riders now appear in the screeing glass, with one of the lead riders bearing a white banner with a dark square in its center.

“Traders …” mused Terek. “Almost armed like bandits.”

“Skiodra, probably …” muttered Hissl, the sweat beading more heavily on his forehead with the effort of holding the second image.

“Can you open it a little more?”

Hissl concentrates, and more sweat pours off his forehead, even as the mists widen to reveal dark pines and rocks, and a needle peak in the background.

“It looks like the Westhorns, along the high road toward the Roof of the World.” Terek smiles. “Skiodra is just the type to steal what he can and destroy the rest. He only trades when he has to.” The chief wizard rubs his hands together.

“What if he trades them weapons?” Hissl releases the image and blots his forehead.

Terek frowns and stops rubbing his hands. “That’s not the problem. They have weapons. They have more weapons than they have soldiers, if that’s what those women in dark gray are. What if they trade weapons for goods? Even a poor sword is worth half a gold.”

“You said Skiodra is not much better than a bandit.”

“Let us hope he is an effective bandit-a very effective bandit.”

Hissl nods, but his eyes drop to the glass.