Recluce 07 - Chaos Balance (28 page)

   Still, the barracks and the stable were large, large enough for the several hundred levies.

   Nylan turned to Tonsar. “You get to make sure that Wuerek buries that body-and deep.”

   “Yes, ser angel.” Tonsar's voice was weary.

   “If he gives you any trouble, tell him I'll bury him next to it.”

   “Yes, ser.” A faint smile crossed Tonsar's lips.

   “Tonsar . . .” suggested Ayrlyn. “Don't invent trouble.”

   Nylan thought the subofficer was going to roll his eyes, but the man only nodded. As Tonsar rode toward the rear of the group, one word escaped his lips, loud enough for the two to hear. “. . . angels ...”

   “He's not used to being understood,” said Ayrlyn dryly.

   “Thanks to you,” Nylan answered.

   Sylenia glanced from Nylan to Ayrlyn. The nursemaid opened her mouth, then closed it as another rider neared.

   “The front stalls of the stables are for us. You angels have the upper middle quarters,” Fornal said smoothly, gesturing toward the wooden outside steps. “They are large enough for your needs. We all eat in the barracks hall after the two bells ring.”

   “Thank you.” Nylan smiled politely. “Where are the subofficers billeted in case we need to find Tonsar?”

   “At the end in the rear.” Fornal gestured vaguely in the direction of the long building. “They each have a small room.”

   After the coregent rode toward the stables, the two angels followed, trailed by Sylenia and Weryl, letting Fornal enter the stables first. A handful of chickens skittered away from all the horses, flocking toward a gap-planked and tilting structure to the south of the stable. Some form of hen house, Nylan guessed, both from the low roof line and the smell.

   “This way, sers,” called a grimy youth. “Officers at the front here.”

   The stalls were small, smelly, and the clay underfoot slimy.

   Nylan raised his eyebrows and glanced across the stall wall at Ayrlyn. She shrugged. What could they do-except share a wry smile?

   After stabling their mounts, and grooming them, the three walked toward the barracks building, where they climbed the outside steps to the central rooms.

   Nylan opened the door, and a faint wave of dust-and something else-roiled up around him. There were two rooms, consisting of a small bedchamber with a double-wide bed, and a main front room with two couch beds, and a small hearth. There was no wood for the hearth, not that they needed a fire in the early summer heat. An open area before the windows showed marks on the wide-planked floor where other furniture had been removed.

   “It's not too bad, but there's something . . .” Ayrlyn frowned.

   So did Nylan. “Chaos. Some time back, though. It's gone, except it's not.”

   Sylenia, juggling a squirming Weryl, glanced from one angel to the other.

   “One of Sillek's wizards?” suggested Ayrlyn.

   “Probably-there was one out here in the grasslands to hold off the Jeranyi. Someone told us that. He's probably the one that burned out the Jeranyi fort we passed.”

   “Sillek was resourceful . . .” Ayrlyn paused and turned to Sylenia. “You can put Weryl down and let him totter around. There's nothing here that can hurt him.”

   “But you said-” began the black-haired woman-girl.

   “There's nothing here now,” Nylan said, forcing a smile. “We could just tell that a wizard had lived here.”

   “You are wizards,” pointed out Sylenia.

   “Not exactly, and not the same kind,” answered the engineer.

   A faint frown crossed the nursemaid's forehead.

   “Not all wizards are the same,” added Ayrlyn. “Healers and mages are not like white wizards. We cannot throw fireballs; they cannot heal.”

   Slowly, Sylenia lowered Weryl. The boy sat down in a heap beside one of the couch-beds, then pulled himself erect and tottered toward Nylan.

   “Daaaa . . .”

   The engineer scooped up his son. “Long day? It's not over yet. We still have to find supper.”

   “Wahdah!”

   “And water, too.” Nylan laughed.

   “Especially water,” added Ayrlyn. “I feel like I'm wearing more dust than clothes.”

   Nylan nodded, thinking it would get worse, with another three days before they reached the area of the copper mines. Had it been a good idea to bring Weryl? Probably not, if there had been any alternative. “There are buckets over there. I'll find a pump or well.” He set his son back on the plank floor.

NYLAN SNEEZED TWICE, sharply, wishing that the rain squalls of the days previous had been heavier, at least heavy enough to hold down the road dust, but all they had done was leave dark splotches on the ground, splotches that vanished quickly in the sunlight.

   “Kula lies five kays ahead,” said Tonsar. “That be where the regent says we will make our outpost. I would rather we had remained in Clynya.”

   “It might have been more comfortable,” said Ayrlyn, “but it's too far away from the mines.”

