The Chaos Balance

XXXII

White puffy clouds, intermittently spaced, scudded out of the north and across the green-blue sky, occasionally obscuring the mid-morning sun, but not enough to keep Nylan from perspiring.

The road had carried them farther westward, and it had been more than two days since they had left the hills covered with ironwoods that had flanked the eastern side of the road. At least, so far they hadn’t seen any more ironwoods. A kay to the west of the road that generally wound northward was a line of trees that Nylan suspected followed a river. He blotted his forehead as the mare carried him over a low rise that overlooked a wide valley filled largely with cultivated fields.

On the right side of the road was a low stone pedestal bearing a kaystone. The ornate Anglorat lettering, surrounded by a chiseled frieze of grain sheaves, declared Duevek.

“Sculpted kaystones, now?” asked Nylan.

“Oooo…” murmured Weryl, drooling whitish fragments of travel biscuit across the front of the carrypak. Nylan was glad that Istril had sewed the pack from shipsuit synthetics, because it washed easily and dried quickly-both qualities a necessity to keep it from reeking.

Beyond the kaystone the road widened enough so that it would carry two wagons abreast, although it remained rutted and packed clay.

“Prosperous-looking town,” Nylan said.

“They’re the dangerous ones.” Ayrlyn’s eyes flicked ahead. On the low hillside on the northeast side of the town was a complex of white-walled buildings that resembled a Neorat villa-not that Nylan had ever seen one except on a screen.

“That has to be the local lord’s place-or whatever they call them.”

“Lords or holders-they’re addressed as ‘lord’ or ‘ser,’” said Ayrlyn.

Weryl waved a hand, and Nylan broke off another corner of the hard travel biscuit.

“You’ve given him a lot of biscuits.”

“Not that much. They expand in his mouth, and he spits out about half. They keep him awake and happy. That means we get to sleep more-or haven’t you noticed?”

“I’ve noticed him sleeping more at night. That doesn’t go for his father, the lecherous cad.” She grinned as she spoke.

“I haven’t heard any complaints.”

“Who would listen?”

Nylan tried not to grin. Best not to continue that conversation.

At the base of the hill, before entering Duevek proper, they rode past a white-plastered house with a red tile roof and a matching barn or stable. In the corral beside the stable were what looked to be hogs.

“Definitely prosperous,” Nylan said.

Dark splotches in the road showed where potholes had been filled, and even the smaller cots had been recently painted or plastered.

Nylan absently provided the water bottle to Weryl as the mare carried them toward the square ahead-the first true square Nylan had seen, with buildings on all four sides around a walled section of green grass and bushes from the center of which rose a statue of an armed man on a horse brandishing a hand-and-a-half blade.

A green-framed sign of a huge golden cat hung from a green bracket outside the painted white inn. Unlike the first inn Nylan had seen-Essin’s Black Bull-this sign had both the image and the name, if in old Anglorat, painted below in crisp green letters.

As they rode into the square proper, a thin man in a dark-green tunic peered out from the doorway of what appeared to be a cabinetmaker’s shop. His eyes lighted first on Ayrlyn, and then upon Nylan. Abruptly, he stepped out and shut the door-quietly-and scurried down the brick walk to the next structure, a narrow building that featured a basket and a halfkeg over the door. In turn, that door shut, and three figures-one of them the man in the green-fanned out across the square.

Three serving women darted from the Golden Cat and quickly fastened all the ground-level, dark green shutters before they disappeared back behind the firmly shut and iron-barred wooden door. Two women in brown bearing heavy baskets suddenly turned and ran back down a side street, leaving both baskets on the porch of the cooper’s shop.

“Keep riding,” said Ayrlyn.

“Are they always this friendly?” asked the smith.

“This is the polite way,” said Ayrlyn. “Be thankful you don’t have people with iron implements and torches marching toward you.”

“Oh.”

Out of the stable by the Golden Cat burst a rider who spurred his mount northward on the road ahead of the two angels. The rider never looked back, but rode as though a troop of angel lancers were chasing him.

