Fall of Angels by L. E. Modesitt Jr. Page B

outlined against the twilit sky.
    The captain turned her head. "How many in the cairn?"
    "Forty-three."
    "Forty-three? That many?" burst out Kyseen from the litter by the fire.
    "That few," said Ryba. "There were almost sixty, I think. Probably another three or four were wounded. They'll probably die, if the locals' medical care matches their weapons. That means almost a dozen escaped."
    "Killing two thirds of an attacking force sounds pretty good," pointed out Saryn.
    "I'm more worried about the one in white," mused Nylan. "It wasn't a laser, but he had a lot of power."
    "It doesn't make sense. Whatever weapon he used burned right through the lander's ablative tiles like they weren't there-until it got to the thin steel undershell. That's not a laser. The ablative tiles would have stopped even a small weapons laser." Saryn winced as she shifted her position on the stone.
    "Call it magic," suggested Nylan.
    "Magic?" Ryba's eyebrows lifted.
    "There's something here like a neuronet-"
    "You think this is all imagination? That we're really trapped in the Winterlance's net?"
    "Oh, frig ..." muttered Gerlich.
    "No. There are too many independent variables for a net to handle, especially the interactions and apparent actions between individual personalities. Also, there's a feel about the net," explained Nylan. "It's not here."
    "Thus speaks the engineer." Gerlich's tone was openly sarcastic.
    Nylan ignored it.
    "What do you think of the local swords?" Nylan asked Ryba. "You're the only one with any experience, I think."
    "Not quite," said Gerlich. "I did club fencing for a while."
    "So did I," added another voice. "Sers . .."
    Nylan looked at the wiry silver-haired marine.
    "I'm Istril," the marine explained apologetically.
    "That's a help," said Ryba slowly. "You're all going to have to use blades, I think, before the year is out, anyway. Maybe sooner. Unless we can manufacture bows and learn archery."
    "Why ..." started a voice farther back in the twilight. "Oh ... sorry."
    "Exactly. Fierral took inventory. That little firefight cost us nearly three hundred rounds. That's actually pretty good. One in nine shells counted. Except we only have about six hundred rounds left. That's maybe two battles like we just went through." Ryba bowed to the marine force leader. "Without the marines, we'd all be dead or slaves."
    Ryba turned to Nylan. "I fear you were correct, Ser Engineer, about the need for a defensive emplacement, a tower."
    Nylan nodded. "You never answered the question about blades."
    "Most of their blades are hatchet-edged crowbars. That hand - and - a - half blade the leader carried is a fair piece of work, and so was one other thing like a sabre. Why did you ask?" Ryba smiled tightly. "You don't ask questions, ser, unless you know the answer."
    "I saw what your blade did to the local leader," Nylan replied honestly. "I just wondered what the comparisons were."
    "If we could find blades like mine, it would give us an advantage-not so much as slug-throwers-but I don't see those for a long, long time to come."
    Neither did Nylan.
    "But," continued the captain, "I don't know how we could find or forge blades like mine."
    Nylan frowned, then pursed his lips. Was there any way? He shook his head.
    "What about the language?" Ryba turned to Ayrlyn.
    "That doesn't make sense, either. It sounded like an offshoot of Anglorat," said the comm officer.
    Nylan nodded, mostly to himself. He should have recognized it, but he hadn't expected the demon tongue to show up here. "What was that idiot saying? Where were you, anyway?" asked Ryba. "Where you put me ... on the other side." Ayrlyn gave a slight shiver. "I didn't get it all, and some of the words didn't make any sense, but the general idea was that we had to surrender because we were trespassing on his lands-"
    "His lands?"
    "His lands."
    "Darkness help us," said Ryba. "We would knock off the local ruler. That can't be good."
    "It might be very good," mused Nylan. "Anyone else might