The Chaos Balance

XCIII

The stillness of late afternoon had faded into the chirpings of twilight, and a light breeze swept out of the north, with the slightest hint of moisture. The insect chorus melded with the sounds of hoofs, clanking harnesses, and low voices.

In the dimness of early evening, Nylan rubbed his neck, then his temples, as he rode at the head of the column beside Ayrlyn. Behind them rode the three squads of armsmen, followed by five riderless mounts, two bearing bodies, a dozen lancer mounts, and the three heavy wagons, which creaked and squeaked loudly enough that each squeak sent another shiver through Nylan’s skull. Ayrlyn merely winced, although Nylan knew that her less severe reaction reflected better self-discipline, not less pain.

“We can’t keep doing this,” he finally said in a low voice.

“No.”

“Did you have any luck with the trees?”

He got the sense of a shrug, and waited.

“The trees we seem to dream about-they’re a long ways south. There’s a small grove to the northwest of Syskar-thirty kays, I’d guess-that feels somewhat like that.”

The smith could feel Tonsar’s puzzlement.

“We have to do something,” Ayrlyn said. “You can’t go out and fight another battle right now.”

“Neither can you.”

“No.”

“Do we go to the closer grove?” he asked.

“Do we have much to lose?”

Ayrlyn was probably right. Had the lancers who had defended the wagons been first-rate, both he and Ayrlyn would have been dead or wounded during their increasingly violent reactions to the deaths they caused. Another skirmish, battle, fight, would have the same result. Yet they had everything to lose. How could they just ride away on the hope that a series of dreams, a sense of order, and a grove of trees might provide an answer, some sort of answer? Especially when Nylan wasn’t even sure what the problem was.

Overhead, the emerging stars, unfamiliar as ever to the angels, shone clearly, coldly, across the hilly grasslands, grasslands bleached into a faint white even to Nylan’s night vision.

“Will going to this…grove help?” he asked after a time.

“I don’t know. You want certainty at a time like this? It’s certain we won’t make it if we don’t change something.”

That made too much sense, so much sense he didn’t bother answering, knowing that Ayrlyn understood. He massaged his temples again.

The night darkened; the stars brightened; and the wagons kept squeaking and creaking.

“That’s Syskar,” Ayrlyn said.

Nylan looked out into the darkness, catching the few glimmers of light ahead. “Tonsar…send a messenger to the camp. Let ser Fornal, Lewa, Huruc know that we’re coming in, and that we’ve got copper and some more supplies.” Nylan rubbed his temples again, wishing the aching would subside.

“Yes, ser.” The subofficer turned and called, “Kysta! Up here.”

The angels rode silently as Tonsar explained the message to Kysta and sent the red-bearded young levy off at a canter.

“You will not be gone long…on this journey?” Tonsar ventured once Kysta had left.

“It shouldn’t take long,” Ayrlyn said.

One way or the other, thought Nylan.

“The men…they feel better when you lead them,” confessed the subofficer. “No one can stand against an angel.”

“Right now, a one-armed Cyadoran could knock me off this mare,” Nylan said.

“That is why you must-?”

“Something like that,” Ayrlyn answered ambiguously.

Tonsar nodded to himself as they neared the encampment.

Torches burned on the stoop of the officers’ dwelling and from the front of the shed barracks, adding a dim light to the area.

“Fornal’s over there,” said Ayrlyn, half-gesturing toward the left.

The two rode toward the house and reined up, not bothering to dismount.

“More banditry and murder, angels?” asked the coregent pleasantly.

“Copper and supplies, and we got rid of another score of white lancers,” Nylan answered tiredly.

“How many did you lose?”

“Two,” said Ayrlyn.

“We just filled the air with arrows and then charged. Very Lornian attack, ser Fornal.” Nylan could sense two figures in the shadows of the stoop-Huruc and Lewa.

“Why…the holders would be most pleased. You actually fought…directly.”

“Yes, we did.” Nylan forced himself erect. “You’ll need to detach some guards to accompany the wagons back to Lornth.”

“Guards for what?” asked Fornal. “I had thought you brought more supplies.”

“The wagons are filled with copper ingots. We’ll keep the supplies here, not that there were a lot. But I assume you don’t want to lose the copper to brigands, and the wagons themselves are worth something.”

“You would not wish to take the wagons to Lornth yourself?”

“Not particularly,” Nylan answered.

“Even with the transfers from Huruc’s forces, we still only have a score and a half,” added Ayrlyn tiredly. “The copper wagons need at least a squad as an escort.”

“Guards for copper. That would make us like merchants, not warriors.”

Fornal was more than that, reflected Nylan, more of a warring pain in the ass with his pomposity. No wonder Gethen kept his son at arm’s length and then some. The engineer still wondered about heredity. How could one man have a daughter so bright and a son so dense? Or did the cultural imperatives stifle male intelligence?

“Ser Fornal,” the engineer said slowly, “the copper on these wagons is worth several dozen golds, maybe more. Your sister and your sire need those golds to supply you. They also need to claim some victory to the holders, as you have pointed out. Sending the wagons to Lornth will do both.” Nylan paused and added. “Especially with your armsmen guarding them.”

After a moment, Fornal nodded, slowly. “That does make sense, ser angel, and I could send a request for more armsmen to replace our losses, also.”

Nylan could sense both the anger and discomfort from Ayrlyn, as well as a feeling of grim amusement.

“The other thing is that we’re going off for a few days-call it a magely quest.” Nylan held up his hand. “It’s important, but I can’t tell you why.”

“You will be taking your squads?”

“No. I’d thought perhaps three men, and, of course, Sylenia and Weryl. Three would not make a difference here.”

“A magely quest-that I could scarcely deny. Not after such a handsome result from your arms.”

And you’ll need us more than ever when the whites finally react. Which they will. Nylan locked eyes with Fornal, until the regent looked away. Then he turned his mount toward the corral.

Ayrlyn followed, chill still radiating from her.