Recluce 07 - Chaos Balance Read Online Free PDF Page A

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-”
       “Good,” answered the black-haired Marshal. “You'll have more time to do blades and train another smith.”
       Her answer felt even more wrong to Nylan, but the quickest of frowns from Ayrlyn warned him not to push Ryba.
       “Did you find out any more in those scrolls about Cyador?” he asked easily.
       “There wasn't much,” Ryba admitted. “I get the feeling that it's some sort of Rationalist leftover, with a heavy dose of chauvinism.” She shrugged. “Right now I don't have much to go on, but it bothers me.”
       The name Cyador chilled Nylan, too, but he had even less reason to be worried than Ryba. After all, he was just a smith and an engineer. Just a hardworking technical stiff and onetime involuntary stud who really didn't have a mission anymore, now that the tower and the attached facilities were complete and the armies of Lornth and Gallos annihilated. He took another helping of noodles and then blotted his forehead.
       “You're a glutton for punishment, ser,” said Huldran.
       “That's definitely one way of putting it,” the smith agreed as he broke off another chunk of the flat bread. “A true glutton for punishment.”
       He ignored the bluelike flash from Ayrlyn's eyes, even as the tightness in his guts told him he shouldn't. But he felt as though everyone else were directing him, guiding him, from Istril and Siret arranging which child he saw to Ryba's efforts to boost Westwind's armory-almost endlessly, it seemed.
       And the worst part was that he had no answers, no direction, except to keep forging