L. Modesitt - The Chaos Balance

“East? Why would he do that?” The regent sounded puzzled. “Why was he spared when others were not?”

Nylan wanted to wipe his forehead. “It’s not exactly simple. When he attacked Westwind, he tried to kill Ryba. She took off his right hand.” The smith paused.

“Nylan saved him from bleeding to death, and later made him an artificial hand, and helped teach him how to fight with a blade and a knife,” added Ayrlyn.

Nylan wanted to clarify that, because he hadn’t really done the teaching. He’d only made the hand/hook and the clamp that would hold a dagger and encouraged Relyn.

“Why did you do that?” asked the blond woman.

“It seemed like the right thing to do. He was pretty defeated. He said he’d never be able to return home, that he could never escape the humiliation of being defeated by a handful of women.” Nylan’s eyes turned to Weryl, who was working his way around the chest with tottering steps.

“Do you know why he left?” asked Zeldyan.

“I told him to,” Nylan admitted. “I was afraid that Ryba might harm him after the battle.” He took a sip of the sweet and sour juice.

“You could not protect him?”

“Nylan was injured in the battle,” said Ayrlyn. “He could not have protected himself, let alone anyone else. Because he worried about Relyn, he advised him to slip away in the confusion after the battle.”

“Scarcely honorable advice,” said Zeldyan.

“I’m a little confused about the definition of honor,” said Ayrlyn. “From what I’ve observed, it appears perfectly honorable to attack or try to enslave people who have nowhere to go. It appears perfectly honorable to offer rewards to have them destroyed, but it is dishonorable to admit that they are strong enough to defend themselves, and dishonorable to leave when the alternative is death at the blade of the greatest warrior in the world.”

“The greatest warrior? Who might that be?”

“Ryba,” said Nylan. “From what I’ve seen, no one comes close to her.”

“She does not rule by blood?”

“No. She rules by ability, especially ability with weapons.”

“Many in Lornth would find that disturbing.” Zeldyan took another sip of juice. “Why did you advise Relyn to leave? I am also confused. Did you know that you would be injured? Are you some sort of mage to predict such matters?”

“People have called me a mage,” Nylan admitted, “but I am a smith and an engineer first. I did not know that I would be injured, but we were greatly outnumbered, and it seemed possible that many would be injured. I told Relyn that, especially if I were injured, he should depart.”

“That candle adds some light.” Zeldyan paused, sipped her juice, and asked, “Are you the black mage that the wizards saw in their glasses? The one who defeated Hissl?”

“I don’t think I am a black mage, but I did manage to stop the wizards.”

“I would suggest, ser Nylan, that anyone who can defeat three white wizards is a black mage,” said Zeldyan dryly. “If you are so powerful, and needs must leave this…Westwind, then the Marshal must be even more powerful.”

“She is a mighty warrior,” said Ayrlyn, “and at times she can see what will be, or might be.”

“You, flame-angel.” The regent turned to Ayrlyn. “Do you believe that the black mage saved Relyn?”

“Yes. He saved his life, and helped him to regain his skills and confidence. Before Relyn left, he was a better blade, even left-handed and with a dagger over his hook, than he was when he came.”

Zeldyan was silent, then took another sip of the juice. “Why did you leave?”

“Because the Roof of the World was too cold for me, and because I love Nylan, and because he had to leave.”

Nylan slipped out of the chair to steer Weryl away from the table with the blades upon it.

“Yet he carries the child. Is this an angel custom?”

“Weryl is his. Why shouldn’t he carry his son?”

Zeldyan laughed, before a frown crossed her face. “I wish Sillek were yet here to listen to that. Still, you have done some good, not even knowing that you have.”

It was Ayrlyn’s and Nylan’s turn to look puzzled.

“Relyn is my brother, and while I would wish he could return to Lornth, I fear his judgment is correct. He would have to fight every day of his life for seasons to prove his honor.” She turned back to Ayrlyn. “Sillek shared some of your concerns about honor, with some justice.”

Nylan cleared his throat. “If it is not too impertinent, Regent Zeldyan, might I ask why you wished to see us?”

“Because I wanted to meet those who are angels to see if they were indeed black demons.”

“Why does everyone think of us that way?”

“How else would they, after all you have done?”

“And what do you want of us?” Ayrlyn’s voice was edged.

“Have you heard of Cyador, the ancient white land?”

“Only recently. There was a scroll that mentioned an ancient land where the builders channeled the rivers and built white cities, and then a trader mentioned the name,” said Ayrlyn. “He said traders from Cyador had bought enough wheat in Certis and Gallos to drive the price up. He also said they don’t let outside traders in.”

“They turn away all outsiders, and kill those they find within their borders.” Zeldyan was matter-of-fact. “Once, it is said, they controlled much of what is Lornth, including the copper mines in Cerlyn. They have demanded the return of the mines, and our scouts say that a mighty force of Mirror Lancers advances toward the Grass Hills.”

At the term “Mirror Lancers,” Ayrlyn and Nylan exchanged glances.

“You know of this?” Zeldyan’s voice sharpened.

“Not exactly. Those who destroyed our ship used Mirror Towers, and we’ve often wondered if the white demons of your legends were descended from the ancestors of our enemies.”

“Can you read?”

Nylan repressed a smile and answered. “We can both read your tongue and ours.”

“Scholars and angels and warriors-truly an odd combination.”

“No more than you, lady,” Nylan offered.

“Aye, and oddity pays a high price.” Zeldyan coughed. “You are welcome, once you are settled, to study the old scrolls in the tower. Some deal with the white ones, and you may find some information of use-that is, if you choose to remain in Lornth and aid us against Cyador.”

Nylan glanced at Ayrlyn, catching the tiniest nod. “We would be pleased to remain and offer what help as we can-”

“I would ask what assistance you might offer,” interrupted Zeldyan, as though she had forgotten to ask, almost as though she knew the answer.

Nylan kept getting the impression that the blond woman knew far more than she revealed.

“That may be slight,” Nylan said. “We have no destructive fireballs like the white wizards. I am a smith. Perhaps I can devise some weapons that might help, although I’m not too familiar with what you can do.”

“You were well acquainted enough to destroy two armies. That should offer some reassurance.” Zeldyan looked to Ayrlyn.

Nylan slipped from his chair again to redirect Weryl back to the chest, away from the blades.

“I offer less, lady. I am a healer and a singer, and I can defend myself with a blade.” Ayrlyn dropped her head.

“Enough to have killed a score, no doubt?”

“Half that, perhaps,” conceded Ayrlyn.

The blond regent laughed again. “Most armsmen do not slaughter that many in a life, yet you are apologetic.” She shook her head. “And you, smith?”

Nylan swallowed. “With a blade, a few more than the healer.”

“And how did you destroy the flower of Lornth? With what awful magic?”

Nylan decided to risk it and tell the truth. “With devices from the heavens that no longer work.”