Fall of Angels

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “So sorry, ser.” She grinned.

  “All right,” Nylan mumbled. “Next time I’ll remember.”

  “What was all that about?” asked Kadran.

  “Nothing,” answered Nylan. “What are you serving?”

  “Venison, your leftover venison, spiced with pine tips, a few not quite moldy potatoes, and a handful of softened pine nuts. The bread is more bitter than ever, but the healer says it’s edible.”

  “It’s better than starving.”

  “Not much,” commented Berlis, as she followed Denalle and Rienadre into the tower.

  Fierral, Selitra, and Weindre did not go inside, but led the horses back up to the stables.

  “More wood will help,” said the cook. “When will you have some split?”

  “Mid-afternoon,” Nylan guessed.

  “I’ll send Hryessa and Murkassa out for it. They can take that kind of cold.” Kadran paused. “It’s not really that cold anymore, but they think it is. Flatlanders!” She snorted.

  “You can tell she’s from the Purgatory Mountains,” said Huldran as Kadran left. “Let’s finish the last cut before we eat. Fierral and the others will take that long to get the horses settled anyway. Then we can try splitting what we’ve sawed when we get back.”

  Nylan took up his end of the saw once more.

  After the midday meal, Nylan picked up one of the axes and looked at the sections of trunk. “I don’t know.”

  He lifted the axe and brought it down. The axe head buried itself in the wood, which creaked, but did not split. He lifted the axe, and the wood came with it. So he brought wood and axe down on the frozen ground together. It took him two more attempts before the circular chunk of wood split into two unequal sections.

  “I think sawing is easier.” Nylan panted as he half leaned on the axe handle.

  “Let me try.”

  “Be my guest.” Nylan handed the axe to Huldran.

  Her first attempt also stuck in the larger log section, but the second effort split that section in two. “Only took me two.” The blond guard smiled at Nylan. “Splitting’s easier.”

  “You were working on a smaller section. Try one of the big ones.”

  Huldran shrugged and lifted the axe again. It took her two attempts to split the log chunk. “It’s tough. Maybe we don’t have the technique.”

  “Green wood is harder, I think.”

  They alternated efforts, slowly improving, until they had reduced the sawed sections into chunks of stove and furnace wood. The guards who passed the wood-splitting avoided commenting after a quick look at Nylan’s face.

  About mid-afternoon, as promised by Kadran, Hryessa and Murkassa peered out from the tower door, some time after Nylan and Huldran had returned to sawing another green fir trunk.

  “We’ve got plenty there for you,” said the engineer.

  Hryessa stepped out quickly, then stopped by the pile of split wood, looking at the open jackets and the two sweating figures. Her breath formed a faint white cloud as she spoke. “It’s still cold here. It is not as bad as before, but…” She shrugged. “Yet you are hot.”

  “It’s so cold up here that you’d think the lowlanders would leave us alone, wouldn’t you?” asked Huldran, not stopping her sawing.

  Nylan just kept moving his end of the saw.

  Murkassa, stooping to fill her arms with split wood, shook her head sadly. “They are men.”

  “It is sad, in a way,” added Hryessa, as she struggled back into the tower, leaving Huldran and Nylan to their sawing.

  “I’m not sure it’s sad being a man,” Nylan puffed as he kept the blade moving.

  “It is if you’re as hidebound as the locals are.”

  “The women have it much worse.”

  “For now,” pointed out Huldran.

  “Point taken,” Nylan said. “Let’s take a break.” As he slowed the saw, he glanced to the west where the sun hung just above the Westhorns.

  The tower door opened, and Murkassa and Hryessa trooped out again, this time accompanied by Jaseen and Kadran.

  “They said you had a lot of wood here,” explained Jaseen, glancing over the pile. “You two make a good team.”

  “True,” said Huldran. “I don’t like taking breaks, and he won’t quit until the job’s done.”

  “I need something to drink,” Nylan told Huldran. She nodded, and he walked into the tower and then out through the north door and through the archway, where most of the ice had slowly melted, leaving the split stone floor perpetually damp. He made his way to the laundry area where both tubs, full of clothes and chill water, stood with no one nearby. Nylan held out a hand toward the stove. It was warm.

