Across the street, the cooper worked on another barrel, and two dogs trotted past the statue. The yellow dog paused and anointed the corner of the low wall before following the black and white mongrel eastward and down the street.
“Quiet,” Nylan said as he guided the mare toward the inn… and the road that led out of Henspa.
“Most places are in the morning.”
From the porch of the inn, broom in hand, Lessa waved.
Ayrlyn and Nylan waved back.
For a time, they rode without speaking toward the northwest end of the town, seeing only a handful of people-a woman struggling with laundry in two wooden tubs, a carter with barrels of something driving his wagon past them toward the square, and two children weeding a garden.
“Is it just male dominance,” mused the healer, “that makes this place the way it is?”
Nylan wondered if he should even think about answering.
She turned in the saddle. “Well? You have that look that says you’ve thought about it, and you aren’t about to answer unless someone hammers it out of you.”
Nylan looked down sheepishly. Weryl looked up with a grin of gums and teeth.
“Out with it. I’m not like Ryba, and I won’t let you hide your thoughts until we can’t talk at all.”
“Well…” Nylan swallowed. “Look at Henspa. One woman changed the town. She’s remarkable, but I’d say that you, Ryba, Istril, Huldran, probably others from the Winterlance, might have acted the same way. The culture here suppresses women, but do they have to accept that degree of suppression?”
“That’s a good question.” Ayrlyn was silent as they rode past a cot where a woman in tattered gray trousers and a faded brown shirt hoed a garden, bearing a child in a backpack. “Then, look at how many women made for Westwind.”
Nylan rubbed his chin, reminded again that he was still being taken for a woman from a distance because he had no beard. “Henspa’s more isolated. Do you think that…” He wasn’t quite sure what he thought.
“Oppression is usually less in any culture where people can leave. Maybe there’s something we don’t know. Maybe, except in places like Henspa, near the borders, there wasn’t anywhere to go.”
“Maybe…” There was something more, Nylan knew, but he couldn’t get his scattered thoughts to focus.
They neared the northwest end of Henspa, where the dwellings thinned out, and then gave way to recently tilled fields on the downhill side of the road, and meadows interspersed with woodlots on the right side.
By a house where a thin line of smoke streamed from the chimney, a youth in brown trousers and a patched shirt stood beside a wood pile, ax in hand. His eyes took in the angels, and their hair, and he looked away, then spat on the ground.
“You see a lot of that. At least, I did before,” said Ayrlyn.
“You think we ought to wear hats, or caps, like you did trading?” Nylan asked. “It’s the hair.” Absently, he let Weryl play with the fingers on his free hand.
Ayrlyn frowned, then shook her head. “I don’t think so. It’s not the same as trading. People would say we were trying to hide something.”
Nylan glanced at Weryl. “When our hair-color sets people off-”
“That’s just here. Once we get farther away from Westwind, they’ll have heard of the angels, but I don’t think the hair will be a problem.”
Nylan wondered, but he wasn’t going to argue with Ayrlyn’s feelings. She was usually right, and she had much more experience in traveling Lornth than he did.
He fingered his chin, then swallowed. “Do you think that the bandits attacked because they thought we were both women, and maybe I was an old woman?”
“That would make sense. Unfortunately.” Ayrlyn looked at the road ahead. “There are a lot of stereotypes in this culture, more than you’d expect to find, and I don’t know why.”
“Don’t most low-tech cultures have stereotypes?”
“Not this many.” Ayrlyn shook her head. “And it doesn’t fit an open agrarian society, which is pretty much what Lornth is. So we’re missing something, and that bothers me.”
Nylan nodded. Missing anything else bothered him, too. It bothered him a lot, because that meant more problems down the road, and the last thing they needed was another set of problems, especially when he didn’t know how long they’d be traveling or where they’d end up.
