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man, and he brushed back a lock of sweat-stained hair.
Not this time.
Sias shook his head. I thought you angels& Nylan paused. Sias& we re not
gods. We re people, and the Cyadorans have about twentyscore troops marching
this way. If I got lucky and wanted to commit suicide, maybe I could stop a
dozen-individuals, not scores. How many could you stop?
The armsman/apprentice looked down at the dusty clay. & hoped&
We re not giving up, damn it! In a couple of days, we ll be back killing
Cyadorans. Unfortunately. Now, let s get this packed up so that we have the
gear to keep giving them fits.
He glanced toward the dwelling where Sylenia stood, Weryl in her arms. Her
entire body posture reflected concern and confusion. I ll be right back. I
need to get Sylenia moving, too. Start with the anvil and the tools&
LXXIII
NYLAN LOOKED DOWN at the line of bricks and stone. This time his makeshift
smithy was in the remnants of a chicken coop- but he needed some sort of roof
as protection from a sun that kept getting hotter with each passing day. His
eyes went to the tile-roofed and heavy-walled house that quartered two
subofficers, the regent, two angels, and a nursemaid, and child. The thick
walls kept the dwelling from getting more than hot enough to roast meat during
the day, but the place was dark and smelled moldy, although how any place that
warm could smell moldy was beyond the smith s knowledge.
Syskar was a few kays farther from the mines than Kula had been, and ten
kays farther west, and ten kays more distant from Lornth. The hamlet was
smaller even than Kula, and the stream was a mere trickle that barely sufficed
for the more than a hundred horses. Nylan snorted. More like a hundred and
several score. Before long, the way things were going with the captured
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mounts, they might have spare mounts for every Lornian.
In the afternoon heat, half the squad sat under the eastern eaves of the
long roof of what had been the winter sheep barn. It was too hot in the still
air to rest inside the heavy planked walls. Ayrlyn had the other half with
her, scouting the area, and seeing where watchposts should be established.
The sound of hoofs broke the hot stillness as Sias drove the team toward
the holding. The wagon shuddered to a stop less than ten cubits from the
chicken house smithy, and a black-faced Sias set the brake, then clambered
down. The one thing that Syskar did have was a small seam of coal, almost
played out, but with enough to feed Nylan s forge-once Sias chipped the dark
rock away from the walls of the near-abandoned pit trench.
There should be enough for an eight-day, ser.
You don t know how fast a forge can go through coal.
The lanky armsman slowly shook his head.
Let s get it unloaded. Then you can take care of the horses.
After the two shoveled the rough chunks of coal into a pile, and Sias led
the team toward the corral, Nylan stepped toward the forge and looked at the
short heap of white-bronze blades. He needed a closed container first-the
tubing would come later.
The white-bronze blades held some order, like his own dark iron
blades-something he had not anticipated, not after sensing the whitish chaos
that seemed to mist around the Cyadoran forces. After studying the top blade,
turning it, and letting his perceptions range across and through it, he set it
back on the pile, and took his own blade from the scabbard hung in the corner,
and gave it the same scrutiny.
He frowned. There was definitely whiteness within his blade, almost as
though he had inadvertently wrapped order around chaos to bind it-but he had
never even thought about that, not before the tree dreams and his binding
order with chaos in healing Nesslek. Finally, he replaced the blade.
Speculations weren t going to solve his technical problems.
By the time the cookfires had added smoke and grit to the dusty air, as
well as the odor of burned fat and strong mutton, and the chime had rung,
Nylan had little more than two sheets, of bronze-or was it brass? No, brass
was softer, he thought, and used zinc as an alloy.
Let s bank it, he told Sias. Enough for tonight. The bronze is harder to
work, and& never mind.
Harder?
You have to be more gentle. I punched through more than once, and you saw
the problems that caused. The smith racked the tools. Once he was satisfied
the smithy was as neat as possible and the coals were safely banked, he headed
for the well. He needed to wash up-badly-before he ate.
The evening meal was as strong as the odors had suggested, and eating
around the battered trestle table in the dwelling with Fornal, Lewa, and
Tonsar-none of whom placed bathing high on the list of daily rituals-didn t
help the offenses to Nylan s olfactory system. Nor to Ayrlyn s. She excused
herself even before Nylan, and Fornal only grunted.
After forcing himself to eat and finishing what he could, Nylan escaped the
hot table in the main room of the dwelling by following Ayrlyn s example and
heading for the shadowed front stoop on the north side of the structure.
He paused in the doorway, listerling to Sylenia and Ayrlyn singing.
Oh, Nylan was a mage, and a mighty smith was he.
With rock from the heights and a lightning blade built he&
The smith held in a groan and stepped out onto the stoop, keeping a smile
on his face, mainly for Weryl, since Ayrlyn wasn t deceived by such.
Ayrlyn continued to strum the lutar, but her eyes smiled as she wound up
the song. Then she turned to Sylenia. You need time to yourself, whatever&
but don t believe everything that Tonsar says.
The nursemaid flushed.
Nylan scooped up his silver-haired son and hugged him, just holding him for
a long time, until Weryl began to squirm.
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All right& all right. Nylan sat down in the shade on the fired mud tiles
of the stoop, setting Weryl so that the boy stood between his knees.
Enyah& Weryl jabbed a hand toward the black-haired nursemaid as she
walked through the long shadows that presaged twilight toward the well, toward
the long and low former sheep shed that served as the barracks for all the
armsmen. Enyah.
That s Sylenia. She s good to you. And good to us.
Does it bother you? asked Ayrlyn from where she sat propped up beside the
door Nylan had rehung with a crude . strap hinge he had forged.
That he s taken to her? Nylan shrugged. I don t know. If he d stayed
with Zeldyan, he d be fond of her, too. It s better this way in some ways-but
he s had rashes, and sunburn, and that insect bite. It s a good thing you re a
healer.
You ve healed as many minor injuries as I have. More probably. Ayrlyn
offered a faint smile. Why don t you think of yourself as a healer? Does
identifying yourself as a smith and engineer mean you can t be a healer?
The silver-haired angel rubbed a stubbly chin, extending an arm that Weryl
promptly grabbed.
Daaa!
Nylan smiled at his son.
Well? prodded the redhead gently. Why don t you want to think of
yourself as a healer?
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