Fall of Angels (The Saga of Recluce #6)(50)

Then he walked up into the tower and started up the stairs to check on the damage to the east roof.

As he climbed, he wondered about his brick-making and the crude oven, then shook his head. That had been low tech, and if the rains had carried it away, he would find a way to rebuild it.





XXIX



HISSL STARES INTO the glass, looking at the waving stalks of grass, and at the burned fort, with the few wisps of smoke still threading into the sky. Concentrating again, he waits for the image to re-form, and it does, showing an empty road that would lead to Berlitos, should he desire the glass to follow the track.

There are no signs of the Jeranyi. Hissl tugs at his chin. Ildyrom must have pulled back a long ways, perhaps as far as Berlitos.

The wizard frowns, and the white mists fill the glass, eventually showing a line of horse troopers trudging down a forest road behind the fir-tree banner. Since there are no forests near Clynya, that means Ildyrom has in fact stopped pressing his claim on the grasslands-for now.

The white wizard shakes his head. "You'll be stuck here for seasons-seasons, angel-damn!" His words are low, but they hiss with frustration.

He looks around the small room, then out the narrow window into the blue of the morning and over the low thatched roofs of Clynya toward the West Fork he cannot see from the second story of the barracks. As he does, the image fades from the glass.

"Terek . . . with you scheming in Lornth, how will I ever get out of here? If I'm successful, Ildyrom won't get the grasslands back, and I'll be stuck here. If I'm not. . ." He shakes his head and looks down at the blank glass.

In time, he studies the mirror once more, and the mists swirl, and in the midst of the swirling white appears the Roof of the World, and the black tower that stands, despite the storm, and the silver-haired figure in olive-black who trudges up the stone steps. The glass also shows the aura of darkness that surrounds the man in the glass.

"A mage, and he knows it not." After a time, Hissl gestures, and the image vanishes, leaving only a blank and flat mirror on the small table.

Finally, he smiles, tightly, thinking about bandits and the Roof of the World.





XXX



STANDING OUTSIDE THE lander, with the light wind that promised fall ruffling his hair, Nylan slowly finished the gruel that passed as morning porridge, along with cold bread, his thoughts on the tower once more.

Huldran and the others had been less than pleased when Nylan had insisted on putting a drain in the bottom of the tower, nor had Ryba been happy when he had used the laser to drill through some of the rock.

"A waste of power . .."

Nylan disagreed-the lowest level of the tower needed to be dry. Dampness destroyed too many things. He swallowed the last bite of the lumpy gruel with a shudder and glanced toward the tower. At least the roof and doors were in place, and he could concentrate on making the place livable. Outside the front door, Cessya and Weblya had already begun to haul stones in to fill the space between the walls of the causeway.

The engineer walked over to the wash kettle and rinsed the wooden platter before racking it. He hoped that they could finish the tower kitchen before long-but he needed to work out the problems with making the water pipes. If the climate were warmer he could have just built a covered aqueduct, but that would freeze solid for half the year.

He walked back toward Ryba, his eyes rising back toward the dark stones of the tower that was somehow tall, squat, and massive all at the same time.

"What are you thinking?" asked Ryba. "You're not really even here."

"About water pipes, kitchens, laundry." He paused. "About building a bathhouse or whatever."

"I suppose you want to start a soap factory, too."

"Someone else can worry about that. I'm an engineer, not a chemist."

"Good." She laughed harshly. "The bandits are whittling away at our ammunition. We need more blades. Can you coax out another two dozen?"

"Another two dozen? Don't most of the marines have one?"

"They'll need two."

Nylan pursed his lips. "I can do some. I don't know how many. I thought the cells would be the problem, but there's a raggedness in the powerheads."

"And you had to drill a drain?"

"Yes . . . if you didn't want all the supplies to mold and mildew."

She shook her head. "You're stubborn."

"Not so stubborn as you are." Nylan wondered how long before everyone would think he was obsessed with building, if they didn't already. Why didn't they see that they had one chance-just one?

A single clang on the triangle echoed through the morning. Ryba and Nylan looked up to see Llyselle ride across the meadow. Llyselle bounced slightly in the saddle, but Nylan knew that he bounced even more when he rode. He didn't have Sybran nomad blood-or training. The tall, silver-haired marine reined up outside the cooking area, but before she could dismount, Ryba stood there, Nylan not far behind her.

"There's a herder down there, waving a white flag," Llyselle announced. "He's got some sheep or goats, and something in cages."

"Let's hope he wants to sell something." Ryba pointed at the nearest marine-Siret. "Go find Narliat, and Ayrlyn, and ask them to join us."

"Yes, ser." Siret glanced at Nylan with a strange look in her deep green eyes, then turned away, but Nylan could tell she was definitely thicker in the midsection, unlike Selitra. Yet Selitra had been sleeping with Gerlich, and she didn't seem pregnant. But Siret, the silent silver-haired guard?