Fall of Angels

LI

FROM THE INNER corner of the room wells the warmth of a well-banked fire, though Terek still wears a heavy white woolen vest over his robes. The white wizard’s face is red with strain, but Sillek ignores the wizard’s effort and studies the image in the glass on the table.

In the center of the swirling white mists is a dark tower, rising out of the snows. A beaten path runs uphill from the tower toward a canyon in the base of the higher western slopes. Thin spirals of smoke rise from the twin chimneys in the pyramidal roof of the black tower.

A pair of figures in black coats walk briskly uphill, their breath leaving a thick trail of white. The snow on each side of the path rises above the heads of either.

The flat of the snow before the tower is crossed with sets of flat tracks, ski tracks that spread in all directions, with some circling back to the short causeway before the tower. A second packed-snow trail leads to the ridge separating the tower from the forest below, and a pair of horses drag a tree trunk up the ridge. Beside them walks a figure bearing a pack.

“It looks normal,” observed Sillek.

“Have you seen enough, ser?” asks Terek.

“I think so.”

The wizard relaxes, and the mists collapse, leaving a blank glass. “It’s too normal, ser. That snow is over theirheads, and there must be three cubits more packed underfoot. The air is so cold that their very breath falls like snow itself, and they walk to check their mounts-those are stables up in that canyon. Could your armsmen do that?”

“Not for long.” Sillek turns to the wizard. “What is your meaning, Ser Wizard?”

“They are evil angels, ser. They must be destroyed, or they will destroy us. No one else could walk the Roof of the World without freezing into ice.”

Sillek nods without agreeing. “Thank you, Ser Wizard. If you discover anything new, please let me know.”

“Will you destroy them, ser?”

“Ser Terek, as you pointed out, we can do nothing until the snows melt, and it becomes warm enough for normal men on the Roof of the World.”

“Yes, Lord Sillek.”

“Then we will see what we can do.” Sillek nods once more as he leaves the warm quarters of the wizard. His face is impassive as he walks the long corridor and climbs another flight of stairs.

The guard opens the door to his quarters, and he closes it, stepping quietly past the sitting room to the bedchamber where Zeldyan sits in a chair, knitting a small blanket.

She smiles and stands, setting aside her work. “You look glum, Sillek.”

The Lord of Lornth hugs his consort, feeling the beginning of a gentle rounding of her figure against him. “How are you doing?”

“Fine. I can feel him kick.” Zeldyan smiles as they separate.

“How can you? You’re not that far along.”

“I can. It’s gentle, but he does kick.”

“You always call the child ‘him.’”

“That’s because he is, and we’ll call him-”

“Hush. That’s bad luck, to name a child before he’s born.”

“As you say.” Zeldyan grins. “Why were you so displeased?”

“I had asked Terek to scree the Roof of the World. Mymother has again pressed the issue. Now Terek is pressing me to attack the Roof of the World. No one else but evil angels could survive that cold.” Sillek shrugs. “No one else built a huge stone tower with hearths up there, either, but he says that those women must be destroyed, that they’re too evil to live.”

“Are they?”

“What do you think?” he counters, glancing back toward the closed doors.

“They’re probably no more evil than anyone else. They come from somewhere else, and they have nowhere else to go.” Zeldyan smiles momentarily before continuing. “Like those who have nowhere else to go, they will fight to the last to keep what they have. That will make them very dangerous.”

“It already has,” he points out, looking toward the window and across the light blanket of snow that has already begun to melt, even though the clouds have blocked the winter sun.

“You have already committed to undertake the expedition to Rulyarth.” Zeldyan points out. “Though we must say nothing publicly.”

“And so I will. If I am successful, though, the wizards, the believers, and everyone else will be pushing me …”

“And your mother,” Zeldyan adds gently.

“I know.” He sighs. “Rulers are always ruled by everyone else’s expectations.”

Zeldyan steps close to him and takes his face in her gentle hands. “Even I have expectations, love.” Her lips brush his.

“Yours I can handle,” he whispers and returns the kiss.