Fall of Angels (The Saga of Recluce #6)(115)

"Maybe the smart men do, too, but they don't have any choice," suggested Nylan, stepping over to the window and closing it.

"That could be," admitted Ryba. "But you're conceding that the smart men are surrounded by other men with power and no brains."

Nylan shrugged.

"Too many men want to dominate other people, no matter what the cost. Women, I think, look at the cost."

"Women also manipulate more, I suspect," Nylan answered. "Men-most of them-aren't so good with subtleties. So they dislike the manipulative side of women."

"When it suits them. Manipulation isn't all bad. If you can get something done quietly and without violence, why not?"

"Because men have this thing about being deceived and being out of control." Nylan laughed wryly. "They can go out of control when they find out they've been tricked or manipulated," .

"Let me get this straight. Men fight and have wars because they can't manipulate, and then they fight and have wars whenever they feel they are manipulated?"

Nylan frowned. "I don't like the way you put that."

"If you have a better way of putting it, go ahead. Personally, I believe women, given the chance, can do a better job, and, here, I'm going to make sure they get a better chance." Ryba eased herself onto the floor. "I'll be glad when I can get back to serious arms practice. For now, it's just exercise."

"I doubt it's ever just exercise," quipped Nylan, following her down to the dimness of the next level and the practice area.

He paused on the steps, noting that among those already practicing with Saryn and a heavy-bellied Istril were Relyn and Fierral. The one-handed man gripped the fir wand in his left hand with enough confidence that Nylan could see he had been practicing for some time.

Ryba picked up a wand. "Istril? Shall we?"

Istril bowed.

Nylan took a deep breath and headed down to the woodworking area and the unfinished cradle. What Ryba had said about men seemed true enough, but that apparent truth bothered him. It bothered him a lot. Were most men really that irrational? Or that blind?





LXVIII



HALFWAY UP TO the top of the ridge, Nylan looked back, adjusting his snow goggles. Gerlich and Narliat remained out on the sunlit flats, Gerlich shouting instructions as Narliat struggled with a shorter pair of skis. The shorter skis would probably work, Nylan reflected, now that the midday warmth had partly melted the snow and left it heavier and crustier. As he continued up the ridge, leaving Gerlich and his hapless pupil on the flats before the tower, Nylan wondered why Gerlich had suddenly taken an interest in instructing Narliat on skis.

Was he becoming a counterfeit Ryba, trusting no men? He didn't distrust Relyn, although he didn't understand the man. Relyn seemed different, as though he had changed and were not sure of himself. Gerlich, on the other hand, seemed ever more foreign, contemptuous, stopping just short of provoking Ryba.

As Nylan reached the top of the ridge, he looked back. Narliat was skiing slowly, following a track already set in the snow, and Gerlich continued to encourage the local.

Nylan used the thongs to fasten his boots in place, then skied down the ridge in the gentle sweeping turns he had never thought he could do. He still lurched and flailed, but did not fall.

He stopped at the bottom of the ridge, searching the trees, then finally pushed his skis west, toward the narrower strip of forest, following his senses. Were the gray leaves on the handful of deciduous trees beginning to unshrivel? They'd have to sooner or later, but Nylan hoped it would be sooner.

As he entered the trees, now bare of snow, the engineer swept the scarf away from his mouth. The wool was too warm, and he couldn't breathe as he slid the heavy skis through the space between the trunks, his perceptions out in front of him, trying to sense any possible game.

He saw older hare tracks, expanded by the faint heat of the midday sun, tree-rat tracks, but nothing larger or newer.

Moving slowly, he paused frequently, letting his senses search for signs of life he could not see. His fingers strayed to the bow at his back.

Something stirred-slightly-beneath a snow-covered hump, but Nylan shook his head. That something was a bear not likely to emerge for a time, and there was no way the engineer was going to try to dig out something far more than twice his size.

He slowed as his eyes caught the tracks in the snow- something like deer tracks, but larger. He turned his skis slightly downhill to follow the tracks, his senses ranging ahead.

From his perceptions the animal seemed to be a large deer-or an elk. Nylan had never paid much attention to those sorts of distinctions, but it definitely offered the promise of a lot of meat.

The big deer had migrated up from the lower elevations, or, thought Nylan, fled local hunters seeking game as the snow in the lower hills melted.

Nylan must have skied nearly another kay before he saw the animal, standing in a slight opening under a large fir. The engineer stopped in the cover of a pine. If he moved farther toward the deer, the animal would see him, yet he was still more than fifty cubits away.

Nylan remained in the shadows of the pine, as silent as he could be, downwind of the deer, finally deciding he was as close as he dared. Slowly, quietly, he withdrew an arrow from the quiver, nocked it, and released it. The next shaft was quicker, as was the third.

The buck snorted, and then ran. Nylan slogged after him, not pressing, but moving steadily. If he had missed, he'd never catch up. If he'd wounded the beast, then he ought to be able to wear it down-if it didn't wear him down first.