"Ser," ventured Huldran, "would you mind if I took your skis and poles down?"

"I definitely wouldn't mind. I'd appreciate that very much."

"Don't stay out too long, ser," added Cessya, picking up his poles.

"I won't." The coldness of the wind felt good against Nylan's face, and he just sat there, staring into space.

Saryn looked up from the deer carcass, then at Nylan. "Good animal, but you sure made a mess."

"I'm a poor killer and a worse butcher," Nylan said, his voice rasping. "I wasn't planning on getting anything this big. I hope I didn't spoil anything by taking so long."

"It's cold enough that it isn't a problem." Saryn grinned. "Gerlich came back earlier. He said there wasn't anything within kays."

"There isn't. I went down that section you call the forest wedge."

"And you carted this back that far? That's a long climb."

"Huldran and Cessya helped me back up the ridge."

Kyseen hurried out the tower door, looked at the deer, then at Nylan.

"Mother of darkness! What am I going to do with that?"

"Cook it," snapped Saryn. "The engineer didn't cart it back to waste."

"Tonight.. . the meal's done."

"I'm sure you can find something to do with this tomorrow, Kyseen," Nylan said. "And they'll eat anything you cook."

"They're already complaining about the chicken soup, and it's not even on the tables. Why didn't I wait for the big deer the engineer brought-that's what Cessya asked."

"Tell her it's worth waiting until tomorrow." Nylan grinned, and slid off the wall, trying not to wince as his leg hit the stones of the causeway. "You mind if I leave you, Saryn?"

"No. You did the hard work. This is simple drudgery." Saryn's skinning knife flashed again.

Nylan limped into the tower, and looked down at his damp and bloody clothes.

Should he go straight to the laundry, or up to find something, like his sole remaining shipsuit, that was dry?

"You look even worse than manure." Ayrlyn walked toward him from the stairs leading up from the lower level. "You're limping. Is any of that blood yours?"

"I fell chasing the deer. I don't think any of it's mine."

"Let me see." Her fingers lifted the trouser bottoms and touched his upper calves. "It feels like you ripped the muscles. You shouldn't be skiing or hunting for a while."

Nylan could feel a faint touch of warmth radiating from her fingers, and a lessening of the cramping. The pain subsided, slightly, from an acute stabbing into a duller, but heavy aching.

Ayrlyn straightened. "I hope it was a big deer."

"It's a huge deer," interjected Huldran as she passed, adding, "I'll get the stove in the bathhouse warmed up. You look like you need it, and there's a little wood we can spare."

"I'm all right," Nylan protested, feeling as though he were being humored.

"Enjoy it," Ayrlyn laughed. "People are glad to see another solid meal. And you do look like you need some cleaning up. I'm going to help Saryn. From what everyone's said, she needs it, or she'll be out there all night."

Nylan flushed. "It's not that big."

The healer grinned before she turned.

Nylan looked at the stairs up to the top level. The bathhouse wouldn't have warmed that much yet. He suppressed a groan before he started up the stone steps.

LXIX.

IN THE WARM lower level of the tower, Nylan worked only in a light tattered shirt and trousers, occasionally even wiping sweat from his forehead, as he smoothed and evened the cradie's sideboards. At times, he had to stop and massage, gently, the aching left calf that still had a tendency to cramp if he stood on it too long without moving.

A few cubits away, Istril used a single smoothing blade to plane the sideboards of the cradle that could, except for the carvings and designs, have been a mate to the cradle before Nylan.

The engineer glanced at Istril's headboard-which bore a crossed hammer and blade surrounded by a wreath of pine boughs. He nodded at the detail of the pine branches.

"You like it, ser?" She leaned back against the cool wall stones and wiped her forehead.

"You did a much better job on the carving.than I did," he admitted. "The pine wreath is good."

"Thank you. I worked hard on it." She grinned, although the grin was wiped away as she stopped and massaged her abdomen. "They say the last part is the hardest."

"Of woodworking?"

"Of bearing a child. I suppose that goes for anything."

Nylan nodded, lowering himself onto his knees to take the weight off his leg, but the stone was hard, and he'd have to switch position before long.

"Jaseen said you and the healer saved Siret and Kyalynn."

"We did what we could. It happened to be enough."

"If... I need you ... would you?"

Nylan nodded. "If you need us, we'll be there."

"Thank you."

He paused. "Istril, could you feel what we did?"

The silver-haired marine blushed slightly. "A little, ser."

"Good. You might try to explore that talent. It could come in useful."

Istril paled. "Ah ... excuse me, ser." She turned.

"Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. Fine as I can be with someone punching my bladder." The formerly slim guard half walked, half waddled up the tower stairs, even though, except for the distended abdomen, she carried no extra weight.

