Fall of Angels

XLIII

IN THE NORTH yard outside the bathhouse, Nylan picked up the hammer and chisel. Behind him, on the roof, Denalle and Huldran spiked roof tiles onto the cross-stringers mortised into the main timbers to provide a flat surface.

Overhead, the clouds were white and puffy, like summer clouds, but the chill in the late autumn wind belied that. To the west, the clouds seemed evenly spaced, and Nylan hopedthat they would stay that way. His eyes dropped to the pair on the roof-Cessya had ridden off with Ayrlyn.

“ … damned gourds, whatever they were, never ripened … bitter in the stew, worse than that rancid bear meat …”

“Just keep complaining, Denalle, and I’ll spike your hand right under the next tile,” snapped Huldran.

“Potatoes are good … hope they last …”

“More spikes, Denalle.”

Nylan let his eyes drop from the unfinished roof to the dark stone before him that would be a water-conduit section.

“And you cannot make a few channels in stone?” Narliat had asked, at Gerlich’s prompting. And Ryba had just left Nylan hanging.

His choices were simple. Abandon the idea of showers. Finish the trough pipes in wood, which would need continuous maintenance, or try low-tech stone-cutting methods. In a low-tech culture, cleanliness was important for health and survival, and if he didn’t make it easy or halfway convenient, cleanliness would go the way of the Winterlance. Besides, abandoning anything would cause problems with Gerlich. He was coming to like the big man less and less. Was that because he was coming to trust his feelings more? And Ryba-how much was she deceiving him, just to ensure that Westwind would survive?

He moistened his lips. In some ways, it didn’t matter. He was stuck finishing the bathhouse the hard way. He took a deep breath and studied the chunk of dark stone, letting his senses drop into the heavy mass, following the lines of stress and fault. If he nudged that line … and boosted that … then, just maybe, the stone would break …

He brought the hammer down on the chisel. Clung! The impact shivered up his left arm. There was a technique to chiseling stone, and he had no idea of what it was. He raised the hammer again.

Clung! A flake of stone the size of his thumb flew from the chisel, but the reverberation still numbed his arm.

A dozen strokes later, he had learned a better angle andnot to grip the chisel so tightly. He also had only chipped out a narrow groove in the stone.

The clouds had almost disappeared, leaving the sky a bright green-blue, but the wind seemed stronger, and colder.

Even before he heard the hooves, Nylan could sense the approaching horses, knowing that they were marines-and Ayrlyn. There was no sense of the white disorderliness that seemed to accompany the arrival of locals.

The five horses, and the cart acquired from Skiodra and since rebuilt, headed over the ridge and down the track to the tower. The clay remained damp enough from the previous rain that there was no dust. Riding pillion behind Istril was a woman in tattered leathers, with long brown hair. Another refugee? wondered the engineer. And Istril? She wasn’t riding any differently. Was that another of Ryba’s foresights? Something that might be?

Nylan shrugged, wondering how many more women would arrive at Tower Black before the winter closed in. Given the attrition the angels had suffered, more bodies would be helpful-if there were enough food. They had the sheep and the chickens, but how would they feed livestock through the winter? Didn’t that mean more grain? Or grass or hay? Or something?

As the horses passed and he saw that Ayrlyn was safe, he picked up the hammer once more, ignoring the numbness in his fingers from the wind and the impact of iron upon steel.

By the time the triangle by the main south entrance to the tower clanged for the midday meal, Nylan had completed rough channels in two stones, each the length of his forearm. His fingers were cramping, and his arms were scratched from the rock fragments that had split and ricocheted. No wonder not much got built quickly-or with any complexity-in a low-tech culture.

Nylan set aside the hammer and chisel and stood stretching as Denalle and Huldran climbed off the roof. The eastern side was more than half finished.

“Looks good,” he offered.

“Except we have to mortar it or it’ll be dripping meltedsnow inside all winter,” pointed out Huldran.

“Doing the roof’s friggin’ hard on the knees,” added Denalle.

“You want to wash clothes in the snow?” asked the older guard.