XXXII
WHITE PUFFY CLOUDS, intermittently spaced, scudded out of the north and across the green-blue sky, occasionally obscuring the mid-morning sun, but not enough to keep Nylan from perspiring.
The road had carried them farther westward, and it had been more than two days since they had left the hills covered with ironwoods that had flanked the eastern side of the road. At least, so far they hadn’t seen any more ironwoods. A kay to the west of the road that generally wound northward was a line of trees that Nylan suspected followed a river. He blotted his forehead as the mare carried him over a low rise that overlooked a wide valley filled largely with cultivated fields. ‘ On the right side of the road was a low stone pedestal bearing a kaystone. The ornate Anglorat lettering, surrounded by a chiseled frieze of grain sheaves, declared Duevek.
“Sculpted kaystones, now?” asked Nylan.
“Oooo…” murmured Weryl, drooling whitish fragments of travel biscuit across the front of the carrypak. Nylan was glad that Istril had sewed the pack from shipsuit synthetics, because it washed easily and dried quickly-both qualities a necessity to keep it from reeking.
Beyond the kaystone the road widened enough so that it would carry two wagons abreast, although it remained rutted and packed clay.
“Prosperous-looking town,” Nylan said.
“They’re the dangerous ones.” Ayrlyn’s eyes flicked ahead. On the low hillside on the northeast side of the town was a complex of white-walled buildings that resembled a Neorat villa-not that Nylan had ever seen one except on a screen.
“That has to be the local lord’s place-or whatever they call them.”
“Lords or holders-they’re addressed as ‘lord’ or ‘ser,’ ” said Ayrlyn.
Weryl waved a hand, and Nylan broke off another corner of the hard travel biscuit.
“You’ve given him a lot of biscuits.”
“Not that much. They expand in his mouth, and he spits out about half. They keep him awake and happy. That means we get to sleep more-or haven’t you noticed?”
“I’ve noticed him sleeping more at night. That doesn’t go for his father, the lecherous cad.” She grinned as she spoke.
“I haven’t heard any complaints.”
“Who would listen?”
Nylan tried not to grin. Best not to continue that conversation.
At the base of the hill, before entering Duevek proper, they rode past a white-plastered house with a red tile roof and a matching barn or stable. In the corral beside the stable were what looked to be hogs.
“Definitely prosperous,” Nylan said.
Dark splotches in the road showed where potholes had been filled, and even the smaller cots had been recently painted or plastered.
Nylan absently provided the water bottle to Weryl as the mare carried them toward the square ahead-the first true square Nylan had seen, with buildings on all four sides around a walled section of green grass and bushes from the center of which rose a statue of an armed man on a horse brandishing a hand - and - a - half blade.
A green-framed sign of a huge golden cat hung from a green bracket outside the painted white inn. Unlike the first inn Nylan had seen-Essin’s Black Bull-this sign had both the image and the name, if in old Anglorat, painted below in crisp green letters.
As they rode into the square proper, a thin man in a dark-green tunic peered out from the doorway of what appeared to be a cabinetmaker’s shop. His eyes lighted first on Ayrlyn, and then upon Nylan. Abruptly, he stepped out and shut the door-quietly-and scurried down the brick walk to the next structure, a narrow building that featured a basket and a half-keg ove
r the door. In turn, that door shut, and three figures- one of them the man in the green-fanned out across the square.
Three serving women darted from the Golden Cat and quickly fastened all the ground-level, dark green shutters before they disappeared back behind the firmly shut and iron-barred wooden door. Two women in brown bearing heavy baskets suddenly turned and ran back down a side street, leaving both baskets on the porch of the cooper’s shop.
“Keep riding,” said Ayrlyn.
“Are they always this friendly?” asked the smith.
“This is the polite way,” said Ayrlyn. “Be thankful you don’t have people with iron implements and torches marching toward you.”
“Oh.”
Out of the stable by the Golden Cat burst a rider who spurred his mount northward on the road ahead of the two angels. The rider never looked back, but rode as though a troop of angel lancers were chasing him.
