L. Modesitt - Fall of Angels

Ayrlyn finished the mug of tea. “I can see in the dark. It helps.”

Sensing her exhaustion, Nylan stretched across the table and refilled her mug.

“Thank you.” The healer put a chunk of bread in her mouth almost mechanically, as if each bite were an effort.

“Do you want some meat?”

“No … thank you,” the redhead added. “It’s not your fault, Nylan, but it was a long and hard night.” She slowly chewed another piece of bread.

“It’s too early,” grumbled Huldran. “Bad business to fight before dawn.”

“We’re not fighting before dawn,” said Fierral. “We’re eating.”

“How did it go last night?” asked Nylan.

“Well enough that any other idiot would have turned around. There are bodies everywhere along the road. Their commander was smart enough to keep them moving, and not try burial. They’ve got a half-fortified encampment a valley or so down out on a rise that’s surrounded by grass.” Fierral chewed through a thick chunk of bread, and then a lukewarm strip of unidentified meat that Nylan had tried and choked down despite a taste like gamy venison. “We didn’t get many after they camped. Too open.”

“We got a lot, and lost a few ourselves,” Ayrlyn said tiredly.

Nylan understood her exhaustion went beyond mere tiredness, and he wondered how many she had healed, or had been unabie to heal.

Ryba, fully dressed, had carried Dyliess into the greatroom, although she had left her bow and blades on the shelves by the stairs. As she seated herself, and Dyliess, she answered Ayrlyn’s comment. “That leaves a lot, and us with fewer guards.”

Nylan repressed a wince, wondering how Ryba could sometimes be so insensitive-or so strong-as to ignore such pain. Which was it? he wondered. Then his eyes crossed Ayrlyn’s, and he offered a quick and apologetic smile.

He got a brief one in return.

“We’ll have the first of the picket posts set in a bit, ser,” said Fierral. “I had some of the newer guards out real early, scrounging shafts and weapons from the ones that fell last night. They should be back not too long after dawn, well before the army starts moving.”

“Men are slow in the morning,” mumbled Huldran. “Excepting you, ser,” she added to Nylan.

The smith-engineer wondered why he was the exception to everything-or was that just because Ryba needed him? Or because he disliked the use of force to solve everything, even when he was guilty, or more guilty than just about anyone, of employing it? He took a sip of tea, then lowered the mug to his chin, letting the steam seep around his face.

After a few more sips, he slowly chewed a strip of hotsauced venison, and then another, and then some more bread. All of it tasted flat, but he kept eating.

“ … engineer’s off somewhere … got that look …”

“ … wouldn’t want to be in his boots …”

“I would.”

“That’s not what I meant …”

In time, he looked up. Ayrlyn and Fierral were gone. The tables were half-empty, and Ryba was wiping her face one-handed, juggling Dyliess on her leg.

“Can you take her?” asked the marshal. “Antyl and Blynnal are keeping the children, while Siret holds the tower …”

“I know. Istril told me.” He stood, then took his daughter, still looking at her mother.

“You know what you’re going to do?” Ryba asked.

“It’s pretty simple, in theory anyway. You and the guardsget them bunched on the hillside, and I fry them. That doesn’t take into account that they may not want to bunch or that their wizards may have other ideas, or that the wizards may be able to block the effect of the laser. Or that the wizards may be able to fry me. But,” he concluded, “I understand the plan.” He paused. “Was there any problem getting some of the newer guards to trip the pikes?”

“No. There were a handful who’d have done it on a suicide basis.”

Nylan winced. “There’s a lot of hatred here.”

“There’s been a lot of hidden hatred between men and women in a lot of cultures, Nylan. It’s just more obvious here.” Ryba half turned. “I’ve got to go. I’ll either check with you or send a messenger once we’re set.”

Nylan shifted Dyliess to his shoulder and patted her back as he walked slowly to the other side of the tower, trying and succeeding in not tripping over the pair of blades he wore.

He eased Dyliess into the cradle, then patted her arm and touched her smooth cheek. She smiled, then threatened to cry as he stood.

“Istril told me you were here earlier.” Siret had just handed Kyalynn to Antyl, and she stepped toward Nylan. The silver-haired guard had deep circles under her green eyes, and a narrow slash across her cheek.

Nylan reached out and touched the skin beside the wound, letting a little order seep into it.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“You didn’t have to go out last night and try to reduce the odds against us.”

They just looked at each other for a long moment.

Then Nylan cleared his throat. “Take care of them. Just … take care of them.”

He turned and headed up the steps to the fifth level and the components of the weapons laser. Huldran joined him on the way up.

The sun had just begun to ease above the great forest to the east of the cliffs when Nylan carried the weapons laser head and cables across the lower meadow to the crude brickrevetment. From the raised position on its platform on the highest point of ground east of the tower, amid the fields, the weapons laser had a clean field of fire in nearly any direction.

Behind him followed Huldran and three of the newer recruits, none of whose names Nylan knew, carrying the heavy firin cell block and the rest of the equipment.

Nylan positioned the tripod, then clicked the firing head onto the swivel. After that came the power cable.

“Let’s move the cells to the center here,” he suggested, and one of the new guards, a mahogany redhead, helped.

After that he straightened and looked at the three new guards. “That’s all we need for now. Go do whatever you’re supposed to do.”

“We’re supposed to guard you,” the redhead said.

“Oh … all right. Then get as many shafts as you can and whatever else you need and report back here. When the time comes, try to use arrows and keep them at a distance. The farther away the better.”

“Yes, ser.”

The three guards started walking toward the tower.

Nylan shook his head and turned to Huldran. “I’ll check this out while you get our mounts. When you get back, I want to inspect the pike lines. Is that all right?”

“I get to walk up to get the horses and bring them back, and you get to ride?” asked Huldran, raising her eyebrows.

“I thought it was a good idea,” said Nylan.

“Sometimes, ser, you still have certain male characteristics.”

They both laughed. Then Huldran trotted uphill along the paved road to the stables and the corrals where not only the horses were, but where the sheep had been gathered.

As the early golden light fell across the meadows, and the fields, Nylan slowly went through each and every connection, letting his senses check the lines where the flows would follow. He did not power up the system. He could sense that it would work, and he knew that he would need every erg of power, and probably a lot more.

When he had finished, Huldran had not returned, and he looked out to the west, to Tower Black standing in the light against the shadowed rocky hills that rose eventually into the higher peaks of the Westhorns. In the flat morning light, the Roof of the World was quiet except for the steps of the last guards heading up to the stables. The grass hung limp in the stillness, dew glittering like tiny diamonds in the light. The scene appeared almost pastoral.