Fall of Angels (The Saga of Recluce #6)(34)

They stopped before reaching the cook fires, and Ryba studied the fields, wiping the water from the ongoing drizzle from her face. A long, boot-deep trench crossed one corner of the potato field, and one hill had been undercut by the running water. Two marines were reclaiming it, while a third was digging a diversion trench across the uphill side of the field.

"Denalle, would you finish that demon-damned diversion so we're not fighting water and the frigging mud?" demanded one of the two trying to keep the potato hill from collapsing into the narrow stream of cold water.

"Stow it, Rienadre. You want to fight through these plants, you do it. They got roots tougher than synthcord. I'll be happy to change places with you."

"Shiiittt. . ."

The two marines in the field stood up as the gooey mass of soil collapsed into the still-widening trench.

"We're going to help you, Denalle, before we lose more." Rienadre and the other marine trudged toward the edge of the field.

"This really isn't that good a locale for crops," Nylan said.

"I know, but until we can develop more trade and maybe find some animal that does well up here .. ."

"Sheep or winter deer or something. Even chickens or some sort of domesticated fowl."

"None of which we've seen," Ryba answered curtly. "Not chickens, and the goats scatter into the rocks if they so much as hear a hoof click."

They walked through the drizzle to the cook-fire area, where Nylan got a slab of bread that Kyseen had tried to bake in a makeshift oven and some purple food concentrate. He looked at the off-white center and nearly black crust of the bread, so flat that it looked more like a pancake. He supposed that was because Kyseen had no yeast or whatever made bread rise. After another look at the black-edged mass, he broke off a section and chewed. The bread was only half-cooked and soggy in the middle, but-if he avoided the carbonized outside-it tasted better than the purple concentrate.

Nylan frowned. Some of the partitions in the landers were thin metal. Perhaps he could unbolt them, and without too much power usage, turn them into baking sheets for the oven he hadn't built. After a laugh, he took another mouthful of the soggy bread. He was thinking about making items to fit in things he wasn't sure he could build, and that assumed that he found something like clay, that he could turn it into brick, and that the laser held out-just to begin with.

He finished the last bit of the heavy slab of bread and the slice of the pungent yellow cheese, rinsed his wooden plate, and set it back with the others, and went to find Ryba.

He found her talking with Fierral at the far side of the cook fires.

"Rain or no rain, we need some sentries. The locals are tough, and I don't want someone lofting arrows into us. Or whatever." No bowman was going to risk ruining good strings in the rain, Nylan felt, but he said nothing.

"Yes, ser," Fierral answered, then looked toward Nylan, her red hair plastered against her skull by the dampness.

"I wanted to talk to Istril about where I might find some clay." Nylan brushed the water off his forehead to keep it from running into his eyes.

"You're not going to work on the tower?" asked Ryba.

"I'm not about to take out the lasers in this weather. The timbers will have to dry anyway before they're mortared and wedged in place."

"What about the clay you're using in the mortar?"

"That's not quite the same. Without the ash . . ." Nylan shook his head. "Besides, I'm hoping to find something that's easier to use and fire. Istril said that she'd seen some spots that might be clay, somewhere down below."

"Wouldn't the locals already be using it?"

"Large deposits, yes. I just want enough for bricks to build some inside walls, maybe a stove, and some water pipes." Ryba shrugged and turned to Fierral. "Can you spare Istril?"

"That won't be a problem, Captain. Or should we start calling you marshal?"

Ryba grinned. "Whatever works."

Istril was still sleeping in the third lander, and, while Nylan washed up and went to find out something about the horse situation, she ate.

When Istril arrived, the slim marine vaulted into her saddle. Nylan climbed into his, banging himself with the blade he had forged and still barely knew how to swing without hitting himself.

Thankfully, Istril let her horse walk uphill toward the tip of the ridge that seemed almost into the mist that hung below the clouds. Nylan let his beast follow.

"I don't know as what I saw, ser, is what you want, and it's down a little ways. It wasn't like dirt, and it was almost slimy."

"All we can do is look. That sounds promising. Even if it is clay, it will take some experimenting to see if we can fire it."

"Fire it?"

"Turn it into things-pipes for water, bricks, maybe things like plates or pots. That means building a kiln or an oven of sorts." He grabbed the horse's mane as the beast lurched downhill.

They rode in silence until they reached the exposed section of the ridge, little more than a narrow way bordered on each side by rocks that dropped sharply away. Most of the rocks on the north side were still covered with ice left from the winter that held some of the night's snow above it.

Nylan looked down toward the forests that began well below the bottom of the ridge. They would have to circle back along the bottom of the ridge on the north.'In the distance, kays below, he could see and sense a narrow stream emerging from the rock pile. He massaged his back. "How long will this take? Isn't there a shorter way?"