  He shrugged. With little soap, soaking helped. He wondered if some of the recently cut and split wood had found its way into the bathhouse warming stove. Why not, now?

  The water was beginning to flow more regularly, and Nylan drank from the laundry tap, trying not to spill too much on the floor, then used the jakes. As he walked back, he passed Siret, carrying Kyalynn, as he started through the north tower door.

  “You have the laundry detail?” he asked.

  “Yes, ser. It’s better that way now that I’m so far along. I still do my blade practice and exercises, though.”

  Nylan shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. Letting the water warm to room temperature probably helps get things cleaner, too.”

  “I hadn’t planned it that way…”

  “Don’t tell anyone.” With a grin, Nylan held the door, then closed it after them.

  “You took long enough,” said Huldran.

  “Some things take a little time.” He took up his end of the saw, looking at the third or so of the trunk that remained to be cut.

  Before they finished cutting two more lengths, the kitchen crew had carted off all the split wood, and Nylan had asked Jaseen to carry one armful out to the bathhouse stove.

  “You might get cleaner clothes that way… also warmer wash water,” he told the medtech. Except she’s more like a healer now. No medtechs on the Roof of the World, he thought.

  “Sounds like a good idea.” Jaseen winked at him.

  Nylan ignored the wink, wondering why she had offered the gesture, and kept sawing. After they finished sawing their fifth trunk, with the sun starting to drop behind the western peaks, they began splitting.

  Whheeeee… eeeee…

  At the sound of horses, Nylan glanced uphill. Fierral led the three horses over the ridge, each dragging two mid-sized trunks.

  Huldran and Nylan looked at each other, then at the three trunks piled by the trail road.

  “We’re never going to gel caught up.”

  “Just think of it this way. We’re working on next winter. So we can burn wood all winter long and be warm,” said Nylan. “And have warm showers and water that’s only cold, not liquid ice.”

  “It does sound better when you put it that way.” Huldran picked up the axe again and split a half-trunk section into quarters, then the larger quarter in half, before handing the axe back to Nylan.

  “You’re going to be stiff, Engineer,” laughed Fierral as the logging crew stacked six more long trunks beside the trail path.

  “Since you’re done for the day,” grunted Nylan, splitting another section, “let Huldran have the other axe so we can finish this. Then, your people can take down the split wood when they go in.”

  Fierral unstrapped the axe, and Huldran took it.

  Denalle, winding up one of the hauling ropes, groaned.

  “You want to do what the engineer’s doing?” asked Fierral.

  “Been doing it all day…” mumbled Rienadre.

  “You got breaks. There were six of us.” Fierral raised her voice. “Denalle, Rienadre, and Berlis-you don’t have to climb to the stable, but you get to cart in wood. Selitra, Weindre, and I will stable and rub down the horses.”

  Several groans echoed around the causeway.

  “You want to be warm-you cart wood.”


  Fierral, Selitra, and Weindre started up the shadowed snow trail to the stables with the horses. The other three guards carried sets of skis into the tower, then straggled back across the causeway to stack wood in their arms.

  Huldran held her axe for a moment and looked at Nylan. They both grinned. Then, Nylan set down his axe and massaged his right shoulder with his gloved left hand.

  “I’m already sore, and there’s two days’ work stacked behind us.”

  “We want to be warm next winter. Someone told me that,” returned the stocky blond guard.

  Nylan looked at the four cut, but unsplit, trunk sections. “There aren’t too many left here.”

  “Here comes Gerlich,” said Huldran, “but I don’t see Narliat.”

  “Maybe he’s following the great hunter.”

  “Maybe… except he always likes to get to the food first.” Huldran brought the axe down again.

  Nylan followed her example, and by the time Gerlich dragged his bundle up to the causeway, they were cleaning the axes. Rienadre was stacking another armful of wood, but the other guards had not returned for their third load.

  “Where’s Narliat?” asked Huldran.

