The Chaos Balance

VIII

The stocky gray-haired man waited as Zeldyan knelt, patting Nesslek’s back until the boy’s breathing was regular. Then she eased him from his side to his back and covered him with the blanket.

After a last look at her son, she rose, crossed the room, and sat opposite Gethen across the low table, where she filled both goblets that rested there. She took a small sip from her own, followed by a nibble from the pastry she had started earlier.

“You were saying?” he asked quietly.

“Father,” said Zeldyan slowly. “You remember Hissl, the wizard who tried to claim the Ironwoods by leading an expedition to defeat the dark angels?”

“I heard about it. I was in Rulyarth at the time, you recall.” Gethen lifted the goblet and sipped the wine. “The angels destroyed them to the last man, despite Hissl’s wizardry. The angels had a black mage. I suppose they still do.”

“He was the one who used the fires of Heaven…” Zeldyan broke off the sentence, and looked down at the table. “Just like Sillek, he probably didn’t have any choice. If he hadn’t killed…he would have died.”

“You don’t hate him?” asked Gethen.

“Why? You know who I hate.” Zeldyan toyed with her goblet, then set it down without drinking. “Hissl did not lead the first expedition, the one after Relyn’s, I mean. The leader was a big man from the Roof of the World.”

“That seems strange, if true. Why do you mention that?”

“For Nesslek’s sake, I have to think. I cannot be bound by old hates or tradition.” The blonde took another small sip of wine. “I doubt that there is a single land where everyone is happy. People come to Lornth from Jerans, or go from here to Westwind or Suthya.”

“As far as I can see, only women go to Westwind.” Gethen refilled his goblet.

“Once they came to Lornth from Cyador, those who weren’t slaughtered…according to the old tales.”

“You still raise the disturbing questions, daughter, after all these years.”

“I cannot be who I am not. That, too, is a form of…honor. I learned that from Sillek.”

Gethen waited.

“What do we know of Westwind, really know?” asked Zeldyan. “Except that they destroyed two armies?”

“Not much,” agreed Gethen.

“I think we should be alert to learn what we can. Perhaps the dark angels might have something we can use.”

“Against Cyador? You were certain that it would come to battle when we discussed this before.” Gethen took another sip of the wine.

“Unless matters change,” she said. “Fornal would fight. If he thinks he must fight, he will want to fight immediately.”

“Sometimes that view is correct.”

“Sometimes,” said Zeldyan without agreeing. “I would rather avoid battles.”

“One cannot always do that. Sillek hated battles, but he was right to take the fight to Ildyrom.”

“So long as he had Koric and a wizard to leave in Clynya. Now what will we do-add to the armsmen there?” The blonde lifted a small handful of nuts from the dish on the table. “I suppose we must. Fornal has fortified Rulyarth, and the people there would not submit to Suthya now. Our tribute to Westwind keeps the east safe. If Cyador brings trouble, we will need forces in the south anyway.”

“You just said you would avoid battle. What do you seek from the dark ones?” Gethen laughed.

“Do you disagree that battles are costly?” Zeldyan turned toward the window as the roll of thunder rumbled across Lornth, heralding more spring rain.

“Hardly. But what has this to do with the dark angels?” Gethen frowned.

“Perhaps nothing. I do think we should talk with any who leave, if any do, and set out word that they are to be treated kindly and escorted to Lornth.”

“That will not set well with some,” pointed out Gethen.

“Send those who wish to fight to Clynya.”

“Including the Lady Ellindyja?”

“I wish I could send her to Westwind or feed her to Ildyrom’s dogs.”

“That would not be good for the dogs,” said Gethen, “even if they do belong to Ildyrom.”