The Death of Chaos

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “Justen’s your uncle. He’s too nice to you.” Tamra smiled brightly and shifted her weight in the chair.

  “He was nice to you when you needed it.”

  “I think you’ll look good in gray,” Tamra announced as if she were telling me about the weather. “If you’ll ever get off your ass, anyway.”

  “Gray? I’ve never worn gray, and I never will.” Even as I said the words, I wanted to take them back. “Never” is a dangerous word, especially for me. So I changed the subject. “Some wizard you are,” I snapped back. “You just criticize. What can you really do?”

  Those blue eyes turned the color of slate, and the whole room darkened, and the shutters banged, and a cold winter wind whipped across me and ripped at the coverlet.

  I swallowed. Tamra had definitely learned something from Justen. “All right. You can throw the winds around. What do you want?”

  “First, I want some respect. You, and all men, seem to think that if I don’t parade my power, I don’t have it. Second, I want you to show some real strength. Are you going to throw away everything you’ve learned because you’re stubborn? Are you going to lie in that bed until someone begs you to get out of it? Is the poor little order-master so beaten up…”

  I sat up, despite the pain in my leg and arm, and swung my good leg around and sort of dragged the other. I had to hold on to the headboard for a moment.

  “Not bad. Justen didn’t think you had enough strength for that. But he’s a softie.” Tamra grinned, and it reminded me of Gerlis.

  “You really are the red bitch.” The words came out between waves of white pain.

  “Now, if you do that more often, you’ll be up and around a lot sooner.” She looked at me. “You really did get beaten up, didn’t you?”

  I had to lean back against the pillows before I fell over. “You really did get into trouble with Antonin, didn’t you?”

  “Good!” Tamra was all businesslike. “Kasee needs to throw more of a scare into Berfir’s envoy. He’ll be here in another eight-day, and you should be moving around by then. That type always needs reminding. That’s why you’re going to wear grays to the audience.”

  “I don’t wear gray. I wear brown.”

  “You want to let Krystal down? Or all the troopers who died? You want this envoy to walk all over Kasee?”

  “No one walks all over the autarch.”

  “That’s not what I meant. She doesn’t have that much of an army, and any envoy who comes here will know it. What does she have? She’s got me and you and Krystal and a good small bunch of mercenaries. So you have to be there and look impressive, and browns don’t look impressive.”

  “How am I even going to get them on?”

  “Rissa says you’ll have to put buttons in place of the seams on the left trouser leg, but that’s no problem. You’ll have to do that anyway.”

  “Fine. I’ll go to the meeting, the audience… whatever. I’ll wear browns. And someone can wheel me in on a cart. I’ll really look impressive.”

  “I’ll get another staff made. You’ll hobble in before the envoy gets there, and you’ll stand there with that staff and look most impressive in grays.”

  “I’ll wear grays the day Justen shows up for this meeting.”

  “Good. He’s coming. Three of us will have to be enough. I brought the gray leathers and some gray cloth. Rissa said she’d make the trousers and shirt, and you’ll pay her.”

  “I already pay her.”

  “Pay her more. You got more golds from Kasee.”

  “Ha! If I don’t get back to work soon, we’ll all be starving.” It wasn’t true, not yet, but Tamra made me angry.

  “Then you’d better work harder on healing yourself, hadn’t you?” Tamra stood up. “I’ll have Rissa start right away. She’ll have to measure you, and don’t throw some sort of fit.”

  She gave me a last smile and was gone.

  I glanced at The Basis of Order. Finally, I picked it up and started to read, not that the words made all that much sense.

  “… the order of the earth is the order of order within and around chaos, and he who can order the earth can order the world, would he bear the weight of the sorrow he would cause…”

  Sorrow? Every sort of order seemed to result in sorrow for someone? How come there wasn’t a book for chaos-masters that warned them about sorrow? Was that because they didn’t care? Did all order-masters really care?

  Too many questions, and I finally put down the book and dozed.