  “Gone,” answered Gerlich. “I was trying to pack this boar-thing up the slope, and when I stopped, he was gone.” The hunter gestured to the dead boar. “This is heavy. Maybe not quite as heavy as a red deer, but there’s a lot of meat there.”

  Again, Nylan could sense the wrongness about Gerlich’s words, and he instinctively looked for Ayrlyn, but the healer was nowhere around, not that she had any reason to be out in the twilight and cold.

  “It does look like a lot,” Nylan temporized.

  “Sneaky little bastard, anyway,” said Rienadre as she staggered away under a load of wood.

  “He was born here, not on Heaven,” said Gerlich, setting his skis against the wall by the door. “I’m going to get Saryn, to see if she can help me butcher this.”

  As he went inside, Kadran came out to ring the triangle. She looked toward the carcass. “The hunter’s back. What’s that?”

  “Gerlich brought back a boar,” answered Huldran. “Of course, he lost Narliat along the way.”

  “Why does this happen to us?” asked the cook. “We’ve got a thin soup and barely enough bread, and he brings in a juicy boar, and everyone’s going to complain and ask why we’ve got soup.” She rang the triangle.

  “We’re coming!” called Fierral.

  Saryn and Ayrlyn followed Gerlich across the causeway, Saryn bearing the tripod and the hooks. Gerlich hoisted the carcass into place after Saryn set the tripod into the packed snow of the trail beyond the end of the causeway stones.

  “We’ll gut this and rough-cut it now,” said Saryn, “and stack the sections in the archway by the north door. That’s plenty cold. Then Kyseen and Kadran can figure out what to cook and when later tonight or in the morning.”

  “Fine,” said Gerlich. “Fine.”

  “Another good meal,” offered Weindre as she, Selitra, and Fierral passed the tripod.

  “Not tonight,” said Ayrlyn. “Tomorrow.”

  Selitra nodded to Gerlich, but the hunter did not return the gesture.

  “Let’s take some wood.” Fierral looked at the remaining split sections.

  “Trust Denalle to leave some,” muttered Weindre, bending to scoop lengths into her arms.

  “There’s not that much left,” said Fierral.

  “I’ll take a load, too,” said Nylan. “That should do it.”

  “I’ll rack the axes,” offered Huldran.

  “Thanks.” Nylan followed the guards down to the lower level and into the far kitchen corner, and the makeshift wood bins there.

  “See!” snapped Kyseen, stirring a kettle. “Even the engineer carts wood.”

  Nylan nodded after dumping his armload and trudged to the bathhouse to wash up. The wash tubs were empty, and tilted to dry. He supposed the clothes were hanging on lines around the tower, on one side of the fifth level, usually.

  Fierral stood in one shower stall, using the tap to rinse her face and hands. In another was Selitra, stripped to the waist. Nylan passed and quickly looked away.

  He used the tap valve in the laundry area to wash his hands and face, blotting the chill water from his face with his hands, and shaking the water off his hands in turn.

  “Still better than trying to find the stream.” Fierral laughed as she joined him in walking back to the great room.

  “That’s true. I hope we can get enough wood to keep the place warmer next winter.”

  “That would be nice.”

  Nylan slipped into his spot on the bench before Ryba or Gerlich had arrived. For a moment, he just sat, his head in his hands, realizing just how tired he was, and how sore he was going to be-and there were days more of wood sawing and splitting to come! Maybe it would improve his muscular condition, but would he survive it?

  Ayrlyn sat down across from him. Neither spoke for a time, until Nylan finally lifted his head.

  “Hard day?” Ayrlyn asked.

  “Yes. I wasn’t built to be a lumberjack.”

  “Thin soup, again,” said Ayrlyn. “They won’t like it.”

  Kadran’s and Ayrlyn’s prediction seemed fulfilled. As the seats filled, Nylan listened.

  “… thin soup, and there’s a big pig carcass in the back archway…”

  “… always hold out a good meal for tomorrow when we get crap today…”

  “Why do the hunters always bring the good stuff in late?”

  Holding Dephnay in a half pack, Ellysia sat at the second table, beside Siret and Kyalynn. Siret cradled Kyalynn in her arms. Dephnay kept squirming until Ellysia put the child up to her shoulder and patted her back.

