The Chaos Balance

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “Our wizards had told me some of that, but it is good to know why you picked the Roof of the World. Still… why are you here? Do you bring some message, some demand?”

  “Hardly.” Nylan held in a sigh. “You must know that Ryba is Marshal of Westwind, and that she is a mighty warrior. You also must know that there are few men in Westwind.”

  “It is said you slaughtered most of those who tried to enter, although there were said to be some few from Lornth who survived,” said Zeldyan.

  Nylan decided against addressing the issue of slaughter. “There were two,” said Nylan. “One was Nerliat, and he left and was killed when he returned with a wizard to attack Westwind. Ryba is not all that fond of men, and she has become less fond of them as time has passed. I am a man.” He shrugged.

  Zeldyan frowned. “And what of the other man? Did he suffer her displeasure as well? Was he slaughtered as well?”

  “That was Relyn. He attacked Westwind also, but he survived.” Nylan paused, sensing that Zeldyan’s interest was more than passing. “He left last fall to head east.”

  “East? Why would he do that?” The regent sounded puzzled. “Why was he spared when others were not?”

  Nylan wanted to wipe his forehead. “It’s not exactly simple. When he attacked Westwind, he tried to kill Ryba. She took off his right hand.” The smith paused.

  “Nylan saved him from bleeding to death, and later made him an artificial hand, and helped teach him how to fight with a blade and a knife,” added Ayrlyn.

  Nylan wanted to clarify that, because he hadn’t really done the teaching. He’d only made the hand/hook and the clamp that would hold a dagger and encouraged Relyn.

  “Why did you do that?” asked the blond woman.

  “It seemed like the right thing to do. He was pretty defeated. He said he’d never be able to return home, that he could never escape the humiliation of being defeated by a handful of women.” Nylan’s eyes turned to Weryl, who was working his way around the chest with tottering steps.

  “Do you know why he left?” asked Zeldyan.

  “I told him to,” Nylan admitted. “I was afraid that Ryba might harm him after the battle.” He took a sip of the sweet and sour juice.

  “You could not protect him?”

  “Nylan was injured in the battle,” said Ayrlyn. “He could not have protected himself, let alone anyone else. Because he worried about Relyn, he advised him to slip away in the confusion after the battle.”

  “Scarcely honorable advice,” said Zeldyan.

  “I’m a little confused about the definition of honor,” said Ayrlyn. “From what I’ve observed, it appears perfectly honorable to attack or try to enslave people who have nowhere to go. It appears perfectly honorable to offer rewards to have them destroyed, but it is dishonorable to admit that they are strong enough to defend themselves, and dishonorable to leave when the alternative is death at the blade of the greatest warrior in the world.”

  “The greatest warrior? Who might that be?”

  “Ryba,” said Nylan. “From what I’ve seen, no one comes close to her.”

  “She does not rule by blood?”

  “No. She rules by ability, especially ability with weapons.”

  “Many in Lornth would find that disturbing.” Zeldyan took another sip of juice. “Why did you advise Relyn to leave? I am also confused. Did you know that you would be injured? Are you some sort of mage to predict such matters?”

  “People have called me a mage,” Nylan admitted, “but I am a smith and an engineer first. I did not know that I would be injured, but we were greatly outnumbered, and it seemed possible that many would be injured. I told Relyn that, especially if I were injured, he should depart.”

  “That candle adds some light.” Zeldyan paused, sipped her juice, and asked, “Are you the black mage that the wizards saw in their glasses? The one who defeated Hissl?”

  “I don’t think I am a black mage, but I did manage to stop the wizards.”

  “I would suggest, ser Nylan, that anyone who can defeat three white wizards is a black mage,” said Zeldyan dryly. “If you are so powerful, and needs must leave this… Westwind, then the Marshal must be even more powerful.”

  “She is a mighty warrior,” said Ayrlyn, “and at times she can see what will be, or might be.”

  “You, flame-angel.” The regent turned to Ayrlyn. “Do you believe that the black mage saved Relyn?”

  “Yes. He saved his life, and helped him to regain his skills and confidence. Before Relyn left, he was a better blade, even left-handed and with a dagger over his hook, than he was when he came.”

