Fall of Angels (The Saga of Recluce #6)(110)

All that effort, for two small hares. In the future, could they breed them? Except that meant more forage and grain stored, and there was a limit to what they could buy or grow.

He waded through the snow that was chest-deep downwind to where his skis were. Once he went into a pothole, with the snow sifting around his neck and face. He slowly dug himself out.

His fingers fumbled as he strapped his boots to the skis in the growing purple deeps of twilight. Then he pushed one heavy ski after the other along the slope. When he reached the packed trail the horses used to drag the trees up the ridge, he unfastened the thongs and carried poles and skis up the ridge. By the time he reached the causeway, all the stars were out, and the night air cut at his lungs.

From the darkness outside the tower, he stumbled inside into the gloom of the front entry area inside the south door, carrying skis, poles, and hares.

The warmth of the great room welled out and surrounded him, and the twin candles on the tables seemed like beacons.

Ayrlyn reached him first as he leaned against the steps. "Ryba was worried. It gets cold out there when the sun goes down."

"I know. It took a little longer than I thought." He looked toward the guards at the table, his eyes focusing on the cook near the end of the second table. "Kyseen. My humble offerings." Nylan raised the pair of dead hares.

The dark-haired cook slipped from the table and hurried across the cold slate floor. "All offerings are welcome these days, ser."

Kadran followed her. "If you can bring in a couple more, we can tan the pelts and stitch them together as a coverlet for Ellysia's Dephnay," added the second cook. "This tower's not so warm as it could be for a child ... begging your pardon, ser, knowing you did the best you could, but it's not."

"By next winter, it will be warmer." Nylan hoped they would be around for next winter.

"You go eat, ser," insisted Kyseen. "I'll dress these quick so they don't spoil, and I'll be back up in an instant."

"Have you eaten?" he asked. "I wouldn't want to spoil your meal..."

"I've eaten, and you haven't." Kyseen took the two hares and started down the steps.

Nylan left the skis and poles by the stairs. He'd put them away after he ate.

"Two rabbits? That's all?" asked Gerlich as Nylan walked slowly toward his place at the table.

"I'm still learning." As Nylan sat, heavily, ignoring the cold and dampness in his trousers, he asked, "By the way, when did you last bring in any game?"

Gerlich flushed. "I brought in a winter deer, not a rabbit."

"That was more than two eight-days ago," Ayrlyn said as she reseated herself across from the engineer.

"So?" retorted Gerlich. "Everything's scarce these days, and we've probably already killed the stupid ones."

"We can't live on stupid game," pointed out the singer.

"The hares are another meal." Ryba's voice cut through the argument. "And each meal helps." She smiled for a moment at Nylan, though there was sadness in the expression as well as pleasure and relief.

"It's always cold and dark! Always!"

Nylan turned his head at the loud words from the lower table, where Istril had laid her hand on Murkassa's shoulder.

"The days are getting longer now," pointed out the silver-haired guard. "Before long, it will be getting warmer as well."

"It's still too cold and dark." Murkassa's words seemed lower, though Istril patted her shoulder again. "Even the wall stones are cold and dark."

Turning back to the trencher before him, Nylan took a slow swallow of the warm tea, not even minding the bitterness. He reached for the chunk of bread left for him.

A portion of a mutton stew or soup also remained, only half-warm, but Nylan began to eat, hardly conscious of the coolness of the meat and gravy, or the lumpiness that marked the last of the blue potatoes ... or of the continuing conversation between Istril and Murkassa.





LXIII



"I CAN'T! I can't!"

From the corner of the furnace and woodworking room where he smoothed the sideboards of the cradle, Nylan looked toward the stone steps.

"NO! I won't. I can't."

Beside him, Siret dropped the polishing cloth, then awkwardly bent over, trying to reach the scrap of fabric. Nylan retrieved it and handed the cloth back to her. "Here."

"Thank you, ser. I feel like I can't do much of anything easily-"

"No! It's too white! It's . .. AEEEiiiii..."

Across the room, Ayrlyn set down the lutar bridge she had been working on, nodded to Hryessa, and hurried up the stairs. After a momentary hesitation, Nylan lurched to his feet and followed Ayrlyn, not knowing quite why he did, but feeling that he should.

By the south door to the tower, Jaseen and Istril held a struggling brown-haired figure-Murkassa-dressed in a heavy jacket.

"Too white! It's too white!" Murkassa's flailing arm caught Istril across the cheek, but the silver-haired guard pinned the arm to her anyway, ignoring the red blotch that would be a bruise.

Ayrlyn stepped up to Murkassa, whose body was stiff, and whose screams had become incoherent, and touched her forehead. Murkassa jerked away, but Ayrlyn followed the movements, again touching her forehead.