“The way things are going,” said Denalle, looking down at her threadbare and tattered working shipsuit, “we won’t have anything to wash.”

“The healer just brought in a cart of some kind of cloth, and more barrels of flour, it looked like. You’ll be spending part of the winter sewing up your kit for next year.” Huldran smiled at Nylan.

“I didn’t sign up for sewing.”

“Neither did the rest of us. Do you want to fight with your bare breasts hanging out?” asked Huldran.

Denalle glared at the ground.

“Let’s go eat,” suggested the engineer.

As Nylan neared the lower table, Relyn, sitting beside Jaseen, raised his right arm, and the artificial hand, and nodded. The engineer smiled back.

“You made that, ser?” asked Huldran. “Why?”

“So he wouldn’t have any excuses to mope around,” Nylan said dryly. “You’ll note that I made it blunt. Very blunt.”

Huldran laughed.

The newcomer was seated between Saryn and Ayrlyn; near the head of the table on the window side. For some reason Narliat was on Ayrlyn’s right, with Gerlich on the other side of the former armsman. Nylan surveyed the two tables and found that Hryessa was seated near the foot of the second table, beside Istril and across from Relyn and Jaseen. Istril looked down at her trencher, and her lips curled. Had Ryba been right? Was she pregnant? The engineer glanced toward the hearth and kept walking until he reached the end of the table.

“How is it going?” Ryba asked as Nylan waited for Huldran and then slipped into his end seat beside the marine.

“Huldran and the others are doing well on the roof. Maybe two days before it’s tight.”

“Could be three,” Huldran said, “if we run into trouble.”

“And you?” Ryba asked Nylan.

“I’m getting the hang of the stone-cutting, but it’s slow.”

“The weather will hold for at least several days,” Ayrlyn said.

“Good.” Nylan poured some of the hot bark-and-root tea and waited. The mug did not crack. He picked it up and took a sip, waiting for Huldran to help herself to the bread in the grass basket. “Another refugee?” The engineer turned to Ayrlyn as he took a chunk of bread and handed the basket to Ryba.

“Thank you,” said the marshal.

“This is Murkassa,” said Ayrlyn in Old Anglorat. “She’s from Gnotos. That’s a little town in Gallos, just east of the Westhorns.”

The round-faced girl, and she seemed more a girl than a woman, nodded, her long hair so thin that it fell in a cloud over her shoulders.

“This is Nylan. He is an engineer and a mage,” Ayrlyn explained, still in Anglorat.

Murkassa’s brow furrowed at the word “engineer.” She turned to Ayrlyn. “What kind of mage?”

“Black, I’m told,” Nylan answered before Narliat could open his mouth and create trouble. “I make things.”

Narliat had his mouth open, but Ayrlyn’s elbow caught the former armsman in the gut, and he closed it.

“Nylan is-” Gerlich started to speak, then stopped as he realized Murkassa did not understand him.

“How was your luck with the traders, Ayrlyn?” asked Ryba.

“They had some of what we needed, but it cost me three blades and a gold.” She glanced at Nylan. “I’m not quite as good as the engineer.”

“Any spikes?” Nylan asked, knowing that Huldran wanted to know.

“A small keg-those were half a gold, and they wouldn’t budge on that, but you and Huldran put them high on the list.”

“We can’t finish the bathhouse roof without them,” said the marine. “Not without taking all winter.”

“What else?”

“Heavy wool cloth. Rough as a new recruit. Some tanned hides for winter gloves, another eight barrels of flour and two of dried fruit. A bag of salt for drying whatever we slaughter or bring in from hunting. Another big kettle for Kyseen. A half-dozen needles-another half gold, but how can anyone sew without needtes? — and a roll or spool of heavy thread that’s almost twine. And a bunch of little things, some spices, and a big bag of onions and two sacks of potatoes, and a barrel of dried corn for the livestock.” The redhead shrugged. “That doesn’t leave too much in the Westwind treasury. They said they’d be back in an eight-day, if it doesn’t snow.”

“After that, we’ll probably be on our own, I guess,” said Ryba. “The snow line is creeping down the peaks around us.” She turned to Murkassa and switched to Anglorat. “How

.. did you … come to Westwind?”

