Fall of Angels (The Saga of Recluce #6)(161)

"So long as this isn't for blood. I'm stiff," protested Nylan.

"Wands up," ordered the marshal.

Nylan lifted his wand, trying to get into the spirit of the sparring.

Nistayna seemed almost diffident, and Nylan easily slid around her wand and tapped a shoulder.

"Nistayna! You'll get killed that way!" snapped Ryba. "Let me have your wand."

Nylan began to understand what was happening, and he waited as Ryba squared her shoulders and lifted the wand.

Then he attacked, as well as he could. Ryba parried, and cut back. Nylan backpedaled. The wooden wands hurt, especially with the force Ryba used.

The engineer-smith tried to gather to himself some of the feeling of order and pattern he felt within the smithy and with a metal blade, and, as he did, the wand seemed lighter, and almost wove a moving net with Ryba's wand.

For a time, neither he nor Ryba seemed able to touch the other. But Nylan's legs, rather than his arms, gave out, and he stumbled. Ryba's wand cracked his ribs.

"All right," he groaned, with a forced laugh.

Ryba handed the wand to Nistayna, whose eyes were wide. "That is how good you must be."

"The mage-he is better than any armsman I have seen."

"He's better than any I've seen," added a male voice from the causeway, "and I've seen a few." Relyn gave a crooked grin. "And she's better than he is. Not by much, but enough for it to count in a battle."

Ryba erased a momentarily puzzled look from her face, as she said to Nylan, "You've gotten better, much better. You aren't practicing that much."

"Smithing the hard way is good for arm strength," he said wryly, handing the wand back to Ryba. "It's my footwork that suffers."

Liethya and Quilyn still looked from Ryba to Nylan and back again.

"I'm going to wash up before the evening meal." The smith pushed hair that needed cutting back off his damp forehead.

"You're quitting before the sun sets and before it's pitch-dark?" Ryba asked in mock amazement.

"I got to a stopping place. I've got another blade finished that needs to be wrapped and sharpened."

"I'll have Fierral get it in the morning, if that's all right."

"Fine."

"Back to your drills!" snapped Ryba. "You'll drill until you can hold off anyone who's not as good as the mage- or until your arms drop off."

Nylan could sense the unvoiced groans. He would have groaned, too.

Siret, Istril, and Niera had the youngsters in one corner of the third level as Nylan trudged up. He waved, briefly, and got a smile from Niera. Istril had her back to the stairs, nursing Weryl, and Siret was juggling Kyalynn and Dephnay.

Shortly, Nylan trudged back down toward the bathhouse and a shower, carrying his cleaner leathers, the ones he wore when he wasn't dealing with coals, metals, and sweat.

The bathhouse was warm, hot, with a fire in the stove. While the showers were empty and the fire burning down, the floor stones in two of the stalls were still wet. Nylan stripped and soaked himself. The water was not freezing, but not quite lukewarm, either, but he was hot enough that it didn't matter as he took what passed for soap and lathered up. Then he shaved, by feel, no longer needing a mirror.

After he dried off, a process more like wiping the water off his body and letting the rest evaporate than toweling dry, he eased into the cleaner shirt and leather trousers and boots.

As he passed through the archway, he nearly ran into Huldran.

"How's the water, ser?" Huldran was smeared with soot, and her hair was sweaty and plastered to her skull.

"Someone fired up the stove. It's not bad." He looked at the guard.

"I had Denize do it."

"Thank you."

"It was as much for me as you, ser," said Huldran with a grin.

"I still appreciate it. Enjoy your shower."

Huldran gave a half-nod as she padded barefoot toward the showers. Nylan opened the north door, noting that the archway didn't seem to trap moisture in the summer the way it had in the winter.

"Excuse me, ser." Kadran scurried past him and out the big south door to ring the triangle for the evening meal.

Almost before the echoes died away, guards appeared from everywhere-outside following Kadran in, and from the third level, trooping down to the main floor of the tower.

Nylan stood back in the generally unused space on the east side. If they could bring in more glass, then perhaps the space could be used for the children, eventually space for schooling. And that was something else-books. They needed to preserve the knowledge base.

He took a deep breath, trying to regain his mental balance before crossing the foyer area into the great room. The great room now held five tables, although the fifth was sometimes not used, and not full when in use.

As Nylan passed the empty fifth table, and then the fourth, most of the newer guards looked down, almost as much as when Ryba passed. Unlike the others, Nistayna offered a faint smile, and Niera just looked up with wide eyes.

"Better eat all your dinner," he told the girl, feeling awkward, but feeling he should say something.

Istril stood, awkwardly holding a squirming Weryl. Nylan extended his hands, and Weryl thrust out his pudgy hands.

"All right, Weryl." As the boy smiled, Nylan grinned and scooped him up. "He's growing. You must be feeding him right."