Fall of Angels (32 page)

  
When he returned, the three were back at their stonework. Nylan extracted the woven bowstring from his pocket and tried to string the first bow. It took him three tries, probably because his arms were still aching.

  
Then he had to go back into the tower and find some arrows. Instead, he found Gerlich off the main hall.

  
"Are you ready to test the bow?" asked the engineer. "We'll need arrows and a target."

  
"Sure. Why not? I've got an area where I've been practicing at the south end of the meadow, near those scattered firs. We'll see what your toy will do, compared to the wooden one I worked out." Gerlich grinned, but the grin made Nylan uneasy.

  
The two walked back to the north tower yard, Gerlich with his own bow and quiver. The western wind felt good as it ruffled through Nylan's hair, and the engineer realized he was still hot. He handed the composite bow to Gerlich.

  
"Hmmm ... a little heavy, and probably too short."

  
Nylan looked at the curves. "Too short?"

  
"Well, Relyn says that a proper bow should be chin high, about three and a half cubits local."

  
Nylan shrugged. His bows were not quite chest high, but, easier, he suspected, to carry on horseback.

  
"Let's see about the draw." Gerlich took the bow and mock-nocked an arrow. "Stiffer than it looks, but probably not strong enough for the average armsman." He grinned again. "Then, there's accuracy. Let's go and see."

  
Nylan followed the long-legged former weapons officer across the meadow to the half-dozen scattered firs. Circular targets on ropes dangled from the limbs.

  
"Those just twist and flap unless you hit them square and hard," said Gerlich. "Good training."

  
The engineer watched as Gerlich took a long arrow from the quiver, nocked it, and released the shaft.

  
The shaft clunked against one of the targets, spinning it, but the shaft did not hold and angled to the ground. Gerlich released two more shafts. The same thing happened twice more.

  
He handed the bow back to Nylan. "What you've got is accurate; it's easy to carry; and it's probably all right for hunting. I'd like something with more power, and I think most of the locals would also. It's good, but not in the class of your blades."

  
Gerlich lifted and strung the big bow, then sent a shaft whistling toward the target. Thunk! The target swung in the light breeze, but the shaft held in place. "See the difference?"

  
Nylan nodded politely. One difference he had noted was that Gerlich had not drawn the composite bow to its full capability.

  
"I'll stick to my own bow and my toothpick, if you don't mind. Smaller weapons are fine for marines." Gerlich paused. "Is that all, Engineer?"

  
"That's all."

  
"I need to see about some game to fill the pots." Gerlich walked toward the trees, reclaiming the arrows and checking them, and resetting the targets. Then he raised an arm and walked briskly toward the canyon corral.

  
Nylan followed more slowly, wondering about both the bow and Gerlich. Why had Gerlich not drawn the bow fully? Was he worried that the metal might splinter? Nylan would never have given him a bow that he thought would fail.

  
"Is that your new bow?" Istril rode up to Nylan as he neared the causeway. "Could I try it?"

  
Nylan shrugged and handed it to her. "Gerlich wasn't impressed. He said it wasn't strong enough."

  
Istril laughed. "Brute strength isn't everything." She tried the draw. "It seems as heavy as his." She looked at Nylan. "We've got a target range up near the corral canyon. Do you want to see how it works?"

  
Nylan glanced to the west, where the sun hung just above the peaks. He wasn't going to get much more done before supper anyway. "All right."

  
"Climb up behind me," invited the marine. "Benja can carry double for a short ways, and it's faster."

  
"You're sure?"

  
"I'm sure."

  
Nylan clambered up awkwardly behind the slim marine.

  
"You're going to have to put an arm around me, ser, or you'll get bounced off after four steps."

  
Nylan flushed, but complied, and Istril flicked the reins. Nylan still bounced, but Istril seemed welded to her saddle, able even to open and close the crude gate without dismounting. When they reached the corral area, Nylan slid down gratefully into the shadows. "Thank you. I think I do better in the saddle than behind it."

  
"Most people do, ser." Istril slid down and unsaddled Benja. "You won't mind if I rub her down?"

  
"Of course not." As she worked on her mount, Nylan walked up the canyon to where he had cut the stone. The brickwork for the stables was almost finished, and rough fir timbers were stacked beside the walls. He ducked through what would be the door and studied the interior.

  
The rafters wouldn't be that far above his head, but the horses would have shelter at least. He walked outside. Braaawwwk. . . awwwkkkk . . . awwkk. From the smaller and more crudely bricked space where Nylan had tried to quarry more stones, before finding the rock fractured, came the sound-and the definite odor-of chickens.

  
Nylan turned and headed downhill. Istril had just patted Benja on the flank, and the mare whuffed, then walked to the water trough.

  
"The targets are up there, on that side." Istril strode briskly uphill, and Nylan followed, marveling that the slender guard had so much energy so late in the day. She paused. "There they are."

  
Three man-shaped figures-sculpted from what seemed to be twisted fir limbs-stood before a backdrop of gray that flowed from the canyon wall.

  
"The gray stuff behind them is sand and dirt. No sense in blunting arrowheads." Istril nocked a shaft with a fluid motion and released it.

  
Whunk! The shaft vibrated in the target, right where an armsman's heart would have been. "Nice!" she exclaimed. "Gerlich said it wasn't strong enough."

  
"Friggin' idiot. Beggin' your pardon, ser, but he is." Istril nocked and released a second shaft, which appeared beside the first. "Sweet weapon, ser, and there's plenty of pull here.

  
I'll show you. Might cost me a shaft, but we might as well find out."

  
The marine walked toward the target on the far right. When she reached it, she bent down and pulled a battered breastplate from behind the target, fastening it in place. Then she walked back to Nylan.

  
"We'll see how it does against the local armor."

  
"Can you spare a shaft?"

  
"I'd rather lose a shaft than my neck." Istril laughed, a warm sound. "It's better to find out now instead of in a fight." She set her feet, nocked a third shaft, and let it fly.

  
A dull clunk followed the impact, but the shaft slammed through the metal and held. At the sound, Benja barely looked up from where she chewed off a few clumps of mostly brown grass.

  
"I don't know what the big idiot's talking about." Istril shook her head. "This is smaller than his monster. It's easier to carry. It aims better, and it goes through armor. What else do you need?"

  
"The reputation for carrying the biggest bow and blade?" suggested Nylan.

  
Istril laughed again. Then her face cleared. "This is a killer weapon, ser. Any of the marines-I guess we're guards, now-any of us would carry this over anything else I've seen or used. Do you have any more?"

  
"Five others, but I don't have strings for them."

  
"Five? That's a good start."

  
"I don't know how long the laser will last," Nylan explained, "and I didn't want to make any more unless they were good."

  
"Good? With this and your blades, the locals won't stand a chance."

  
"Please don't humor me, Istril," Nylan asked.

  
"I'm not humoring you, ser. I wouldn't do that. We're talking our necks and lives."

  
"I didn't mean-"

  
"I know." Istril extended the bow.

  
"You can keep it. I wouldn't have the faintest idea of how to use it."

  
The faint sound of the triangle gong announced the evening meal.

  
"Thank you, ser. We'd better be headed down."

  
They walked in silence down to the tower, ducking through the fence poles and following the path to the causeway.

  
"Bread smells good," said Istril as Nylan swung open the heavy front door to the tower.

  
"Kyseen does that well."

  
"I think Kadran's been helping since her shoulder was torn up."

  
"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.