Fall of Angels

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “All right, but stop feeling sorry for yourself about it. It takes strength to survive here, and there’s nothing either one of us can do about that.” The marshal paused, her eyes straying to the window again, before she continued. “There’s another thing. From what Relyn learned from the two survivors, before we sent them off, Gerlich was stupid, and this Lord Sillek isn’t.”

  “Stupid in what way?” asked Nylan.

  “Gerlich got caught up in the fighting and forgot his original plan. The wizard was supposed to throw firebolts at the guards and incinerate them one by one. Instead, Gerlich charged, and when everyone got mixed together, the wizard couldn’t.”

  “That was probably because you parried that wizard’s fire,” Nylan said.

  “Parried? I didn’t do that.”

  “I saw it. You threw up the blade, and the firebolt turned.”

  “It must be your blades, then,” Ryba laughed. “The great smith Nylan whose blades turned back the wizards’ fire.”

  Nylan not only doubted her analysis, but failed to see the humor. “That’s probably why Gerlich ordered the charge. He thought the wizard’s fire wouldn’t work, and that the guards would pick off his men one by one.”

  “Our arrows can’t pick off a thousand invaders.”

  “That many?”

  “That few, if we’re lucky.”

  Nylan stood. “I think I’d better figure out more than a few tricks.”

  “Nylan… we still need arrows and the laser.”

  “I know-and magic blades, and a complete set of armaments from the Winterlance.” He tempered his words with a forced grin. “And a lot of luck.”

  “We can’t count on luck.”

  “Of course not. We’re angels.” He inclined his head. “Maybe Relyn can pray to his new religion.”

  For the first time in seasons, Ryba looked surprised. “His what?”

  “Once we destroy Lornth, he’s going out to preach the faith of the angels, the way of black order-something like that. He’s convinced you and I and Ayrlyn will change the world.”

  “I can’t say I like that. Not at all.” Ryba’s fingers seemed to inch toward the blade at her hip.

  “Let him go,” Nylan said wearily. “If we win, we can use all the propaganda we can get, and religion’s good propaganda. If not… it doesn’t matter.”

  “It won’t be the same. It won’t be Westwind-what we believe. The last thing this forsaken planet needs is a new messianic religion.”

  “No, Ryba, he won’t follow your vision. You’re the only one with your vision, but I’d trust his version more than any alternatives that might crop up.” He took a deep breath. “Let’s worry about this later.”

  Ryba shook her head.

  “Relyn’s one man. We have to fight a frigging army first. A lot of your guards respect Relyn. It wouldn’t exactly help morale…”

  “All right… but after this is over… we’ll have to settle that.”

  Nylan nodded and rose. “I’ll see you later.” He knew how she would settle the issue, and that bothered him, too. Would she always be like that?

  “Nylan… just do what you can. You work hard, and it will be enough. Trust me.”

  “I have, and I am.” As he stepped back, before turning toward the door and the steps, he gave another not quite false smile, thinking, And look where it’s gotten me!

  CXIX

  SILLEK PAUSES BEFORE the open tower window, letting the faint breeze, warm as it is, lift the sweat off his face.

  Despite the late-summer heat, the lady Ellindyja sits in the alcove, away from the breeze, wearing a long-sleeved shirt and an overtunic. The embroidery hoop in her lap shows the figure of a lord, wearing a gold circlet, with an enormous glittering blade ready to fall upon a woman warrior in black. The face of the lord is blank, unfinished.

  “How nice to see you, my lord,” she says politely.

  “You are looking well, Lady Mother.” He offers a slight bow as he turns from the window and steps toward the straight chair.

  “Well enough for an old woman who has outlived her usefulness.” She threads the needle with crimson thread, her fingers steady and sure.

  “Old? Scarcely.” Sillek laughs as he seats himself opposite her.

  “Like any grandmother, I suppose, I see more of my grandson than his father. He looks much like you. And your lady is most solicitous of my health and opinions.”

  “You imply that I am not.” Sillek shrugs. “I am here.”

