"L. E. Modesitt - Recluce 04 - The Chaos Balance" - читать интересную книгу автора (Modesitt L E)

Marshal's waiting for you." Her voice cooled.
Nylan smiled wryly, then wiped the smile away before turning and continuing toward the hearth
and head table.
"How are the blades coming?" asked Ryba. "I'm starting another. The one we finished yesterday
is ready to sharpen." Nylan stepped around Ryba's chair and slid into his place on the bench next
to Huldran. "Another one?" groaned Saryn from across the table. "Another one." Nylan offered a
bright smile. "And Huldran will have another finished late today or tomorrow."
"Two?" Saryn shrugged, then wiped, her steaming forehead. "You two keep this up, and we'll have
enough of those killer blades for a complete U.F.F. legion."
"Isn't that the idea?" asked the engineer, ladling out Blynnal's noodles.
"I haven't figured out any other way to stop the locals. Have you?" asked Ryba mildly.
Nylan shrugged. That was the problem with Ryba. While her answers to questions were usually
right, they all too often involved the maximum application of force necessary before someone else
did the same. And the few times when the angels hadn't been able to apply such force had been near-
disastrous. Had he avoided leadership because he didn't like the preemptive use of force? Or
because he knew it was necessary on the violent world where the angels had landed? Or both?
Ayrlyn slipped into her seat across from Nylan. Her eyebrows lifted momentarily, but she said
nothing, instead pouring some tea and drinking half a mugful almost immediately. By the second
bite of the noodles, despite the leavening effect of the flat bread, Nylan's forehead was sweating
more than if he were standing before his forge. The cool tea helped, if not enough. "The food here-
it is always good." That comment came from Daryn.
Nylan looked at the young armsman, wanting to shake his head. Did all the locals like things
spiced? Was it a survival ploy to cover the taste of meat or flour that wasn't quite right?
"We try to make everything good," offered Ryba.
"And you do, honored Marshal. Westwind is truly amazing."
The youth had been trained well in Gallos, at least in manners, Nylan reflected, and he was
adaptable, more so than Gerlich had been. The former weapons officer had never accepted that Ryba
was his better in everything from commanding to armed and unarmed combat. Of course, Gerlich had
died in his attempt to storm Westwind. He'd also gotten a lot of guards killed unnecessarily, as
well as one of the white wizards of Lornth. That hadn't bothered Nylan. Those white wizards were
innately nasty, although why they were was yet another unanswered mystery.
"We try, Daryn. We try." Ryba's tone was light, but carried the edge that never left her voice
anymore.
Nylan blotted his forehead.
"Do you think you should start training someone else in smithing?" asked Ryba.
"Cessya was working, but..." Nylan shrugged and glanced toward Huldran.
"Gerlich's wizard got her," Huldran finished. "Ydrall's shown some interest in the past. She
liked your fancy pikes."
"If she is interested, I think it might be a good idea," Ryba suggested, lifting her mug to her
lips. "Otherwise, find someone else."
"What's the urgency?" asked the smith.
"You said you wanted to work on building your mill," Ryba pointed out. "If you do, you can't
smith, not all the time, and we're going to need a lot of smithwork. So I'd like you and Huldran
to start training whoever it is in the next few eight-days, before the snows clear and you're back
building the sawmill."
Nylan concealed a frown. All of what Ryba said was correct, but the words felt somehow wrong,
and that bothered him. His eyes crossed those of Ayrlyn, and he got the faintest of nods in
confirmation.
"There's been more snow this winter, and that means more mud," the engineer said. "That means
it will be longer until we can reach the brickworks and the millpond down there-"