L. Modesitt - Fall of Angels

Nylan flicked the reins gently, then leaned forward and patted the mare on the shoulder again as she whuffed and stepped sideways before walking downhill toward the smithy and the tower.

SILLEK STEPS INTO the hot tower room, dim despite the blazing summer sun outside, and hot and close, even with the breeze seeping through the two open windows.

Despite his light shirt and thin trousers, Sillek begins to sweat almost immediately.

“Lord Sillek,” says Terek, standing, “I found what you were seeking.” The white wizard rubs his forehead, then gestures to the blank glass. “If you’re ready, I’ll try to call it up again.”

“Please do.”

Terek seats himself on the high-backed stool, shifting his weight from side to side for a moment. White mists swirl across the silver of the glass. Then, in the midst of the white mists in the glass, an image forms. A line of horsemen winds its way along a narrow mountain road in the glare of the midday sun.

“Yes?” Sillek’s eyes narrow, and he strains to discern details which would identify the horsemen. “Who are they? Where are they going?”

Sweat drips from Terek’s face, and the lines in his forehead deepen as he concentrates. “I’ll try to get a closer picture.”

After a moment, the image shifts slightly, to the head of the column where a white-coated figure rides between two armed men. The taller figure wears a huge blade across his shoulders.

“That’s Hissl, all right,” murmurs Sillek. “And the smaller one, he looks familiar, but I don’t know why.” He studies the image for a time longer. “That looks like the road past the Ironwoods into the Westhorns, just into the real mountains.”

Terek, sweat now pouring down his cheeks, clears histhroat. “Ah … ser … do you need to see … any more?”

“Oh, no.” Sillek pauses, then asks, “Do you know who the other fellow was? The big one?”

Terek clears his throat, once, twice. “No, ser. He feels a little like a beginning white wizard, but I know I’ve never seen him,” Terek takes out a large white square of cloth and slowly blots his forehead. After a time, he slides off the stool and shakes the white robes away from his body.

“Hissl must have gathered twoscore armsmen there.” Sillek purses his lips.

“He wants to be Lord of the Ironwoods.” Terek’s voice is flat.

“If he can defeat those angel women, I’d be most happy to grant him the title and those lands.” Sillek forces a laugh. “It would take a wizard to make that maze of thorn trees productive.”

“I wish him well,” adds Terek.

“I know you do. He’s difficult to work with, isn’t he?” Sillek’s eyes fix on the white wizard.

Terek takes a long look at the Lord of Lornth, then speaks in measured tones. “Hissl has a great willingness to work hard, great talent, and a great opinion of that talent.”

“As I said … difficult to work with.” Sillek chuckles. “Don’t mind me, Master Wizard. And I thank you for your images. They make things clearer.”

He turns and walks from the small room, adding under his breath, “But not that much clearer.”

NYLAN DISMOUNTED AND led the brown mare into the stable. His working clothes were almost tatters, and damp through, either from sweat or water, and his feet squished in his boots with each step he took. Mud streaked his arms and hisclothes. As always, his arms ached, and so did his legs, and most of his muscles.

Still, the footings and the base of the millpond wall were completed, and he had another day before he had to return to smithing. Behind him, Rienadre led her mount into the stables. If anything, she was damper and muddier than Nylan.

The engineer-smith struggled with the cinch and girth, and finally unsaddled the mare. Mechanically, he brushed her, occasionally patting her flanks or neck. After stalling her and ensuring that her manger was full, he walked silently down the road and past the now-deserted smithy. The sun was almost touching the western peaks. Behind the faint chirping of insects and the intermittent songs of the green and yellow birds came the low baaing of the sheep grazing around the cairns.

He shivered slightly, knowing there would be more cairns, and hoping that he would not be laid under those rocks.

He crossed the causeway, entered the tower, and paused. Ryba, Fierral, and three guards were clustered around the last table in the great room. Nylan extended his perceptions, feeling faintly guilty for his magical eavesdropping but being curious nonetheless.

“The second canyon over-the one that looked like a dead end? It’s not,” declared Istril. “It’s narrow. Then it climbs before it widens, and it’s almost a flat run down to the trading road. I can’t say that Gerlich was there, but there are some marks on the trees, a good four to six cubits up in places, small crosses, and they were made recently.”

“How recently?” asked Fierral.

“Last spring or late winter. The bark’s puckered a bit. In one place, there’s a broken limb that has growth buds that died.”

Hryessa nodded.

“Anything else?” asked Ryba, her eyes circling the table. After a long silence, she continued. “We’ll need a place for an outpost-one that can be watched, but isn’t in the canyonitsetf-and a clear route to get back to the tower. I want two guards there all the time from now on.”

“Two?”

“One to watch, and one to get back the warning to us.”

“Why don’t we just block the canyon?”

“Because then I don’t know where Gerlich will attack from,” pointed out Ryba. “Oh … there’s a back path from the canyon to the stable-or a way Gerlich’s men will take to try to fire the stables. Find it, and work out the best place for an ambush. That will be a quick way to take out four of his armsmen, and they won’t be expecting it at dawn.”

Fierral and Saryn exchanged glances.

Nylan slipped past the stairs and headed for the north door and the bathhouse. He hoped that Ryba’s visions were correct, but he wasn’t about to question her, not when her perceptions had been so accurate so far. And this time, if Gerlich did as she foresaw, there wouldn’t be any question of guilt.

GERLICH HOLDS UP his hand, and the column slows to a halt. The early-morning mist rises out of the trees to the east of the road that continues to climb as it turns northward.

“All right, Ser Wizard,” the big man announces. “Get out your glass or whatever you need, and scout out that trail.” He points to a gap between the trees on the side of the road. “I want you to make sure no one is on it.”

“That’s not even a real trail, and it goes right into the mountain,” protests Hissl. “What good will that do?”

“It is a trail,” answers Gerlich. “I’ve scouted it, and it curves through this slope and rocky ridge and comes out right behind the tower-inside their watch posts and defenses. And it’s close enough so that there’s a back way totheir stables. You have the map on that, Nirso.” The hunter nods to the squat armsman riding behind Narliat.

Narliat’s eyes flick from the wizard, who dismounts and eases a padded and leather-covered glass from one saddlebag, to Gerlich and then to the road ahead. His lips tighten.

“Worried, friend Narliat? You have seen what I can do with the blade and bow, and they certainly will not be expecting an attack-especially from here.” Gerlich laughs.

Hissl squats on the ground, concentrating on the glass before him, and the mists that appear. After a time, he rises, wipes his forehead, and repacks the glass.

“Well?”

“There is no one on the trail. It is narrow, but I could see no tracks and no horses.”