“No, I can’t say that I was.” Nylan blotted his forehead with the back of his hand, then shifted his weight on the hard stone floor.
“Then the forces of order have gifted you.” Relyn squatted next to the cradle, his fingers not quite touching the carving of the single tree rising out of the rocky hillside.
“It’s not as good as Istril’s,” Nylan said, nodding toward the momentarily abandoned work.
“She is also one of the gifted silver-heads.” Relyn eased into a sitting position with his back against the wall.
“Are there many in Lornth with silver hair?”
“None, except the very old, and their hair is a white silver, not the silvered silver of the angels.” Relyn tapped the blunt hook that had replaced his right hand against the cut stone of the wall in a series of nervous movements, almost a replacement gesture for tapping fingers or snapping them.
“You look upset,” the engineer observed, lowering his voice, although only Rienadre and Denalle remained on the woodworking side of the lower level, and they were laboringtogether on a chair of some sort across the room, in the area closest to the kitchen space.
Relyn glanced at the other two guards. “It grows warmer. What am I to do? I am not welcome in Lornth. I would have to fight to prove I was no coward.”
“I saw you practicing the other day. The blade looks comfortable in your hand.”
“I hope to learn enough to defend myself with the bad hand.”
Nylan frowned. “Maybe … maybe, we could figure out a clamp or something so that you could fix a knife to the hook. Don’t some fight with a blade and a knife?”
“That … I have not heard of.”
“It’s been done,” Nylan affirmed.
“Since you say it, Mage, that must be so.”
“Wouldn’t that help? Enemies wouldn’t think you were defenseless on your right.”
“Again, you prove you are dangerous.” Relyn frowned. “Could you make such a device?”
“I’ll see what I can do. Let me see your knife, though.”
Relyn eased the knife out and passed it hilt-first to the engineer.
Nylan looked at it for a time before speaking. “I think I can, maybe bend some rod locks so they’ll hold the hilt.” He handed back the knife. “I take it you’d rather not stay in Westwind.”
“I am no mage. Nor am I a mighty and powerful warrior like the hunter. Nor did I handle a blade, even with two hands, as well as the best of these guards. Even those bearing a child work and improve their skills-and with those devil blades you forged?” Relyn shook his head. “Also, I do not trust the marshal. She smiles, but she smiled when she took off my hand.”
“Why are you telling me?”
“I must talk to someone, and I distrust you the least, because you would build rather than destroy.”
“Thanks,” answered Nylan dryly. “I suppose I deserve that.”
Relyn shrugged apologetically.
“Do you think the marshal will have you killed in your sleep or something?” Nylan asked, wishing he had not even as he spoke.
“It is possible. It is possible that lightning might strike me as well. I do not fear either … now.”
“Ah … but you think your welcome might wear thin?”
“There is not that much food, is there?”
“I did bring in that deer, and that means more game might be moving higher into the mountains.”
“That will be true for a time, but only for a time.”
“Where could you go?”
“South, north, east-anywhere but west.” Relyn grinned briefly. “I do not have to decide that until the snows melt, perhaps later.” He paused. “If I should need to depart sooner?”
“I’ll let you know if I know.” Nylan laughed softly. “Sometimes, I’m among the last to discover things.”
“It is often that way when one deals with women.”
“Even in Lornth?”
“Even in Lornth, even as a holder’s son,” Relyn affirmed, as he stood, using the hook to catch the edge of a stone wall block and to help balance him. “Thank you, Ser Mage.” He offered Nylan a head bow before turning and heading for the steps.
Nylan looked down at the cradle. A daughter coming? That was hard to believe as well.
LXX
NYLAN TOOK ONE end of the saw and looked across the halfcubit-thick fir trunk to Huldran. “Ready?” Another trunk lay beside the path, ready for their efforts when they finished cutting and splitting the first.
“Ready as you are, ser.” The broad-shouldered marine grinned.
“I hope,” Nylan grunted as he pulled the blade handle toward him, “you’re a lot more ready than that.”
“Do we really need this wood now?” asked Huldran.
“We could get more storms. Even if we don’t, do you think it will go to waste? After this winter? Besides, we can’t plant now. We’re just about out of wood planking for new fixtures, and there’s only so much equipment for people to hunt. Also, we’ll need wood for the kitchen stove and,” Nylan laughed, “to defrost the bathhouse.”
“You used it more than I did,” pointed out Huldran.
“We probably used it more than about half the guards did together.”
“If we get more guards, they’ll have to use it. You know what standing next to Denalle is like?”
“Do I want to find out?”
Huldran shook her head over the motion of the saw.
“I was afraid you’d say that.”
As they sawed, Gerlich opened the tower door, and he and Narliat walked out across the causeway and leaned their skis against the low wall near the end of the causeway. Gerlich carried his great bow, the second one, since the first had broken, and both bore packs.
“Off hunting?” asked Nylan, without stopping his efforts with the saw.
“We’ll see what we can find,” Gerlich answered. “Now that it’s warmer, and Narliat’s learned to ski better, he can help me pack back whatever we get.” The hunter grinned. “There might even be another one of those big red deer.” The grin faded. “Sometimes, Engineer, sometimes …”
“I’m just an engineer,” Nylan admitted.
“He is also a mage,” added Narliat.
“I know that,” said Gerlich. “He’s the one who doesn’t.” The tall man hoisted his skis. “We need to be off.”
The two carried their skis up the trail toward the top of the ridge.
“That’s a case of white demon leading the white demon,” puffed out Huldran.
“He brings back food.”
“Sometimes … and he’s not shy about letting the whole tower know.”
When Nylan and Huldran finished the first cut, a piece of trunk a little over a cubit in length lay on the stones of the causeway.
“Do we split or keep sawing?” asked Huldran.
“Saw another,” suggested Nylan.
“This is a lot of sawing for a trunk that’s not all that thick.”
“It’s as thick as a single horse can drag. Anything bigger, we’d have to saw where it was felled, and I don’t want to struggle with a saw in chest-deep snow.” Nylan paused, and Huldran staggered.
“Tell me when you’re going to stop,” she said.
“Sorry.” Nylan tried to catch his breath, grateful that the air was no longer cold enough to bite into his lungs.
“Ready?” asked Huldran after several moments. “Let’s forget about splitting until we get this thing cut.”
They resumed sawing, even as Fierral marched out with nearly a squad of guards. All of them went up to the stable, and brought back three mounts, on which were strapped the other crosscut saw, and two of the four axes.
“More wood?” asked Nylan, pausing with the saw, then adding, too late, to Huldran, “I’m stopping.”
Huldran stumbled back several steps, and barely kept from toppling into the deeper snow only by grabbing onto Rienadre.
“I’m sorry, Huldran.”
“Ser … please?”
Fierral shook her head. “There’s not much else we can do right now. So we’ll cut and trim as much as we can. We’ll leave the smaller limbs in cut lengths for later in the year when we can bring them back with the cart, and we’ll drag back the trunks. Saryn thinks we should set aside more and more to start seasoning so that we’ll have a supply for making planks.”