  Ellindyja knots the crimson thread and takes the first stitch, beginning a drop of blood that falls from the left arm of the lord in the embroidery hoop.

  “You know of Ildyrom’s envoy, and his proposal…” Sillek lets the words trail off.

  “I was under the impression that it was somewhat more than a proposal. He sent a sealed agreement, a chest of golds, and removed all his troops back to Berlitos.” Ellindyja completes another loop in the first droplet of blood. “That should free you to reclaim your patrimony.”

  “With what?” Sillek laughs. “I have nearly a thousand armsmen still in Rulyarth, and that doesn’t count those supplied by Gethen.”

  “I understand-or was I mistaken?-that Lord Karthanos offered to place score forty troops under your command for the purpose of taking the Roof of the World.”

  “You understand correctly.” Sillek leans back in the chair. “It is truly amazing that my former foes have suddenly become so solicitous of my need to reclaim my patrimony. Truly amazing.”

  “Those who do not use resources while they can often wish they had.” The needle flashes, as though it contained a silver flame.

  “A good thought, provided one knows the price of such resources.” Sillek leans forward slightly.

  “You lost a wizard-a foolish one, but a strong one-because you attempted to regain your heritage indirectly. Indirection does not become your father’s son.” The first droplet of blood is complete, and Ellindyja’s needle begins the second, darting through the pale linen like a rapier.

  “I suppose you’re right, especially since I have no choice.”

  Ellindyja sets the embroidery hoop down, and her eyes fix on her son’s. “Lord, you never had a choice. A lord whose holders believe he cannot hold his own lands will not trust him to guard theirs. A lord who allows their women to flee will find his holders demanding his women, and his head. A lord who will not protect his holders against attacks on what they hold dear cannot long count on holding even his own tower, let alone his lands.” She lifts the embroidery, and the needle flashes.

  Sillek nods ever so slightly, but says nothing.

  “It has been so nice that you came to visit me, dear,” Ellindyja says sweetly. “And do tell your lady that I appreciate her kindness. I would not keep you now, for there must be much you must do.” The needle knots at the back of the second droplet of blood.

  Sillek rises. “I do appreciate your wisdom, Mother, and your indirectly forthright expressions, as well as all those conversations with your old friends, which have helped to leave me little choice. Still, I trust you will recall that I sought your counsel before I began my preparations to reclaim my patrimony. And I will certainly convey your thanks to Zeldyan. She is most respectful of you.”

  “And I of her, dear.” Ellindyja smiles as Sillek bows before departing. “And I of her.”

  CXX

  “EASY, EASY…”THE three new guards, led by Ydrall, eased the heavy section of log into the hole.

  Nylan nodded. “Wedge it in place with the heavy stones.”

  Two of the guards began to roll a round stone toward the hole while the other two braced the log in place.

  Nylan surveyed the two lines of holes. Each hole was about eight cubits from the next, and the first line lay just short of the top of the ridge on the tower side, below the narrowest point between the rock outcroppings that constricted the open space on each end. Still, the distance was over two hundred cubits, and that was a lot of engineering in what might be a v
ery short time.

  If he couldn’t complete the pike line he had in mind, perhaps a cable that could be raised at the last moment would provide some carnage. Nylan massaged his temples. Ryba’s thoughts about power notwithstanding, designing destructive systems still gave him headaches.

  A single horse broke away from the mounted drills and started up toward Nylan and his crew. After leaving the paved lower section of the road by the tower, Saryn turned her mount from the packed clay trail and rode up across the grassy slope toward Nylan.

  “The marshal said you were going to try something else,” Saryn said as she reined up. “Are you putting up a fence? Those posts are more than a half cubit across, and you’ve sunk them nearly two cubits deep. Isn’t that a lot of work? A fence isn’t going to stop a horde of armsmen, not for long, anyway.”

  “It’s not a fence.” Nylan offered a wry smile. “And it is a lot of work. If I get time, there will be two lines of these posts, and what goes with them.” Nylan wiped his damp forehead.

  “Do you want to explain?” Saryn surveyed the lines of holes, turning in the saddle.