   “Besides,” added Nylan, “with fewer distractions, we just might get this bunch into shape.” He tried to think positively, ignoring the ever-browner grass that flanked the dusty road, and the heat, and the sun that beat all too strongly on his right side.

   “You think so?” said Tonsar.

   “We can hope,” added Ayrlyn.

   With each kay south from Clynya, the trees had gotten lower and more widely separated. One rolling hill looked much like another, the grass hanging limply in the hot sun. Scattered patches of weedy growth, amid the grasses, had already begun to brown, and the once-intermittent patches of bare ground had become more and more common, almost joining in places to form a patchwork of red clay.

   Wondering if the whole area would be brown and sere before mid-summer, Nylan looked at Sylenia. “Have you ever been this far south?”

   “No, ser. I have been to Rohrn, but no farther.” She frowned. “It be dry here.”

   “And it gets drier, I am told,” said Tonsar. “No great life being a miner in these parts. My sister's man was, once, but he walked away. Two coppers a day, a pallet, and meals, and it was not near enough, not even for the young ram he was then.” He offered a broad smile to Sylenia.

   “How long ago was that?” Ayrlyn rubbed her nose.

   “Must have been, oh, ten years back. Nuria was the oldest. She died of the chaos fever two winters past.” Tonsar shrugged. “Even that, and Wesay wouldn't go back to the mines.” He gestured toward the long gentle slope ahead. “Late summer, he said, dust rolled in like rain.”

   Nylan winced. More heat and dust were the last things they needed.

   Out of the dust before them emerged a rider, skirting the edge of the road, peering at faces as he rode, before pulling his horse around and up beside Ayrlyn.

   The healer looked at him and waited.

   “Ser Fornal would request your presence,” stammered the young armsman. “Both of the angel leaders.”

   “You've got our levies, Tonsar,” Nylan said with a laugh.

   "Alas .

   Sylenia smiled shyly, past Nylan at the burly armsman, as Nylan flicked the reins and urged the mare forward.

   “Do you feel we have a romance budding there?” asked Ayrlyn.

   “I hadn't thought about it,” Nylan confessed. “I don't even know if Tonsar has a consort.”

   “I don't think so, but, out here, does it matter?” The redhead's smile was wry.

   If Sylenia were interested in anyone, Nylan preferred Tonsar to most of the levies or scarred professionals. He hoped she wouldn't get hurt, but there wasn't that much that he could do. Forbidding the romance would make it worse, and might jeopardize Weryl. He sighed.

   The messenger followed them, just far enough that Fornal could see the youth had carried out his orders, before easing into the column behind the lead riders.

   “Kula lies ahead,” announced Fornal. “The scouts say that the white ones have burned some of the holdings, some days back, but have left, and there is enough for us to use.”

   “I assume they will be back,” said Ayrlyn.

   “They will return anywhere, but Kula is the most distant of the near hamlets, nearly ten kays from the mine, and it has water through the summer from the stream.” Fornal scratched his dusty beard. “Derlya offers more, but it is twenty kays to the northwest of the mines, and too close to Jerans for my taste. Choosing between the Jeranyi and the white demons, that is not to my liking, but the Jeranyi sneak up, and the demons do not. So-”

   “We camp in Kula,” finished Ayrlyn.

   “Exactly.”

   They rode up the long hill in silence, until another valley stretched out before them, more a depression between low rises than a valley. Kula itself consisted of a half-dozen holdings bordering a narrow stream. Nylan scanned the valley, catching the traces of past Cyadoran presence.

   One holding held three buildings-house, barn, and shed-and all were charred, roofless. The ground around was burned and black, the black running until it stopped at bare ground, creating a dark blotched effect.

   “The white devils,” noted Fornal. “They burn enough to drive people out, then take or slaughter the stock.” The coregent gestured toward the far side of the valley. “We'll use the large holding. They burned not that. There will be room in the house for us and the senior armsmen, and three sheds and barns.” He smiled, faintly. “And plenty of space for you to whip your trainees into shape.”

   “How far are the mines?” asked Ayrlyn.

   “Ten, perhaps twelve kays to the south, over the ridge hills there.”

   The road wound down and past the burned-out holding and then across the stream. As the mare crossed the crude stone span, Nylan glanced down at the water, a brook surrounded by sheep-cropped grass less than two cubits wide and half that in depth. He saw no animals, unless the white dots on the hill beyond their destination were sheep. Had the Cyadorans taken or slaughtered them all? Or had the holders driven them with them in fleeing Kula?

   As they neared the house, Nylan studied the holding. A broken chair lay on the stone stoop, and the door hung on a single iron hinge. Dark splatters stained the gray-white plaster beside the door. The shutters remained closed.