  Zeldyan was silent, then took another sip of the juice. “Why did you leave?”

  “Because the Roof of the World was too cold for me, and because I love Nylan, and because he had to leave.”

  Nylan slipped out of the chair to steer Weryl away from the table with the blades upon it.

  “Yet he carries the child. Is this an angel custom?”

  “Weryl is his. Why shouldn’t he carry his son?”

  Zeldyan laughed, before a frown crossed her face. “I wish Sillek were yet here to listen to that. Still, you have done some good, not even knowing that you have.”

  It was Ayrlyn’s and Nylan’s turn to look puzzled.

  “Relyn is my brother, and while I would wish he could return to Lornth, I fear his judgment is correct. He would have to fight every day of his life for seasons to prove his honor.” She turned back to Ayrlyn. “Sillek shared some of your concerns about honor, with some justice.”

  Nylan cleared his throat. “If it is not too impertinent, Regent Zeldyan, might I ask why you wished to see us?”

  “Because I wanted to meet those who are angels to see if they were indeed black demons.”

  “Why does everyone think of us that way?”

  “How else would they, after all you have done?”

  “And what do you want of us?” Ayrlyn’s voice was edged.

  “Have you heard of Cyador, the ancient white land?”

  “Only recently. There was a scroll that mentioned an ancient land where the builders channeled the rivers and built white cities, and then a trader mentioned the name,” said Ayrlyn. “He said traders from Cyador had bought enough wheat in Certis and Gallos to drive the price up. He also said they don’t let outside traders in.”

  “They turn away all outsiders, and kill those they find within their borders.” Zeldyan was matter-of-fact. “Once, it is said, they controlled much of what is Lornth, including the copper mines in Cerlyn. They have demanded the return of the mines‘, and our scouts say that a mighty force of Mirror Lancers advances toward the Grass Hills.”

  At the term “Mirror Lancers,” Ayrlyn and Nylan exchanged glances.

  “You know of this?” Zeldyan’s voice sharpened.

  “Not exactly. Those who destroyed our ship used Mirror Towers, and we’ve often wondered if the white demons of your legends were descended from the ancestors of our enemies.”

  “Can you read?”

  Nylan repressed a smile and answered. “We can both read your tongue and ours.”

  “Scholars and angels and warriors-truly an odd combination.”

  “No more than you, lady,” Nylan offered.

  “Aye, and oddity pays a high price.” Zeldyan coughed. “You are welcome, once you are settled, to study the old scrolls in the tower. Some deal with the white ones, and you may find some information of use-that is, if you choose to remain in Lornth and aid us against Cyador.”

  Nylan glanced at Ayrlyn, catching the tiniest nod. “We would be pleased to remain and offer what help as we can-”

  “I would ask what assistance you might offer,” interrupted Zeldyan, as though she had forgotten to ask, almost as though she knew the answer.

  Nylan kept getting the impression that the blond woman knew far more than she revealed.

  “That may be slight,” Nylan said. “We have no destructive fireballs like the white wizards. I am
a smith. Perhaps I can devise some weapons that might help, although I’m not too familiar with what you can do.”

  “You were well acquainted enough to destroy two armies. That should offer some reassurance.” Zeldyan looked to Ayrlyn.

  Nylan slipped from his chair again to redirect Weryl back to the chest, away from the blades.

  “I offer less, lady. I am a healer and a singer, and I can defend myself with a blade.” Ayrlyn dropped her head.

  “Enough to have killed a score, no doubt?”

  “Half that, perhaps,” conceded Ayrlyn.

  The blond regent laughed again. “Most armsmen do not slaughter that many in a life, yet you are apologetic.” She shook her head. “And you, smith?”

  Nylan swallowed. “With a blade, a few more than the healer.”

  “And how did you destroy the flower of Lornth? With what awful magic?”

  Nylan decided to risk it and tell the truth. “With devices from the heavens that no longer work.”

  “So… another army could take Westwind?”

  “Perhaps,” Nylan said, “although the tower would withstand anything short of a large siege engine, and there are more guards at Westwind now than when we landed.”

