L. Modesitt - The Chaos Balance

“You are not exactly the most welcome of visitors,” pointed out Tonsar.

“I can hear that.” Nylan shifted his weight in the saddle, and studied those who stared at him, but none moved toward him as the party rode through the center of the small square and back into the narrower street.

Less than three hundred cubits farther, the street ended, and they faced an open green area, behind which stood the keep of Lornth. The keep was of the pale pink granite, as was the wall surrounding it, although the wall was low, not more than ten cubits high and only three cubits thick-a barrier more suited to a rural estate than the domain of a lord, Nylan would have thought.

The two heavy wooden gates were bound in iron and stood open, guarded by four armsmen on foot.

Tonsar reined up and nodded to the guards. “The angels to see the regents.”

The small thin guard with a halberd of sorts nodded back. “The Regent Zeldyan left word that she would see them in the tower room as soon as they arrived.”

Tonsar jerked his head in a quick nod, then urged his mount through the gates. The sound of hoofs echoed from the pale pink paving stones of the courtyard as the riders followed the lead armsman around the north side of the keep or palace.

Nylan noted the relative emptiness of the keep. Only a score or so of armsmen? Four gate guards?

The stables were in the rear of the keep, a separate building with a tile roof and swept clay floors that smelled more of straw and horses than of manure. Several clucks, brawks , and cheeps indicated chickens were located somewhere nearby, although the smith saw none.

Nylan gratefully dismounted from the mare, stretching his legs and shoulders, then his arms. His left shoulder got stiff more easily than the right. His hand brushed the weathered lintel beam, reminding him that ceilings were low indeed in low-tech cultures.

“You may leave your mounts here in the stable. Your things will be brought to your quarters.”

Ayrlyn unfastened the lutar case. “I’ll take this. It’s an instrument.”

“As you wish, angel,” Tonsar said with a laugh.

Nylan worried about the metal composite bow, but saying anything would draw more attention, and there was no way the locals could duplicate it. Besides, wrapped in oiled leather, it looked much like any other bow.

Again, those few in the courtyard watched intently as the angels walked back across the stones toward the keep building itself.

The armsman led the three up a set of stone steps and then into what appeared to be an older tower, stopping outside a dark and polished wooden door, guarded by a broad-shouldered man wearing a decorative breastplate and a shortsword. The shorter blade made more sense for an interior guard. Beside him was a page.

“Announce the angels to the regent,” requested the armsman.

The page slipped inside the door, but Nylan caught some of the words.

“Lady Zeldyan, the angels…”

Almost immediately, the door reopened.

“You may enter,” said the page.

“Leave your blades outside the room,” noted the guardsman.

“Do all warriors leave their weapons?” asked Nylan.

“If you prefer,” answered the guard, “you may lay them on the table inside the door. No one will touch them.”

“Thank you,” said Nylan. “I’ll have to draw the shoulder blade.” He looked at Weryl, who looked up sleepily.

“Why…oh.”

The page opened the dark door, and Nylan saw the table, dark and battered wood, waist-high. He placed both blades there, side by side, realizing that they could still be taken before he could ever reach them. Ayrlyn followed his example.

A slender blond woman with piercing green eyes stood waiting. She wore a purple tunic, trimmed in green, and green trousers. Her hair was swept back in a malachite hair band.

“I am the Lady Zeldyan. Please be seated.” The blond woman gestured toward the circular conference table, and her eyes went to Weryl. “Your child? How old is-?”

“He’s a little more than a year,” Nylan said.

“They like to explore. You may let him crawl, if you like. He might prefer that.”

“Thank you.” Nylan eased Weryl out of the carrypak and set him on the ornate but worn carpet. He followed Zeldyan’s gesture and sat, taking the chair closest to where his son sat.

Weryl’s fingers ran over the fabric, and he looked back at Nylan.

“You can crawl around,” the smith told the boy.

With a glance back at the now-closed wooden door, Ayrlyn eased herself into the chair beside Nylan.

The blond woman took the chair across from them, her eyes on Ayrlyn. “I was the consort of Lord Sillek. The holders were kind enough to confirm me, with my brother Fornal and my sire, as one of the regents for my son Nesslek.” Zeldyan gestured toward the pair of pitchers and the goblets. “The gray pitcher has greenjuice, the brown, wine. Would you like some?”

“I’d definitely enjoy the greenjuice,” Nylan replied.

“The wine,” answered Ayrlyn nearly simultaneously.

They both laughed, and Zeldyan smiled faintly, but poured the wine first for Ayrlyn, then the juice into the two remaining goblets.

“I am Nylan,” the smith said, as he realized he had never given his name, “and this is Ayrlyn. Weryl is the one crawling there.” Nylan watched as Weryl crawled away from the table toward a low closed chest. The boy’s fingers explored the brass fittings before he levered himself upright and stood, holding on to the chest for a moment before he sat down with a thump. Immediately, he began the process again.

What did Zeldyan want? Nylan had to wonder.

“Many would guess why two angels would choose to enter Lornth.” Zeldyan took a slight sip of the juice, and continued. “I have my own thoughts, but I would be honored if you would tell me how you came here.”

The two angels exchanged glances.

“Might as well,” Nylan said. “We were the crew of a ship that crossed the skies, a warship, and we were in a battle with the…demons of light, I’d guess you’d call them. The forces were so great that they carried us to the skies above Candar, but our ship was destroyed, and we were forced to land on the Roof of the World. We had to land in a cold place because most of the angels come from places far colder than Candar. Only three of us can really live for any long period of time in the warmer parts of Candar. Ayrlyn comes from the warmest place, and she finds the Roof of the World in the winter nearly as inhospitable as you do. Almost as soon as we landed, people started attacking us, and we had to fight back. They kept attacking, and we kept defending, until the peace agreement after the big battle last fall.” The smith shrugged. “Does that answer your question?”

“Our wizards had told me some of that, but it is good to know why you picked the Roof of the World. Still…why are you here? Do you bring some message, some demand?”

“Hardly.” Nylan held in a sigh. “You must know that Ryba is Marshal of Westwind, and that she is a mighty warrior. You also must know that there are few men in Westwind.”

“It is said you slaughtered most of those who tried to enter, although there were said to be some few from Lornth who survived,” said Zeldyan.

Nylan decided against addressing the issue of slaughter. “There were two,” said Nylan. “One was Nerliat, and he left and was killed when he returned with a wizard to attack Westwind. Ryba is not all that fond of men, and she has become less fond of them as time has passed. I am a man.” He shrugged.

Zeldyan frowned. “And what of the other man? Did he suffer her displeasure as well? Was he slaughtered as well?”

“That was Relyn. He attacked Westwind also, but he survived.” Nylan paused, sensing that Zeldyan’s interest was more than passing. “He left last fall to head east.”