   Nylan extended his senses, but could find no trace of life behind the silent walls. From her mount beside him, Ayrlyn shook her head.

   In the hillside fields to the south were scattered handfuls of sheep.

   “Ha! Some forage food,” exclaimed Fornal. 'The white demons did not destroy everything."

   Nylan sniffed, and his nose wrinkled.

   “We'll need to bury the ones they left,” Fornal continued. “Huruc?”

   “Ser. We'll take care of it.”

   “Away from the stream,” Nylan added.

   “Yes, ser.”

   “We will use the house. The larger squads will turn the barn into a barracks,” suggested Fornal. “The shed there-that should work for your squads.”

   Nylan glanced toward the long shed-gap-planked, like half the outbuildings he'd seen in Lornth-but the woven-grass-thatchlike roof seemed relatively sound. If they remained in Kula into the winter, the ventilated planks would need work, but were probably an advantage in the summer.

   Ayrlyn raised her eyebrows, and she and Nylan exchanged glances, before she answered. “It needs some work.”

   “Everything will need work,” answered the coregent. “Best we start now.” He turned in the saddle. “Huruc!”

   “Ser?”

   “Have them clear out the barn. The angels are taking the shed for their . . . squads. The four-five-of us will share the house.”

   Fornal turned his mount toward the barn, directly behind and to the west of the dwelling. Nylan and Ayrlyn, with Sylenia following, rode toward the shed to the right rear of the house.

   Beside the shed were three bodies, bloated. Nylan swallowed. No wonder Fornal didn't worry about the holders returning.

   He turned in the saddle. “Sylenia?”

   “Sers?”

   “You find which room in the holding we get and do what you can to make it habitable. Take Weryl with you. All right?”

   “Yes, ser.” The black-haired woman nodded.

   “We'll be out here, trying to get the squads settled.” And taking care of some basic sanitation problems. Very basic. “Just tie your mount near the house for now.”

   As the nursemaid turned her mount, Ayrlyn said in a low voice, “This is just getting worse.”

   “You had that feeling, didn't you?”

   “Degraded Rationalist superiority complex, but I'd hoped otherwise.”

   “They haven't changed. Anyone else is less than human.” That was the problem with the Rats, Nylan reflected, always misusing logic to prove their superiority, and to justify their attempts to eliminate any competition. Somehow, he'd hoped that he and Ayrlyn wouldn't keep having to fight the Winterlance's battles again in Candar, but it looked like the same problem occurred everywhere there were humans.

   “No. They haven't changed. They won't.” Ayrlyn's voice was heavy. “And you know what that means.”

   Nylan did. Again . . . people who respected only superior force. His nose itched. Ayrlyn rubbed her nose, swallowed, and tried to stop a sneeze simultaneously. He still sneezed.

   After tying their mounts to a well-kept rail fence by the shed, Nylan and Ayrlyn stepped into the sheep shed. Nylan's boots sank into the combination of animal waste and dust.

   “Darkness-”

   “Not too bad. Seen worse,” offered Tonsar as he neared on foot, leading his mount. The thirty-odd trainees and troublemakers remained mounted, well back from the shed.

   “Let's get this mess cleaned out,” Nylan said quietly. “Use whatever it takes to get the floor down to bare earth, and then sweep it clean before anyone puts a pallet down. Oh, there are three bodies behind the shed, and a couple of dead sheep. They need to be buried-at least a hundred cubits from the stream-downhill.”

   Tonsar glanced at Nylan. “The men, they likely be tired.”

   “Better tired than sick in two days, and they will be if they try to sleep in that muck. Or with decomposing bodies within a score of cubits.”

   A faint sigh escaped Tonsar's lips. “Yes, ser.”

   “Tonsar . . . we're not. . .” Nylan shook his head. “More men die from sickness than from enemy blades. I can't stop a lot of the blades, but I do know some things to do to keep them from getting sick.”

   “We'll also make sure that they get clean water,” added Ayrlyn. “So they don't get the flux.”

   Tonsar looked skeptical.

   “We are healers, remember?” said the flame-haired angel. “And if that doesn't convince them . . . well. . . does someone else want a blade through his chest?” Her words were bitter, and Nylan understood why. He felt the same way.

   “No, ser angels. It will be done.” His voice was tired.

   “We'll be working here, too,” Nylan said. “I'll set up the anvil and a temporary forge under that overhang there. I'll need some stones or bricks-”

   “Yes, sers .. .” Tonsar repeated.

   “If I'm repairing and sharpening blades, Tonsar, they can carry stones.”

   Ayrlyn nodded. They both knew there were times to lead by force, and by example. He hoped they'd picked the right times.