The Death of Chaos

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “Where are we?”

  “A lot closer to Sunta than we would have been if you hadn’t tried to steal everything I own.”

  “I did not. I didn’t touch anything you wore.”

  I laughed.

  “It’s true.” Her voice was low. “I just wanted a mount and food to get away from Teilsyr.”

  “I would have been happy to help you without being robbed.”

  “And what would you have asked of me? Look what you did.”

  “I didn’t do anything. You did. Your arm and collarbone got broken when you tried to ride off on my pony.” I took a deep breath and swung down off Gairloch, taking his reins. “I owe you something for trying to help me, but you’re making it hard. Now… we’ve got to keep moving, and Gairloch’s been carrying double for too long. Hold on.”

  Alasia swayed in the saddle, but grabbed my staff for balance as Gairloch started up. She let go almost instantly. Gairloch and I walked onward, the sun at our backs.

  “You don’t understand,” she said, after a time.

  “I do understand. You’re indentured to Teilsyr. He abuses you, or threatens to. You want to escape. I agree to help you, which is not a good idea because I could be hung for theft, among other things. As soon as you find out I know something about wizardry, you try to steal my horse and provisions. Then, when I try to treat the shoulder you break trying to steal from me, you throw a knife at me.”

  “You make me sound awful.”

  “I’m not trying to make you sound any way. You make it hard on me.” I paused. “Can you get down? It’s your turn to walk, at least for a little.”

  She let me help her down. She couldn’t conceal the wince. “I’m cold.”

  I unstrapped the waterproof from the bedroll and fastened it around her much like a cloak. After standing like a statue until I stepped away, she continued to stare at me as I mounted Gairloch. I had to slow Gairloch because she didn’t walk that fast, but I needed a little rest, too.

  After another kay or so, round another turn, I heard hoofs and the creaking of a wagon. A bearded man drove the wagon, half laden with what appeared to be cabbages and potatoes, past us without even looking in our direction.

  “Friendly fellow.”

  “The men here are all like that. Did you expect him to smile and wave?” asked the redhead.

  I think I had.

  We kept alternating riding and walking, except I walked more than I rode, a lot more, and I had to hold the reins when Alasia rode, not to keep her from riding away, but to keep Gairloch from bucking her off.

  Before mid-morning, we came to another stream through the woods. There was an open grass spot, and the remnants of a campfire. Alasia sat on a stump and watched me. I pulled out some cheese and biscuits, and let Gairloch drink and graze.

  I didn’t even ask Alasia, just set two wedges of cheese and some biscuits by her. She ate them quickly, leaving no crumbs, and I ate two myself.

  “Would you like another?” I asked.

  “Yes.”

  I cut her two more, but she still wouldn’t look directly at me.

  “What are you going to do?” she finally asked.

  “With you? I wanted to help you-that’s all. So, I’ll get you on the road to Telsen, and let you find your own way home, or wherever it is you want to go.” I sighed. I couldn’t just do that. “And I’ll give you a couple of silvers to help, but I’m not going that way.”

  “You still don’t understand.”

  “Probably not.” I ate another thin slice of the cheese and handed one to her.

  “What did you do with my knife?” She swallowed the cheese in two quick bites.

  “Left it where you threw it, I think.”

  “You idiot. That was Teilsyr’s. It was worth something. What am I supposed to use for protection?”

  “You’re probably better without it, then. At least they couldn’t hang you for theft if they catch you.”

  “Hanging would be fine. Teilsyr wouldn’t be that kind. Not after what I saw him do to Rirla.”

  “I said I was sorry. I never intended to hurt you.” I still felt guilty. While I didn’t like Teilsyr at all and could understand Alasia’s need to escape, I hadn’t done anything-except put her to sleep. And I’d even warned her, but I felt guilty because she’d been hurt.

  I brushed the few crumbs off my fingers and looked at the sun and then in the direction of the Lower Easthorns. All I saw was tree-covered hills. “Get some water to drink. Wash up. Whatever. We need to keep moving.”

  “You don’t understand,” she repeated.

