Fall of Angels (61 page)

  
Jissek follows with a second firebolt, then Terek with a third.

  
By the time a half-dozen Suthyans have been brought down with wizard fire, some of the horse troopers trot uphill. Then, the trumpet sounds, and all the Suthyans begin the charge toward the apparently outnumbered Lornians.

  
"A few more firebolts," orders Sillek, before turning to the armsman mounted on the horse beside him. "Let them get within a hundred cubits."

  
"That's too close, ser. They'll chase if they get to two hundred."

  
"Two hundred, then. Would you suggest a flat gallop, or a quick trot?"

  
The other grins. "A good commander would order a gallop, get you clear, then a walk. A dumb one always orders a quick trot, then a gallop, and your mount's got nothing left."

  
Sillek grins back. "A quick trot to the top of the hill, then."

  
As they have talked, three more Suthyan troopers have been incinerated, and the Suthyan mounted are riding quickly toward them.

  
"Back!" orders Sillek, after a quick glance at the armsman, who nods. "Quick trot!"

  
The Suthyans are less than a hundred cubits behind when Sillek's horse crosses the hill crest and he orders his mounted troop to swing to the west.

  
"Get the pikes set!" snaps Gethen. "Horse on the flanks! Archers-stand fast! Between horse and flank!"

  
The Suthyan horse is a ragged line by the time the riders surge over the crest chasing the "fleeing" Lornian forces.

  
Fully twenty horse and riders are spitted on the waiting pikes. The others slow into a milling mass.

  
"Archers!" shouts Gethen, and the arrows turn half the remaining Suthyans into pincushions.

  
Perhaps a dozen horse troopers swing out to the flanks, only to be encircled and brought down by Sillek's troopers on the left, and Gethen's reserves on the right.

  
"Move up! Move up!" snaps Gethen, and the pikemen and the .foot move forward.

  
"Measured pace! Measured pace! Archers forward and to the flanks," orders Gethen.

  
Sillek brings the wizards back to the hill crest. By now the Suthyan foot are more than halfway up the hill.

  
"Firebolts!" he orders.

  
Jissek strains, and a small ball arches into the left side. Greasy smoke rises, along with the shriek of a man who rolls in the damp grass-in vain as he writhes before subsiding into a blackened lump.

  
"Terek."

  
The chief wizard casts another bolt, and two Suthyan troopers turn to flaming brands.

  
A trumpet bugles, and the Suthyan forces begin to trot uphill.

  
"Idiots," mutters Sillek, looking over his shoulder to see that the pikes are set in the forward position. Then he signals, and his horse troopers reform in a double line, waiting.

  
As the Suthyan forces halt at the hill crest, wavering in sight of the pikes, Gethen drops his arm, and arrows sheet through the Suthyans.

  
The line wavers, and then breaks, ignoring the shouted commands from the Suthyan commanders.

  
Gethen swings his arm, and the Lornian horse charges.

  
Less than twoscore Suthyans scramble into the river, and less than half those make it across the ford.

  
On the west side of the river, Sillek reins up and watches. His eyes stray, not to the hundreds of Suthyan bodies, nor to the fallen horse, but to the relative handful of fallen Lornians. He turns to Gethen.

  
Gethen cleans his blade and turns to Sillek. "They'll call you a butcher, Lord."

  
"I don't care what they call me, just so long as they respect me." Sillek takes a deep breath and looks to see that they are beyond easy earshot of the wizards and the chief armsmen, who are directing the looting and burial details. "Fighting is not glorious, and anyone who thinks so ..." He does not finish the thought, but shakes his head.

  
"Many in your land would dispute that, Lord."

  
"Even as I save their sons, yet." Sillek laughs harshly. "Would you dispute me, Gethen?"

  
"No." Gethen laughs harshly. "You have learned young what many never learn. But do not speak it except to those as gray-haired as I, or those who have buried sons lost in useless battles, not unless you wish to kill them."

