The Chaos Balance

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

“Wuerek, ser.”

  “You strap his body to the mount, and when we get to Clynya tonight, you bury it. We don’t have time right now. You understand?”

  “Yes, ser.” Wuerek looked down.

  “I’ll do my best to get you all through this, but your part is to do your best, and that means following orders.” He eased the mare back through the dust raised by Fornal’s armsmen. “Ride in pairs!” snapped Nylan. “This isn’t a jaunt to the tavern.”

  As he rode, the levies looked away.

  “… black angel… mean bastard…”

  “… gave Gisyl a chance… idiot… don’t mess with pros…”

  The smith wanted to shake his head. It didn’t seem to matter where he was. There was always some idiot who would respond only to force. To such, forbearance, reason, or common sense meant nothing. He took a deep breath. How many more such would there be?

  He rode along the shoulder of the road, passing their command-four squads roughly, except that it was hard to tell because, even when the men did attempt to approximate a column, about half couldn’t figure out how to get their mounts to match pace with their partner.

  He wanted to rub his throbbing forehead, but didn’t dare, not immediately, since that would send the wrong signal.

  “What happened?” asked Ayrlyn. “I could feel-”

  “Idiot dared me to make him follow orders.” Nylan shook his head. “Makes me think of Mran-and Ryba. I guess I’m no different. I thought I was, but-” He shrugged.

  “They’d have torn you apart if you hadn’t,” Ayrlyn said.

  “Sad, isn’t it?” Nylan rubbed his forehead, trying to ease the throbbing there.

  “It’s life.”

  “Begging your pardon, ser?” asked Tonsar.

  “Some troublemaker, big black-haired fellow, Gisyl, I think, wanted to stage a mutiny. He dared me to make him obey. I told him he could obey or die. He didn’t believe me.”

  “And what happened?” asked the armsman.

  “He’s dead.”

  Tonsar’s mouth opened, then shut. “So… so quickly?”

  “If you’re going to kill someone, it’s better to make it quick. Then they can’t hurt you threshing around.”

  Tonsar swallowed, then looked over his shoulder. “You didn’t leave the body?”

  “No. I made the other troublemaker strap it on the mount. He’ll have to bury it when we get to Clynya.”

  Tonsar swallowed again. “No one would have minded-”

  “If they have to clean up afterwards,” said Nylan, “maybe they won’t be quite so ready to quarrel.”

  “Yet… yet…” Tonsar stammered.

  “You think they’ll just blame me?” Nylan shrugged. “Troops always do, but that’s all right so long as they get in the habit of obeying and not doing stupid things.”

  Tonsar closed his mouth, and beyond him Ayrlyn nodded thoughtfully. Sylenia busied herself with checking the sleeping boy.

  Nylan noticed that the line of trees that had marked the east side of the river had vanished, and only a low line of bushes followed the watercourse. On the west side, between the road and the bluff that ran down to the river, was only grass.

  A shadow slipped across the road, from the thickening clouds blowing out of the Westhorns to the east.

  “Be not too long afore we make Clynya,” observed Tonsar. “And a good thing, with the rain coming in. A good rain will lay the road dust for the journey south.”

  “Too good a rain will turn the road into mud soup,” ventured Ayrlyn.

  “Ah, lady angel, the rain in the south here, it never falls for long.”

  Nylan hoped he was right, but the relief from the direct sun provided by the clouds was welcome, more than welcome. He turned to Ayrlyn. “Your turn.”

  “Right.” With a grim smile, she turned her mount and .began to ride back along the part of the column that contained their two squads plus of trainees and troublemakers.

  The sun hung just above the western hills when they reached a ridge crest. On the other side, the road swung down in an arc into a gentle valley cut by the river. There were no bridges, just what appeared to be a flat sloping ford.

  “Clynya… Clynya…”

  The mutterings that came back through the road dust confirmed to Nylan that they were nearing their immediate destination.

  “It is not even sunset,” proclaimed Tonsar.

  “Good,” murmured Sylenia.

  Nylan just wiped away more muddy sweat, and glanced up at the still-dark clouds that covered two-thirds of the sky. They felt like rain, but there hadn’t been any, not even a hint of moisture on the light breeze out of the east that had done little to cool him on the afternoon’s ride.

