Free Recluce 07 - Chaos Balance by L.E Modesitt Page B

waiting by the causeway by the time he hurried across the stones.
       Ayrlyn held the reins to the brown mare and extended them to him. “We just got here.”
       “Let's go,” said Ryba.
       A chill wind blew across the ridge, coming in from the northeast, as they followed the stone road up toward the watchtower. Farther behind creaked the cart pulled by a single horse. The cart horse was led by Effama, another new guard Nylan knew only by name. “Which traders?” asked the Marshal. “Skiodra's bunch, it looks like,” answered Saryn. “Good thing we've got a full squad.”
       “That's why we do,” affirmed Saryn. “They've all got the engineer's bows.” She stood in the stirrups as they reached the top of the ridge and looked downslope. “They're set up to trade all right.”
       Nylan and Ayrlyn rode side-by-side behind Ryba and Saryn down the damp clay track on the north side of the ridge, a track that should be turned into a metaled road, Nylan reflected. He smiled ironically as he recognized the way he'd thought of the need-not as something he had to do, but something that needed doing. Was he accepting emotionally, not just rationally, the truth.of what Ayrlyn had been telling him?
       “That's an odd smile,” the redheaded healer said.
     
     “I'll tell you later,” he whispered back, hoping his words were lost in the hissing of the wind and the clop of hoofs ... and the more distant creaking of the cart carrying the swords that would be used as trading currency.
       At that, recalling another trading incident, he extended his order senses to the trees that flanked the base of the ridge, but could detect no hidden armsmen or archers.
       “Nothing in the trees,” he reported.
       “Good” .was the only answer from Ryba. Saryn nodded, as if his report were expected.
       The traders, dressed in half-open quilted jackets and cloaks, had halted to the north of the trading banner they had planted in the flat and damp ground at the foot of the ridge. Seven traders stood, hands very clear of their blades, behind the banner, with ten others farther west, tending the horses and the three carts.
       As Ryba and Saryn reined up, then Nylan and Ayrlyn and the armed guard squad following, led by Llyselle, for a long moment, the sole sounds were those of the wind and the breathing of the angels' mounts.
       Skiodra, still the biggest man among the traders and wearing in his shoulder harness the huge broadsword he had always carried, stepped forward and offered a lopsided smile. “I am Skiodra, and I have again returned.” While the trader continued to speak in old Anglorat, the local language seemed almost second nature to Nylan now. Across the back of Skiodra's hand was a scab, and Nylan could almost sense the pus and pain beneath, the white chaos of infection.
       He looked at Ayrlyn, and she nodded.
       “Greetings, trader.” Ryba's voice was polite, indifferent. She was no longer worried about having things to trade, not with the plunder of nearly two thousand armsmen stored in Westwind.
       Skiodra bowed deeply. “Your fame has carried far, honored angel, and all of Candar bows to your might. We bring more supplies. I had hoped you might have blades to trade.”
       “We do have a few,” said Ryba.
       Skiodra looked at the mounted riders. Nylan got the picture, and, handing the mare's reins to Ayrlyn, dismounted and walked forward.
       “You still do not let many others do the speaking, O mage?”
       Mage? Even after his successes in mastering certain of the “magical” order fields of the world, Nylan certainly had no illusions about his being a mage. Or an armsman, he thought, despite all the hardware he carried.
       “They are warriors, Skiodra.” He shrugged.
       “Aye,” offered the big trader. “Warriors indeed. But now is the time to trade.”
       The first cart-as had always been the case-not only bore Skiodra's banner, but was filled