Chaos Balance
LXVII
IN THE GRAY light that was neither night nor dawn, Ayrlyn and Nylan studied the walls around the mining camp from the hills to the north. Already thin wisps of smoke drifted upward from the various chimneys behind the walls.
“Despite Fornal's slights on the rising habits of the Cyadorans, someone is up early,” whispered the redhead. “A lot of someones.”
“Makes sense. It gets hotter here than anywhere we've been so far.” Nylan blotted away the sweat that threatened to run into the corners of his eyes. “Today's going to blister me.”
“Here they come,” said Ayrlyn.
Nylan shifted his eyes to the mining compound where the gates opened with a screeching that carried the several kays to their hilltop vantage point. Two long columns of white lancers trotted out from the gates. Behind them even more smoke swelled from the chimneys of the older buildings, presumably from the smelting furnaces or whatever they used to melt the copper out of the crushed ore.
“That's enough.” Nylan nodded, and the two crept back toward their mounts, the drying grass rustling with their passage.
Behind them, the sun peered over the hills of the eastern horizon, and began to glitter off the small mirror shields of the lancers.
They rejoined the squad another three kays down the road.
“Won't they see our tracks?” asked Tonsar.
“Of course,” answered Ayrlyn. “That's the point, this time. We want them to feel watched.”
Finally, Tonsar nodded.
Nylan turned toward the two men he and Ayrlyn had picked as scouts. “Diess, Restr, once we get to the first crossroads, you'll wait there. If it looks like they're not going to Yisara, Diess, you ride and tell us. We'll be outside Yisara. Restr, you follow them-at a safe distance to see if you can see where they are going. If they seem to go straight, right toward Yisara, just stay in front of them, Restr, like we discussed, until you get closer to the town. Then break off and head for the grove. Do you understand?”
Whether they did or not, both men nodded.
Nylan looked back, twice, before the two disappeared behind the hill crest overlooking the road. He hoped that they had understood, but that was another problem in an honor-bound culture. No idiot wanted to appear cowardly-or stupid-even if the results were disaster.
Once the scouts were out of sight, Nylan exchanged glances with Ayrlyn, and the squad began the ride to Yisara.
It was past mid-morning when Diess cantered up to the small grove of trees-Nylan didn't know what kind, except that they weren't olives-that marked the crossroads outside Yisara and provided the only shade in kays.
Nylan stretched, blotted his forehead again, and walked toward the armsman. The angel engineer seemed to sweat all the time, while his levies seemed comfortable in long-sleeved shirts.
“They're... coming,” gasped the armsman as he reined up.
“You have a moment. Drink something,” suggested Ayrlyn.
Diess glanced at Nylan, who forced himself not to second Ayrlyn's suggestion. Finally, Diess unstrapped the bottle and uncorked it and took a quick gulp. “They still march straight for Yisara, sers. More than tenscore.” The scout coughed, then took another swig. “The dust... it makes it hard.”
“How long before they get here?” asked Ayrlyn, with a glance toward the scattered dwellings and outbuildings in the brown-grassed vale a kay west of where Nylan's and her squads were drawn up.
“Midday, ser. Could be later.”
Nylan blotted his dripping forehead. His face kept getting red and burned, and he was going to have to wear some sort of hat if the days got any hotter-if he wanted any skin left on his face.
“Mount up!” ordered the redhead.
“What said the scout?” asked Tonsar, looking at Nylan.
“They're making a good pace toward Yisara, and it can't be any place else.” The angel engineer coughed to clear some of the dust from his throat, then swung up into the saddle.
Once mounted, he glanced toward Ayrlyn, and then around the grove. Two men still straggled.
“Move it!” snapped the redhead, and Nylan grinned, then wiped the grin away as she turned the mare.
As they headed toward the center of Yisara, Tonsar, Nylan, and Ayrlyn rode abreast-the road was barely wide enough for three mounts.
“Too bad we don't have any ways to stop them, something besides blades.” Nylan shifted his weight in the saddle, trying to relieve what was becoming continual soreness. “But everything ... everything has to be made from scratch, even wire. Wire would help in setting blades and a bunch of things. Some nails are made from wire.” He was rambling, but sometimes it helped. Most times it didn't.
“Wire?” asked Tonsar, as if he had never heard of the material.
“Metal drawn so thin that it's not much bigger around than a thread,” Nylan said.
“Jewelers use it,” said the subofficer, “but why would you want wire?”
“Iron wire,” Nylan said futilely, shifting his weight in the saddle. “Does anyone make it?”
“I have never heard of such.”
Ayrlyn offered a faint grim smile, and, in turn, shifted her weight in the chestnut's saddle.
The smith shrugged. Probably iron wire was something he could create-that required a drawing wheel and a precut die through which the metal could be drawn. But how useful would it be for the effort it took? Maybe it would be better to set up pikes in trenches or something.
Nylan reined up in what seemed to be the rough center of the village, beside an empty building, one without shutters or doors. He glanced around as the squad behind him reined up as well.
The inhabitants of Yisara couldn't have numbered more than a hundred, not with only a score of homes, and twice that many outbuildings. As in Clynya, the outbuildings were sod-roofed, for the most part, and the dwellings were plaster or stucco walled with light-colored paint that was either peeling or sun-faded and stained into pink by the ever-present red dust. “Now where?”
“The biggest dwelling?” suggested Ayrlyn.
“Since the owner has the most to lose? Why not?” Nylan turned his mount north, toward the sole two-story dwelling, one laid out in a square, apparently around a central courtyard.
As the riders neared, the shutters slammed shut, and a single face peered from the half-opened front door.
“Hello!” called the angel.
“What want you?” asked a stocky man in a graying shirt.
'To warn you that the Cyadorans-the white demons-are riding toward Yisara. They intend to take everything they can, and kill all they find."
“Why should we listen?” asked the gray-haired man. “Why should you care? Both Lornth and Cyad are far. You lords of Lornth have cared little, except that we provide levies for your wars and food for the miners.”
The man probably had a point. Still...
The angel shrugged. “We don't kill everyone in the town. That's what the Cyadorans did where people didn't leave.”
“And you will not protect us?”
Nylan gestured to the mounted squad behind him. “We do as we can. Will these stop score-fifteen lancers?”
“Then why do you tell us when you can offer nothing?” The man squared his shoulders and shrugged.
Nylan took a deep breath. “There is nothing stopping you from leaving the town and hiding-if you want to live.”
“And what life will we have if our houses and grain are gone?”
“What life will you have if your head is gone?” countered Nylan. “You have time to move your stock and families.”
“Far enough to outrun the white demons?” The man shrugged. “I think not.”
“Fine,” said Nylan. “You have been warned. If you choose to stand here and wait for the white death, then it is on your head.”
“And on yours, lord of Lornth, for you have no honor if you will not protect your lands.”
“In the end, we will drive out the Cyadorans,” Nylan said quietly, “but Lornth was not built in a day. Nor was Cyad.”
“As darkness wills.” The man walked into the house.
“See? And what good was this day?” asked Tonsar.
“Some of the peasants are worse than Fornal,” muttered Nylan.
“I'll bet most of them hide or leave,” said Ayrlyn. “They just wouldn't give you that satisfaction.”
“I hope so. I hope so.”
“They will stay and be slaughtered like the hogs they are,” predicted Tonsar.
Nylan and Ayrlyn exchanged glances.
“That may be,” she finally said.
“We need to find another way to stop them,” murmured Nylan, more to himself than to the others. “There has to be a way . . . has to be.”