CIV
"HISSL HAS REQUESTED relief from his post in Clynya for three eight-days," Sillek says, looking up from the table and stifling a yawn. His breath causes the candles in the nearer candelabra to flicker.
"He's been there for a while, hasn't he?" asks Zeldyan, gently bouncing Nesslek on one knee, while occasionally picking up a morsel from the small sitting room table and eating it.
"Yes."
"Why does it bother you?"
"Terek says he's up to something, something not exactly wizardly. Strange people have been visiting him-armsmen no one recognizes. He's been laying up enough provisions for a small army. Koric told me that. He laughed. Said that Hissl has no idea how to do something secretly."
"He's not... surely he wouldn't try to ... he's not stupid enough for treason."
"No. And he's not subtle enough to try it that way. If he were out to overthrow me, his best chance would have been to murder Koric and open the grasslands to Ildyrom in return for support from Jerans. He is smart enough to consider that. Since he didn't, it's something else." Sillek yawns and looks at his son. "When will he go to sleep?"
"Soon," says Zeldyan with a laugh. "Keep talking. Your voice soothes him. So what is Hissl doing?"
"I'm just guessing, but I'd say he's going to mount his own expedition to the Roof of the World."
"Why? He wouldn't know a sword from a dagger."
"He is a wizard, and he told Terek last year that he thought the thunder-throwers of those angel women would not last a year."
Zeldyan frowns. "Why would he risk such a thing?"
"He dislikes being second to Terek. He would like lands in his own right and a title. I could not back down on my promise on that, especially if Hissl defeats them, and he knows that. My word would be forfeit to every holder and every wizard in Candar." Sillek frowns, then stifles another yawn.
"You're more tired than your son. Perhaps you should be the one going to sleep."
"I'm not that tired."
Zeldyan laughs and cradles Nesslek in her arms. "His eyes are drooping, and I'll be able to put him in the cradle soon. Your mother thinks ill of my closeness with him."
"I know. She says nothing, though."
"You don't mind, do you? He'll grow so fast. I saw that happen with Fornal and Relyn."
"Have you heard anything about Relyn?"
Zeldyan shakes her head. "Why are you worried if Hissl is going to attack the Roof of the World? If he wins, you don't have to go. If he loses, he still may weaken them."
"I 'm no longer sure about that. I wonder if I see Ildyrom's fine hand behind all this."
"Keep talking," says Zeldyan as she slips to her feet and steps toward the cradle.
"Terek says that every time that someone has attacked those devil women, the women have gotten a lot of plunder. They're selling a lot of plate armor and blades to traveling traders for supplies. They've got mounts and some livestock, and a tower and they're building more buildings ..." Zeldyan nods to Sillek to keep speaking as she eases Nesslek into the cradle and starts to rock it gently.
"... now Ildyrom is as devious as a giant water lizard and about twice as dangerous. What if he's backing Hissl, not directly, but through some adventurers? Ildyrom can't lose. If Hissl wins, I lose the wizard that's kept him at bay. I also lose face, and that's a problem with the holders that will tie me up. If Hissl loses, that's worse. Those angels will have enough plunder that it will take all the free armsmen in Candar to pry them out. And even more women will start fleeing unhappy situations here and in Gallos, and whatever it is, those people on the Roof of the World know how to fight and to teach other to fight. So all my holders will be up in arms if I don't act. So will Karthanos. And Ildyrom, with his pledge not to take the grasslands, loses nothing, only a small chest of coins. Even if I win, it will be a bloody mess, and it will be years before we could consider more than holding on to what we already have."
"That's more than enough now," Zeldyan points out. "I know that. But from Ildyrom's position, a few coins behind Hissl is a cheap way to weaken Lornth no matter what happens. And I can't afford to stop Hissl, either. That's what's so demonish about it."
Zeldyan lets the cradle slow and steps back. Nesslek snuffles momentarily, but continues to sleep. She turns to Sillek. "You can tell me more later. We can talk when he's awake. Unless you're too sleepy?"
"Never."
"Good." She leans over and blows out the candles.
CV
THE AIR WAS still, hot, and humid-for the Roof of the World-in the brickworks canyon. The three who toiled beside the stream were soaked in sweat, except where their boots and trousers were damp from the running water.
One knee-high line of rocks and bricks mortared together ran from the north side of the stream to the canyon wall. On the south side of the stream a trench extended toward the hill that straddled the middle of the canyon. There, Rienadre, Denalle, and Nylan struggled to remove the silty and clay-filled soil, at least enough to provide footings for the crude retaining wall that would, Nylan hoped, form the millpond.
Nylan paused and leaned on the shovel, wishing he had explosives, even crude black powder, but while he could make charcoal, he hadn't seen or heard of anything resembling sulfur or potassium nitrate. As for more sophisticated explosives-gun cotton or blasting gelatin-he was no chemist. None of them were.
Clank. . .
"Friggin' rocks," muttered Denalle, attempting to lever a stone more than a cubit long and half as thick and wide out of the trench. Nylan lifted his shovel, and the two of them levered it out of the way.
The engineer-smith blotted his forehead and began digging again.
Rienadre walked up from where she had been toiling nearer the stream, halted by Nylan, and gestured. "Is where I've outlined that second channel far enough from the first?"
Nylan stopped digging momentarily. His eyes followed her gesture. "Should be. We'll put a small gate in each spot. That way we can drain the pond if it's necessary for repairs."
"Why two?" puffed Denalle.
"The stream has to have somewhere to go while we're working on the first one," answered Rienadre for Nylan. "Same's true when we go back to work on the second one."
"Just when I think we're done making bricks," commented Denalle as Rienadre passed, "the engineer comes up with something else. We'll never be done."
"We weren't ever done when we were marines, either." Rienadre started to walk down toward the stream. "Rather take my chances against the locals than the demons of light."
"Maybe," grunted Denalle as she thrust the shovel into the ground. "But dying here is dirty, and it hurts more."
As Nylan kept digging, his thoughts spun through the shafts, the gearing and mill structure. He was probably stuck with an overshot wheel, just because he knew how to make that work, but somewhere he had the notion that an undershot wheel was more efficient-or was it the other way around? How would he have known that kind of knowledge would come in useful?
Nylan lifted out another shovelful of dirt and clay. He had to have thought of a sawmill, hadn't he? And half the guards had to bitch about it, because none of them could see that the mill mechanism could be used for dozens of applications. Why was it that no one ever liked the practical side of things, in songs, trideo dramas, or in real life? No, the people who were practical always lost to the warriors and the glory hounds. He shook his head and kept digging.