L. Modesitt - Fall of Angels

“The mage-he is better than any armsman I have seen.”

“He’s better than any I’ve seen,” added a male voice from the causeway, “and I’ve seen a few.” Relyn gave a crooked grin. “And she’s better than he is. Not by much, but enough for it to count in a battle.”

Ryba erased a momentarily puzzled look from her face, as she said to Nylan, “You’ve gotten better, much better. You aren’t practicing that much.”

“Smithing the hard way is good for arm strength,” he saidwryly, handing the wand back to Ryba. “It’s my footwork that suffers.”

Liethya and Quilyn still looked from Ryba to Nylan and back again.

“I’m going to wash up before the evening meal.” The smith pushed hair that needed cutting back off his damp forehead.

“You’re quitting before the sun sets and before it’s pitchdark?” Ryba asked in mock amazement.

“I got to a stopping place. I’ve got another blade finished that needs to be wrapped and sharpened.”

“I’ll have Fierral get it in the morning, if that’s all right.”

“Fine.”

“Back to your drills!” snapped Ryba. “You’ll drill until you can hold off anyone who’s not as good as the mage-or until your arms drop off.”

Nylan could sense the unvoiced groans. He would have groaned, too.

Siret, Istril, and Niera had the youngsters in one corner of the third level as Nylan trudged up. He waved, briefly, and got a smile from Niera. Istril had her back to the stairs, nursing Weryl, and Siret was juggling Kyalynn and Dephnay.

Shortly, Nylan trudged back down toward the bathhouse and a shower, carrying his cleaner leathers, the ones he wore when he wasn’t dealing with coals, metals, and sweat.

The bathhouse was warm, hot, with a fire in the stove. While the showers were empty and the fire burning down, the floor stones in two of the stalls were still wet. Nylan stripped and soaked himself. The water was not freezing, but not quite lukewarm, either, but he was hot enough that it didn’t matter as he took what passed for soap and lathered up. Then he shaved, by feel, no longer needing a mirror.

After he dried off, a process more like wiping the water off his body and letting the rest evaporate than toweling dry, he eased into the cleaner shirt and leather trousers and boots.

As he passed through the archway, he nearly ran into Huldran.

“How’s the water, ser?” Huldran was smeared with soot,and her hair was sweaty and plastered to her skull.

“Someone fired up the stove. It’s not bad.” He looked at the guard.

“I had Denize do it.”

“Thank you.”

“It was as much for me as you, ser,” said Huldran with a grin.

“I still appreciate it. Enjoy your shower.”

Huldran gave a half-nod as she padded barefoot toward the showers. Nylan opened the north door, noting that the archway didn’t seem to trap moisture in the summer the way it had in the winter.

“Excuse me, ser.” Kadran scurried past him and out the big south door to ring the triangle for the evening meal.

Almost before the echoes died away, guards appeared from everywhere-outside following Kadran in, and from the third level, trooping down to the main floor of the tower.

Nylan stood back in the generally unused space on the east side. If they could bring in more glass, then perhaps the space could be used for the children, eventually space for schooling. And that was something else-books. They needed to preserve the knowledge base.

He took a deep breath, trying to regain his mental balance before crossing the foyer area into the great room. The great room now held five tables, although the fifth was sometimes not used, and not full when in use.

As Nylan passed the empty fifth table, and then the fourth, most of the newer guards looked down, almost as much as when Ryba passed. Unlike the others, Nistayna offered a faint smile, and Niera just looked up with wide eyes.

“Better eat all your dinner,” he told the girl, feeling awkward, but feeling he should say something.

Istril stood, awkwardly holding a squirming Weryl. Nylan extended his hands, and Weryl thrust out his pudgy hands.

“All right, Weryl.” As the boy smiled, Nylan grinned and scooped him up. “He’s growing. You must be feeding him right.”

Both Istril and Nylan blushed when he realized the inappropriateness of the remark.

“I tried one of the new blades,” began Istril after the awkward silence. “I like it even better than the others, even if I won’t be using it in battle for some time yet.”

“The new ones are a lot more work.” Nylan paused and shifted Weryl as his son’s fingers probed at his jaw. “Why do you like it better?”

“It feels more solid.”

“It’s heavier. That might be one reason. There’s more iron in it.”

“Not that much. The balance could be better.”

Blynnal passed, carrying one of the caldrons filled with sauce and meat.

“The last of the salted horse meat, dressed and sauced to disguise the taste.”

“Not the last,” prophesied Istril.

Nylan glanced across the table, but Siret was not around.

“She’s up nursing Dephnay. Kyalynn was still sleeping,” Istril explained. “I’ll feed Dephnay later.”

“How is that going?” Nylan shifted Weryl again to keep from being poked in the eye.

“Not that well. It’s a good thing both Siret and I can nurse. Dephnay has trouble with even the softest solid foods.”

Kadran passed them, hauling a second caldron, this one filled with what looked to be noodles.

“Fire noodles,” laughed Istril.

“They’re not bad.”

“How would anyone know? They’re so hot you can’t taste anything.”

Ryba entered the great room, holding Dyliess to her shoulder, and walked down the other side of the tables.

“Come on, Weryl,” said Istril, taking her son back. “Your father needs to eat, too. You already did.”

“Oooo …”

Nylan gently disengaged Weryl’s fingers and made his way to his place at the first table.

“Do you want to eat first or second?” he asked Ryba.

“First, if you don’t mind.”

“No problem.” He reached out and eased Dyliess into his lap.

“I can’t tell which of you she looks like,” offered Ayrlyn, sitting across from Nylan. “When I look at you, Ryba, and then at Dyliess, you look the same, except for the hair. But the same thing is true when I look at Nylan.”

Huldran slid into the seat next to Nylan. “Too early to tell, but she seems to favor both. Doesn’t matter. She’ll be a handsome woman whichever way.”

“What do you think of the new blades, Huldran?” Ryba asked after chewing and swallowing a mouthful of meat, sauce, and noodles.

Nylan eased Dyliess to his left knee and sipped the cool tea, then reached for the bread and awkwardly broke off a dark steaming chunk.

“Some ways, I like them better. There’s more weight there, and they seem to be just as tough. Maybe we should give the older ones, the first ones, to the smaller guards, or the newer ones.”

Her mouth full, Ryba nodded.

“The engineer, he’s teaching me how.” Huldran shook her head. “Never thought making a single small piece of steel would take so much work. But the new blades, they’ve got enough heft to make it easier to stand up to those crowbars-the kind Gerlich liked.”

When Ryba did not respond immediately, Ayrlyn asked, “Do we have any idea what he’s up to? Gerlich, I mean?”

“He doesn’t like the heat. So I can’t imagine he’s too far down in the lowlands,” mused Nylan.

“He’s trying to gather an army to attack Westwind. I suppose,” Ryba added after a pause.

Nylan’s stomach sank at the timing of the pause. Ryba wasn’t guessing.