“Yes. This is your first time here, isn’t it?”
Maris nods.
“They say he never wore that blade after he destroyed the great white fleet. Probably just another old tale.” Heldra pauses. “I’ve held the blade, though. There’s… something…there.”
“Maybe. You and your blades.” Maris fingers his beard. “You might be right. Truth is sometimes harder to believe than lies. What about Cassius? Who would believe a man from another-what does he call it?-another universe… coming through an order/chaos flaw? He’s here, though. What if Lerris created something like that? What if the next visitor isn’t so friendly?”
“Those things don’t happen often.” Talryn half laughed.
“Then there’s Sammel. Antonin, Gerlis, Sammel, Lerris, and that doesn’t even include Justen and Tamra.”
“Sammel?” Heldra opens the door and holds it. “What about him? His problem is that he loves knowledge more than order. That’s not exactly the same as Antonin or Gerlis, who were out to create chaos for their own power.”
“He’s setting himself up as something.” Talryn follows Heldra inside the Black Holding. “Have you heard from the black squads?”
“No. That bothers me a bit.”
“A bit?” asks Maris. “How many did you send?”
“Just two, with the rocket guns. They didn’t have to get close.”
Talryn frowns. “I can still sense Sammel. We may have a problem there.”
“He might be a bigger problem than young Lerris, a much bigger problem,” suggests Maris. “And what if this war between Berfir and Colaris drags on? And what if Sammel and Lerris and Justen and Tamra all get involved? Then what do we do?”
“Candar-always a mess. What else has happened there since the fall of Frven? Justen destroyed the old white empire, and melted it into slag, and it didn’t affect us. We can certainly handle this one. We’ll let Colaris and Berfir fight it out, and I’ll take a squad after Sammel personally.” Heldra closes the outside door, and then leads the way to the black oak door to the old Council chamber. “I’m more worried about the growth of machines and all those new ships in Hamor… and that steel that’s nearly as good as black iron.”
“You just don’t want to admit you were wrong about Sammel,” says Maris.
Heldra’s hand eases around the hilt of the blade.
“Just joking,” adds Maris quickly.
XXXVI
Northwest of Renklaar, Hydlen [Candar]
THE FIRST ROCKET flares toward advancing Freetown troops led by the white and cyan banners. As it passes above them, a few soldiers glance upward, but most continue to march up the gentle slope toward the shallow trenches of the Hydlenese.
Another wave of rockets flies downhill toward the mass of Freetown troops. One smashes into the ground less than a dozen cubits before the left edge of the attackers. Scattered fires flare through the troops, and two fall. One man becomes a bonfire. Several others try to roll on the ground to extinguish the flames that threaten to consume them.
More rockets flash downhill from the Hydlenese emplacements, exploding almost in the center wedge of the attackers. Cyan-clad troops lie scattered across the hillside, where bodies, scrub bushes, and browning grass all burn. Plumes of black, white, and gray smoke entwine and circle skyward.
After yet another volley of rockets, a trumpet sounds, urgently, and the attackers begin to retreat, first at a walk, then a run, but another flight of the rockets follows them.
With a series of whistling hisses, another round of rockets flies.
“Archers!” commands Berfir.
Shafts in waves arch downhill, their heavy triangular and barbed heads slashing through flesh and light chain mail.
The black, gray, and white smoke plumes circling upward from the lower part of the hillside thicken.
Another trumpet sounds, and this time, a good dozen squads of horsemen wearing the gold and red plaid of Yeannota swing off the opposite hillside at an angle.
“Shot rockets! Shot rockets!” orders Berfir, but the rocket officer has already turned the carts with the crimson stripe toward the lancers.
Another flight of rockets slams into the retreating foot, followed by a last volley of nigh-arching arrows.
More than tenscore bodies lie below the shallow trenchworks of the Hydlenese.
Berfir watches as the Freetown mercenary horse reaches the flatter slope on his left flank. He nods.
