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weapons far better than I do, I have great faith in my lord Sillek. Zeldyan
pauses. And great faith that you will offer counsel to him.
I have always attempted to be of service to the Lords of Lornth, to his
father, and to Sillek. Ellindyja completes the small leaf, knots the thread,
and rethreads the needle with crimson.
The faint whine of the late fall wind rattles the closed tower window, but
neither woman looks to it.
And you have, responds Zeldyan. You surely have.
Thank you, my dear. Ellindyja knots the crimson thread and makes the
first stitch in the small segment of the linen that will be a drop of blood.
I understand that your father has remained here in Lornth for a time.
He plans to leave for Carpa tomorrow, now that he has seen me safely
joined to Sillek.
And your mother?
She will arrive to see you presently. I prevailed upon her to allow me a
few moments with you to convey my respects.
You know, my dear, Sillek may have been even wiser than I had thought.
Together we might be of great assistance to him. The crimson stitches bring
the hint of arterial blood to the linen.
My lord Sillek respects you greatly, Lady Ellindyja, and I would prefer
not to intrude upon that bond or that trust. I would be most happy for any and
all advice that you might have.
As I said, Lady Zeldyan, Sillek chose wisely. Ellindyja s voice is dry,
but she holds the needle still for a moment. I would trust that you might pay
some heed to the possibility of ensuring the succession of Lornth.
Zeldyan bows slightly. I would like nothing better, my lady.
A muffled thrap sounds on the door.
That would be your mother, I presume?
Yes, my lady.
If you would be so kind as to bid her enter? Ellindyja s needle flashes
again as Zeldyan steps toward the door.
But, of course. She has looked forward to seeing you for some seasons.
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Zeldyan smiles and opens the door.
Cakes and sweets should be arriving shortly, announces Ellindyja, for
the three of us. I had hoped we might converse. She stands and sets aside the
embroidery hoop. Erenthla!
The heavier white-haired woman bends forward and brushes Zeldyan s cheek
with her lips before stepping fully into the room and responding. Ellindyja,
I am so pleased to see you.
Zeldyan closes the door and, with a faint smile, stands, waiting.
Part II - THE WINTER
XLVII
As HE WALKED back from the bathhouse, and the jakes he was getting gladder and
gladder about having completed, Nylan pulled down the ship jacket that had a
tendency to ride up over the lined leather trousers. The lining consisted of
the synthetic material left from his tattered work shipsuit, inexpertly
stitched in place. The combination was warmer than the shipsuit, and certainly
less drafty.
In the archway between the bathhouse and the tower, just before the closed
north door, ice was already forming on the walls, from the collected and
frozen condensation of the breath of those who passed through, and from the
moisture coming from the completed showers.
Too far from the furnace or the water-heating stove. The engineer opened
the north door and then closed it behind him, his fingers tingling from the
chill metal latch-not quite cold enough to freeze skin to it.
He could sense the residual warmth from the furnace ducts as he walked into
the great room, although he could tell from the lack of air motion that no
logs had been added to the firebox recently.
He stopped at the staircase when he saw Ayrlyn bent over her lutar. For a
time, he listened to the soft words which she half-sang, half-hummed.
On the Roof of the World, all covered with white,
I took up my blade there, and I brought back the night.
With a blade in each hand, there, and the stars at my boots,
With the Legend in song, then, I set down my roots.
The demons have claimed you, forever in light,
But the darkness of order will put them to flight.
Will break them in twain, soon, and return you your pride.
For the Legend is kept by the blade at your side.
The blade at your side, now, must always be bright,
and the Legend we hold to is that of the right.
For never will guards lose the heights of the sky,
And never can Westwind this Legend deny&
And never can Westwind this Legend deny.
The words echoed softly in the great room, and the wind that hurled the
snow against the shutters and windows supplied a backdrop of off-rhythm
percussion.
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