Fall of Angels

IV

“HAVE YOU DETERMINED the cause of the great perturbation between order and chaos-the one that shook the world last evening?” asks the white-haired man dressed in the more traditional flowing white robes.

The younger, but balding, man straightens and looks up from the circular glass in the middle of the white oak table. “Ser?”

“I asked, Hissl, about the great perturbation. Jissek still lies in a stupor, and my glass shows that waves flooded the Great North Bay.”

“Waves always flood the Great North Bay, honored Terek.” Hissl inclines his head to the older magician, and the summer light that reflects off the roof of the keep of Lornth and through the window glistens on his bald pate. “I do believe that order fought chaos in the skies, and that times will be changing.”

“A safe prediction,” snorts Terek. “The times always change. Tell me something useful.”

The man in the white tunic and trousers stands and bows to the older white-clad man. “There are strangers approaching from the skies.”

“There are always strangers approaching. How do you know they are from the skies?”

“The glass shows a man and a woman. The man has hair colored silver like the stars, and the woman has flaming red hair, like a fire. They are seated in a tent of iron.”

“An old man and a redheaded weakling?”

“The man is young, and the woman is a warrior, and they bring other women warriors.”

“How many?” Terek walks to the unglazed window of the lower magicians’ tower, where the shutters tremble against the leather thongs that hold them open. His eyes look out upon the barely green hilly fields above the river.

“A score.”

“I should tremble at a score of women warriors? This is the message of such a great disturbance?”

Hissl bows again. “You have asked what I have seen, and you mock what I tell you.”

“Bah! I will wait until Jissek wakes.”

“As you wish. I have warned you of the danger.”

Terek shakes his head and turns toward the plank door thatsqueaks on its rough hinges with each gust of the spring wind. He does not shut it as he leaves.

Hissl waits until he can no longer hear the sound of boots on the tower stairs. Then he smiles, recalling the lances of winter that the strangers bear, and the breadth of the women’s shoulders.