  He studied the valley as they began to ride down toward the ford. Unlike Rohrn, Clynya was on the eastern side of the river, on a slight hill nearly two kays north of the ford itself. Was that because the greater threat happened to be the Jeranyi? Using the river as a defense made sense to Nylan, but he wondered if towns and cities were located for such sensible reasons. The plateau he had picked out as a possible city site made more sense than Lornth’s location, but there wasn’t even a town on the plateau.

  Just across the ford, less than a kay from the river, and to the left of the road, were a series of earthworks, and behind them, blackened timbers. The grass reached halfway up the earthen barrier, but had not covered all the blackened ground or ashes.

  “What was that?” asked Ayrlyn.

  “I believe that must be the Jeranyi fort-the one that Lord Sillek destroyed. I have not been this far south, but Huruc was, and he said that Lord Sillek had destroyed the fort and driven the Jeranyi back across the grasslands.” Tonsar shrugged. ‘They will try again. They always have.“

  “Wasn’t there some sort of agreement?” Ayrlyn pursued. Nylan looked toward Sylenia, who was turned in her saddle and trying to give Weryl a drink of water.

  “Ildyrom cannot be trusted. He is a Jeranyi.” Tonsar shrugged. “They will be back.”

  Nylan frowned. For the Jeranyi to have built a fort on the Lornian side of the river… Sillek had indeed had his troubles. To have succeeded in pushing the Jeranyi back across the grasslands, and then still having been forced to fight Westwind-the engineer shook his head. The Lornian holders appeared singularly stupid, but, maybe, there was something he and Ayrlyn didn’t know. Maybe.

  “There aren’t many trees,” said Ayrlyn, breaking into his thoughts, “even near the river.”

  “The sheep like the green shoots, and,” Tonsar shrugged, “there is not that much rain.”

  Nylan glanced up at the clouds. “This doesn’t make sense. There’s enough rain here for there to be trees.”

  “Unless the summer is very dry and long and hot,” suggested Ayrlyn.

  “Hot… very hot,” agreed Tonsar. “Rain. It rains seldom.” . The engineer did not even want to think about a summer that hot and dry.

  A line of rain gusted over the low thatched roofs of Clynya and swept westward down the road toward the column of armsmen, down toward the ford, the West Fork, the grasslands, and Jerans. Almost as the sprinkling of rain had come, it was gone.

  Yet after the splattering of rain, all that was left were dark spots on the road, and a hint of dampness in the air.

  Nylan stood in the saddle as the column ahead slowed in an open space before several buildings. While the timbered two-storied barracks had a rough plank roof, the stable was roofed with sod, and long streamers of brown grass hung over the thick eaves. Some sections of the roof sported new growth.

  Still, the barracks and the stable were large, large enough for the several hundred levies.

  Nylan turned to Tonsar. “You get to make sure that Wuerek buries that body-and deep.”

  “Yes, ser angel.” Tonsar’s voice was weary.

  “If he gives you any trouble, tell him I’ll bury him next to it.”

  “Yes, ser.” A faint smile crossed Tonsar’s lips.

  “Ton
sar…” suggested Ayrlyn. “Don’t invent trouble.”

  Nylan thought the subofficer was going to roll his eyes, but the man only nodded. As Tonsar rode toward the rear of the group, one word escaped his lips, loud enough for the two to hear. “… angels…”

  “He’s not used to being understood,” said Ayrlyn dryly.

  “Thanks to you,” Nylan answered.

  Sylenia glanced from Nylan to Ayrlyn. The nursemaid opened her mouth, then closed it as another rider neared.

  “The front stalls of the stables are for us. You angels have the upper middle quarters,” Fornal said smoothly, gesturing toward the wooden outside steps. “They are large enough for your needs. We all eat in the barracks hall after the two bells ring.”

  “Thank you.” Nylan smiled politely. “Where are the subofficers billeted in case we need to find Tonsar?”

  “At the end in the rear.” Fornal gestured vaguely in the direction of the long building. “They each have a small room.”

