Free Recluce 07 - Chaos Balance by L.E Modesitt Page A

and flicked the mare's reins. Ayrlyn eased the chestnut up beside him as they began the long and muddy ride back up to Westwind.
       Geldings? Was that what he had to look forward to? Why didn't he want to face the fact that Ryba had killed or driven out every man who'd opposed her will?
       Because you share a child? Because you fear an unknown world? Because your feeling of responsibility for children you didn't intend to sire is at war with your common sense?
       He tried not to sigh, tried to focus on the healer-the woman by whom he had no children, and yet who cared more for him than Ryba ever had.
     
     

Chaos Balance
    XIV
     
    AS NYLAN SET the iron-alloy mix back on the coals to reheat, the alarm triangle rang from the watchtower on the ridge-two doublets.
       Nylan set the hammer on the rack, and used the tongs to ease the metal to the forge shelf. “Traders. I suppose I should go. Do you want to finish this one?”
       “I'd rather work one myself, if you don't mind.” Huldran nodded toward Ydrall, who straightened from the bellows. “That way I can show Ydrall what I'm doing. Besides, you do strange things to the metal. I can't get something you've started working to come out quite right.” Unlike Nylan, who labored over a true anvil, Huldran used the smith's original makeshift anvil, created by bending lander alloy around a stone block and wedging the result between the fork of a green fir sunk into the ground.
       “Traders . . .” mused the smith. “Early this year. I should see why.”
       “You're just tired of doing blades, ser.”
       “I admit it.” The smith took a deep breath. “Let's get two dozen of the best of those local crowbars out from the covered stack in back. I'll have Ayrlyn send the cart for them. Use the good anvil, and have Ydrall try something simple-like spikes-from one of the broken blades.”
       Spikes weren't that simple-nothing was, but she'd have to start somewhere.
       “A merchant's daughter, and I am learning to be a smith,” said the dark-haired young woman. “Mother would be pleased.”
       “And your father?”
       “He would be most offended. That is why I am here.” Ydrall offered a musical laugh at odds with her muscular figure. “That is why there will be others.”
       Nylan didn't doubt that, not from what little he'd seen of Candarian treatment of women. And the mysterious Cyador was supposedly worse? “Let's get the blades.”
       It took only a few trips for the three to stack the Lornian and Gallosian blades that Nylan selected beside the front door of the smithy. Then Nylan headed down toward the tower and the bathhouse. He had time to wash up. In Candar, trading, while not snaillike in progress, was definitely a leisurely pursuit.
       As he reentered the tower from washing and shaving, with only a single cut on his chin and dressed in dark gray leathers, Ryba was coming down the stairs, wearing the lighter gray leathers of the Marshal of Westwind. “You intended to go?”
       “I thought I might be useful. We also could use another anvil and some hammers, if you'd like us to make better progress in training Ydrall.”
       “I'll have the mare waiting for you. Saryn's bringing down mounts from the stable,” Ryba said. “You are getting your blades? Traders around here aren't always the most peaceful.”
       “They're laid out,” the smith confirmed, biting back a retort. He'd been there the last time Skiodra had tried his treachery. So why had Ryba brought it up? Another attempt to put him in his place? Or what Ryba thought was his place?
       He hurried up the steps to his quarters where he strapped on both blades, one at his waist and one in the shoulder harness. He descended more carefully, still cautious about tripping over the scabbard and going down the stone steps headfirst. Except for meeting traders and possible battles, he didn't carry a blade. They just got in the way.
       Everyone was