L. Modesitt - Fall of Angels

As he sat, he noticed Ayrlyn leading Hryessa toward the second table. The local woman now wore leather trousers, boots, and a shirt somewhat large for her thin frame. Her face had been washed, and her hair had been cut short, marine-style.

As Hryessa looked down the table, her eyes widened, and she swallowed. Ayrlyn said something, easing Hryessa onto the bench and breaking off a large chunk of bread for her.

“There’s our first recruit,” noted Ryba.

“She’s not that big,” said Gerlich from the other side of the table.

“Given time, she’ll be as good or better than any exceptIstril or a few others.” Ryba’s words were matter-of-fact. “We’ll see more before long.”

Beside Saryn, Relyn frowned, struggling with a spoon in his left hand. “You will teach her the blade?”

“Of course. Why not?”

Relyn opened his mouth, then looked at Nylan. “Mage? What do you see when women have blades?”

“More men and women will get killed-at first.” Nylan stood and spooned stew onto his trencher. “After that, most of those who die will be arrogant men.”

“You sound displeased at that,” Saryn offered.

“I’m displeased any time force is the only answer, and these days I’m displeased a lot,” said the engineer as he reseated himself, forcing his tone to be wry.

The silver-haired Siret smiled shyly and passed Nylan a basket of bread.

“Thank you.” Nylan handed the basket back after breaking off a chunk of the heavy bread.

“You’re welcome, ser.”

“Would you pass me some, dear Siret?” asked Berlis.

“I certainly would, dear Berlis. About the time you bed a demon-except you already have. So enjoy it.” The deep green eyes flashed.

“Talk about bedding …”

“If you want to bed a blade,” suggested Siret, “just say another word.”

“Guards!” snapped Ryba.

Both women closed their mouths.

“Thank you.” Ryba turned to Nylan. “You were working on something different this morning.”

“Yes. I finally got the bow thing worked out, I think.” Nylan turned to Gerlich. “You might want to try it later this afternoon.”

“Try what?” Gerlich lifted his eyebrows.

“A metal-composite bow.”

“I’ll try it, but I finally made one out of a local fir-type tree that works pretty well.”

Nylan took a spoonful of stew. The meat and sauce tastedmore of salt and some spice than meat, but he was hungry and shoveled in several mouthfuls, followed with a bite of bread. The bread was better-tasting than the stew.

Perhaps because of the outburst between Berlis and Siret, the midday meal was relatively quiet, although Gerlich had a long and low conversation with Narliat.

After eating, Nylan went back to the north yard and the next group of metal-composite bows.

First, he laid out three more strips of composite, and trimmed them, before rough-shaping the braces into the bow outlines. After that, he turned off the power and rested for a moment, letting the chill breeze off the western heights cool him and dry his sweat-soaked hair.

Behind him, the clink of trowels and mortar and stone continued as the outside walls of the bathhouse rose. The walls separating jakes, showers, and laundry could be installed after the roofing.

His break done, Nylan adjusted the goggles over his eyes once more and eased power through the laser. He could sense the raggedness of the powerhead, and he sweated even more heavily as he strained not only to meld the metal around the composite core, but to keep the energy flow from the powerhead constant.

As he turned the curved shape in the tongs, his breath became more and more uneven, but he managed to smooth the last curves before shutting down the power and pushing the goggles back.

The quick quench was followed by his slumping onto a stone to rest.

Four bows. How many more could he coax from the laser? Should he stop and use the life of the powerhead to do the delicate stonework? He took a deep breath. He still had the other powerhead.

With a quick rest and a mugful of cold water, he went back to work on the next bow. The powerhead wavered more; Nylan strained more; and he took even more time gasping and recuperating. Five bows rested on the stones.

The third bow of the afternoon creased his arms withlines of fire long before he finished, and left a knifelike pounding inside his skull. As he started on the final smoothing and melding, coaxing power out of the cells and through the powerhead, the line of light and power stuttered more and more in green bursts. Sweat poured from his forehead and around his goggles and even inside them.

His eyes burning, Nylan completed the last smoothing and flicked off the power to the wand, then set it aside and stepped toward the quench tub. He slipped on the clay, but caught himself as he dipped the bow into the quench for its momentary bath before laying it on the stone.

He sat on the stone for a long time, sipping water, eyes closed.

“Are you all right, ser?” Cessya finally asked.

“I will be.” I hope, he added mentally considering I’ve created six bows that might not even work, nearly destroyed the laser in the process, and feel like the local mounts have tromped me into the stone.

“Are you sure?”

The engineer opened his eyes and nodded.

“What are these?” asked Cessya.

“A new kind of bow-if they work.”

“Do you need some help?”

“Well … if you could take the firin bank back to storage,” Nylan admitted.

“Selitra! Give me a hand here. We need to store the energy cells,” called Cessya.

Nylan slowly disassembled the power cables and the wand and powerhead while they carried the cells back into the tower. Then he followed with the laser components and stored them on the shelves above the power cells.

When he returned, the three were back at their stonework. Nylan extracted the woven bowstring from his pocket and tried to string the first bow. It took him three tries, probably because his arms were still aching.

Then he had to go back into the tower and find some arrows. Instead, he found Gerlich off the main hall.

“Are you ready to test the bow?” asked the engineer. “We’ll need arrows and a target.”

“Sure. Why not? I’ve got an area where I’ve been practicing at the south end of the meadow, near those scattered firs. We’ll see what your toy will do, compared to the wooden one I worked out.” Gerlich grinned, but the grin made Nylan uneasy.

The two walked back to the north tower yard, Gerlich with his own bow and quiver. The western wind felt good as it ruffled through Nylan’s hair, and the engineer realized he was still hot. He handed the composite bow to Gerlich.

“Hmmm … a little heavy, and probably too short.”

Nylan looked at the curves. “Too short?”

“Well, Relyn says that a proper bow should be chin high, about three and a half cubits local.”

Nylan shrugged. His bows were not quite chest high, but, easier, he suspected, to carry on horseback.

“Let’s see about the draw.” Gerlich took the bow and mock-nocked an arrow. “Stiffer than it looks, but probably not strong enough for the average armsman.” He grinned again. “Then, there’s accuracy. Let’s go and see.”

Nylan followed the long-legged former weapons officer across the meadow to the half-dozen scattered firs. Circular targets on ropes dangled from the limbs.

“Those just twist and flap unless you hit them square and hard,” said Gerlich. “Good training.”

The engineer watched as Gerlich took a long arrow from the quiver, nocked it, and released the shaft.

The shaft clunked against one of the targets, spinning it, but the shaft did not hold and angled to the ground. Gerlich released two more shafts. The same thing happened twice more.