  “Not really, except that I’m trying to put something together to cause trouble for any attackers. If I can get it in place and it works, then I’ll let you know. If I don’t, then I won’t feel so stupid for promising something.”

  Saryn shook her head as she rode back toward the road.

  Ydrall watched the exchange with a puzzled look.

  Nylan hoped everyone stayed puzzled.

  The idea was simple enough-semiautomatic pikes-a whole line of pikes attached to stringers or crossbeams, weighted to slip up at the right angle and set to ground if a horse and rider impacted them.

  Nylan had set them on the flat just over the crest of the hill. All an attacker would see would be a line of squat pillars, with nothing between them until the last moment-he hoped.

  As the crew finished wedging the second post in place, he nodded to the third hole. “Let’s try for another.” He picked up one section of the harness, and they began to drag the log toward the next hole, while behind them, two of the guards tamped soil in between the wedging rocks.

  Below them, another crew supervised by Weindre was building a fortified platform for the weapons laser-to the east of the road leading down from the ridge. The platform would allow the laser a sweep of the entire downslope.

  Lasers and semiautomatic pikes-what a strange combination of weaponry. Would it be enough against thousands of attackers?

  Nylan doubted it, but what choices did they have? The locals seemed enraged enough to tear apart anyone from Westwind if they tried to flee, and most of those on the Roof of the World, for one reason or another, could not survive elsewhere.

  “All right,” Nylan said. “Let’s get this one in place.” The sound of stonework drifted up from below, along with those of practice wands, and horse drills, carried by the wind that bore the faintest hint of fall.

  CXXI

  SILLEK WEARS A purple tunic over a lighter shirt, and maroon leather trousers. The scabbard holding the sabre at his side and his riding boots are both scarred and workmanlike. He carries a heavy leather jacket in his left arm as he stands by the door. “I need to go.”

  “I know.” Zeldyan offers a gentle smile. “Be careful.”

  “I always am.”

  “Don’t be a hero,” says Zeldyan quietly, holding a squirming Nesslek, whose fingers grasp for the blond strands held back from his hands by her green and silver hairband.

  “I have no intentions that way-as you know. My idea is to win, not to follow some outdated idea of honor.”

  “Please remember that.”

  “I will. If… though… If it comes to that, you have what you need… Summon your father…” His voice turns husky for a moment.

  “I know. It won’t be necessary.” Her tone is bright, despite the darkness in her eyes.

  Sillek enfolds them both in his arms, and his lips and Zeldyan’s touch, gently, desperately gently.

  Nesslek’s fingers seize his father’s tunic and twist.

  Sillek reaches up and disengages the chubby fingers. “You, young imp. Always grabbing.”

  “Like his father,” Zeldyan says gently.

  Sillek holds his son’s fingers, and his and Zeldyan’s lips brush again, more delicately, more longingly than the last time.

  CXXII

  “… WHAT NEWS DO you have, Ayrlyn?” asked Ryba.

  Five people and an infant had gathered around the head table in the great room-Ryba, Saryn, Fierral, Ayrlyn, Nylan, and Dyliess. Dyliess dozed in the carrypack on Nylan’s chest although, he reflected, she was already growing too big for it, and her upper body half sprawled out of the pouch and across Nylan’s chest. He patted his daughter’s back gently.

  The two fat candles on the table created a circle of dim light that barely included the table and those around it.

  In the gloom, Nylan glanced across the table at Ayrlyn, her hair still damp from the shower she had taken immediately upon her return from her latest trading/scouting venture. She returned his glance with a faint smile, then turned toward Ryba, and began to speak.

  With his free left hand, Nylan idly brushed the bread crumbs off the table as he listened, ignoring the creaks of the crickets that had begun to invade the tower.

  “There’s nothing absolute yet, except that Lord Sillek has either just begun to move his army, or that he will shortly. Everyone seems certain that he is getting reinforcements from the Lord of Gallos, and that the Lord of Jerans has sent gold and a pledge of peace.” Ayrlyn took a sip of cold tea from her mug, then set it back on the table.

