The Chaos Balance by L. E. Modesitt Jr. Page B

yourself, and ... people take, and they take. I started asking why. So . . ." She shrugged, and her eyes were bright. "I had to tell you that I am grateful for all you've given ... to let you know I wasn't like so many of the others." After a moment she swallowed. "Westwind is too small for you, and you're not full Sybran so you can leave here."
    "I'm not looking forward to the heat," he said, trying not to choke up, and wondering if his decision to leave were such a good one after all.
    "The healer's going with you, isn't she? Some guards will suffer. And the children." Her eyes darted to the bed where Kyalynn looked down at the bear that lay across her chubby legs.
    "Istril, Llyselle, even you have some of the talent." He smiled wryly. "You'll be able to do as well as we can, if you can't already."
    "We'll manage, but we'll never be as good. But I knew that it had to happen. Relyn said it would."
    "Relyn? He's been gone since the battle." Not that Nylan hadn't wondered about the one-handed man, especially after Blynnal had turned up pregnant-but Nylan had been the one who advised Relyn to leave before Ryba found a way to eliminate the former Lornian noble because he'd found religion.
    Nylan snorted to himself. The idea that he-a former angel ship's engineer-was the prophet of a new faith of order was almost ludicrous. Even more absurd was Ryba's contention that Relyn's preaching such a faith would undermine Westwind. Not so absurd had been her intent to remove Relyn in the chaos that followed the great battle-except Relyn, warned by Nylan, had slipped off into the night.
    "Ryba said that he has already been preaching his new gospel of order." Siret looked around. "I heard her talking to Saryn. Tryssa-she was one of the last new recruits to reach us before the snows-she was talking about the one-handed prophet in black who forecast the fall of the old ways and the rise of order. He's also preaching about building a Temple of Order."
    "Great." Nylan glanced up the steps.
    "He said that, sooner or later, you would have to leave, and that the healer would go with you." Siret smiled sadly. "I listen, you know?"
    "I know." He shook his head. "But everyone seems to know what I'm doing before I do." Then he added. "Thank you. I didn't stop to have you make me feel good."
    "I know. You're a good man, a good person."
    He dropped his eyes. Much as he appreciated the compliment, Nylan knew he wasn't that good. If he were, so many things would have turned out differently. "Where's Istril? I should say good-bye."
    "She took Weryl out earlier. She was taking him on a ride. She had so many things I wondered if she were leaving, but she said she'd be back." Siret frowned. "She never lies. But she looked sad. I wonder if she knew you were leaving."
    "I don't know." Istril knew a lot, a lot that the wiry guard didn't voice.
    "You need to go. You need to say good-bye to Kyalynn." She darted across the room and scooped up their daughter, bringing her back to him.
    As Nylan hugged his daughter, his tears bathed them both, and he wanted to rage-against fate, against Ryba, against himself. Why was it that everything had so high a price?
    He finally eased his silver-haired daughter back to her mother. "Take care of her."
    "I will. And I will make sure she knows who you are. A man and not a legend."
    He half-walked, half-stumbled down the rest of the stairs and out the main door. Perhaps some guards watched, but Istril was not among them, nor Weryl, and he saw none of their faces as he forced himself up the road to the stable.
    Most of the guards were out in the fields, or down below the ridge in the timber camps. He heard the sound of hammers as he passed the smithy, but he did not stop. He wasn't up for another emotional parting, and Huldran, of all people, would understand. Still ... he put his feet forward, wondering where Istril and Weryl were.
    Under the load he carried, despite the muscles developed from smithing, he was sweating and panting