Fall of Angels (The Saga of Recluce #6)(162)

Both Istril and Nylan blushed when he realized the inappropriateness of the remark.

"I tried one of the new blades," began Istril after the awkward silence. "I like it even better than the others, even if I won't be using it in battle for some time yet."

"The new ones are a lot more work." Nylan paused and shifted Weryl as his son's fingers probed at his jaw. "Why do you like it better?"

"It feels more solid."

"It's heavier. That might be one reason. There's more iron in it."

"Not that much. The balance could be better."

Blynnal passed, carrying one of the caldrons filled with sauce and meat.

"The last of the salted horse meat, dressed and sauced to disguise the taste."

"Not the last," prophesied Istril.

Nylan glanced across the table, but Siret was not around.

"She's up nursing Dephnay. Kyalynn was still sleeping," Istril explained. "I'll feed Dephnay later."

"How is that going?" Nylan shifted Weryl again to keep from being poked in the eye.

"Not that well. It's a good thing both Siret and I can nurse. Dephnay has trouble with even the softest solid foods."

Kadran passed them, hauling a second caldron, this one filled with what looked to be noodles.

"Fire noodles," laughed Istril.

"They're not bad."

"How would anyone know? They're so hot you can't taste anything."

Ryba entered the great room, holding Dyliess to her. shoulder, and walked down the other side of the tables.

"Come on, Weryl," said Istril, taking her son back, "your father needs to eat, too. You already did."

"Oooo..."

Nylan gently disengaged Weryl's fingers and made his way to his place at the first table.

"Do you want to eat first or second?" he asked Ryba.

"First, if you don't mind."

"No problem." He reached out and eased Dyliess into his lap.

"I can't tell which of you she looks like," offered Ayrlyn, sitting across from Nylan. "When I look at you, Ryba, and then at Dyliess, you look the same, except for the hair. But the same thing is true when I look at Nylan."

Huldran slid into the seat next to Nylan. "Too early to tell, but she seems to favor both. Doesn't matter. She'll be a handsome woman whichever way."

"What do you think of the new blades, Huldran?" Ryba asked after chewing and swallowing a mouthful of meat, sauce, and noodles.

Nylan eased Dyliess to his left knee and sipped the cool tea, then reached for the bread and awkwardly broke off a dark steaming chunk.

"Some ways, I like them better. There's more weight there, and they seem to be just as tough. Maybe we should give the older ones, the first ones, to the smaller guards, or the newer ones."

Her mouth full, Ryba nodded.

"The engineer, he's teaching me how." Huldran shook her head. "Never thought making a single small piece of steel would take so much work. But the new blades, they've "got enough heft to make it easier to stand up to those crowbars- the kind Gerlich liked."

When Ryba did not respond immediately, Ayrlyn asked, "Do we have any idea what he's up to? Gerlich, I mean?"

"He doesn't like the heat. So I can't imagine he's too far down in the lowlands," mused Nylan.

"He's trying to gather an army to attack Westwind. I suppose," Ryba added after a pause.

Nylan's stomach sank at the timing of the pause. Ryba wasn't guessing.

"Do you think he'll be successful?" asked Huldran. ' "He took a lot of coin and some old weapons," said Ayrlyn.

"I'd guess we'd see him in late summer, before harvest," speculated Ryba. "Hired armsmen would be cheaper then."

"He'll try something sneaky. He's that type," said Huldran.

"True," agreed Ryba.

Nylan grabbed Dyliess's wandering hand just in time to keep his mug from being knocked over. "Hold it, little one. You don't drink tea. I do."

Ryba continued to eat, almost silently, her eyes half glazed over. When she was done, she held out her arms, and Nylan ate.

Dyliess began to fuss, and Ryba rose, nodding. "Excuse me, but my young friend here has some plans for me." With a quick smile, the marshal was gone.

"She's preoccupied," Ayrlyn observed.

"Wouldn't you be?" offered Huldran. "She's got a lot to worry about."

So do we all, thought Nylan, without speaking his thoughts. So do we all.

After the evening meal, Nylan walked uphill in the twilight, past the doorless and windowless smithy, and then northward until he came to a small hillock of rocks that overlooked the lander shell still used to store grasses and hay. The drying racks, half filled with grass, stretched across the space between the meadow and the rising rocky hills to the west. One empty rack lay broken and sprawled on the rocky ground.

The brighter stars were appearing in the south, one on each side of the ice-tipped Freyja. As the evening deepened, more points of light appeared, and no star looked that different to Nylan from those he had seen from Heaven. Only the patterns in the sky were different.

The wind had switched, and blew cooler and out of the north. Nylan sat on a smooth boulder and looked at the bulk of Tower Black, and at the dark fields beyond, and the lighter stones of the cairns to the southeast. So many cairns for such a short time, and he had no illusions. The number of cairns would continue to grow.