  
"I won't." Sillek tightens his lips. "Is this useless battle?"

  
"It is less useless than most, My Lord. Else I would not be here."

  
"On to Rulyarth."

  
"On to Rulyarth," echoes Gethen.

  
"After our gloriously victorious troops claim their just rewards," Sillek adds darkly and under his breath.

LXXXVIII

NYLAN TAPPED THE brick level on the mortar and troweled away the excess mortar. That finished the base of the forge. Sometime, Huldran and Cessya and the others could set the roof timbers. He had to finish the forge and start making more weapons ... for more killing.

  
"Need more mortar, ser?" asked Huldran.

  
"No." He glanced toward the west, but the sun was just above the peaks, and they wouldn't have much time before the evening triangle rang. He rubbed his shoulders. After a year, things should be easier, but it didn't seem that way. He paused as he saw Ayrlyn hurrying toward the unfinished smithy. "I sense trouble."

  
"We've got more than enough, ser," said Huldran. "That new one, Desain, she thinks that showers are unhealthy, and the other one, Ryllya, she had a fit when the healer cut her hair. Said her strength was in her hair. Things like that remind me how strange this place is."

  
"It is strange." Nylan wondered what was driving Ayrlyn.

  
"Here comes the healer," announced Huldran.

  
"Gerlich is gone," Ayrlyn announced even before she stepped inside the brick-framed doorway of the smithy. Her face was flushed.

  
"How do you know?"

  
"Day before yesterday, he said he'd be gone for two days-that he'd been having trouble finding game. He took a mount and the old gray for a pack animal. Llyselle found that out when she was cleaning the stables. She told me, and I told Ryba. Today, I happened to look at his space, and both bows were gone. There were rags folded where his clothes were. I started checking, and he took all the coins in the strongbox I had hidden on the fifth level." Ayrlyn wiped her forehead. "Ryba has the golds somewhere, but that's a lot of silvers, and a bunch of coppers. He also made off with a handful of blades-the poor ones in the back of the chest."

  
Nylan nodded. "He's also been sneaking arrows out of the tower."

  
"You didn't say anything?"

  
Huldran's eyes widened as they moved from Ayrlyn to Nylan and back again.

  
"I didn't know. All I knew was that every time he went hunting he came back with a few arrows missing, sometimes more than a few shafts. Then the morning he left, Fierral told me he'd taken fifty shafts hunting. I just thought he was a poor shot, but didn't want to admit it. Now ..."

  
"It makes sense," pointed out Ayrlyn.

  
"Narliat's departure was no accident, either, then," Nylan continued. "That bastard Gerlich has something arranged." He turned to Huldran. "Can you clean up? The healer and I need to find the marshal."

  
"Yes, ser."

  
The engineer and the healer headed toward the tower.

  
"Where is she?" asked Ayrlyn.

  
"Up in the tower, I think. I carted Dyliess around this morning. Bricklaying is slow with an infant strapped to you, but she liked the motion, I only had trouble if I stood still."

  
Nylan and Ayrlyn found the marshal on the fifth level, working with one of the newcomers. Saryn sparred with another and Fierral with a third. At a break in the sparring, Nylan motioned to Ryba.

  
The marshal stopped. "With two of you, it must be serious." Ryba turned to Saryn. "Desain needs to stop letting her wrist droop."

  
"I can manage that." Saryn laughed.

  
"And Fierral," added Ryba. "Nistayna doesn't have any follow-through. She's afraid she'll hurt someone. If she doesn't, they'll kill her."

  
Ryba racked her wand, and the three walked up the stone steps.

  
On the top level of the tower, Ellysia sat in the rocking chair, holding Dephnay on her knee with one hand and rocking the cradle containing Dyliess with the other, the cradle that now rested at the foot of the two separated lander couches.

  
"Thank you, Ellysia," said Ryba. "You can go now." She crossed the room and opened both windows wide.