“That’s not good,” Ayrlyn said. “Let’s move a bit faster.”

Nylan urged the mare to a fast walk, wondering why a single rider was not good after a whole town declared its rejection of them.

As the two rode out of the square, watching as doors and shutters closed as or before they passed, Nylan glanced to the sky as darkness fell across the road and left them in shadow. Were the clouds getting thicker?

“Was it like this last year?” he asked.

“Yes. In about half the towns.”

Nylan patted Weryl’s leg gently.

By the time they reached the end of the town proper, every shutter was closed, and the sun had come out again.

Ahead and on the right side of the road lay the villa.

Weryl squirmed in the carrypak, and Nylan smelled a certain familiar odor. Not now. Then he shrugged. Weryl didn’t care if his timing was inconvenient.

Along the lane that led up to the Neorat villa rode nine men on horseback, all in brown. The squad rode through the arched gate and drew up in a single line, with one man in front.

“What now?” Nylan glanced at the healer.

“What do you think?”

“Keep riding. Ignore them. If they’re serious they could ride us down anyway. Their mounts are fresh.” Nylan’s mouth felt dry, and he could smell both dust and his own sweat.

“We could string them out.”

“That’s plan B-if they attack,” suggested Nylan. The memory of how awful he’d felt three days earlier in Henspa was still fresh in his mind, and he didn’t want to think about the episode with the bandits.

He looked down at Weryl. Ayrlyn was right-he needed a better arrangement for his son.

The squad leader waited as Nylan and Ayrlyn neared the gate. The second mount in the row behind the leader whuffed and pawed the hard clay.

Nylan wanted to lick his lips or touch the blade hilt at his waist. He did neither, but kept riding, letting the mare’s easy steps carry him toward the waiting armsmen.

“Angels…you’re not wanted here,” announced the blond squad leader, drawing his hand-and-a-half blade from the shoulder harness, but extending it downward until the tip touched the clay.

“We gathered that,” said Ayrlyn. “We are not imposing on your lord’s hospitality.”

“The road is yours, as it is to all travelers,” replied the armsman. “Yet, best you remain on the road until you are well clear of Duevek.”

“We intend to do so, ser,” answered the healer. “And we thank your lord for his respect for the way of the road.”

“He respects the way of the road, but not angels who travel it.” The armsman added, “You have been warned.”

“We have been warned.”

Nylan looked at the armsman, and smiled. “Those who would do violence because others are different. Those who would deny welcome to those who seek to treat all equally. Those who reject angels because angels have declared women and men are equal…all those also shall be warned.” He could feel his eyes flash.

The blond officer started to raise the blade.

Nylan looked evenly at the man as the mare carried him almost abreast of the squad leader. “And any man who raises a blade against an empty-handed angel will die.”

After a moment, the big blade dropped.

Nylan looked ahead, but let his senses follow the armsman. He had no desire to be spitted from behind.

None of the armsmen moved.

Not until they were a good half kay farther north along the road did Ayrlyn speak. “That was dangerous, Nylan. These boys are half crazy, and they think women are lower than horse manure.”

“I’m just busy getting the word out,” Nylan said lightly, trying to settle the slight queasiness in his stomach, and knowing his action had been foolhardy. “They’ll remember, and they might even find out what happened in Henspa.”

“Nerliat once said that unseen fires flowed from you. They do.” She shook her head. “That man won’t ever forget what you said. Of course, he may try to kill you on sight if he has an excuse, but he won’t forget.”

“I hope not.” Nylan swallowed. Why was he essentially spreading the gospel of Ryba?

“Because it happens to be right,” answered Ayrlyn.

He looked at her. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You felt it strongly enough that you might as well have. You were wondering why you were spouting the party line of a place that effectively kicked you out.”

Nylan looked back over his shoulder, where the dust showed that the riders were returning to the villa. “I don’t know which is scarier-that I said what I said, or you know what you know.”

Ayrlyn laughed.

After a moment, so did he.

Overhead, the clouds thickened, and a distant roll of thunder announced a coming storm.