  Istril sat down heavily across from Siret and beside Hryessa, and then Ryba walked past the two mothers and eased herself into her chair. “I see Gerlich isn’t here.”

  “Not yet.”

  “He’s washing,” added Ayrlyn.

  Ryba waited until Gerlich sat down. “I understand that Narliat left,” she said evenly.

  Gerlich turned to face the marshal. “I was pulling the carcass up the hill. When I looked back he was gone.”

  “Just like that?”

  “That boar was heavy, and I didn’t have enough rope for both of us.”

  “Did Narliat say anything before he left?” Ryba nodded to Ayrlyn.

  “No. He talked about how he’d never be an armsman again, but he’s said that a number of times.” Gerlich took a short swallow of tea from his mug.

  Again, Nylan could sense the whiteness, the partial wrongness surrounding the hunter’s answers.

  Kyseen set one of the heavy caldrons on the table, then used the ladle to fill Ryba’s bowl/trencher. Kadran followed with the baskets of bread.

  “Did he say anything else?” Ryba asked.

  “Nothing special.”

  “Where do you think he went?”

  “I don’t know. He was headed west, I think, but he could have doubled back or turned north or south.”

  “He won’t go south, not far,” said Ayrlyn. “Straight south is just more mountains. Southwest leads to the local equivalent of the hottest demons’ hell. It’s a place called the Grass Hills, except there’s not much grass, they say.”

  “West or north, then,” observed Ryba with a nod. “And that means the locals will know more about us. Well… they would sooner or later.” She paused, then added, “I’m glad you were able to bring back that boar.”

  “My pleasure, Ryba. My pleasure.”

  Nylan and Ayrlyn exchanged glances, and Ryba shook her head.

  Gerlich frowned.

  “We’ll have solid meals tomorrow,” Ryba added. “Might I have some bread?”

  Nylan passed her the basket. The soup was more tasty than many previous efforts, and hot, for which he was grateful. The bread was bitter, but the bitterness didn’t bother him. His shoulders were tight and ached, and while the tea helped, i
t didn’t help enough.

  Later, after a meal of small talk and speculation about how soon the snow would really melt, Nylan dragged himself up to the top level, following Ryba.

  He sat on the end of the couch. “Gerlich isn’t telling everything.”

  “He’s lying,” Ryba said tiredly, shifting her weight on the couch. “I didn’t need you and Ayrlyn to tell me that. He’s lied from the beginning.”

  “Are you going to let him keep doing this? You killed Mran.”

  “Gerlich hasn’t openly defied me, or you, or anyone. We know he’s lying, but knowing and proving it aren’t the same thing.” Ryba eased her legs into another position. “I hate this. Now my legs get swollen all the time. I’m already regarded as a tyrant by some, and I can’t throw him out or kill him until he gives some obvious reason. He won’t, though, because he can’t stand the hot weather below, and that makes it even worse. He wants to be marshal, and he’s plotting to replace me.”

  “How? No one likes him, except maybe Selitra.”

  “Who said anything about liking him? He’s using Narliat, I’m sure, although I can’t see it clearly, to try to find some local backing.”

  “Local backing?”

  Ryba laughed harshly. “Gerlich is a man. He can make the argument that the locals can’t take Westwind, but they can ensure that one of their kind-a good old boy-runs it. He’ll try to join the local gentry, or whatever passes for it… and, if we’re not careful, he could.”

  “What about your… visions?”

  “They show Westwind surviving. But it could survive under Gerlich’s descendants as well.” Ryba took a deep breath and shifted position again. “I hate this.”

  Nylan frowned. Like Gerlich, Ryba wasn’t telling the whole story. Then again, were any of them telling the whole story? He licked his lips.

  “We need some rest.” Ryba leaned over and blew out the small candle, then stripped off her leathers and eased into her tentlike nightgown.

  Nylan undressed in the dark.

  LXXI

  NYLAN SET THE cradle-pale wood glistening in the indirect light that filtered through the single armaglass window of the tower’s top level-where Ryba would see it.