“That’s not good,” Ayrlyn said. “Let’s move a bit faster.”
Nylan urged the mare to a fast walk, wondering why a single rider was not good after a whole town declared its rejection of them.
As the two rode out of the square, watching as doors and shutters closed as or before they passed, Nylan glanced to the sky as darkness fell across the road and left them in shadow. Were the clouds getting thicker?
“Was it like this last year?” he asked.
“Yes. In about half the towns.”
Nylan patted Weryl’s leg gently.
By the time they reached the end of the town proper, every shutter was closed, and the sun had come out again.
Ahead and on the right side of the road lay the villa.
Weryl squirmed in the carrypak, and Nylan smelled a certain familiar odor. Not now. Then he shrugged. Weryl didn’t care if his timing was inconvenient.
Along the lane that led up to the Neorat villa rode nine men on horseback, all in brown. The squad rode through the arched gate and drew up in a single line, with one man in front.
“What now?” Nylan glanced at the healer.
“What do you think?”
“Keep riding. Ignore them. If they’re serious they could ride us down anyway. Their mounts are fresh.” Nylan’s mouth felt dry, and he could smell both dust and his own sweat.
“We could string them out.”
“That’s plan B-if they attack,” suggested Nylan. The memory of how awful he’d felt three days earlier in Henspa was still fresh in his mind, and he didn’t want to think about the episode with the bandits.
He looked down at Weryl. Ayrlyn was right-he needed a better arrangement for his son.
The squad leader waited as Nylan and Ayrlyn neared the gate. The second mount in the row behind the leader whuffed and pawed the hard clay.
Nylan wanted to lick his lips or touch the blade hilt at his waist. He did neither, but kept riding, letting the mare’s easy steps carry him toward the waiting armsmen.
“Angels… you’re not wanted here,” announced the blond squad leader, drawing his hand - and - a - half blade from the shoulder harness, but extending it downward until the tip touched the clay.
“We gathered that,” said Ayrlyn. “We are not imposing on your lord’s hospitality.”
“The road is yours, as it is to all travelers,” replied the armsman. “Yet, best you remain on the road until you are well clear of Duevek.”
“We intend to do so, ser,” answered the healer. “And we thank your lord for his respect for the way of the road.”
“He respects the way of the road, but not angels who travel it.” The armsman added, “You have been warned.”
“We have been warned.”
Nylan looked at the armsman, and smiled. “Those who would do violence because others are different. Those who would deny welcome to those who seek to treat all equally. Those who reject angels because angels have declared women and men are equal… all those also shall be warned.” He could feel his eyes flash.
The blond officer started to raise the blade.
Nylan looked evenly at the mart as the mare carried him almost abreast of the squad leader. “And any man who raises a blade against an empty-handed angel will die.”
After a moment, the big blade dropped.
Nylan looked ahead, but let his senses follow the armsman. He had no desire to be spitted from behind.
None of the armsmen moved.
Not until they were a good half kay farther north along the road did Ayrlyn speak. “That was dangerous, Nylan. These boys are half crazy, and they think women are lower than horse manure.”
“I’m just busy getting the word out,” Nylan said lightly, trying to settle the slight queasiness in his stomach, and knowing his action had been foolhardy. “They’ll remember, and they might even find out what happened in Henspa.”
“Nerliat once said that unseen fires flowed from you. They do.” She shook her head. “That man won’t ever forget what you said. Of course, he may try to kill you on sight if he has an excuse, but he won’t forget.”
“I hope not.” Nylan swallowed. Why was he essentially spreading the gospel of Ryba?
“Because it happens to be right,” answered Ayrlyn.
He looked at her. “I didn’t say anything.”
“You felt it strongly enough that you might as well have. You were wondering why you were spouting the party line of a place that effectively kicked you out.”
