Chaos Balance
LXXXVII
THE HAMLET OF Syskar crouched two kays away, under the late afternoon's hot sun, under the blistering green-blue sky, and a cloud of yellow-gray dust rose from under the hoofs of the Lornian armsmen approaching Nylan and the captured wagons.
Fornal reined up, the squad behind him slowing even more abruptly, then reluctantly sheathing unneeded blades.
“Greetings,” offered Nylan. “We've brought a few supplies.”
For a long moment, the regent glanced at the three heavy-laden wagons. “Supplies are welcome, yet . . .” He paused, then added, “Our holders would not expect us to stoop to becoming highwaymen. They would suggest that our mission was to destroy the white demons.”
“We did,” said Ayrlyn, her mouth turning up, although her eyes did not smile. “We eliminated almost a score of white armsmen. It seemed a shame not to bring back what they wouldn't need.”
“The Cyadorans will call it dishonorable, and it will cost us more than you cost the demons. What will keep them from raiding our supply wagons now?” Fornal turned his mount as if to ride back to Syskar ahead of the returning force.
“How?” asked Nylan. “If they take a small raiding party, you can destroy it. A large one can't move that quickly. Besides, if we keep whittling them down, they won't have enough men to do raids and hold the mines.”
“Will we have enough men left to attack, or defend against their attacks?” asked Fornal. “How many men did you lose to get those wagons?”
“Three. One was because the damned fool didn't listen. We killed nearly a score of theirs once they stalled at the barricade.”
“A score?”
“Sixteen,” reaffirmed Ayrlyn. “The archers got about half when they got tangled up. Then Tonsar dropped rocks on them and brought the mounted armsmen in from behind.”
“It was like slaughtering trapped goats, ser regent. For once, the white demons were penned up-”
“They were penned up, and you killed them?”
“Do . . . the great and beloved holders of Lornth . . . want a score of reinforcements at the mines?” Nylan asked tiredly. “They want you to defeat the Cyadorans. Isn't that what we're doing?”
“I admit, angels, you have killed many white demons. Perhaps it takes one to kill one.” Fornal looked to Nylan for a moment, then at Ayrlyn, whose brown eyes flashed blue. Finally, he glared at Tonsar, but the burly armsman merely met the regent's gaze evenly. After a moment, Fornal continued. “You have done so well, angels, that it is only right that you should have the honor of being the first to meet their massed might.” Fornal smiled lazily, then flicked the reins and rode toward the shed barracks, his mount raising dust that fell almost as it rose.
Tonsar slowly moved his head from side to side. “If we keep killing them, they will not have that many armsmen. If we do not, then . . .”
Nylan wished Fornal could understand that simple argument. Or was Fornal merely preparing the way for their removal? Nylan took a deep breath. He wished he hadn't. He smelled; his clothes smelled; and even finding enough water to wash either was going to be a chore.
Everything was getting to be a chore.
“It always is,” said Ayrlyn.
Nylan nodded.