  Zeldyan shook her head. “I would scarcely hazard a single armsman against your Westwind. We gain nothing, and lose everything.” The piercing green eyes raked over the two. “Since you are here, will you aid us against Cyador?”

  “Yes.” The answer was simultaneous.

  “Good. I had hoped you might. I had taken the liberty of installing you in a guest room in the south wing. It even has a bath chamber. The wizards said that baths were important to angels.”

  “You know far more than you reveal, Regent,” Ayrlyn said.

  “That is the business of regents, and, I perceive, of angels.” Zeldyan rose. “Tonight, I will have a supper sent to your room. Tomorrow, you will join us-all the regents-for the evening meal. Lornth is open to you.” The blonde paused. “For now, I would suggest remaining within the walls of the keep. Most within Lornth are not that charitable toward angels.” Her lips quirked. “I have no doubts about your ability to defend yourselves, but I would rather not lose any more souls, and not all of our people have enough sense to understand the futility of crossing blades with you.”

  Ayrlyn followed the regent’s example and stood, as did Nylan, but the engineer had to bend to reclaim Weryl, who had returned to the carved chest.

  Both angels bowed.

  Zeldyan rang a small bell, and the door opened. The page stepped inside.

  “If you would escort the angels to their guest chamber- the one in the south wing.”

  “The big one?”

  “The big one, Nistyr,” Zeldyan affirmed.

  “Thank you,” Nylan said quietly.

  “I fear, angel, that thanks will count for little enough once Cyador moves against us.”

  Nylan suspected she was right, but it was still good to have a solid roof and food-even if he still had no idea of where their future truly might lie.

  XXXIX

  DISDAINING THE ANGEL Ryba, the smith Nylan, knowing the fate of the once-mighty hunter Gerlich, made his way from Westwind, with all the stealth and craft that befitted the one who had re-created the fires of Heaven and the rains of death.

  The soul-singer Ayrlyn accompanied him, and a child, and far more harm than mighty Ryba did these three portend for all of Candar, and all lands, even unto the ends of the world…

  The Angel and Marshal of Westwind was sore vexed, and sent she her guards after the three, but, against the dark arts of the smith and the singer, they could not prevail, and in time the three came to the ancient and powerful land of Lornth.

  The people of Lornth closed their shutters as the angels passed, and feared as the dark shadows crossed their doors.

  The leader of the council of Lornth was a woman, and guileless, and, beguiled by Nylan and the sweet songs of the dark singer and the seeming innocence of the child, she offered them respite, and opened her land unto these dark ones, despite the counsel of those who cautioned against what would come from the angels.

  And there, for time, abided the mighty smith and the singer of dark songs, and the child.

  Colors of White

  (Manual of the Guild at Fairhaven)

  Preface

  XL

  AS HE COMPLETED dressing, Nylan glanced around the spacious room, taking in the pale pink stone walls, the two ornately carved dark wood wardrobes, and the matching wooden armchairs beside a game table that doubled as an in-chamber dining table.

  Ayrlyn sat up in the bed and yawned. “Do we find breakfast?”

  Nylan shrugged.

  “All right.” Ayrlyn set her feet on the carpet. “I’m outnumbered.”

  “Outnumbered, but never outvoted,” answered the engineer.

  “.Voting doesn’t count here, remember?” She rubbed her eyes.

  “It doesn’t, but what do you think?” Nylan sat and balanced Weryl on his knee, offering the boy leftover greenjuice from the covered cup.

  “About what?” With another yawn, Ayrlyn padded toward the wash basin in the adjoining chamber.

  “Zeldyan.”

  “She’s pragmatic. Warm-hearted, but that won’t get in her way of doing what she thinks is best.” Ayrlyn looked at the wash basin. “She wants her son to have the best, and to live to inherit it. I’d guess that we’d have to have her on our side, but she already is. She needs us, although I don’t know exactly why she thinks we can help Lornth with Cyador.”

  “We’re angels,” pointed out Nylan, deadpan.

  “She’s not that credulous. She wants us to do something.”

  “You would bring that up,” said the engineer. “Such as defeating Cyador and retaining these copper mines?”

  “Probably, if not worse.” Ayrlyn struggled into her leathers. “I wish I had some outfits like hers. These are going to get too hot here.”

