L. Modesitt - The Chaos Balance

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.

Themphi walked slowly northward along the wall, his white boots gray, each step stirring ashes. Well ahead of him marched the peasants and a detachment of foot, each man bearing a pitch torch, each torch being applied to any trace of green that remained. After the torches came others, with once-sharp axes and mattocks. Behind Themphi followed teams of oxen with knife edged but deep moldboard plows.

A rider in the green uniform and white sash of a Mirror Lancer rode across the field toward the wall and toward the white wizard.

“Ser wizard!” Jyncka’s face was tight and pinched as the Mirror Lancer officer reined up.

Themphi stopped, glanced at the gray smoke that swirled everywhere in thin trails, then rubbed his forehead, trying to ease the throbbing in his temples. Slowly, he turned and looked up at the mounted officer. “Yes?”

“Forestnorth-you had me go there to enlist some of the younger peasants to help with pushing the forest back?”

“Yes,” said the white wizard, tiredly. “I did. Do not repeat what I told you. I know what I said.” He rubbed his forehead again, leaving ash smudges at his temples.

The officer moistened his lips. “There’s no town, not now. Just forest, and the houses are already crumbling. We could not reach the wall. Some of the thickets, brambles now, are chest high.”

“The people?” asked the wizard, his voice wooden.

Jyncka shrugged, his eyes going to the yoked oxen that turned the soil behind the white wizard. “There are stun lizards, forest cats, snakes-I lost one lancer. I didn’t see any bones. One peasant woman-she was an old crone. I caught her hobbling away-she said that the people fled. They wouldn’t fight the forest.”

“Send men to ride the entire wall. Make sure they are the type that can remember and report what they have seen.”

“The entire wall?”

“The entire wall. All ninety-nine kays of each side. I do not wish to repeat myself.” Themphi started to lift his hands again, but stopped. “Take over here. Have them extinguish the torches, and return to Geliendra.”

“Ah…yes, ser wizard.”

“Don’t you understand, Jyncka? We have not cleared an area half the size of Forestnorth, and we have a wizard and an apprentice, and fourscore men with torches and axes and mattocks and oxen and plows.” The wizard turned. “Fissar!”