  
Behind her Ellysia shivered as the wind gusted into the room, then stood and picked up Dephnay. Dyliess started to murmur the moment the unattended cradle began to slow.

  
As Ellysia, shivering, her face flushed, started down the steps, Ryba eased Dyliess from the cradle. "You're about to wake up anyway, little one."

  
Ryba sat in the rocking chair and unfastened her shirt. Dyliess began to nurse, as greedily as always, reflected Nylan.

  
"What is this problem?" asked the marshal.

  
"Gerlich is gone," said Ayrlyn. "He also took all the silvers from the lower strongbox."

  
"I checked the golds this morning. They're all here," Ryba said flatly. "He doesn't have enough coin to do that much."

  
"He still stole close to four golds in silver and copper," pointed out Ayrlyn.

  
"He took everything he could sneak out, including more than fifty arrows, a packhorse, and some of the more battered blades," Nylan added.

  
"Those blades he took are worth close to five golds. He could buy close to a score of armsmen," explained Ayrlyn. "Hired blades are cheap here."

  
"Life is cheap here," said Ryba. "Look at those cairns." Her head inclined toward the open tower window.

  
"You think he'll do that?" Nylan's guts already gave him one answer.

  
"He will, and he will be back, with an army behind him," agreed Ryba tiredly, shifting Dyliess from one breast to the other.

  
"You see this?" asked Nylan.

  
"Not all of it, just a fragment, just enough."

  
Ayrlyn frowned, but said nothing.

  
"What Gerlich took won't be enough, and he knows it," Ryba pointed out.

  
"Narliat left earlier than Gerlich," said Ayrlyn.

  
The triangle rang for the evening meal.

  
"He's acting as Gerlich's advance agent. Gerlich tries to let someone else face the dangers first." Ryba looked down at Dyliess. "Easy there ... easy ..." A rueful smile crossed her face.

  
"Should we beef up the standing guard?" asked Ayrlyn.

  
"For how long? We still need food. We need to get more things working, like the smithy, and possibly a few cows or goats. Not every guard can nurse, and we won't always have guards with infants at the same time. Guards have to work and guard, or Westwind will fall. I don't know when Gerlich will try his attack. The only thing we can do is make sure that all the guards have their weapons at hand, whatever they're doing. Fierral can build a permanent watchpost on top of the ridge, with another warning triangle. Outside of that. . ." Ryba shrugged.

  
Nylan and Ayrlyn exchanged glances.

  
"What can we do, besides what we're already doing?" asked Ryba. "Let's go eat." She slipped Dyliess from her lap into the carrypack, stood, and headed down the stairs. "You've eaten, little pig. It's your mother's turn."

  
Ayrlyn glanced at Nylan and shrugged.

  
He shrugged back.

  
As they entered the great room, guards were still straggling in. Nylan almost stopped short at the third table below the first two. It only had one bench, but three of the new guards sat there, flanking Istril and Weryl.

  
Nylan paused. "Hello there, young fellow."

  
Weryl gurgled. Nylan patted his shoulder.

  
Istril smiled. "He's good."

  
"I'm sure he is." Nylan returned the smile, hiding a certain dismay. How had he ended up with three children born within a season of each other? His eyes flicked to Ryba's back, but he kept smiling as he nodded to the three newcomers before turning. One was called Nistayna-that he remembered.

  
A spicy scent Nylan had not smelled before filled the area, and he looked toward the big pot that Kadran set in the middle of the table.

  
"Something new," announced the cook. "You take one of those flat biscuit things and pour a ladle of this over the biscuit."

  
"It better be good," muttered Weindre, loud enough for those at all three tables to hear.

  
"It's too good for you," snapped Kadran.

  
Even the newcomers at the third table smiled briefly.

  
Ryba slid into her chair, and Nylan and Ayrlyn sat on the benches across from each other.

  
When the woven grass basket came to Nylan, he broke off a piece of bread, sniffed it, and drew in the spicy aroma. "This even smells good."