  After the coregent rode toward the stables, the two angels followed, trailed by Sylenia and Weryl, letting Fornal enter the stables first. A handful of chickens skittered away from all the horses, flocking toward a gap-planked and tilting structure to the south of the stable. Some form of hen house, Nylan guessed, both from the low roof line and the smell.

  “This way, sers,” called a grimy youth. “Officers at the front here.”

  The stalls were small, smelly, and the clay underfoot slimy.

  Nylan raised his eyebrows and glanced across the stall wall at Ayrlyn. She shrugged. What could they do-except share a wry smile?

  After stabling their mounts, and grooming them, the three walked toward the barracks building, where they climbed the outside steps to the central rooms.

  Nylan opened the door, and a faint wave of dust-and something else-roiled up around him. There were two rooms, consisting of a small bedchamber with a double-wide bed, and a main front room with two couch beds, and a small hearth. There was no wood for the hearth, not that they needed a fire in the early summer heat. An open area before the windows showed marks on the wide-planked floor where other furniture had been removed.

  “It’s not too bad, but there’s something…” Ayrlyn frowned.

  So did Nylan. “Chaos. Some time back, though. It’s gone, except it’s not.”

  Sylenia, juggling a squirming Weryl, glanced from one angel to the other.

  “One of Sillek’s wizards?” suggested Ayrlyn.

  “Probably-there was one out here in the grasslands to hold off the Jeranyi. Someone told us that. He’s probably the one that burned out the Jeranyi fort we passed.”

  “Sillek was resourceful…” Ayrlyn paused and turned to Sylenia. “You can put Weryl down and let him totter around. There’s nothing here that can hurt him.”

  “But you said-” began the black-haired woman-girl.

  “There’s nothing here now,” Nylan said, forcing a smile. “We could just tell that a wizard had lived here.”

  “You are wizards,” pointed out Sylenia.

  “Not exactly, and not the same kind,” answered the engineer.

  A faint frown crossed the nursemaid’s forehead.

  “Not all wizards are the same,” added Ayrlyn. “Healers and mages are not like white wizards. We cannot throw fireballs; they cannot heal.”

  Slowly, Sylenia lowered Weryl. The boy sat down in a heap beside one of the couch-beds, then pulled himself erect and tottered toward Nylan.

  “Daaaa…”

  The engineer scooped up his son. “Long day? It’s not over yet. We still have to find supper.”

  “Wahdah!”

  “And water, too.” Nylan laughed.

  “Especially water,” added Ayrlyn. “I feel like I’m wearing more dust than clothes.”

  Nylan nodded, thinking it would get worse, with another three days before they reached the area of the copper mines. Had it been a good idea to bring Weryl? Probably not, if there had been any alternative. “There are buckets over there. I’ll find a pump or well.” He set his son back on the plank floor.

  LX

  NYLAN SNEEZED TWICE, sharply, wishing that the rain squalls of the days previous had been heavier, at least heavy enough to hold down the road dust, but all they had done was leave dark splotches on the ground, splotches that vanished quickly in the sunlight.

  “Kula lies five kays ahead,” said Tonsar. “That be where the regent says we will make our outpost. I would rather we had remained in Clynya.”

  “It might have been more comfortable,” said Ayrlyn, “but it’s too far away from the mines.”

  “Besides,” added Nylan, “with fewer distractions, we just might get this bunch into shape.” He tried to think positively, ignoring the ever-browner grass that flanked the dusty road, and the heat, and the sun that beat all too strongly on his right side.

  “You think so?” said Tonsar.

  “We can hope,” added Ayrlyn.

  With each kay south from Clynya, the trees had gotten lower and more widely separated. One rolling hill looked much like another, the grass hanging limply in the hot sun. Scattered patches of weedy growth, amid the grasses, had already begun to brown, and the once-intermittent patches of bare ground had become more and more common, almost joining in places to form a patchwork of red clay.

  Wondering if the whole area would be brown and sere before mid-summer, Nylan looked at Sylenia. “Have you ever been this far south?”

  “No, ser. I have been to Rohrn, but no farther.” She frowned. “It be dry here.”