Two heavier rockets arc the short distance toward the horse.
Crummmptt!!! Crummptt!!
Iron discs scythe through the lancers, and the screams or men and horses drown out the sounds of the next set of disc shot rockets.
The heavy-headed arrows pick off the handful of lancers on the hillside, and less than a half squad of stragglers and survivors struggle back to the Freetown lines.
Berfir gestures to the rocket officer, and the rocket-cart launching tubes are angled higher.
The next set of rockets arches into the troops on the other hillside. Another set follows. Shortly, smoke begins to rise from the Freetown emplacements, joining the clouds that have already begun to dim the sun.
Berfir smiles as the cyan and white banners retreat.
“Got ‘em good this time, ser,” rasps the rocket officer.
The smile fades from the Duke’s face, and he looks tired. “This time, Nual, this time. Thanks to the rockets.”
“You think they’ll be getting rockets soon?”
Berfir looks to the northeast, in the general direction of Freetown, although the foot of the Great North Bay on which the port sits is more than a hundred kays away. “Colaris will come up with something. He always does.”
“Mean bastard, he is.”
“In these times, everyone is.” The Duke straightens. “Get the launchers reloaded.”
XXXVII
THE WINTER SUNLIGHT pouring through the window of the autarch’s guest quarters didn’t warm the room that much, and I was glad for the heavy quilt, except where it pressed on my left leg. Order-mastery or not, it was hard to stay warm when I was hurt, and shivering sent waves of pain up from my leg, but the more I shivered, the more I hurt.
The big bed was comfortable, and the dark-stained cherry headboard not a bad piece of work. The wardrobe, the bedside table that held the lamp, and the small chair were all the same dark-stained cherry, and the work of the same crafter, although I didn’t recognize the style. Uncle Sardit might have, but I didn’t have his experience.
For lack of anything better to do-that I could do-I’d prevailed upon Krystal to reclaim my Basis of Order. At times, though, my eyes still burned when I tried to read, and parts remained insufferably boring, especially the rhetoric at the front. That had to have been tacked onto the book later. It didn’t even sound the same as the parts that explained what, and how, and why.
“Order is the basis of any community.” Why was that even necessary? Anything with more than one part had to have order to work, and any group of any animals that stayed together had to have some degree of order. Ants did. Sheep did. Geese did- sometimes. So what was different about people?
The door opened, and in stepped Justen.
“Let’s see how well you’re healing.”
I didn’t have that much extra energy, but I’d used what I had to keep any traces of chaos infections away, and encourage some healing. More than encouraging it wasn’t good, according to both Justen and The Basis of Order. I set the book on the table.
He drew back the quilt and started with my arm.
“Hmmrnmm… not bad. That won’t be long.”
Long for what? I wondered. His voice seemed to get louder and then die off, but it was probably my ears.
“… really did mangle this…”
That was my leg, strapped up in wood and leather. All in all, I managed to lie still as Justen probed at my body, but it wasn’t easy, not with half of it yellow and green from bruises, and an arm and a leg not working all that well. His fi
ngers were light, but I could feel them.
“You’ll live.”
“Is that all you have to say?”
“Lerris, with the shape you arrived in, that is saying a great deal. Bruises, bums, broken bones-”
“Burns?”
Justen shook his head.“You turn a simple brimstone spring into a boiling inferno, and you’re going to get burned.”
“I didn’t know I did that.”
The gray wizard took a long and elaborate deep breath. “You tapped elemental chaos beneath the earth and channeled it directly to the surface. Elemental chaos is hotter than forge fires. What did you think was going to happen?”
“From the book”-I gestured to The Basis of Order-“I figured that if I gave Gerlis enough chaos, it would overload his ability and destroy him.”
“You did, and it did.” Justen shook his head. “It also turned the valley into a small version of the demon’s hell, and killed most of the Hydlenese troops. From what I can tell, you put up some sort of shield that saved the Kyphrans around you.” He snorted. “You are lucky. I’ll give you that. Most of the other Kyphrans, including Krystal, were far enough away to avoid that first flame blast.”