Nylan looked back over his shoulder, where the dust showed that the riders were returning to the villa. “I don’t know which is scarier-that I said what I said, or you know what you know.”
Ayrlyn laughed.
After a moment, so did he.
Overhead, the clouds thickened, and a distant roll of thunder announced a coming storm.
XXXIII
THEMPHI WALKED SLOWLY northward along the wall, his white boots gray, each step stirring ashes. Well ahead of him marched the peasants and a detachment of foot, each man bearing a pitch torch, each torch being applied to any trace of green that remained. After the torches came others, with once-sharp axes and mattocks. Behind Themphi followed teams of oxen with knife-edged but deep moldboard plows.
A rider in the green uniform and white sash of a Mirror Lancer rode across the field toward the wall and toward the white wizard.
“Ser wizard!” Jyncka’s face was tight and pinched as the Mirror Lancer officer reined up.
Themphi stopped, glanced at the gray smoke that swirled everywhere in thin trails, then rubbed his forehead, trying to ease the throbbing in his temples. Slowly, he turned and looked up at the mounted officer. “Yes?”
“Forestnorth-you had me go there to enlist some of the younger peasants to help with pushing the forest back?”
“Yes,” said the white wizard, tiredly. “I did. Do not repeat what I told you. I know what I said.” He rubbed his forehead again, leaving ash smudges at his temples.
The officer moistened his lips. “There’s no town, not now. Just forest, and the houses are already crumbling. We could not reach the wall. Some of the thickets, brambles now, are chest high.”
“The people?” asked the wizard, his voice wooden.
Jyncka shrugged, his eyes going to the yoked oxen that turned the soil behind the white wizard. “There are stun lizards, forest cats, snakes-I lost one lancer. I didn’t see any bones. One peasant woman-she was an old crone. I caught her hobbling away-she said that the people fled. They wouldn’t fight the forest.”
“Send men to ride the entire wall. Make sure they are the type that can remember and report what they have seen.”
“The entire wall?”
“The entire wall. All ninety-nine kays of each side. I do not wish to repeat myself.” Themphi started to lift his hands again, but stopped. “Take over here. Have them extinguish the torches, and return to Geliendra.”
“Ah… yes, ser wizard.”
“Don’t you understand, Jyncka? We have not cleared an area half the size of Forestnorth, and we have a wizard and an apprenti
ce, and fourscore men with torches and axes and mattocks and oxen and plows.” The wizard turned. “Fissar!”
The thin youth in white tunic and trousers smeared with dark gray scurried up. “Ser?”
“Get our mounts.”
“Yes, ser.”
Themphi looked back to Jyncka. “I want a report on how much the forest has expanded.”
“Would it not be faster-?”
“For me to use a glass?” Themphi laughed. “First, I am exhausted. Second, it takes time and energy to scree every cubit of the wall. I will use the glass once I have the reports from your men. Once I have regained some strength. Successful use of the white forces requires planning, not just spewing out power mindlessly. Some… even in power… have great difficulty understanding that.” He walked slowly away from the cracking stones of the white wall toward the distant corner of the field where Fissar was untethering two mounts.
After a moment, Jyncka urged the horse forward, toward the torches.
XXXIV
NYLAN GLANCED AT the winding road that followed the eastern bank of the river and that looked almost identical to innumerable other stretches of winding road between the low hills of Lornth and along the river-or it would have looked similar except for the misting rain.
He blotted the combination of sweat and rain off his forehead and peered through the falling water. “I don’t see any way stations, and our reception in most of the towns hasn’t been the warmest.”
“The weather’s been good, at least for most of the time.”
“Except for the first hamlet, and that other afternoon.”
“Don’t get picky with me, almighty smith.”
“Sorry.”
“Waaaaa… waa-daaa-daa!” said Weryl firmly. His silver hair was plastered to his skull, and he had squirmed almost continuously in the carrypak since the rain had drifted over the river from the northwest.
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