Fall of Angels

XCVII

ZELDYAN RISES FROM the scrolls that are stacked on the desk by the window and turns to greet her visitor. “Lady Ellindyja, I must apologize for a certain disarray.” Despite her apology, every blond hair is in place under the silver hairband inlaid with malachite, and her green tunic and trousers are spotless.

“‘Disarray’ is not a term I would ever think of applying to you, dear,” responds Ellindyja. “You are always prepared.”

“I thank you for your kindness, and I am most happy to see you. Is there anything in particular to which I owe this happy visit?”

“I understand that a force of Gallosians attacked the Roof of the World an eight-day ago,” begins the lady Ellindyja. “You, of course, as Lady of Lornth, would know more of this than I. Perhaps you could enlighten me?”

“I would be more than pleased to share what little knowledge I have, although you doubtless have many more sources than do I.” Zeldyan picks up the small bell off the table and rings it. “Please, do be seated, and I will have cool, sweetened green juice sent up.” She gestures to the largest armchair in the sitting room.

“I so appreciate your kindness.” Ellindyja smiles and eases her bulk into the large chair. Her eyes cross the room to the cradle. “You are sure that ringing will not wake young Nesslek?”

“If it should wake him, I will hold him.” Zeldyan smiles. “Children, I have seen, grow so quickly, and I am not yet tired of enjoying him while my comfort means much to him.”

“They do grow quickly, and you are to be commended for your care and concern.”

A stocky serving maid appears and bows to Zeldyan. “Yes, my lady?”

“A carafe of the cold fresh green juice, with honey, and some of the fresh pastries, if you please.”

The dark-haired maid nods and slips out through the door.

Zeldyan steps toward the cradle and studies her sleeping son, then takes the straight-backed chair across the low table from her consort’s mother. “I received a report from one of the wizards-he sent a report directly to Lord Sillek as well-that a Gallosian force attempted to attack the angel outpost on the Roof of the World. The Gallosians lost many armsmen. The wizard was uncertain if any of the angels were killed, but some were wounded.”

“That must have been Hissl. He is never certain about anything. Except his own importance,” Ellindyja adds.

“Still … wizards, uncertain or not, have a usefulness.”

“This … incursion … has a disturbing flavor. I was also under the impression that a dispatch arrived from Gallos, something about the inability of Lornth to control the depredations of its inhabitants?” Ellindyja smiles sweetly.

“Yes,” replies Zeldyan. “As you doubtless know from the dispatch, though it was addressed to Lord Sillek, Lord Karthanos expressed his regrets. He wrote that he felt compelled to take action because the situation on the Roof of the World had become most distressing to his holders. Lord Karthanos expressed the hope that Lord Sillek, once he returned to Lornth, would redress the situation on the Roof of the World.”

“I had gathered it was something like that.”

The door opens, and the serving maid returns with a silver tray, on which there are a crystal carafe filled with a green liquid, two empty goblets, and a pale green china plateon which are heaped a number of miniature pastries. The maid sets the tray on the table, bows, and retreats, closing the door behind her.

Zeldyan pours two goblets and waits for Ellindyja to take one.

The older woman also takes a small pastry and eats it delicately. “These are good. I recall something of the like from when I visited your mother-a family recipe, perhaps?”

“I learned a great deal from Mother, for which I am most thankful.” Zeldyan takes a sip of her green juice, holding the goblet and waiting.

“You can see, I am sure,” the lady Ellindyja finally continues, “the difficulty this situation has raised.”

“Yes. It is rather clear. The male holders on each side of the Westhorns are outraged that a group of women has created what appears to be an independent land. If Sillek refuses to conquer them, then he faces dissatisfaction here in Lornth, and possible greater loss of face and lands if Lord Karthanos takes matters even more into his hands.” Zeldyan sets the goblet down and smiles. “Of course, Karthanos was unsuccessful, and that may be why he is requesting, so politely and indirectly, that Lord Sillek put his lands in order.”

Ellindyja sips the green juice, blots her lips with a silksheen cloth, and replaces the goblet on the table. “You are suggesting something, my dear, but I am afraid that suggestion is not as clear as it might be.”

Zeldyan shrugs. “Lord Karthanos is known for his cunning. Perhaps he has judged that this would-be country of women cannot be taken.”

“That would seem unlikely. A mere handful of women?”

“Unlikely it might be, but were it so, and were my lord to squander his funds and forces upon the Roof of the World, then what would there be to keep Karthanos from acknowledging these women and then expanding his domains into such areas as Middlevale or eastern Cerlyn?”

Lady Ellindyja purses her lips, but for a sole moment. “You are dubious about the skills and valor of your lord?”

“I love, honor, and respect my lord, and that love, honor,and respect demand that I offer him my best judgment. No one stood against the eagles of the demons when they landed ages ago in Analeria, and I would rather my lord be cautious than suffer the fate of Lord Pertelo.”

“Such caution would be wise, save that such caution would have all holders on both sides of the Westhorns clamoring for your lord’s early departure from his stewardship.”

“You may well be right, my lady, for most men are ever fools, and those who are not, such as my lord, are often captives of the multitudes,” Zeldyan acknowledges.

“Lord Sillek must make his own destiny, and reclaim his patrimony. Would you have him do otherwise?” Ellindyja holds the glass, but does not sip from it.

“My lord must follow his destiny, as you have pointed out so clearly,” answers Zeldyan. “Do have another pastry.”

“One more,” agrees the lady Ellindyja.

“Some more juice?”

“I think not, but you are so kind.”

Zeldyan pours herself another half goblet, and her eyes flick, ever so briefly, to the cradle.