  “In effect, we have three local kingdoms determined to wipe us out, just because we’ve armed some women and given others a place to flee to.” Ryba laughed harshly. “It’s wonderful to be so well liked.”

  “Giving women an option is radical, even revolutionary, in this culture. It has been in most noncold-climate cultures,” pointed out Ayrlyn. “People with power don’t like change. Just by existing, we’re creating change.”

  “We’ll keep doing it,” said Ryba, asking, after a moment, “How did you do with your trading?”

  “Trading-not that well. The word is out everywhere. We couldn’t trade for much. All the traders felt we should be paying double or triple.” Ayrlyn gave a half smile as if she were anticipating the next question.

  “But the carts were full,” said Fierral, as if on cue.

  “Peasant women, herders’ women, even a trader’s consort-they gave me things. There are linens, bandages, salves, and food-all in small packages. There are even coppers and silvers.”

  “You can’t tell me that every woman in Candar is praying for us,” said Saryn.

  “Hardly,” answered Ayrlyn. “Some in the small towns, places without names, spat at us. Some towns closed their shutters. But we must have traveled through ten towns.” She shrugged. “Figure two women a town and every tenth herder’s woman, and those who gave were generous. We had to keep ahead of reports that would have sent a large force of armsmen after us. The locals wouldn’t dare.”

  “Any other word on Lord Sillek?” asked Ryba.

  Dyliess murmured, and Nylan patted her back.

  “There are plenty of rumors. He’s hired score ten mercenaries from someplace called Lydiar. He’s raised score fifty armsmen in levies. Lord Karthanos is sending score forty armsmen and siege engines. The Jeranyi women will ride against the evil angels-”

  “Forget that one,” Ryba suggested. “There won’t be a woman in those forces. Not a one.”

  “-a dozen wizards will join Lord Sillek. Not a single wizard will oppose the angels. For almost every rumor, there’s one on the other side.”

  “Wizards? They can be nasty,” pointed out Saryn, “especially if there are a lot with this Lord Sillek.”

  “According to Relyn,” Nylan pointed out, “good wizards are rare. One thing that’s kept all of Sillek’s enemies from overwhelming him has been
the fact that he had three. One we killed. That leaves two. I’d guess we’ll face both, and I doubt anyone else will risk lending their wizards.”

  “Two wizards, and up to two thousand troops. We’ve got sixty bodies-not guards, just warm bodies, one sort of wizard”-Fierral nods toward Nylan-“a few gadgets, and one laser good for a very short time. I can’t say any objective assessment of our situation would give us much of a chance.”

  Ryba’s glance turned to Nylan. “How is your work coming?”

  “The pikes have been the hard part, even without iron tips. Tomorrow we should finish the first line up on the ridge. Two more days should see the second line done. The laser emplacement walls are complete, and we can have the laser in place almost in moments.”

  “What exactly are your defensive surprises?” asked Fierral. “You only test them when it’s raining or in the darkness.”

  “That’s because of something Relyn said. Narliat mentioned it earlier. I’d forgotten, though. Ryba knows.” Nylan looked at the marshal.

  She shrugged.

  “These wizards seem to know a lot. Relyn says that some have a special mirrorlike glass and that they can see events through it. They can’t do it well in the dark or through running water. Rain is running water.” He cleared his throat and patted Dyliess again. “What’s up there are what I’d call automatic pikes. When I pull a cord, they’ll snap up into place.”

  “That means someone will have to be up there,” pointed out Fierral.

  “That’s one reason why there are two lines,” answered Nylan. “There’s about thirty cubits from the rise to the first row. I checked the line of sight, and you can’t see the posts until you pass the crest. Now, if they charge quickly, then a bunch of them are going to get spitted. If they go slowly, they’ll have to stop, and that should make them good targets for arrows.” He shrugged. “I know it means four to eight guards will be exposed, but they can lie flat behind the posts until they trigger them. After that, I really don’t think, if they hurry back to the second line and trigger those, that anyone will be paying attention to them.”