Fall of Angels (The Saga of Recluce #6)(60)

"What about us?"

Ryba shook her head. "For this sort of thing-it's not too bad. We lost two, I think, and Weindre took one of those blades in her left shoulder. We're claiming the spoils of war right now."

"Did you notice that these weren't bandits?" he asked.

"What do you mean?"

"Good mounts, good saddles, good clothes, good weapons, and jewelry and a lot of coins," Nylan explained.

"We'll talk about it later. We need to gather up everything." Ryba rode back downhill.

Since she seemed to have everything under control, Nylan turned the black around and headed back up the ridge to the tower.

By the time he had reached the uncompleted bathhouse and tied up the black, Relyn's eyes were open.

"I gave my word, Mage," he snapped.

"I wasn't sure, and you weren't awake enough for me to ask you," returned Nylan in Old Anglorat as he unfastened the cords. He extended his senses to Relyn's stump. "That probably hurts, but you'll live."

"Better I didn't."

"I doubt that." Nylan massaged his forehead, trying to relieve the pain in his eyes and the throbbing in his skull.

"Have you never been exiled, unable to return? That is what will happen when my sire discovers I was bested by women, and fewer of them than my own solid armsmen."

"All of us are exiles, young fellow. As for the women, you might note that they're not exactly the kind of women you have here." Nylan felt very safe with that assertion.

"You don't jest," returned the man dourly. "They had small thunder-throwers-and their blades ... had we blades such as those, things would have been different. Did those blades come from the heavens, also?"

Nylan looked down at the stony ground.

"You look confounded, Mage."

"My name is Nylan." The engineer didn't wish to answer, but even the thought of not answering was increasing his headache.

"Ser Nylan, surely you know where came such blades."

The engineer took a deep breath. "I... made them."

"Here? On the Roof of the World?"

Nylan nodded.

"Light! I must be cozened into attacking angels each worth twice any armsman, and supported by a mage the like of which our poor world has never seen." Relyn struggled into a sitting position on the wall. "You killed three of my men, did you not?"

"Yes."

"Might I look at that blade?"

Nylan looked down at the blade he had thrust through the tool belt. "This? It's not finished. The hilt needs to be wrapped." He eased the blade out, half surprised that he had not cut himself with it, though it was shorter than the crowbars carried by the locals. He showed it to Relyn, who brushed the metal with the fingers of his left hand.

"Would that I had a blade like that," said the younger man.

"They are for... the guards ... of Westwind."

"Westwind?"

Nylan gestured to the tower. "That's what we have named it."

"Westwind." Relyn shivered: "Westwind. A cold wind."

"Very cold," Nylan agreed, thinking about Ryba's coolness after the battle. What was he supposed to have done? Sprung into the saddle and chased after them? He laughed, thinking of himself bouncing along on the black.

"You laugh? You laugh?"

"Not at you, Relyn. At me. I was thinking about how awkward it is for me to ride a horse."

"I do not understand. Do not all men ride? All mages?"

"Yes, but we don't always ride horses into battle." Nylan turned at the sound of hooves, watching as Huldran and Cessya rode up.

"You're already organized, ser, aren't you?" asked Huldran.

"Pretty much," Nylan admitted.

"Who's the pretty boy?" asked Cessya.

"I think he's the guilty one. He thinks his father will disown him for being defeated by a bunch of women."

"He's not bad-looking."

"They think you're not bad-looking, Relyn," Nylan said. "Even if you are the one who plotted this. Might I ask why?"

Relyn shrugged. "I am the younger son, and when I heard that Lord Sillek had offered lands and a title to whoever reclaimed the Roof of the World ... I spent what I had. Now ... I am ruined."

"If you had succeeded, we'd have been ruined," pointed out Nylan as he turned to Huldran. "Who did we lose?"

"Weblya and Sheriz. Weindre got slashed up, but Jaseen says she'll pull through. A bunch of bruises and cuts for everyone else, except the marshal." Huldran sighed. "It's going to get tougher. We're just about out of rounds. Best to use what we've got left for the rifles."

"I wouldn't know," Nylan said, "but that would be my suggestion."

"That's what the marshal told us." Huldran turned in the saddle. "We've got to make another big cairn. Siret's bringing down the cart for the bodies. Since you're all right, ser..."

"Go on." Nylan waved the two off. "Do what you have to."

"A curious tongue you speak, Mage. Some words I understand. You are not, properly speaking, an armsman, are you?"

"No. I'm an engineer ... like a smith. I build things, like the tower, or this."