I shrugged, and it didn’t hurt too much. “What was I supposed to do? Let Gerlis burn everyone alive, including me?” Sometimes, Justen was a pain. Just like Talryn and my father, always saying what was wrong with what I’d done. Where had he been? Off somewhere with some woman, and now he was complaining-again-about how I’d botched things. All the magisters were like that. Talryn, Lennett-they’d say that if you made a mistake, you’d pay. The problem was that they usually didn’t tell you what was a mistake until after you made it.
I frowned, recalling Tamra’s point about the order tie, and I squinted, and tried to concentrate on really seeing Justen, with order senses and all, and though the effort sent little knives through my eyes, I kept at it.
He looked different-like his whole body were made up of little blocks of chaos coated in order. Tamra had been right. There was a hint of an order-tie trailing off to somewhere. Maybe… he had a consort. Justen with a woman-permanently? I wondered what else I didn’t know, or hadn’t seen.
“You could have left him alone. Chaos-masters don’t live that long. The chaos would have diffused eventually.”
“When? After Berfir came back south with his rockets and took over Kyphros?”
“That wouldn’t have happened.”
Justen always had answers. It was tiresome and predictable, and they always involved patience, which, in a warlike place like Candar, wasn’t always possible for those of us who weren’t gray wizards who would live forever. Except, even as I thought that, my stomach twisted a little. By handling chaos, even with order, wasn’t I becoming a gray wizard?
Justen turned his eyes directly on me. “We need to talk more, when you’re feeling better and not so sorry for yourself, and when I have more patience, and when I’m not so tired.”
Why was he tired? He hadn’t been fighting chaos and battles. My eyes hurt, and his words got louder still and then died away.
“I’m tired because I’ve been trying to save all those wounded and burned troopers. You weren’t the only casualty, you know. You’re just the only one who gets a fancy sickroom.”
“I’m sorry.” I felt about one finger high, but what else could I say?
He shook his head again. “I’m being too hard on you. You did the best you could. This isn’t the best time to talk.”
His hair was streaked with silver again. That showed he was too exhausted to keep himself young, but I hadn’t really noticed. Maybe he was right. Maybe I was feeling too sorry for myself and bored.
“Could I go home?”
Justen studied me. “If you get someone to lend you a carriage. You’ll get bounced too much in a wagon, and a horse, even a gentle one like Gairloch, is out of the question.” He coughed before continuing. “It might be better. I can’t do anything more for you that you can’t do for yourself now.”
Without asking why it might be better, I just nodded.
“We will talk.” He turned and was gone.
I looked at the cold light coming through the window for a time, then at the cover of The Basis of Order. How many people had died? Had I really killed them? Had it been necessary?
I rubbed my forehead gently, feeling the flaking skin and the stubbly hair growing back in from where it had been burned away. I thought it had just been cut while I had been unconscious in order to dress a slash or something. Burns?
Krystal was the next visitor, wearing her training garb, stained gray shirt, worn leathers, and her blade. She was sweating, despite the faint chill in the room.
“You’ve been busy.”
“We still don’t have enough trainers. Tamra helps them get used to a staff, but good blades who understand what they’re doing are hard to find.” She bent over and kissed me, and I kissed her back.
“You are getting better.”
“Justen told me I’d live.”
“For a while, none of us were sure.” She pulled the single chair right up beside the bed and sat down.
“I’m tougher than that.”
“You’re a hero of sorts, not because you defeated the white wizard, but because you’ve survived the wounds.” Krystal laughed softly. “Enough of the Finest saw you on that cart. Not one in a score survives that kind of beating. You’re not only the order-master. You’re the toughest order-master anyone has ever seen, and you’re their order-master. You fought a wizard, and you fought blades.”
“I don’t much feel like a hero. Justen was just here.”