  I never did understand, except that she thought that most men and wizards were never to be trusted.

  I hoped that wasn’t true, but it bothered me even as I watched her walk down the road toward Telsen late that afternoon. I’d called, “Good luck,” but she hadn’t looked back.

  I’d let her keep not only the shirt, but the waterproof, and some of the cheese and biscuits-and I’d given her two silvers and some coppers.

  She just walked toward Telsen, slowly, and she didn’t look back once. I finally nudged Gairloch forward and toward Arastia.

  What could I say? I’d gotten her free of Teilsyr, and she seemed to think that it was almost her due, as though it were my duty. Alasia wasn’t chaos-touched, but, abused as she might have been, I still didn’t think she had the right to try to steal everything she could. I wasn’t Teilsyr, not even close.

  My arm still hurt, and my head ached, and I wondered why I’d even considered traveling such a roundabout way to investigate Gerlis and his magical fires. All I had discovered so far was that sword wounds didn’t heal all that quickly, even with order-mastery, and that not everyone liked Duke Berfir, and even fewer liked Kyphros and Kyphrans in general-or wizards. I’d needed to travel for an eight-day to discover that?

  XVI

  Nylan, Recluce

  “GERLIS IS WORKING with the chaos under the Lower Easthorns. You can feel it from here.” Heldra walks to the window and looks through the wide glass at the Brotherhood’s grounds, at the grassy hillside and carefully planted trees. Her fingers caress the hilt of the black blade she wears. Finally, her eyes rest on the harbor of Nylan below, focusing on the black pier and the single shimmering shield that appears as an empty berth to most onlookers in the mid-afternoon warmth.

  “He’s definitely stronger than Antonin.” Maris’s finger runs over the map of Hydlen before him on the table. “How did he ever come up with the rockets?”

  “Gerlis? He didn’t. Someone stole the idea and sold it to Berfir,” says Heldra.

  “And who stole the idea? Who might that have been?” asks Maris.

  “Sammel.” Heldra flushes. “Sammel. He had the ability to have forged them, but he hasn’t set up a smithy. That might be because he’s finding it impossible to use order any longer. So I can’t prove it. The carts are a local design, but the rockets could be ours, except Berfir’s using local steel instead of black iron.”

  “It’s nice to know the infallible Heldra could have been wrong. Once, anyway.” Maris’s voice sounds almost lazy.

  “Maybe Berfir found someone to build them.” Talryn sets his goblet on the table with a heavy thump, squaring his broad shoulders. “Once you have the idea, they’re not that hard to make, not like precision cannon. That’s why we’ve tried to keep ideas like that under shields.”

  “Like killing that smith in Southport?” Maris raises his eyebrows.

  “That was for playing around with cartridges and rifling. Jorol ordered that before I joined the Council. Still, it probably had to be done.”

  “I’d still order it,” says Heldra. “Can you imagine Candar with fire rockets, precision rifles, and white wizards? This war between Colaris and Berfir is going to be a light-fired mess. Even Dorrin had second thoughts about too much machinery loose in the world.”

  “Those who followed him claimed that,” muses Talryn. “I can’t say that I’ve ever read anything that he wrote
that states that, and he wrote a lot.”

  “It makes sense. What are we here for, anyway? Just to nod and let the world go to chaos?” Heldra squints into the sunlight, then turns toward the two men, although she remains by the window.

  “It may anyway, if Cassius is right. He calls it entropy.”

  “Another fancy word from where he came from. It still means letting everything go to chaos, and that’s not what Recluce stands for.” Heldra walks back to the curved table from the wide window.

  “I wish I were as sure as you are.”

  “All you have to do is feel the Balance,” snaps Heldra. “It’s real, and it’s our job to maintain it.” She looks at Maris. “Not just to make the oceans safe for traders.”

  “I assume that means you’ll immediately dispatch an assassin to kill Gerlis or whoever?” Maris fingers his square beard. “And Sammel?”

  “Killing Gerlis right now wouldn’t do any good. Too many people know about the idea. But they’re costly to make. Once the war’s over, we can take steps.” Heldra smiles.

