Fall of Angels (The Saga of Recluce #6)(75)

"That might explain it." Nylan gave a half laugh.

Istril set the bow by the stairs, and they walked to the tables.

"Testing the engineer's bow?" asked Gerlich politely.

Ryba's eyes flicked to Nylan. "You forged a bow?"

"Finally," the engineer admitted. "It's been difficult."

"I hope you didn't spend too much power on it," Gerlich added from his seat in the middle of the first table. Selitra sat beside him.

"You have to spend power to create anything," pointed out Nylan. "We need good longer-range weapons."

"Your blades are more effective," countered Gerlich.

"I don't think so," said Istril firmly. "I tested the bow, and it's perfect for a mounted guard."

"For a guard, perhaps, but I can put more power into the great bow," answered Gerlich.

"I'm sure you can," responded Istril politely. "But the engineer's bow works much better for a mounted guard, and I'm more than glad to use it. So will the others, I'm sure, since it's much easier to carry on horseback, and far more accurate than that monster you carry."

"It doesn't have the pull." Gerlich's voice carried an edge.

Ryba's eyes flicked between the silver-haired guard and the dark-haired man.

"It has enough power to go through a breastplate at combat range and that should be enough for anyone," snapped Istril.

"I thought we were talking true long-range weapons ..."

"Enough," said Ryba quietly. "The engineer's weapons will be sung of long after we are all gone from Westwind. So will your great bow, Gerlich. There's room for both in history. It's been a long day, and we don't need an argument at dinner. In fact, we don't need arguments at all. We need to work together to get through the coming winter."

Nylan slipped into his seat quietly, glancing at the scattering of ashes in the cold hearth. "No fire?"

"It's not that cold yet, and it takes work to saw and split logs, even the dry deadwood," said Ayrlyn from across the table. Beside her, on the side closest to Ryba, sat Hryessa. Relyn sat on the other side.

"You're wearing a jacket."

"I'm not a Sybran," conceded the redheaded healer. "You're half Sybran, at least."

Nylan grinned and shook his head. "The wrong half, probably."

Dinner consisted of long strips of meat, clearly beaten into tenderness, and spiced with the hot dried peppers that Kyseen had found somewhere, then covered with an even hotter red-brown sauce. With it were lumpy noodles, some almost as thick as small dumplings, and some form of sliced root.

Nylan forced himself to take several circular root slices, but he ladled the sauce over everything except the bread. The bread seemed to get better.

The only beverage was water. They had a choice of bitter tea in the morning and water at night. The engineer wondered how long it would be before they might have something else.

Hryessa looked blankly at the barely smoothed wood of the tabletop while conversation continued. As Nylan started to eat, the local woman helped herself to another hefty portion of meat and dumpling noodles. She ate slowly, as though she were full, but could not believe that she would eat the next day.

Nylan refrained from shaking his head and took a second bite. By the time he had swallowed the mouthful of meat and dumplings, the sweat had beaded up on his forehead.

He drained his mug and refilled it, then blotted his forehead.

"The bread works better than the water," said Ryba dryly.

Across the end of the table, Ayrlyn nodded.

He took a mouthful and chewed. They were right. The burning faded, and he took another mouthful. After more bread and some water, he asked, "Is this the latest way for Kyseen to stop complaints about the food? How can you complain if it's too hot to taste?"

"I think it's good," offered Gerlich.

"He never had any taste to begin with," suggested Ayrlyn in a whisper.

"He still doesn't," muttered Nylan, adding more loudly, "You always liked things hot and direct."

A wave of laughter rolled down the table. Hryessa ignored the humor; Relyn frowned slightly, still struggling to eat with his left hand; and Nylan reminded himself that he had wanted to craft something for Relyn's stump.

"Better than cold and indirect," countered Gerlich.

Only a few chuckles greeted his remark, then small talk resumed around the two tables, especially at the end away from the hearth where Huldran and Cessya sat.

Nylan overheard a few of the phrases.

". . . bathing when there's ice on the walls ..."

"... better than stinking . . ."

". . . cares? No one but the engineer, and you know how dangerous that'd be ..."

Nylan glanced toward the corner of the first table where Narliat sat beside Denalle, who was attempting to practice her Anglorat on the armsman. Narliat's face was bland, although Nylan sensed the man was fighting boredom.

Nylan concentrated on finishing his meal, although he required two more large chunks of bread to get him through the last of the spiced meat.

"No sweets?" asked Istril, her voice rising above the murmurs around the tables.

"What kind of sweets?" replied Gerlich.