  It was late when Krystal came in, well past dark, but she walked into the bedroom with her jacket and blade still in place.

  “How are you doing?”

  I sat up, and again managed to turn and dangle my legs, good and bad, over the side of the bed, except the splinted left one really didn’t dangle but sort of stuck out and hurt. “Getting better.”

  “That’s good.” She touched my cheek and gave me a quick kiss.

  “How are you doing?”

  “It could be worse. Yelena sent us some recruits from Ruzor. A couple actually look pretty decent. They’re from Southwind. They still have most of the ancient military traditions-not so good as Westwind was, but close, and we can use that.”

  “A couple? That’s good?”

  Krystal pulled the chair close to me and sat down with a deep breath, then answered. “We’re getting interest, and that’s good. I understand there’s an entire squad coming from Spidlar. The traders are cutting back again.” She sighed again. “The idiots. Didn’t they learn from the time of Dorrin? Of course not. It’s just a matter of coins.”

  “Tamra was here today.”

  “She said she’d stopped to see you.”

  “Did she tell you about her idea for impressing Berfir’s envoy?”

  “She’s still rather abrupt, isn’t she?” Krystal’s laugh contained a rueful note.

  “She always will be.”

  “What do you think?” asked my consort.

  “She’s probably right.” I shrugged, if carefully. “Kasee doesn’t have that big an army, and someone like Berfir is more impressed with a show of some kind of force.”

  “I think so. Can you do it?”

  “I’ll have to, won’t I?”

  “You’re getting better.”

  “Long day?” I fought dizziness for a moment.

  “Very.”

  From the higher position on the bed, I could reach down. So I stroked her cheek and kneaded her too-tight shoulder muscles. After a little bit, I had to use just my left hand. The right arm hurt too much for me to keep it up.

  Krystal just dropped her head forward and enjoyed the neck and shoulder massage, and so did I.

  XXXIX

  THE NEXT MORNING, while Krystal was pulling on her uniform, I hobbled out to the table, dark as it was outside. After Tamra’s visit, it didn’t look as if I were going to have that much time to lie around. Besides, I was well enough that I didn’t feel like lying in bed once Krystal left for the barracks, no matter how early it was.

  I worried, because she probably wouldn’t have been home, except I was hurt, and the getting home late and the getting up early meant she didn’t get much sleep. But I liked having her sleep beside me.

  Rissa set a cup of herb tea down. “You look like you need this.”

  Whether I needed it or not, I was going to get it. It didn’t taste like much, unlike the awful stuff they had poured down me to get me to heal.

  Then Rissa set the bread down, just moments before Krystal sat down, her short hair in place, her vest on, and her blade clanking against the chair.

  I patted her leg and got a smile as she reached for her own mug of tea.

  From the darkness in the yard came the sounds of horses being saddled and readied. Rissa set a bowl of dried peaches and pearapples between us.

  “You go first. I’m not exactly going anywhere.” I nodded to Krystal, and she smiled again.

  “It won’t be that long before you will.”

 
Perron came through the door, and Krystal motioned to the table. “Have them all come in and get something to eat.”

  “Yes, ser.”

  After he stepped into the yard, Krystal added, “They all want to see you anyway.”

  “Me?”

  She snorted.

  “Greetings, Order-master,” Perron said.

  Haithen, another woman, and a man walked in and sat at the table. Rissa set out two more bowls of dried fruit and two more loaves of the dark bread.

  “Herbal tea?” asked the woman trooper I didn’t know, a brunette with a sharp nose, as she broke off a chunk of bread.

  “It doesn’t taste like much, but it’s supposed to help.” I took some bread and a handful of dried peaches. “Is there any cheese?”

  “It’s only the yellow stuff, Master Lerris.”

  “Better than nothing,” I groaned. “Let’s have it.”

  After Rissa set the block on the table, I cut two slices, left-handed and a bit awkwardly, then passed the yellow cheese to Krystal.

  There wasn’t much left, large as it had been, after Krystal’s guard took their slices, a reminder that being the commander’s consort was costly in not-so-obvious ways.

