The Towers of the Sunset - L. E. Modesitt [147]
Hyel grins ruefully. “It has been interesting. I didn’t really believe you until I saw those guards fight.” He shakes his head. “The men who are left think you’re an angel returned—”
“That’s a bit much.”
Hyel shakes his head. “No, it’s not. They watched you kill half a dozen men and call in storms that destroyed eleven ships, and the storms still rage. And the co-regent . . . she fired one ship and a score of Hamorian marines. She even killed some with her own blade.”
Creslin wants to change the subject. “What about the survivors? Were there any?”
“Shierra and I decided, subject to your approval, ser, to use them on stonework and farming until they can be ransomed, at least once the rain stops. There aren’t many—perhaps a score and a half, most of them from the ship you drove onto the beach. But splitting them up into smaller groups makes sense. Klerris managed to get enough glass made to put windows in your rooms in the Black Holding. Once the weather clears, we want to finish the rest of the building and all of the guest houses. Then the inn.” Hyel grins shyly. “I think we will have a few visitors from here on in.”
“I suppose so. You’d better see if you can get Shierra or one of the senior guards to offer blade-training to your troopers.”
“Well . . . with the rain . . . I mean . . . it’s something we can do in the main room . . . a little. We’ve already started . . . after they saw—”
The silver-haired man represses a grin. “Shierra’s probably much better at instruction.”
“She says that you’re one of the few Westwind master-blades, but no one was ever allowed to tell you so.” The lanky man’s voice drops almost to a whisper. “Ser, is it true that you escaped a White Wizard’s road camp?”
Creslin is beginning to feel tired again and leans back into the pillows. “Yes, but I had help.”
“Still . . . no wonder they wanted you prisoner.”
Creslin looks out the narrow window. Is the sky lighter? He hopes so.
Hyel straightens. “I think it’s time to go.”
Creslin turns his head at the other’s tone, understanding the meaning in it as he sees the flash of red in the doorway. “We’ll talk more later.”
Hyel grins, then lets his face become respectful as he turns. “Good evening, Regent Megaera.” He inclines his head.
“Good evening, Hyel. You can certainly stay.”
Creslin savors the sound of her slightly husky voice, glad for the moment that she is there.
“Thanking you, Regent, but there are duty rosters to be checked.”
“Well, go ahead and check them.” Megaera perches carefully on the stool near the foot of the bed. Her eyes are unreadable in the dimness of the twilight. “It’s about time you woke up.”
“Guess I overdid everything.”
. . . overdid? . . .
Her eyes flicker toward the window. “Including the storms. No one has ever seen so much rain, and Klerris says that it’s likely to go on for a few more days.”
Creslin shrugs. “Oooo . . .” His shoulder indicates that the gesture was unwise. “I wasn’t thinking about having to stop them at the time. I was more worried about not letting any of the Hamorians escape.”
She smiles. “Most of them don’t want to go back.”
Creslin wills himself not to move, realizing that she will feel the pain as well as he. “Why not?”
“Do you know what the emperor does to failed soldiers?”
“Oh.”
“And besides, they figure they’re safe here.”
Creslin snorts. “Until the White Wizards dream up something else. Or Hamor does.”
“They won’t. Not so long as you live, great Storm Wizard. Who wants to lose a whole fleet or an army for a mostly worthless giant desert isle?”
“It won’t be worthless before long.”
“It’s not now, best-betrothed.” She sits silently on the stool as the night descends.
The two guards have stepped out into the corridor, and the door has been closed, although Creslin cannot say exactly when. The rain continues to fall, but not in the pelting fury that he sensed earlier.
“What are we