LXIV
ZELDYAN RESETTLES HERSELF in the large padded chair beside the bed, wearing a green silksheen dressing gown that, while it sets off her golden hair, barely covers her midsection. "He's active," she says, looking down and smiling. "I wish he weren't quite so ... strong."
"You always say 'he.' " Sillek stands up from the chair that matches the one where Zeldyan sits.
"You always question that. The child is a boy. Even if he were a girl, would it matter? We're young."
"It matters not to me." Sillek steps up beside her chair, bends, and kisses her cheek.
"But it matters to all the holders, and to your enemies." A touch of bitterness creeps into Zeldyan's voice. She shifts her weight in the chair. "I can't ever get comfortable these days."
"A lord is always captive to his people's perceptions." Sillek glances toward the window, beyond which he can glimpse the distant fields, half white, half brown.
"You mean the perceptions of the holders and those with wealth?" Zeldyan again shifts her weight in the chair and glances toward the corner that holds the chamber pot.
"I cannot support a large standing army. So I must have the support of the large holders. They want the succession of Lornth to be ensured."
"If either a son or a daughter could hold Lornth, there would be more stability."
"Not as they see it." Sillek reaches down and squeezes Zeldyan's shoulder. "Only men can be holders."
"Or warriors. Or lords." Zeldyan glances up. "Even your mother feels that way, and she understands more than most men. Yet she pushes and pushes for you to attack those women on the Roof of the World. Even enlisting foreign traders."
"Lygon ... he can't do that much, and we can make that work to our advantage."
"For now," she agrees. "But how can you put off .all these questions of honor that your mother raises or the idea that you are weak if you do not attack the Roof of the World?" Her lips tighten, and she forces them to relax.
"I can put that off for a time," he muses. "But not forever."
"I know. If you fail to strengthen Lornth"-she looks to the closed door-"Ildyrom will likely succeed in taking it. If you are successful, then all the holders will demand you reclaim the Roof of the World."
Sillek nods slowly.
"What real good is that land? Only angels or demons could live there. Was it worth your father's death? If a few damned women want to live there . . ." Zeldyan shakes her head.
"Some women have already deserted their households. One was caught; the others were not."
"Oh ... so the idea of a refuge where women are not beaten, where they can bear arms-that frightens the strong men of Lornth?" Zeldyan shifts her weight in the chair again. "I'm sorry, Sillek. It's not you. You've been fair and open. And, in his own way, so is my sire."
"I'm still Lord of Lornth, and the men have the power, and they look to me to put things right-as they see it."
"As they see it... what they see will be the death of us all."
"I am trying to work around that."
"I know. I know."
"I'll be back." Sillek bends and kisses her cheek again. "At midday?"
"At midday." Her eyes drift toward the chamber pot.
LXV
"IT HURTS ... NO one said it would hurt like this . . . damn you, Ryba! Damn you!"
Siret's words, muffled by the steps and the ceiling and floor separating the great room from the marine quarters above, were still clear.
Nylan looked at Ryba.
"Childbirth hurts," the marshal said, "as I'm going to find out firsthand before too long." She winced slightly as Siret yelled again.
The space across from Nylan was vacant. Both Ayrlyn and Jaseen were up with Siret. At the base of the table, Gerlich glanced quizzically at Nylan, then whispered something to Narliat. The former armsman raised his eyebrows and looked at Nylan.
Nylan could almost sense the pain rolling down from the upper level. Finally, he stood. "Maybe I can help Ayrlyn."
"You're not a healer or a medtech," pointed out Ryba.
"No ... but healing takes a sort of... field strength . . . and I can help there. Besides," he pointed out, tossing the words back over his shoulder, "I'm not good at standing around and doing nothing."
The silence behind him lasted but a moment, and the buzzing of conversations rose, louder than before, even before he started up the stairs.
Siret's face was red as Nylan approached the couch in the dimness of the candlelit third level. Ayrlyn was pale, and Jaseen glanced at the engineer as if to ask what he was doing there.
"Good," murmured Ayrlyn.
Without asking, Nylan touched the back of Ayrlyn's neck, trying to extend that sense of ordered power. Through Ayrlyn he could sense the wrongness.
"Need to move her," he said quietly, "the child."
"How?" murmured Ayrlyn.
Nylan didn't know. He knew only that it felt wrong. He let go of Ayrlyn and touched Siret's left arm.
For the first time, she saw him. "You came. You came."