  “For you?” Nylan laughed.

  Thrap! At the rap on the door, the two angels looked at each other.

  “Yes?” said Nylan, loudly.

  “Your breakfast, ser and lady,” announced a voice from the door.

  Ayrlyn unbolted the door for the square-faced serving girl.

  Breakfast was piled on a single platter on a large tray- eggs cooked into a flattened mass with cheese, two long blackened sausages. Beside the platter on the tray were a loaf of black bread, two applelike fruits, two pitchers-one brown and one gray-and two empty green stoneware mugs.

  “Visen had to guess, ser and lady,” said the dark-haired girl. “If you would tell the pages or me if there’s something you would like better, she would be pleased to cook it.” She bowed again.

  “Thank you. This is fine,” said Ayrlyn.

  With a nervous smile, the girl slipped toward the door and was gone.

  “I haven’t had service like this in years,” murmured Nylan.

  “I never had it.” Ayrlyn eased herself into the chair across the table from Nylan and Weryl.

  “Sausage is pretty rank,” said Ayrlyn after a time, pouring greenjuice into her mug. “It feels all right, but it’s… something.”

  “Blood sausage, I think,” Nylan said after one bite. “It is rank.” Try as he might, he managed only three bites. Weryl spat out his first morsel.

  “The opinion is universal,” Ayrlyn noted, swigging more greenjuice.

  “The bread is good.” Nylan offered Weryl the cup, and the boy grabbed it with both hands.

  When the tray was empty-except for the uneaten black sausages-the engineer glanced at the flame-haired healer. “We’re fed. What should we do?”

  “Talk to people,” suggested Ayrlyn. “Talk to as many as we can.”

  After they had washed their hands and taken care of other needs, including a quick change for Weryl, Nylan eased open the heavy wooden door. The two wore single blades, those at their belts, and Nylan carried Weryl in his left arm, rather than in the
carrypak still damp from washing.

  The hall was dim, despite the light pinkish color of the stone walls and floor tiles, and empty. With a shrug Nylan turned right. Their boots echoed on the tiles as they headed toward the cross-corridor at the end of the hall. Around the corner and at the archway that led to the old tower where they had met Zeldyan, they found a pair of guards.

  “Off-limits?” asked Nylan with a smile.

  “If you please, ser,” answered the wiry .guard. His taller companion remained silent, though both looked at the angels and then at Weryl. The boy smiled, and a ghost of a response creased the shorter guard’s face.

  “We’re strangers here,” the engineer began, “and you could help us by telling us a few things we don’t know. No, I’m not after gossip, or anything like that. How old is Lornth? Do you know?”

  The wiry guard frowned. “Can’t say as I’d be knowing that, ser. Some say that Lord Sillek was the fifteenth lord of Lornth; others say he was only the eleventh. Don’t know as that helps much.”

  “How big is Lornth?”

  “Well… I’d not know how many kays from here to there, but now that Lord Sillek added Rulyarth, those that owe him allegiance hold lands that run from the headwaters of the river near Clynya all the way to the sea, and from the Westhorns least halfway through the grasslands. Clynya’s a good eight-day’s ride, maybe more, right up the river from Lornth. Berlitos-that’s the nearest place you’d call a town in Jerans-it’d be a good seven days’ ride west from Rohrn.”

  “Where’s Rohrn?” asked Ayrlyn.

  “ ‘Bout two days’ ride upriver-on the west side. Pretty town. Older than Lornth, but the Jeranyi used to raid it a lot, back a hundred years or so. Least, that was what my da told me.”

  “Are the Jeranyi still a problem?”

  “Not since Lord Sillek burned out their fort near Clynya and sent them packing. Lord Ildyrom even paid tribute last year.” The wiry guard snorted. “This year might be another thing. Except we don’t have to worry about the Suthyans or the Westhorns, and that means ser Gethen could send a force right after them. Ser Fornal’s been out gathering armsmen, and I’d guess that means ser Gethen has no great faith in Lord Ildyrom’s promises. Who would? His consort has a bigger mace than he does-begging your pardon, angels.” The wiry guard flushed.