Modesitt, L.E. - The Saga of Recluce 07 - The Chaos Balance by Modesitt L.E

Author:Modesitt, L.E.
Language: eng
Format: epub

Book of Ayrlyn

Section I

(Restricted Text)

LXXVI

NYLAN PATTED THE mare's neck, easing her into a wide turn, and rode slowly back toward the south end of Jirec, trying to see the approach to the abandoned hamlet as the Cyadorans might, On the right side of the road were the remnants of a long animal shed, the west end collapsed, so that the ruins looked like an earthen ramp. Beyond the sod-roofed shed were the blackened walls of a dwelling that had been fired by the Cyadoran sweep of the hamlet eight-days earlier.

Thin plumes of gray smoke-cookfires for the "Lornian camp"-rose from the far end of the rough oval of dwellings that clustered around the seasonal and now dried-up watercourse.

If Kula and Syskar were ovens, Nylan reflected, Jirec was an antique blast furnace where a low wind carried gray grit everywhere, pitting building walls and removing all color, roughing exposed skin and faces, irritating already over-stressed eyes, shortening tempers, and turning every scrap of food into something resembling internal sandpaper.

He blinked, trying to let his tears dislodge another fragment of wind-blown grit, as he rode slowly along the rutted way until he neared the small olive grove where eight armsmen- and Ayrlyn-labored.

"I am not a laborer," said Fuera, under his breath, looking up from the thigh-deep trench, then looking away from Ayrlyn, whose eyes flashed.

Nylan turned in the saddle. "Ayrlyn didn't want to hear your complaints, Fuera, and now you're bitching to me. Neither of us wants to hear it. We've been doing our best to keep you alive, and you keep complaining. Do you think Ayrlyn likes plaiting grass? Or that I liked sharpening poles?" His arms went to the scratches across his uncovered forearms. "Your bladework has gotten good enough that you could rejoin Huruc's squad. If you keep it up, I just might let you. Besides, why complain now? You're almost done."

Fuera looked down at the shovel and resumed digging.

"... may be tough, Fuera, but most'd have flogged you or killed you ..."

"... poor Fuera doesn't want to get his white hands dirty..."

Ayrlyn continued to rough-plait weed stalks and grasses into mats which she had stacked along the trenches. Meresat laid sticks across the completed trenches, then set the mats over them, concealing the lines of sharpened poles

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that angled up, before gently covering the mats with a thin layer of gravel and dirt-some of which blew away even before touching the mats.

Nylan guided the mare around the road. He glanced toward the trenches opposite the olive grove. That part had already been completed. "You have that nasty look in your eyes again," he said as he drew up beside Ayrlyn and looked down at the redhead. "The one that says people are going to get hurt."

"If I have to go back to basket-weaving, someone is going to pay for it. I don't get to ride around looking important."

"I did cut and sharpen most of those poles," he pointed out.

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