  Haithen finally spoke. “How come you can’t heal yourself?”

  The other guards looked as if they had wanted to ask the same question.

  “I could… but I couldn’t do much of anything ever again, and if I ever got tired, I’d fall apart.” I tried to explain. “Order-mastery takes strength and skill-just like handling a blade. Haithen, why don’t you carry a two-hand blade?”

  “It’s too heavy, especially riding. I’d lose my balance.”

  “The same thing’s true about wizardry. When I went up against the first white wizard, I only had to touch him with my staff after I cut him off from his power. With his power gone, he was already dying. If I used pure order to heal myself, if I ever lost my power or strength, I’d fall apart. When I got older, I’d die.” I held up my good hand to stop the objections. “Now, another wizard could help a little, and that’s what some healers do. I can use order to keep chaos out of my body and to help the bones knit. I’ll heal faster than I would otherwise, and the bones will knit straight.”

  “Is that why healers can’t help very many wounded?” Haithen asked.

  I nodded. “Each time you try to heal someone, it takes energy. A healer can use so much order that it can kill the healer and save the patient.”

  “That’s why you carry a staff?” Perron frowned.

  “It’s not that simple. You can’t kill or hurt someone with order-not directly. They say that a storm-wizard can use order to create a storm, and the storm can kill people. That takes time, and it wouldn’t work very well in a battle.”

  “But you killed the white wizard.”

  “No. I helped him kill himself.” I forced a laugh. “You also may have seen what a mess it made.”

  “… still don’t understand…” mumbled the other woman. “You destroyed a whole valley, and you have to carry a staff to protect yourself?”

  “What am I supposed to do if a trooper comes swinging at me with a blade? I can’t turn chaos on him.” I looked at the woman. “Or her. And I don’t know how to create storms.”

  “But you did. It rained for days.”

  I had to grin. “How much good did that do me?”

  Haithen laughed, at least.

  “This is interesting,” said Krystal, “but the autarch is expecting me right after morning muster.”

  They all gulped down the remnants of whatever they were eating, as if it were their last meal. Then they headed for the yard, bowing to Rissa.

  “Thank you, Rissa.” Perron gave her a deeper bow.

  “Thank you.” Rissa-no-nonsense Rissa-flushed.

  Perron grinned and turned.

  As Krystal stood, so did I, even if it took levering myself up on the table and holding tight to a rough cane.

  “You don’t-”

  “I can’t lie around forever.” I hugged her.

  “I don’t want you limping for life to prove something. You don’t have to be a hero at home.” She did kiss me, though.

  I stood in the door as she swung into the saddle and rode into the gray of the dawn, back toward Kyphrien, and training sessions, logistics, planning, politics, discipline-all the details that took so much more time than fighting.

  After that I hobbled back to the table and sank into a chair, while Rissa put things away.

  “I’m doing more bread, Master Lerris. Any kind you want more of?”

  “I’m partial to the dark.”

  “I know. Like Commander Krystal.”

  “That’s not-”

  “You’re too serious for a young fellow.” She laughed.

  I did smile.

  “And have some more cheese and bread.”

  “Yes, Mother Rissa.”

  She sniffed, but she sniffed with a smile.

  After cutting a thick slice of bread and a wedge of cheese, I ate and sat at the table for a time, letting my fingers trace the design. The curves with the curlicues had been the hardest part, and I had vowed to avoid that kind of elaboration again. If I looked at them sideways, they looked almost chaotic.

  Woodwork can’t be chaotic, not really, but the swirls reminded me of the intertwined order and chaos I had felt, felt and tapped, beneath the brimstone spring. Were order and chaos really intertwined that closely?

  I recalled those few words Justen had said to me when he had started to heal me-something about a demon-time to do order-chaos balances. Idly, I let my senses focus on my arm. It was still tender, and bound in heavy leather, but the bone hadn’t snapped the way my leg had. Part of the arm had a strange design, almost as if the chaotic tiny bits that exist within everyone were imbedded in larger pieces of order.