  “You’re betting that Gerlis won’t last too long.” Maris leans back in his chair.

  “He won’t. The more power he gets, the shorter his life.”

  “And the bigger the mess in Candar,” snorts Talryn.

  “Unless Lerris dispatches him to save that woman of his.” Heldra walks back to the Council table.

  “Krystal? I suppose that’s possible,” muses Talryn. “She might command the forces that would fight Berfir and Gerlis. But what about Sammel?”

  “Sammel? I’ll take care of it.”

  “That’s what you want, isn’t it?” asked Maris. “Get rid of Sammel. Have Lerris get rid of Gerlis. Have the autarch take over all of the Lower Easthorns. Have Berfir and Colaris destroy each other, and then send in a black squad to eliminate anyone else who knows about rockets.”

  “It’s not a bad plan.” Heldra glances back at the window. “Who will even remember the fire rockets after that?”

  “That still leaves Lerris and an even bigger potential chaos focus in Candar,” points out Talryn.

  “What about Sammel?” Maris finally asks. “How did he get into this?”

  “He took the books when he left on dangergeld. We didn’t think he’d stoop to theft.” Heldra sighs. “I thought he had some ideals.”

  Maris and Talryn exchange glances.

  Finally, Maris coughs. “What if it’s gone as far as Hamor? Gunnar stopped by the other day, you know. He says that the Hamorians have improved their steel to where it’s almost as good as black iron. Then there’s the problem with their traders. Their ships are getting bigger and faster. And they’re building a lot of steel warships-some with those new cannon-a lot more than they need on their side of the world.”

  “Gunnar’s trying to protect his son.”

  “He didn’t invent the Hamorian steamers, Heldra,” countered Talryn.

  “And we have reports about their new cannon. I hadn’t thought about the steel, though.” He fingers his chin. “The traders… we can deal with traders.”

  “Candar’s a long way from Hamor,” states Heldra.

  “Not with ships that fast.”

  XVII

  AFTER THE SPLIT in the road, the route to Arastia turned almost due west generally toward the brimstone spring and Kyphros. Heavy wagons had left deep tracks, deep enough to remain after days of traffic.

  Less than two kays after leaving Alasia on her way to Telsen, I reined Gairloch over as a pair of Hydlenese couriers rode past, their crimson vests flapping, heading east, probably toward Telsen and then to Hydolar itself. They barely glanced at me, although one checked the hilt of his blade as he rode past.

  The hillside farms were more scattered, with larger wooded stands between them. The fields were either cut stubble or turned under for the winter.

  I rode on, and wood smoke drifted over the road as Gairloch carried me westward. The road led me to a field filled with stumps with a huge mound of earth, from which the smoke seeped. Beside the mound was a tiny hut, and a man sat on a stool, whittling and watching while the contained heat turned the felled trees into charcoal for the smiths of Hydlen.

  I reached back and felt in one saddlebag for the piece of cedar I had started carving and almost forgotten, trying to ignore the twinge in my arm. As I looked at it again, I could sense there was still a face buried beneath the wood and my first rough attempts, but not whose face. I replaced the cedar in the bag as Gairloch carried me away from the charcoal burner’s camp.

  Occasionally, the meadows scattered between the trees and stubbled fields held sheep, but the small holdings were infrequent, consisting of a hut, an animal barn, and perhaps a shed.

  I got another five kays or so before the sun dropped behind the trees. My arm throbbed; my head ached; and my stomach growled. Gairloch was barely plodding along, and occasionally he tossed his head. The road was entirely covered with shadows by the time I found a stream and a sheltered grove that didn’t seem to belong to anyone-at least not anyone too close by.

  I didn’t bother with a fire. After eating another few wedges of cheese and more of the rock-solid biscuits, my headache subsided, and my stomach stopped growling. Then I unsaddled Gairloch, and brushed him, not as thoroughly as I should have, and gave him a handful of the grain.

  Wheeee… eeee…

  He tossed his head, as if to tell me it was about time.

  “I know, old fellow.”

