“Only four. Imagine that.”
“Don’t push it, Gerlich,” Nylan said quietly. “I haven’t seen too much game lately, and you don’t offer much besides that.”
“Game is scarce.” Gerlich eased away to the other side of the cart, frankly appraising the three women. Relyn stood beside Cessya, an ironic smile on his face, his semihook resting on his belt.
Nylan still had to make and deliver the clamp for the one-armed man-another area where he’d fallen short, but he didn’t have the smithy working.
With the sound of hoofs on the short stretch of pavement heading up toward the stables, the engineer turned. Ryba sat easily on the roan, though Nylan knew riding was slightly painful, but not so painful as their uneasy peace, a peace held together by separated couches, necessity … and Dyliess.
All four women turned to Ryba as well, the tallest shivering enough that her discomfiture was obvious to all the guards gathered round.
Ryba reined up, but did not dismount. “So you wish to join the guard of Westwind?”
“If it pleases you, Angel,” answered the dark-haired woman, the shortest of the group.
“That’s Ydrall,” whispered Ayrlyn. “She even had her family’s permission, and brought a few things we could use-needles, a few silvers … and some dried fruit fromtheir trees-pearapples, they’re called. She rides well and can use a blade.”
“I’m no angel. I’m the marshal of Westwind. If you choose to remain here, you will have to fight for it. It appears half the men in Candar would wish to beat you down and to tear down our tower stone by stone. Are you willing to fight them, even if they are cousins?” Ryba’s voice was hard. “If one is your sister’s consort?” Ryba straightened in the saddle. “If you are that determined, you may share what we have, and we will teach you the way of the blade and bow.”
The four nodded, and several quietly said, “Yes.”
Ryba’s eyes turned to Gerlich for a moment, then passed to Fierral. “Will you make the arrangements, guard leader?”
“Yes, Marshal.” Fierral turned to the four. “Bring your gear, your things, with me, and we’ll find you space on the third level …”
As Ryba turned her mount back up toward the stables, and as the four left following Fierral, Nylan remarked, “Too many more, and we’ll have to start making bunks and mattresses or pallets.”
“We’d better start now,” answered the healer. “I’ve avoided any large towns, places where there would be armsmen, but everywhere I’ve been, there are women ready to leave. There aren’t too many in any one place, but …”
“I’m glad you avoided the armsmen. It has to be getting more dangerous.” Nylan added quickly, “What do we make mattresses from?”
“I tried not to be too obvious … and thank you for saying that you care.” Ayrlyn smiled as Nylan swallowed, then said, “Grasses might do for mattress filling, if they’re dried well and thoroughly debugged, but we don’t have that much cloth to cover them, or sew them.”
“I wouldn’t sew them all the way,” suggested Nylan. “Leave an end open so it could be folded shut. That way-”
“That makes sense. We could tuck dried flowers in there. They might help.” Ayrlyn glanced at Cessya. “We need to finish unloading the cart.”
Nylan shifted his weight from one sore foot to the other. “I’ve got more brickwork to do, and I need to raid a lander lock. Maybe I’ll do that first.”
“A lander lock?” asked Ayrlyn.
“Something I promised for Relyn.”
“That’s something I like about you, Nylan, another thing,” Ayrlyn said before turning to Cessya. “You keep your promises.”
A small face peered out the window from the great room, and Nylan waved to Niera. Was she helping with the infants? Or just keeping their mothers company or running errands?
Niera gave the smallest of waves, then ducked back from the window. Nylan crossed the causeway and headed inside.
After reclaiming a tool kit from the fifth level of the tower, Nylan trudged uphill to the lander used for grass storage. “I promised him eight-days ago, longer.” He shook his head.
The lander door was ajar, as always, since the lock mechanism had been disconnected and the lock plates removed, and most of the guards didn’t bother using the sliding bolt that had replaced the automated system.
After removing three access plates, and sneezing intermittently the whole time from the hay and grass dust that rose every time he moved his boots, he found something that might work-more like an inside lock-plate shim with large screw holes at each end. If he could bend a control arm. That meant removing another access plate and disconnecting the other end of the rod.
Nylan was sweating, his tattered work shirt soaked through, by the time he had all the miscellaneous parts he needed-or thought he needed. But he smiled as he carried them, and the tools, back to the smithy where Cessya greeted him.
“Now that we stowed the trading goods, the healer said I’m supposed to make myself useful, ser,” she announced, “and I’ve got no interest in pulling weeds or sawing timbers. What do you need?”
“More mortar.” Nylan grinned. “Are you sure you want to make yourself useful here?”
“Grinding that lava rock for mortar is better than grubbing through the mud or having that fir sap fall all over you. The rock dust washes off. Besides, what you do lasts, and I can say that I helped do it.”
“Well … I appreciate that honesty. We’ll all learn, you and Huldran and I, how to build and operate a smithy.”
“Sounds good. I’ll be back in a bit. I need to get those mallets and a bucket of water.” Cessya inclined her head and was gone.
Nylan set the tools and parts in the corner. Because he needed some of the cruder and heavier tools in the lower level of the tower, he’d start work on Relyn’s knife-holdergrip after the midday meal, hoping he wouldn’t need to actually forge it, but just bend metal.
He looked around the unfinished smithy. With Cessya’s help, it might not be that long before they had the building and the forge done. The charcoal was another story, and trying to forge metal was going to be a disaster.
“A smith, yet? Probably not …” He shook his head, then began to carry in bricks.
LXXXVI
NYLAN STUDIED THE completed rear wall of the would-be smithy, and took a deep breath. He was getting tired of the building that seemed endless. His eyes flicked to the high puffy clouds. Would it never end?
His mother had been right, though. No one else cared about his troubles, except Ayrlyn. He smiled, tentatively, then blanked his face at the sound of boots on the road.
“How soon will you have this forge operating?” asked Fierral as she stepped within the uncompleted walls.
Nylan glanced around the area, trying to estimate. “Awhile,” he finally said. “Only have half the walls done. The forge itself …” He shook his head.
The guard leader frowned.
“Why?”
“We don’t have that long. We’re reaching the limits of the blades you forged. We’ve never had enough of those bows. And we’re getting more and more women showing up. They don’t have the training the best locals do. Most of us don’t, but we’re getting there.” Fierral ran her hand through her short-cropped fire-red hair. “What gives us a chance is your weapons.”
“But you need more?” asked the engineer.
“We need more of everything. Arrowheads first. Frigging Gerlich-he took off hunting this morning with a good fifty shafts. Showed how few we have left.”
Nylan pursed his lips. Gerlich, again. Now what was the man up to?
“Ser …” Fierral asked quietly. “Do you really need a smithy built like the tower? We just can’t wait for that. The locals won’t.”
Nylan looked around again. “I can put together a forge of some sort in the next few days-I have to have that-and develop a bellows of some sort. And you’ll have to help me make charcoal. You can’t smith without coal or charcoal.”
“Whatever it takes, ser.” Fierral’s eyes drifted to the practice yard below the front of the tower. “I’m just a guard leader. I’ll never be that much more, not like you or the marshal. But the guards, all of the women, they need the weapons.”