CVI
CLOUDS SCUDDED QUICKLY across the greenish-blue morning sky, leaving the Roof of the World intermittently darkened by fast-moving shadows. Gusts of wind, cooled by the ice-capped peaks to the west, whipped back and forth those few scrawny firs that clung to crevices in the walls of the narrow canyon above the Westwind stables.
Nylan checked the shovels and other gear strapped to the back of the mare's saddle. Another long day of earth-moving and rock-mortaring! In an eight-day or so, they might even be able to start work on the mill's foundation. He patted the mare's shoulder and led her out into the light. "Come on, lady."
At the end of the stables, Ryba stood, talking to Istril, Hryessa, and Ydrall. All three guards stood before saddled mounts, and all three were fully armed with twin blades and bows.
Nylan paused, then strained to listen, his hand absently patting the mare to quiet her.
"... they won't try a frontal attack. Even Gerlich isn't that stupid. So your job is to scout around the area and discover any possible place they could bring up horses and armed men ... start with the second canyon there. Look for traces on the trees and bushes, up high. Remember, the snow was deep ..."
The engineer-smith swung up into the saddle, teetering there awkwardly for a moment. He still wasn't totally comfortable riding, but one way or another he'd eventually learned. He didn't have any real alternatives to horses and skis, it appeared. He flicked the brown mare's reins and slowly rode toward the three guards who listened intently to Ryba.
"Just a moment. I need a word with the engineer before he heads off down to the lower works," Ryba said, stepping back from the guards and turning toward Nylan.
The engineer-smith reined up.
"Do what you can down at the mill over the next few days." Ryba lowered her voice. "After that, I'd like you and Rienadre and Denalle to stay close to the tower."
"Gerlich?"
Ryba nodded. "I can't tell when, but it feels like it won't be long."
"Do you want me to get the weapons laser ready?"
"No. We'll need that later, when we face a real army."
"If we don't stop Gerlich, there won't be a later."
"I know."
The flatness of her voice stopped Nylan. After a moment, he said, "All right."
After another silence, she added, "You can work on more blades, if you would. We'll need those, too, as many as you and Huldran can make."
"A good anvil would help," Nylan said.
"Tell Ayrlyn. It's a good investment." She flashed him a quick smile, bright and shallow.
"We'll hold off on the millrace and the mill. We might get the pond finished in the next few days. Then, we can certainly go back to forging a few blades."
"Good." Ryba turned back to the guards, continuing almost as though she hadn't talked to Nylan. "Gerlich should have left traces, bent branches, scars. He might even have marked a trail. Look for them . .."
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.
CVII
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 his throat. "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."