Fall of Angels (The Saga of Recluce #6)(39)

"It'll make it easier to finish the sides before the day's over."

"You think you can?" asked the stocky blond.

"There's enough stone cut, and I'm trying to let the generator recharge some more firin cells before I have to cut more. The captain wants me to forge more blades, and ..." Nylan shrugged.

"You're trying to have enough power to finish the tower and do that?"

The engineer nodded before returning to carting stone. He had almost finished getting what he would need before several horses appeared at the top of the rise and headed down toward the landers. Over one horse was another body, one clad in olive-black.

Nylan shook his head. Did every bandit attack mean another death?

He watched as the mounted marines rode straight for the smoldering fire where Kyseen, hampered in combat by her broken leg, struggled with cooking.

Nylan still hadn't done much on that front, besides designing the kitchen layout and the stoves for the tower. He hoped that the bandits who had attacked Denalle and the others hadn't done too much damage to the brick-making operation, but he wasn't about to say that out loud.

The engineer recognized the slim, silver-haired figure of Istril, and he waved. "Istril!"

The marine turned her mount toward the tower, after saying something to the two others and letting them continue toward the landers.

Nylan and Huldran waited, then the engineer gestured. "Who?"

"Desinada." Istril reined up.

Nylan vaguely remembered the woman; she'd been among the group that he'd brought down on his lander. "Sorry."

"That sort of thing happens here. A lot, it seems."

"Anything good?" asked Huldran.

"One of them had a purse." As she turned the horse toward the landers, Istril lifted the leather pouch and shook it, letting Nylan and the three marines hear the clank and jingle of mixed coins. "Not that I wouldn't have Desinada back for a dozen of these and then some."

"Was anyone else hurt?" Nylan asked.

"No. Rienadre ducked behind your brick oven and winged one of the bastards. I got the other one. We think one got away, maybe more, but Berlis ran down the winged one. He gave her some lip, and she ran him through. She gets mean sometimes."

"Yeah . . ." muttered Weblya. "Like always."

"Thank you." Nylan inclined his head to Istril.

"No problem, ser." Istril turned her mount back toward the landers.

More hoofbeats announced the return of Ryba and the rest of the marines, along with two more mounts, each with a bandit's body slung across the saddle.

Nylan nodded and bent to lift another stone. "Back to work."

"Don't you stop for anything, ser?" asked Cessya.

"Winter won't." Nylan started up the stairs.

"One more timber," announced Cessya. "Just one more."

"Then we got to saw planks," pointed out Weblya.

"Oh, yeah ... it's my turn on top. You get to be in the pit."

"Thanks."

The sun had dropped behind the western peaks before Nylan mortared in the last stone on the fifth level of the eastern wall. Despite his best resolves, he still had the gaps in the southern wall left to do. Another day before Cessya and Weblya could wedge and mortar the big timbers into place and start on placing the planks. He trudged down, carrying the empty mortar trough.

"We'll take that, ser," said Weblya.

"You're going to finish it even before it starts to chill, aren't you?" asked Cessya.

"The walls and roof. We might even be able to use some of the armaglass for windows in a few places, if the laser holds out." Nylan coughed, trying to clear the stone and mortar dust from his throat. "I wanted to get the stoves and furnace in, too."

"A furnace?" The two looked at each other.

"Pretty crude. Wood-fired, and wide heat ducts. A big air return down the stair pedestal-that's already in place."

"You think big, don't you?"

"I suppose so, but you need space when there's snow outside over your head." Nylan smiled wryly. "The snow nomads didn't do all that winter hunting just for food. If they'd all stayed around the fires, they'd have killed each other." He frowned. "We probably need some timbers inside so that people can work on skis after it gets cold."

The two marines shook their heads as the engineer checked the laser, still stored in the space under the lower stairs, and then walked up the hill toward the portable generator with a single firm cell.

He checked the readout on the cell being recharged-over eighty-three percent-and disconnected it, replacing it with the discharged cell. Then he walked back down to the tower where the three marines had cleaned the trough and racked their tools.

"I'm going to wash up before dinner," he said.

"What is dinner?" asked Huldran.

"Gerlich brought in two wild goats, or sheep or something. So we're going to have a goat stew. Meat's too tough for anything else," answered Weblya.

Goat stew, reflected Nylan, probably meant goat meat, wild onions, and a few other unmentionable or unidentifiable plant-root supplements, all thickened with some of the corn flour. "Wonderful."

He plodded toward the streamlet that seemed to narrow each day. They hadn't really had much rain in almost two eight-days. That could mean problems for their attempt at crops.