  He settled down to grazing and tasting various leaves, and I sat on a stone by the rocky bank of the narrow stream and tried carving the cedar in the dimness. That was not one of my brighter ideas. I had to stop almost immediately as the knife slipped toward my fingers and as the tightening in my wounded arm turned to throbbing. So, after putting the cedar away, I infused the wound with a shade more order, set wards, checked Gairloch, and climbed into my bedroll.

  Although I recalled looking at the sky, wondering as the clouds crossed the stars where the angels had come from and what had happened to them, I didn’t remember falling asleep. Nor did I dream, unless I didn’t remember what I had dreamed. I woke with the gray dawn, and a strong wind out of the west, strong enough to rustle the leaves on the lowest branches and bend the treetops-and a chirping that drilled through my ears.

  For a time, I lay there, quiet, but still tired.

  Twirrrppp… twirrrppp…

  I didn’t recognize the annoyingly cheerful birdcall, and only saw a flash of yellow-banded black wings. I pried my eyes open. Gairloch chomped on some leaves from a shrub, some of the clumped grass by the stream. Then he drank.

  The yellow and black bird perched on a shrub on the other side of the stream, it’s head cocked in one of those perky attitudes. People like Tamra who want to talk and sing first thing in the morning look like that damned bird. I got up early enough, but even I didn’t feel like singing, especially after suffering through an attempted murder, attempted theft, and gross ingratitude.

  “Shut up!”

  Twirrrppp… twirrrppp…

  Still, it helped get me out of my bedroll and staggering to the stream. The cold water helped more. By the time I could function, after drinking and eating a biscuit, the bird was gone.

  I washed up and shaved in the stream, mostly by feel, and only cut myself once, despite the chill of the water. Mist began rising off the trees when the early sun struck them.

  I washed out my underclothes and draped them over a bush, something I should have done the night before, but I could spread them across the saddlebags if the day turned out clear and they wouldn’t take that long to dry. After dressing, I took out the brush and curried Gairloch again, and he sort of wiggled as I did so.

  “I know. You deserve more of this.” With another pat, I put away the brush and began to saddle him and pack up. I had a few more biscuits, but still was in the saddle before the sun cleared the trees and struck the road.

  The woods were hushed, and so were the first holdings we passed,
although I saw one herder leading sheep to a lower meadow. Mist rose off the grass, indeed off any surface the sunlight touched.

  Some of the winter-gray leaves glistened silver in the morning light, and I watched a hare nervously nibbling in a shadowed opening in the trees, his whiskers twitching, head flicking between each bite. Gairloch’s hoof crunched on a stone or something, and, with a muffled single thump, the hare was gone.

  Faint traces of wood smoke, and the odor of sheep, drifted across the road as Gairloch continued to carry me westward.

  Sometime near mid-morning two men in tattered brown coats drove an empty rickety wagon pulled by a bony horse past me. The driver held the whip as we passed, but I could hear it crack in the distance.

  I sensed the oncoming forces even before I could hear them, and I edged Gairloch into the trees, far enough in that we wouldn’t be seen, but close enough for me to peer from behind a bushy scrub oak whose fall-yellow leaves had faded to winter-gray. My boots slipped and crunched acorns from the taller oaks that surrounded me every time I moved. I also stuffed my underclothes, mostly dry, into the top of my pack.

  Three scouts rode over the low rise of the road first. After that came two or three squads of lancers behind a red banner with a gold crown. The lancers talked in voices so low I couldn’t pick up what they said. One made some form of gesture, and the two beside him laughed, but the woman blade on the mount behind him unsheathed her blade and thwacked his mount on the rump. He yelled back, but they all laughed.

  Nearly half a kay separated the lancers from the draft horses that followed, towing two-wheeled carts that looked like strange cannon, with two squarish barrels side by side. From the woods, I studied the cannon-carts for a long time. They were mostly made of oak, and beside the barrels were long thin boxes. More of the thin boxes were stacked on the wagons that followed.

  I tried not to scratch my head, and to keep projecting reassurance to Gairloch, all the while extending my order senses toward the carts. The square-barreled cannon weren’t even quite that. They were open at each end.