L. Modesitt - The Chaos Balance

He nodded.

“I could see it coming. Nothing you do pleases her.”

He shrugged. “I’m not like Gerlich. I won’t be back, not that way.”

“You won’t be back. This world needs you.”

He blinked, not expecting such a comment.

“Ryba will fight the world. She will make the men who rule come to her and be defeated-but they won’t. They’ll let us rule the mountains, and let the truly unhappy women come to us.” She smiled bitterly. “I’ve thought about it. People don’t think I do, but I do…a lot. The Marshal…and especially you…gave me that.”

“Me?” Nylan was feeling totally confused, wondering what else he had done that he hadn’t seen.

“I watched you, Nylan. You don’t talk much about why you do what you do. You do it. You push yourself, and…people take, and they take. I started asking why. So…” She shrugged, and her eyes were bright. “I had to tell you that I am grateful for all you’ve given…to let you know I wasn’t like so many of the others.” After a moment she swallowed. “Westwind is too small for you, and you’re not full Sybran so you can leave here.”

“I’m not looking forward to the heat,” he said, trying not to choke up, and wondering if his decision to leave were such a good one after all.

“The healer’s going with you, isn’t she? Some guards will suffer. And the children.” Her eyes darted to the bed where Kyalynn looked down at the bear that lay across her chubby legs.

“Istril, Llyselle, even you have some of the talent.” He smiled wryly. “You’ll be able to do as well as we can, if you can’t already.”

“We’ll manage, but we’ll never be as good. But I knew that it had to happen. Relyn said it would.”

“Relyn? He’s been gone since the battle.” Not that Nylan hadn’t wondered about the one-handed man, especially after Blynnal had turned up pregnant-but Nylan had been the one who advised Relyn to leave before Ryba found a way to eliminate the former Lornian noble because he’d found religion.

Nylan snorted to himself. The idea that he-a former angel ship’s engineer-was the prophet of a new faith of order was almost ludicrous. Even more absurd was Ryba’s contention that Relyn’s preaching such a faith would undermine Westwind. Not so absurd had been her intent to remove Relyn in the chaos that followed the great battle-except Relyn, warned by Nylan, had slipped off into the night.

“Ryba said that he has already been preaching his new gospel of order.” Siret looked around. “I heard her talking to Saryn. Tryssa-she was one of the last new recruits to reach us before the snows-she was talking about the one-handed prophet in black who forecast the fall of the old ways and the rise of order. He’s also preaching about building a Temple of Order.”

“Great.” Nylan glanced up the steps.

“He said that, sooner or later, you would have to leave, and that the healer would go with you.” Siret smiled sadly. “I listen, you know?”

“I know.” He shook his head. “But everyone seems to know what I’m doing before I do.” Then he added. “Thank you. I didn’t stop to have you make me feel good.”

“I know. You’re a good man, a good person.”

He dropped his eyes. Much as he appreciated the compliment, Nylan knew he wasn’t that good. If he were, so many things would have turned out differently. “Where’s Istril? I should say good-bye.”

“She took Weryl out earlier. She was taking him on a ride. She had so many things I wondered if she were leaving, but she said she’d be back.” Siret frowned. “She never lies. But she looked sad. I wonder if she knew you were leaving.”

“I don’t know.” Istril knew a lot, a lot that the wiry guard didn’t voice.

“You need to go. You need to say good-bye to Kyalynn.” She darted across the room and scooped up their daughter, bringing her back to him.

As Nylan hugged his daughter, his tears bathed them both, and he wanted to rage-against fate, against Ryba, against himself. Why was it that everything had so high a price?

He finally eased his silver-haired daughter back to her mother. “Take care of her.”

“I will. And I will make sure she knows who you are. A man and not a legend.”

He half-walked, half-stumbled down the rest of the stairs and out the main door. Perhaps some guards watched, but Istril was not among them, nor Weryl, and he saw none of their faces as he forced himself up the road to the stable.

Most of the guards were out in the fields, or down below the ridge in the timber camps. He heard the sound of hammers as he passed the smithy, but he did not stop. He wasn’t up for another emotional parting, and Huldran, of all people, would understand. Still…he put his feet forward, wondering where Istril and Weryl were.

Under the load he carried, despite the muscles developed from smithing, he was sweating and panting when he reached the stable.

Ayrlyn had both mounts saddled and waiting in the shade of the stable door. “You look like chaos. What happened?”

“I had to say good-bye to Dyliess and Kyalynn…” He coughed. “I couldn’t find Weryl.” He dropped the gear in a pile, then lifted the saddlebags and began to strap them in place.

At the thump of the dropped equipment, a chicken scurried away from the stable and uphill toward the shelter that had held the livestock through the long winter.

Ayrlyn lifted the bow. “Won’t Ryba be a little angry about this?”

“She said I could take what I needed, that I was so guilt-ridden I’d be fair.”

“She has that right,” Ayrlyn said softly. “I’m glad you brought it. You’ve done so much for everyone else. I brought six extra blades-two of your blades, and four small crowbars for trading. Ryba won’t miss the crowbars, and you deserve some of your own. You wouldn’t bring them, and you might not ever have the chance to forge replacements. They’re all packed away. And all my trading silvers.”

“Practical woman. I don’t think I have more than a half-dozen silvers and a few coppers.” The engineer eased the bedroll into place. “I did bring one spare blade, besides the pair.”

“Good. I also brought some water bottles for you. You’ll need them when we get down into Lornth.”

“You still think that’s the right way to go?”

Ayrlyn lifted her shoulders as she strapped a water bottle in place. “We go east and run into Karthanos and Gallos, and the easterners feel even nastier than the Lornians. Also, something about the west-”

“Feels better?”

The healer nodded. “I couldn’t say why.”

“I’ll trust a good feeling over sterile reasoning any day, especially here.”

“I don’t know,” mused Ayrlyn. “There’s more to the order magic of this world. It’s not just feeling. There’s a system, somewhere.”

“You’re talking like an engineer, not a healer.”

“Aren’t they really the same?”

Nylan laughed, then began to readjust the shoulder harness that would hold his second blade. With one at his waist and the other in the shoulder harness, he should have access to one weapon in any situation. Even as he hoped he didn’t have to find out, he knew he would. Candar was that sort of place.

After he tightened the harness and checked his ability to draw the blade easily, he looked at Ayrlyn. “Are you ready?”

Ayrlyn glanced out the open stable door and down the narrow canyon. “I can’t believe Istril wouldn’t bring Weryl.”

“I didn’t exactly broadcast our departure. Did you?”

“No…but she would have known.”

Nylan led the mare out into the sun and climbed into the saddle. “Maybe we’ll see her on the way out.”

“Maybe.” Ayrlyn sounded doubtful.