“He has that effect.” Krystal laughed, with a bitter note. “He asked if this whole business had really been necessary.”
“I’ve got some of the same questions. How many died?”
Krystal’s face went almost blank, and there was a pause.
“That bad?”
“It was pretty bad for the outliers. Only the half squad closest to you made it through, and one wounded Hydlenese. He’s mad though-just keeps weeping about you. He calls you the terrible wizard, and then he weeps.” Me? A terrible wizard? “What about Weldein? He saved me a couple times.”
“He was banged up and took a deep thrust, but Justen pulled him through.”
“Freyda was killed.”
Krystal nodded.
“Jylla?”
“Her arm and shoulder were crushed. No thrust wounds. She won’t fight again, but she’ll keep the arm.”
“Yelena?”
“She’s fine. But I sent her to Ruzor to take over Subrella’s old job. Kyldesee didn’t work out. I didn’t think she would, but we had to try. She’s a friend of Mureas’s.”
Politics again.
“What about Shervan? He died, didn’t he? So did Pendril, I think.”
Krystal nodded.
Wonderful odds. Of the half dozen or so I’d known and ridden with, three were dead, one crippled, one wounded. My throat felt thick, and my eyes burned. It had seemed like a good idea. But if our plan had been a good one, what would have happened with a bad one?
“That’s what happens when people fight, Lerris.”
It had seemed so easy, so clean, dealing with Antonin. Poof… fire, struggle, and white ashes. Was that why wizards were so dangerous? Because they never saw the bodies and the blades? Never knew the people?
I swallowed. “What about the Hydlenese?”
“Worse. We sent back maybe one squad, mostly wounded.”
I shivered. “I think it’s time to go home.”
“You don’t like the autarch’s hospitality?”
“She has been more than gracious.” And she had. She’d stopped in to see me more than a handful of times, and had even insisted on pressing another bag of coin on me, claiming that coins were a poor reward. Not knowing when I’d be able to go back to work, I’d taken them. They were still tucked under a corner of the mattress.
I looked back to the w
indow and the cold light still streaming through.
“What does Justen say?” Krystal’s voice softened, or faded away some.
“If I can get a carriage to take me, it would probably be better to be home. He didn’t really say why.”
Krystal fluffed my hair gently, and kissed my cheek. “Because the wood will help you heal, I think. First bloody battles are hard.”
“Was it hard for you?”
She squeezed my good hand. “Hard enough, but I’m older. I’ve seen a lot more violence than you have.”
“Do you get used to it?”
“I hope not.”
I looked at her face, with the fine lines running from the eyes and the streaks of silver in the dark hair. Behind her dark eyes was another kind of darkness, a darkness I thought I was just beginning to discover. Like Justen, she looked tired.
I eased both hands around her hand, ignoring the discomfort in my right arm, and she stayed for a long time. She didn’t say anything, but she didn’t need to. Neither did I, and at some point, I fell asleep.
XXXVIII
I WAS STRETCHED out in my own bed, with my back propped up with pillows against the headboard, reading and trying to recover from the carriage trip home the day before. Despite Justen’s approval, it had hurt, and tired me. Even my eyes had gone back to hurting; so I’d slept most of the time since.
Then Tamra marched in. “So how’s the cripple? Feeling sorry for yourself?” Tamra wore the blue scarf that matched her eyes. She plopped into the wooden armchair, her back to the window.
Outside, I could see the blue sky and the scattered trees waving in the wind. Even the clouds were moving fast. “No. Just sore all over.” I set down The Basis of Order and took a half-deep breath and closed my eyes for a second. That helped. My chest and ribs still ached with really deep breaths.
“You think you’ll be up before long?”
“I don’t know how long. Justen says the ribs are mostly healed, and the arm’s coming along. It’s the leg.” I wasn’t about to mention the eyes or the sometimes fading hearing. I figured they’d get better with rest.
The Death of Chaos Page 21