“I was sold to be the consort of Jilkar. He is a hauler in Gnotos, and a strong man. He beat his first consort to death because she angered him. She gave him only daughters, and then she ran away with a trooper from Fenard. Jilkar found them and let the man go.” Murkassa shrugged. “He would have beaten me. He beats everyone. I heard of the tower of women, and I ran. If I did not find you, I would die in the Westhorns. But I did find you.” A fleeting smile crossed her face.

“You are welcome to stay as long as you wish.”

“Can I stay forever?”

“If you follow our way,” Ryba answered.

“No one said anything to Jilkar?” Ayrlyn’s tone suggested she knew the answer.

“No. He is the hauler. He takes the wool to Fenard. He is stronger than any two men, and he has a house on the hill with guards.”

As the others drew out the sordid social structure of Gnotos,all too familiar a pattern, from what Nylan could tell, he sipped the tea and ate.

After the midday meal, Nylan returned to the north tower yard, and the cold wind out of the northwest. Huldran, Cessya, and Denalle worked on the roof, with Cessya lugging up the stones, Denalle placing them, and Huldran spiking them in place.

Nylan studied the stone that he was supposed to turn into a conduit. There had to be a faster way to cut the stone, didn’t there? For a long time, he let his senses range over the oblong of black rock before him. He’d already discovered that he felt uneasy, so much that his head ached and his stomach twisted, if he even came close to mimicking the white lines of fire that the local mages effected.

After concentrating on the stone for a time, he finally placed the chisel and lifted the hammer. The reverberations seemed to be less when he didn’t worry so much about precise chisel placement, but the order of the stone.

His progress was better with the new technique, not anything to boast about compared to the laser, but by the time the triangle clanged again, he had five more lengths of conduit bottom.

After he stacked the conduit in the corner of the bathhouse, on the eastern side under the completed roof, he flexed his sore and increasingly callused fingers-only small blisters.

“You really got that in place,” he told Huldran, looking up at the expanse of completed roof tiling.

“Thank darkness that the healer came up with another keg of spikes.” The marine reached out and knocked on the side of the crude ladder-pole she had just climbed down. “I never thought so, but you might get your bathhouse and laundry, ser.”

“I thought you wanted the showers,” Nylan joked.

“Choosing between stinking and bathing in ice water isn’t a choice I’d want to make.” Huldran lowered the ladder-pole, and she and Denalle laid it down under the completed roof, then gathered the spikes they had dropped.

Every single spike was valuable, Nylan realized, especially in a low-tech culture where each had to be fashioned by hand. He walked around the tower to the stream, hoping it wouldn’t be too long before he could use the bathhouse.

After washing his hands and face, he walked back around the tower and, as he neared the almost-completed archway from the bathhouse to the tower, he whistled a few notes. What were the words?

“ … an engineer’s work is never done, / not even after the long day’s run …”

He smiled to himself as he opened the door, which no longer scraped the stones-although it had taken Saryn and Selitra most of a morning to plane and carve it back into shape.

“You seem cheerful, Engineer,” said Gerlich. Narliat just bowed.

“The stone-shaping’s coming better, and Huldran’s got the roof in place.”

“Good.” Gerlich offered a quick smile, and he and Narliat turned, leaving Nylan as he closed the north door.

The engineer wondered why neither had looked pleased. Did they want to stink or bathe in freezing water? Or was it because each of Nylan’s accomplishments boosted Ryba’s authority and the satisfaction of the guards with her rule? And it was rule, Nylan knew full well, and there wasn’t that much doubt in Nylan’s mind that Gerlich would rather be the one doing the ruling-or that having Gerlich in charge would be a disaster. Ryba did what had to be done, but Nylan knew it wasn’t always easy for her. Gerlich would end up like every other male tyrant on the planet.

He pulled at his chin, wondering why so many men had to dominate. Then maybe women would be just the same, given the chance. With a shrug, he walked toward the hearth of the great room and the aroma of fresh-baked bread and cooked onions.