"Hush," he said, embarrassed. "We'll see what we can do."
Jaseen frowned and mouthed behind Ayrlyn's back, "The baby's stuck."
Nylan nodded, but his perceptions reached out again, almost, it seemed, independently, trying to catalogue the problems, from the cord that was around the child's neck to the tightness of the birth canal to ...
First... as though he were guiding a laser, he strengthened the flow of blood, oxygen, life force-in the confusion of mixing systems, he did what felt right, hoping that his feelings were correct, since he was no doctor, only an engineer. But there were no doctors.
"She's breathing easier . . ." murmured Jaseen.
Ayrlyn nodded.
"... hurts, hurts so much," whimpered Siret.
Nylan's legs were shaking, and he went down on his knees beside the former lander couch, his fingers brushing the silver-haired guard's forehead, then her abdomen as he tried to loosen what needed to be loosened, ever so gently, half wondering if he were dreaming or dead, as the room took on an aJmost surreal air, as he kept shifting the strange black-tinged forces in a pattern he did not quite understand, but could only feel.
Beside him, he could feel another black-tinged presence, sometimes helping, sometimes leading.
"There!" exclaimed Ayrlyn. "There! Push again!"
"I'm pushing," groaned Siret.
Nylan closed his eyes for a moment, trying to get the room to stop swirling around him.
"You have to push again," announced Jaseen. "You've still got the afterbirth."
"Hurts . . ." Siret's voice was low, but stronger.
"You can do it."
"Good."
After a time, the engineer stood and looked at Ayrlyn. "You did it."
"No, you did it. I didn't have the nerve to try until you started."
"We did it, then."
They looked at Siret, and at the girl she held to her breast, the infant with the silver fuzz on her scalp that would be silver hair like her mother's.
Siret smiled, finally, wanly, and then said, "Thank you. I could feel you changing things ... somehow. She wouldn't have lived, would she?"
"No," said Jaseen. "But she's a strong little girl. So don't you worry. Now, we've got to get you two cleaned up, and I can do that. Those two"-and she jerked her head toward Nylan and Ayrlyn-"they spent every bit of that magic they had on you. You're a lucky woman."
Siret's green eyes closed for a moment, then opened. "I'm so tired."
Nylan extended his perceptions, afraid she might be hemorrhaging or something worse, but, beyond the damages his mind and senses insisted were normal-he could only find exhaustion.
He shook his head.
"Anything wrong?" asked Jaseen.
"No. Except that everyone insists this is normal."
Ayrlyn and Jaseen laughed.
"I need some tea," Nylan said, "and I can't do anything more here." He felt guilty as he stepped away, but Siret and her baby daughter seemed all right. He tried to ignore the blood that seemed to be everywhere as Jaseen started with the antiseptic.
Slowly, he made his way down the stairs, but a faint smile came to his face as he realized that, strange as it had been, everything had turned out the way it should. He crossed the great room, half aware that the tables were mostly empty and that Ryba had left.
"You look like a proud father," said Gerlich cheerfully.
Narliat smiled nervously.
"You know, Gerlich," Nylan said coldly. "The woman was in pain. For the record, not that it should matter, I never slept with her. And you should know that. So shut up before I stuff you into a piece of stone." He turned and sat down at the end of the table.
Gerlich sat silently, as if stunned, but Nylan didn't care. He was tired of Gerlich's games and insinuations.
Ryba had already left, but Kyseen or Kadran, or someone, had left the bread and some tea. The tea was lukewarm, but tasted good. Nylan ate the bread slowly, sipping the tea.
After a time, Ayrlyn sat down across from him. "Thank you. We might have lost them both."
"You were doing fine. I just made it easier." He cupped his hands around the mug, glancing at the window behind her, aware that the snow had melted and/or sublimated off the armaglass.
"Siret was glad you were there."
"I'm just an engineer, stumbling along and doing what I can." He refilled his mug, then hers. "I make a lot of mistakes."
Her hand touched his wrist, just for a moment, and he felt a sense of warmth. "You're a good man, Nylan. It's ..." She broke off the words, and repeated, "You're a good man. Don't forget it."
Nylan looked toward the window, hoping spring was coming, and dreading it at the same time. He took another sip of tea, vaguely aware that Ayrlyn had slipped away, as his thoughts skittered across Siret and a silver-haired child, across a tower without enough food, across Gerlich's uncharacteristic silence, across Ayrlyn's warmth.
He sipped more tea, tea that had become cold without his noticing it.