Read Online The Magic Engineer by L. E. Modesitt Jr. - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: L. E. Modesitt Jr.
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Instead, he shrugs.
The Ryessa lurches, and a sheet of water sprays past Dorrin, leaving him with wet legs and a tighter grip on the railing.
When he looks up again, later, Kadara is gone.
XVII
Dorrin walks the deck, studying how the ship is constructed. He probes at the underlying patterns, the forces, the stresses—and especially he looks at the simple machines.
Flappppp…thwipp…
Aloft, some of the crew are resetting sails. Not all of them, but the mainsails. A line of dark gray and brown stretches southward off the port side. Dorrin looks up where a huge Suthyan flag flies atop the aft mast. The clouds that had splashed the ship with rain in the early morning have lifted, but the skies are still gray.
The Ryessa continues to make surprising speed into the wind, angling toward a break in the low dark hills. Behind the coastal hills is another set of low clouds. Dorrin looks again, this time with his senses, before realizing they are not clouds at all, but a second line of snow-covered hills. While spring may have come to Recluce and to Tyrhavven, it has not yet reachedthe higher hills that lie south of the Sligan port.
He heads back toward the cabin. There Kadara and Brede have finished replacing their gear in their packs—long enough ago so that the two step apart as Dorrin opens the door.
“We should be landing in a little while,” he notes curtly, ignoring the flushed looks. He grasps the pack he has prepared earlier from his bunk.
“We’ll be up in a little bit,” offers Kadara.
“It takes a while to tie up,” adds Brede.
Neither moves away from each other or toward their packed gear. Brede does not wear his shoulder harness or sword, nor does Kadara.
“Fine.” Pack in hand, the wiry young man grasps the staff and turns back toward the door. He does not shut the door as he leaves.
As the Ryessa eases shoreward, Dorrin studies the harbor town. His pack and quilted leather jacket and staff now rest by his feet. Tyrhavven is scarcely inspiring. Only two short piers, smaller than those of Land’s End, comprise the harbor facilities, and the stone breakwater is half the length of its counterpart on Recluce. The two piers are of heavy weathered and unpainted gray timbers, except where a brown line shows the replacement of an older plank by a newer one.
“I told you it would take some time.” Kadara, wearing dark gray, appears with her pack. At her belt are two blades, both gray-hilted; the one on the left is a Westwind shortsword.
Brede towers behind her, his single blade heavier than either of Kadara’s, strapped in place in his shoulder harness. His open gray jacket shows his heavy blue shirt.
The wind seems to pick up as the ship wallows toward the pier.
“…sails!” Commands issue from the bridge. “…hard port…”
With his broad shoulders and long-chinned but square face, Brede grins. “Ready for an adventure?”
Dorrin is neither ready for an adventure, nor enthusiastic about the relationship between Brede and Kadara. But what can he do?
“Neither am I,” admits Kadara.
“Well…like it or not, we’re going to have one, and westand a better chance together than separately.”
Brede makes sense, and Dorrin would be foolish indeed to spurn the assistance of the bigger and quicker man’s blade and disarmingly cheerful manner. Dorrin takes a deep and slow breath, nodding slowly.
“Why so reluctant, Dorrin?” Brede’s voice is warm and friendly.
“Dorrin would be happier if they had just let him play with his machines,” observes Kadara.
“They never will,” Dorrin adds. “So…I’m off on an adventure.”
In the short time the three have talked, the Ryessa has jockeyed up to the empty pier. Perhaps half a dozen figures stand waiting; two wearing white surcoats are armed.
“White guards…” Brede moves up to the railing.
Dorrin turns to see the captain motioning. “He wants us off the ship.”
“That’s not surprising,” Brede snorts. “Fairhaven
The Ryessa lurches, and a sheet of water sprays past Dorrin, leaving him with wet legs and a tighter grip on the railing.
When he looks up again, later, Kadara is gone.
XVII
Dorrin walks the deck, studying how the ship is constructed. He probes at the underlying patterns, the forces, the stresses—and especially he looks at the simple machines.
Flappppp…thwipp…
Aloft, some of the crew are resetting sails. Not all of them, but the mainsails. A line of dark gray and brown stretches southward off the port side. Dorrin looks up where a huge Suthyan flag flies atop the aft mast. The clouds that had splashed the ship with rain in the early morning have lifted, but the skies are still gray.
The Ryessa continues to make surprising speed into the wind, angling toward a break in the low dark hills. Behind the coastal hills is another set of low clouds. Dorrin looks again, this time with his senses, before realizing they are not clouds at all, but a second line of snow-covered hills. While spring may have come to Recluce and to Tyrhavven, it has not yet reachedthe higher hills that lie south of the Sligan port.
He heads back toward the cabin. There Kadara and Brede have finished replacing their gear in their packs—long enough ago so that the two step apart as Dorrin opens the door.
“We should be landing in a little while,” he notes curtly, ignoring the flushed looks. He grasps the pack he has prepared earlier from his bunk.
“We’ll be up in a little bit,” offers Kadara.
“It takes a while to tie up,” adds Brede.
Neither moves away from each other or toward their packed gear. Brede does not wear his shoulder harness or sword, nor does Kadara.
“Fine.” Pack in hand, the wiry young man grasps the staff and turns back toward the door. He does not shut the door as he leaves.
As the Ryessa eases shoreward, Dorrin studies the harbor town. His pack and quilted leather jacket and staff now rest by his feet. Tyrhavven is scarcely inspiring. Only two short piers, smaller than those of Land’s End, comprise the harbor facilities, and the stone breakwater is half the length of its counterpart on Recluce. The two piers are of heavy weathered and unpainted gray timbers, except where a brown line shows the replacement of an older plank by a newer one.
“I told you it would take some time.” Kadara, wearing dark gray, appears with her pack. At her belt are two blades, both gray-hilted; the one on the left is a Westwind shortsword.
Brede towers behind her, his single blade heavier than either of Kadara’s, strapped in place in his shoulder harness. His open gray jacket shows his heavy blue shirt.
The wind seems to pick up as the ship wallows toward the pier.
“…sails!” Commands issue from the bridge. “…hard port…”
With his broad shoulders and long-chinned but square face, Brede grins. “Ready for an adventure?”
Dorrin is neither ready for an adventure, nor enthusiastic about the relationship between Brede and Kadara. But what can he do?
“Neither am I,” admits Kadara.
“Well…like it or not, we’re going to have one, and westand a better chance together than separately.”
Brede makes sense, and Dorrin would be foolish indeed to spurn the assistance of the bigger and quicker man’s blade and disarmingly cheerful manner. Dorrin takes a deep and slow breath, nodding slowly.
“Why so reluctant, Dorrin?” Brede’s voice is warm and friendly.
“Dorrin would be happier if they had just let him play with his machines,” observes Kadara.
“They never will,” Dorrin adds. “So…I’m off on an adventure.”
In the short time the three have talked, the Ryessa has jockeyed up to the empty pier. Perhaps half a dozen figures stand waiting; two wearing white surcoats are armed.
“White guards…” Brede moves up to the railing.
Dorrin turns to see the captain motioning. “He wants us off the ship.”
“That’s not surprising,” Brede snorts. “Fairhaven
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