Nylan couldn't imagine carrying and bearing a child. Having to experience the pain and discomfort secondhand was bad enough. Maybe Ryba was right. Maybe things would be better if women ran them. Then, again, maybe they'd just get used to abusing power, too. The soreness in his knees from kneeling on the hard rock got to him, and the engineer switched to a sitting position beside the cradle.

He picked up the fine-grained file and studied it, glancing at the assembled cradle in front of him. After looking at the wood, he set the file aside and picked his knife back up.

With long strokes that were as gentle as he could make them, he worked on rounding the left sideboard just a touch more, trying to make the sides match as closely as he could. The relief around the rocky hillside on the headboard needed to be deeper, too, although he sometimes felt as though attempts at art were almost a waste in a community struggling to survive.

He looked up at the sound of boots.

Relyn stood there, studying the cradle. After a moment, the red-haired man asked, "Were you ever a crafter, Ser Mage?"

"No, I can't say that I was." Nylan blotted his forehead with the back of his hand, then shifted his weight on the hard stone floor.

"Then the forces of order have gifted you." Relyn squatted next to the cradle, his fingers not quite touching the carving of the single tree rising out of the rocky hillside.

"It's not as good as Istril's," Nylan said, nodding toward the momentarily abandoned work.

"She is also one of the gifted silver-heads." Relyn eased into a sitting position with his back against the wall.

"Are there many in Lornth with silver hair?"

"None, except the very old, and their hair is a white silver, not the silvered silver of the angels." Relyn tapped the blunt hook that had replaced his right hand against the cut stone of the wall in a series of nervous movements, almost a replacement gesture for tapping fingers or snapping them.

"You look upset," the engineer observed, lowering his voice, although only Rienadre and Denalle remained on the woodworking side of the lower level, and they were laboring together on a chair of some sort across the room, in the area closest to the kitchen space.

Relyn glanced at the other two guards. "It grows warmer. What am I to do? I am not welcome in Lornth. I would have to fight to prove I was no coward."

"I saw you practicing the other day. The blade looks comfortable in your hand."

"I hope to learn enough to defend myself with the bad hand."

Nylan frowned. "Maybe . . . maybe, we could figure out a clamp or something so that you could fix a knife to the hook. Don't some fight with a blade and a knife?"

"That... I have not heard of."

"It's been done," Nylan affirmed.

"Since you say it, Mage, that must be so."

"Wouldn't that help? Enemies wouldn't think you were defenseless on your right."

"Again, you prove you are dangerous." Relyn frowned. "Could you make such a device?"

"I'll see what I can do. Let me see your knife, though."

Relyn eased the knife out and passed it hilt-first to the engineer.

Nylan looked at it for a time before speaking. "I think I can, maybe bend some rod locks so they'll hold the hilt." He handed back the knife. "I take it you'd rather not stay in Westwind."

"I am no mage. Nor am I a mighty and powerful warrior like the hunter. Nor did I handle a blade, even with two hands, as well as the best of these guards. Even those bearing a child work and improve their skills-and with those devil blades you forged?" Relyn shook his head. "Also, I do not trust the marshal. She smiles, but she smiled when she took off my hand."

"Why are you telling me?"

"I must talk to someone, and I distrust you the least, because you would build rather than destroy."

"Thanks," answered Nylan dryly. "I suppose I deserve that."

Relyn shrugged apologetically.

"Do you think the marshal will have you killed in your sleep or something?"

Nylan asked, wishing he had not even as he spoke.

"It is possible. It is possible that lightning might strike me as well. I do not fear either . . . now."

"Ah ... but you think your welcome might wear thin?"

"There is not that much food, is there?"

"I did bring in that deer, and that means more game might be moving higher into the mountains."

"That will be true for a time, but only for a time."

"Where could you go?"

"South, north, east-anywhere but west." Relyn grinned briefly. "I do not have to decide that until the snows melt, perhaps later." He paused. "If I should need to depart sooner?"

"I'll let you know if I know" Nylan laughed softly. "Sometimes, I'm among the last to discover things."

"It is often that way when one deals with women."

"Even in Lornth?"

"Even in Lornth, even as a holder's son," Relyn affirmed, as he stood, using the hook to catch the edge of a stone wall block and to help balance him. "Thank you, Ser Mage." He offered Nylan a head bow before turning andxheading for the steps.

Nylan looked down at the cradle. A daughter coming? That was hard to believe as well.

LXX.

NYLAN TOOK ONE end of the saw and looked across the half-cubit-thick fir trunk to Huldran. "Ready?" Another trunk lay beside the path, ready for their efforts when they finished cutting and splitting the first.

"Ready as you are, ser." The broad-shouldered marine grinned.

"I hope," Nylan grunted as he pulled the blade handle toward him, "you're a lot more ready than that."

"Do we really need this wood now?" asked Huldran.