L. Modesitt - Fall of Angels

“We need both.”

“It will take more than half a season with the portable generator to fully charge a whole bank of cells. We’ve gonethrough nearly three banks, and that only leaves one that’s completely full. We’ll probably have the first recharged before we finish the tower. I haven’t done the math, but I could probably forge ten blades on a depleted bank if I recharged two cells. But I need a base load of twenty percent for stone-cutting.”

“You’ve got piles of cut stone here,” pointed out Ryba.

“It’s not enough.” He shrugged. “Right now, the mortar’s the problem, but I think I’ve got that set.”

“That’s a terrible pun.”

“Didn’t mean it that way.”

The former captain looked at the smooth and sheer black stone wall that rose nearly twice her height, then at the square door frame whose base stood nearly her height above the visible base of the tower. “You’re building a demon-damned monument.”

“Why are you letting me? Could it be that I’m right?”

Ryba laughed. “The others look at this, and they all see that it can be done, and that we’re here to stay. Nothing I say is as effective as your killing yourself. They all see how you drive yourself. But is everything that you’ve planned really necessary?”

Nylan pointed to Freyja-the ice-needle peak that towered above the unfinished tower, above the other mountains. “You can tell from the ice on those peaks that the winter is as cold, if not colder, than northern Sybra. Also, a tower isn’t enough. We need stables, and next year, we’ll need more storehouses, and workrooms for all the crafts we’ll need to develop, and we’ll have to defend them all. I’ll end up cannibalizing the landers for metal and everything else, because that’s easier than trying to develop iron-working from scratch or than trading for it. Once we run through the plunder, what can we use to buy goods? Or food? I certainly haven’t seen traders galloping to find us. Also, there’s going to be a gap between when we lose all high technology and when we can master lower technology.”

Ryba looked at the blade. “What gap?”

“It would take me days to forge a blade like that with coalor charcoal and hammers. Maybe longer, and that’s if I knew what to do. That’s if I had an anvil, if I could find iron ore, if …” He snorted. “How long will the emergency generator and the charging system last? Maybe a local year … and it might quit in the next eight-day.”

“Then you’d better do at least a few blades, and others, as you can fit them in. We’re going to need them. I hope not soon, but we will.”

Nylan wiped his forehead. “I’ll try to balance things. Has anyone heard anything about this so-called bandit trader? Can’t we get something from him? Big cook pots, even cutlery?”

“I’m working on a list. What do you think we really need?”

“Some heavy cloth, wool maybe, and something like scissors, to cut it, thread and needles. We’re not equipped for winter. There were-what? — two cold-weather suits in the paks? Any dried or stored food we can buy. What about something like chickens … for eggs? The concentrates might last until mid-winter. Salt. Some of that stuff Gerlich kills could be dried and salted. Oh … I need to figure out how … never mind …”

“What?”

“I’ll use the laser to glaze it. That will make cleaning it easy.”

“What?” repeated Ryba.

“The water reservoir, cistern, whatever you want to call it. I’d like it to be on the second level in the center, but I don’t know if I can work that. I still haven’t quite figured out piping or a reservoir near the head of the spring. We’ll run hidden piping, like a siphon, so we can have some continuous water flow in winter or if we get besieged …”

“You are a pessimist.”

“A realist.”

“Probably,” she admitted. “What if the laser goes?”

“There are two spare powerheads and a spare cable. I can use the weapons head, if I have to, but the power loss is enormous, and that might not work at all. If it goes now, we doit the hard way, and not nearly so well, and people die. If it lasts into winter, then I should have the basics done.”

“Dreamer.”

Nylan grinned ruefully.

“Go get something to eat.” Ryba motioned to Istril, who had edged down the rocks, and who hurried up in response to Ryba’s preemptory gesture. “Istril … would you watch this equipment while the engineer eats? Don’t touch it, and don’t let anyone else, either.” Ryba pointed to the blade that Nylan had used as a guide. “Use that if you have to.”

“Yes, ser.” Istril’s eyes flickered to the black blade on the stone. “You made … that … ser?”

“I tried,” conceded Nylan.

“It’s beautiful … sometime … could you forge me one?”

“Istril should get one of the first ones.”

Nylan sighed and nodded at the slight silver-haired marine. “It’s cool now. Pick it up and see if it’s half as good as it looks.”

“You mean it?”

Ryba and Nylan nodded.

Istril touched the hilt-designed to be wrapped in leather-and slowly lifted the blade. She stepped back and lowered it, then smiled.

“Is it tough enough?” Nylan asked. “Bend it or something.”

Ryba lifted her blade. “Just blade to blade.”

Nylan watched as they fenced, the silvery metal of the Sybran blade glittering against the black of his.

After a time, they both lowered their weapons, and Ryba wiped her forehead. A moment later, so did Istril.

“I think it might be better than mine,” said Ryba, “at least in blade work. It might not be balanced right for throwing.”

“It’s beautiful,” said Istril.

Ryba looked at Nylan.

He nodded at Istril. “It’s not perfect, but you may have it. The hilt needs to be wrapped.”

“It’s too good for me.”

“Then you’ll have to get better for it,” said Ryba. “In returnfor the blade, you’ll have to teach the engineer how to use one.”

“Can I start now?”

“After I eat, and only for a little,” said Nylan. “We’ve still got a tower to build.”

“I WAS NOT exactly amused by your reference to the chief wizard the other day before Lord Sillek,” begins Terek.

“You are the chief wizard,” points out Hissl calmly, “and I only spoke the truth. To have done otherwise …” He shrugs.

“There is truth, and there is truth,” says Terek slowly, shifting his bulk as he ambles toward the table with the screeing glass upon it.

Hissl remains silent.

“Let us see if you can find anything which may impinge upon these … fallen angels. For if something does not, sooner or later we will be called to help avenge Lord Nessil’s death.”

“The longer before we ride to the Roof of the World, the better.”

“I would prefer never to ride there,” replies Terek.

Hissl concentrates. The white mists part, and a half-built tower appears, a tower whose walls seem as smooth as glass and as dark as winter water unruffled by wind. A silver-haired man struggles to position a long slab of stone to form the top step in a wide stone staircase.

“Great wizardry …” mumbles Hissl, the sweat beading on his forehead from the effort to maintain the image.

“It would take a score of scores to take that tower even now with the weapons they have.” Terek paces away from the table. “Those stones seem steeped in order.”

“Could you not fire it?” Hissl relaxes, and the image fades.

“Now-but what if they roof it with split slate? It would be two or three eight-days before Lord Sillek could assemble a force and ride there. Can you see Lord Sillek building siege engines upon the Roof of the World?”