  “And it gets drier, I am told,” said Tonsar. “No great life being a miner in these parts. My sister’s man was, once, but he walked away. Two coppers a day, a pallet, and meals, and it was not near enough, not even for the young ram he was then.” He offered a broad smile to Sylenia.

  “How long ago was that?” Ayrlyn rubbed her nose.

  “Must have been, oh, ten years back. Nuria was the oldest. She died of the chaos fever two winters past.” Tonsar shrugged. “Even that, and Wesay wouldn’t go back to the mines.” He gestured toward the long gentle slope ahead. “Late summer, he said, dust rolled in like rain.”

  Nylan winced. More heat and dust were the last things they needed.

  Out of the dust before them emerged a rider, skirting the edge of the road, peering at faces as he rode, before pulling his horse around and up beside Ayrlyn.

  The healer looked at him and waited.

  “Ser Fornal would request your presence,” stammered the young armsman. “Both of the angel leaders.”

  “You’ve got our levies, Tonsar,” Nylan said with a laugh.

  “Alas .

  Sylenia smiled shyly, past Nylan at the burly armsman, as Nylan flicked the reins and urged the mare forward.

  “Do you feel we have a romance budding there?” asked Ayrlyn.

  “I hadn’t thought about it,” Nylan confessed. “I don’t even know if Tonsar has a consort.”

  “I don’t think so, but, out here, does it matter?” The redhead’s smile was wry.

  If Sylenia were interested in anyone, Nylan preferred Tonsar to most of the levies or scarred professionals. He hoped she wouldn’t get hurt, but there wasn’t that much that he could do. Forbidding the romance would make it worse, and might jeopardize Weryl. He sighed.

  The messenger followed them, just far enough that Fornal could see the youth had carried out his orders, before easing into the column behind the lead riders.

  “Kula lies ahead,” announced Fornal. “The scouts say that the white ones have burned some of the holdings, some days back, but have left, and there is enough for us to use.”

  “I assume they will be back,” said Ayrlyn.

  “They will return anywhere, but Kula is the most distant of the near hamlets, nearly ten kays from the mine, and it has water through the summer from the stream.” Fornal scratched his dusty beard. “Derlya offers more, but it is twenty kays to the northwest of the mines, and too close to Jerans
for my taste. Choosing between the Jeranyi and the white demons, that is not to my liking, but the Jeranyi sneak up, and the demons do not. So-”

  “We camp in Kula,” finished Ayrlyn.

  “Exactly.”

  They rode up the long hill in silence, until another valley stretched out before them, more a depression between low rises than a valley. Kula itself consisted of a half-dozen holdings bordering a narrow stream. Nylan scanned the valley, catching the traces of past Cyadoran presence.

  One holding held three buildings-house, barn, and shed-and all were charred, roofless. The ground around was burned and black, the black running until it stopped at bare ground, creating a dark blotched effect.

  “The white devils,” noted Fornal. “They burn enough to drive people out, then take or slaughter the stock.” The coregent gestured toward the far side of the valley. “We’ll use the large holding. They burned not that. There will be room in the house for us and the senior armsmen, and three sheds and barns.” He smiled, faintly. “And plenty of space for you to whip your trainees into shape.”

  “How far are the mines?” asked Ayrlyn.

  “Ten, perhaps twelve kays to the south, over the ridge hills there.”

  The road wound down and past the burned-out holding and then across the stream. As the mare crossed the crude stone span, Nylan glanced down at the water, a brook surrounded by sheep-cropped grass less than two cubits wide and half that in depth. He saw no animals, unless the white dots on the hill beyond their destination were sheep. Had the Cyadorans taken or slaughtered them all? Or had the holders driven them with them in fleeing Kula?

  As they neared the house, Nylan studied the holding. A broken chair lay on the stone stoop, and the door hung on a single iron hinge. Dark splatters stained the gray-white plaster beside the door. The shutters remained closed.

  Nylan extended his senses, but could find no trace of life behind the silent walls. From her mount beside him, Ayrlyn shook her head.

  In the hillside fields to the south were scattered handfuls of sheep.

  “Ha! Some forage food,” exclaimed Fornal. ‘The white demons did not destroy everything.“

  Nylan sniffed, and his nose wrinkled.