CXI
ZELDYAN SITS NEARLY upright in the rocking chair, Nesslek on her shoulder, patting him as he cries. "Now ... now ..." She nods to Sillek. "What did Terek tell you? You went running out of here like the Westhorns had burst into flame."
Sillek looks down at the uneaten remnants of his midday meal. "I'm worried."
"That is obvious." She continues to pat Nesslek.
Her son arches his back slightly and gives an uuurpppp.
"There . . . does little Nesslek's tummy feel better? There . . ." Zeldyan raises an eyebrow. "Does this have to do with your adventuresome wizard's exploits?"
"He's dead. Somehow they turned his wizardry back on him and cut him down with cold iron." Sillek stands and walks to the window, his eyes looking toward the fields filled with grain turning gold, a gold he does not see though his eyes rest upon the fields. "They have demon blades-or angel blades-or something. Hissl threw his fire at the head angel, and she turned it with her blade. I didn't see it in the glass, but Terek swears it happened."
"Do you believe him?"
Nesslek whimpers again, and Zeldyan brings him up to her shoulder, patting him once more.
"I've never seen him look that shaken."
"How many of Hissl's armsmen survived?"
"A handful, if that. They were led by a big man who was one of the best I've seen. He had a big blade, as big as my father's, and he used it like a toothpick. It wasn't enough."
"What about the angels?"
Sillek turns from the sunlight and the window. "They lost some. How many I couldn't say, but there seem to be as many as before. Their leader was wounded, but she was still giving orders. I don't know about their mage. They were carrying him off the field, but the glass didn't show any blood. Terek thinks he was only stunned, says that he tied Hissl's magic in knots at the end."
"You're very worried."
"You know why," Sillek answers. "They'll get more women after this. They know how to train them. They have blades that turn wizards' fire and cut through plate armor. They have bows that send arrows through anything. I have Ildyrom stirring up* rumors that I'm a coward, and that I intend to turn Lornth over to the women. I have my own holders who will demand that I destroy this abomination, and what will I get out of it?" Sillek snorts. "If I'm unlucky, I'm dead. If I'm lucky, I'll win a victory that will destroy me. To win, I'll need to raise an army-not a force, but an army as big as the one that took Rulyarth-and I can't pull your father out of Rulyarth, or the forces that support him. So I need more mercenaries and levies, and both are expensive. That means a tax on the holders. Who else has got coins? That will make them mad, and they won't remember that it's their bitching that created the mess."
"It is that bad, isn't it?"
Nesslek burps again before his father can respond.
"It's worse. I hate those women. Just by existing, they're going to destroy me, one way or another."
"No they won't. Life is never easy, but you can defeat them. I know you don't want to, and I don't, either, but we don't want a holder revolt, either." Zeldyan smiles. "When you come back, then you certainly won't have any trouble with Ildyrom."
"No. That's true. One way or another I won't have to worry about Ildyrom." He walks over to the chair. "Let me take Nesslek. You haven't had a bite to eat, and all I've done is talk."
"Careful," says Zeldyan with a laugh. "You shouldn't let anyone see you acting like a nursemaid."
"Bother that," mutters Sillek, lifting Nesslek up to his shoulder. "I'm a nursemaid to all those holders who are afraid that, if those women survive up on that mountain, they won't be able to keep beating their own up."
"I never would have thought you'd say that."
"I've learned a lot from you." Sillek pats his son on the back and smiles at Zeldyan.
CXII
WHEN NYLAN WOKE, he was lying on his lander cot bed. The light from the windows, while dim, burned through his eyes. He turned his head slightly, eyes slit, and a sledge smashed across his temples. Whiteness and blackness washed over him for a time, and he lay motionless, eyes closed, until the hammering and the knives that slashed at his eyes subsided.
Slowly, without moving his head, he eased his eyes open.
The gentle creaking of the cradle seemed more like the rumbling of a mill beside his head, and Dyliess's breathing like a high wind that whipped through the tower.
Ryba sat in the rocking chair, one arm bound tightly in a sling, the other rocking the cradle. The left side of her face was scraped and blackish blue, with thin red lines running across her cheek.
"You .. ." rasped Nylan. His eyes still burned.
"I know," she said. "You look almost as bad. They had to pry your fingers out of your poor mount's mane."
Nylan tried to move his fingers. They were stiff, sore. His head throbbed even with the attempted movement.
"You don't look that wonderful," he said after a time.
"It's not too bad. It was only dislocated, but badly. Istril has some of the healing talent. It must go with the silver hair. It's a good thing, too, because whatever you did to that wizard backfired all over both you and Ayrlyn. Last time I looked she was flattened like you."
"No..." Nylan tried to moisten his lips. "I got... through the wizard. It was the killing. Killing's hard on me, hard on healers."
"The killing was the easy part," said Ryba, as though she had not even heard Nylan's last words. "Getting guards trained is the hard thing, and making sure they do what they're supposed to. These women, half are scared to lift a blade against a man. Got to change that." She coughed, wincing.
"Sore ribs, too?"
"I don't notice you doing much moving."
"If I did, my head would fall off," Nylan admitted.
"Denize, she froze, just sat there on her mount," Ryba continued, again almost as though she had not heard Nylan. "They hacked her apart, and I couldn't reach her in time. De-sain, Miergin, and poor Nistayna, they did their best and it wasn't enough. The wizard got Jaseen and Berlis, too." Ryba shivered, then stopped rocking the cradle. "Killing's easy. Too easy for men."
Nylan closed his eyes. He didn't feel like arguing. Maybe killing was easy, but feeling the deaths of those you killed wasn't. Yet what else could they have done? He could feel himself drifting back into darkness, and he let it happen.