  I swallowed, recalling that Justen’s whole body had been like that when I had looked at him with my order senses.

  “Rissa?”

  “Yes, Master Lerris?”

  “Would you come here?”

  Lifting her eyebrows, Rissa stepped closer to the table.

  “Just put your arm next to mine.”

  “That’s all?”

  “That’s all.” I compared the two. Parts of my arm were different, seen that way, just like the way I had seen Justen’s.

  “You done? I still have bread to bake.”

  “Oh… yes. Thank you.”

  “Wizards…” Rissa left with a flip of her short hair.

  Could I reorder the arm, all of the part around the healing bone, the same way? I concentrated, and a tiny little section seemed to change. My fingers shook, and my eyes burned. I stopped because I had to put my head down on the table.

  “Master Lerris! Master Lerris!”

  “I’m all right. I just got tired.”

  “You get up and get back in that bed. You almost died, and here you are trying to pretend you’re all healthy.” Rissa marched up beside me. “There’s nobody looking, and you don’t have to show all the Finest that you’re the toughest wizard ever. Lean on me, and we’re getting you back to that bed for some rest.”

  So I did, and it felt good to lie down. I even dozed off. Maybe I did have to lie around a little longer.

  XL

  Northwest of Renklaar, Freetown [Candar]

  THE BODY OF the Hydlenese forces grinds to a halt near the hilltop, and Berfir rides to the fore of the main group, one hand straying to the hand - and - a - half blade across his shoulders. He glances down the slope and notes the three horses on the ground, one screaming. One rider lies facedown, unmoving.

  A puddle spilling over from marshy ground has flooded the main road and the grass on each side with a sheet of muddy water twenty or more cubits wide, but less than a few fingers deep.

  Another lancer eases his mount off the road, but the horse takes no more than a few steps before it screams and bucks. The lancer hangs on, as the horse settles, but holds a forefoot high. S
he leaps from her saddle back toward the dry ground, holding the reins.

  As she bends down to study something in her mount’s hoof, even as Berfir watches, a hail of arrows streams out of the hillside, seemingly from nowhere. More lancers fall, and the others look indecisively, then spur their horses back uphill, trying to escape the arrows. The injured horse takes several arrows and breaks away from the lancer, splashing through the puddle, and collapsing with a shrieking whinny.

  The lancer on foot goes down.

  By following the arrows, Berfir finally sees the archers, concealed on the side of the hill behind what had seemed to be low bushes. After a last volley, they scramble uphill and out of sight.

  The Duke rides down toward the retreating lancers, and horses and riders move from his path as the massive sword comes out of the scabbard. He holds it easily in one hand.

  “What happened?” he snaps at the subofficer.

  “Caltrops… hundreds of them.”

  “On the road? You couldn’t see them?”

  The lancer gestures to the water, and Berfir’s eyes flick to the downhill end of the marshy area. In hindsight, the earthy berm that had looked natural is clearly a dam.

  Shortly, another lancer approaches and offers a rusted caltrops for the Duke’s inspection.

  “Rusted? Iron doesn’t rust that fast.” Then he nods. “They rusted them first.”

  “I would say so, ser.”

  “You’ll pay for this, Colaris.” Berfir looks to the northeast and his blade rises. “We didn’t want this… war… but you’ll pay for it.”

  The lancers shrink away from the big blade, but Berfir only swings it back and into his scabbard. “Go on! Clean it up.”

  The Duke turns his mount downhill and rides slowly along the edge of the muddy water, studying it.

  The lancers head back downhill after him. Shortly, two have pried open a hole in the earth berm and the road is clear of water. Hundreds of pointed brown iron objects lie on the muddy stones.

  Berfir snorts in disgust.

  Before long the rusted caltrops rest in a cart brought from the rear of the force, and the Hydlenese forces surge up the low hill on the far side of the valley, beginning the slow march toward Freetown.