“There is nothing like my black bread in Kyphrien or Dasir or Felsa, and all the world knows it…”
“I certainly know it.” The kitchen smelled good, and I contented myself with half a mug of redberry, knowing that our supplies had to last until late in the summer.
“And so does Brene, and she’ll be wanting me to put a small loaf in the basket when next I go for eggs.”
“I got that impression.”
“She’s a sly one, Brene is, for all that she’s a good, woman.” Rissa cleared her throat.
I retreated from the kitchen to the workshop where I did a last polishing of Hensil’s chairs before I loaded them on the wagon, padding each one with lint and rags, and covering them with a waxed canvas, just hi case it rained.
Then I sat down for a while to rest, just to catch my breath. I didn’t sit down long, because I could smell the hot metal of the dry moisture pot, and I had to refill it. Then I fastened my jacket back on and went out to the stable. After harnessing the cart horse, I guided the horse and wagon out into the yard, limping a bit because my thigh was getting tired. I’d started with the cart, but then Rissa had told me about a spare wagon Hunsis had, and the cart hadn’t been big enough. So now I had both cart and wagon. Somehow, I was always ending up with more.
Gairloch whinnied when I took the cart horse.
“You never liked being a cart horse. So don’t complain.”
He whinnied anyway, and I felt a little as if I were deserting a friend as I eased the wagon out into the yard.
“Now where are you going?” demanded Rissa, thrusting her head out the kitchen door.
“I’m delivering the chairs to Hensil.”
“You take off that device from your leg, and you are well?”
“Well enough to deliver these and get paid.”
“You men…” But she went back into the kitchen.
I set my staff along the side of the wagon bed where I could reach it. I doubted anyone would want to steal a load of chairs, even expensive chairs, but these days I was discovering all sorts of new and unpleasant truths.
I released the brake and flicked the reins, and nothing happened. I snapped the reins a bit harder. As the wagon lurched forward, I was glad I had padded the chairs. At the end of the drive the wagon half turned, half skidded onto the west road leading into Kyphrien, because I hadn’t swung wide enough. Why was it that everything I hadn’t done a lot before I seemed to have trouble with?
Krystal was still in Ruzor, or on her way back, and Justen and Tamra were somewhere on the road to Vergren. Although it would be eight-days yet before spring, Justen needed to be there before the ewes were bred. I didn’t quite understand the timing because in Recluce, breeding occurred earlier. Were the sheep in Montgren different?
There was still a lot about Candar that I didn’t understand- like why Kyphrien was the capital city of Kyphros and so far from the ocean. Of all the countries in Candar that had access to the sea, only Kyphros and Sarronnyn had capital cities that weren’t seaports or on major rivers navigable by seagoing vessels. Was it coincidence that both were matriarchies?
The wind was a low moan, coming out of the Westhorns, cold as the ice that it had swept over on its travels from the Roof of the World to the sea.
I flicked the reins gently, not wanting to move the cart horse into a trot that might jolt the chairs-and me-but wanting to move more quickly.
Despite the chill and the recent rains, the road into Kyphrien was fairly smooth. I waved as I passed Jahunt, the old one-eyed peddler who hawked things like scissors and pins for Ginstal.
“Good day, Ser Lerris. Watch for the rain.”
“Good day, Jahunt. The clouds are pretty high for rain.”
“Not high enough, young fellow. Not high enough.”
“We’ll see.”
I did try to sense the weather, but didn’t have much luck. I’d never had much success with the high winds. I suppose that was why I’d been more than a little surprised, in reflection, on my ability to sense the energy flows beneath the earth. Who’d ever heard of an earth wizard? Then, outside of finding metals, what use was an earth wizard who was an order-mage? Maybe that was me, master of mostly useless order magic.
Farther toward the city, two guards and a huge wagon covered with canvas, but only half full, passed me. Both guards wore blue surcoats and light chain mail under the coats- enough to stop casual brigands, I supposed, but not much match for a good blade or even a good staff.
The white-bearded guard glared at me, and I glared back, but he didn’t lift a blade, and they rode past. I cast out my senses to see what the wagon was carrying that was so valuable. Only the sense of clothlike tubes came back to me. Then I nodded to myself-carpets, carpets from Sarronnyn. That explained the blue surcoats and the guards. The patterned Sarronnese carpets were among the best in the world, if not the very best.
The west gate-really the southwest gate, but everyone called it the west gate-was unguarded, but all the gates to Kyphrien were unguarded. Why not, if an enemy had to travel days just to get there?
Cold or not, the marketplace was filled, and I could hear the usual commotion from three blocks away-which was as far as I could keep from the square. The only circular roads in Kyphrien were inside the city, from military planning, I guessed.
“Fresh chickens!!!! Get your fresh…”
“… spices… spices straight from the docks of Ruzor…”
“… corn flour…”
Two youngsters glanced at the wagon, then at me. One frowned, then shook his head at the other, and they slipped into an alley. I glanced down at the staff, glad I had brought it.
I found the south road and turned onto it, looking back for the young thieves, but caught no glimpses of them, as the wagon gently shook its way over the stones.
Once past the southern gate to Kyphrien, the clamor died away, but the roughness of the ride did not. Especially after I guided the wagon over the stone bridge of the Ruzor road, the clay ruts on the southern road were frozen into jokingly uneven obstacles. With every bump my leg twinged, and I wished I were riding Gairloch.
The ruts evened out as I headed south into the hills that held the faded gray-green leaves of the olive groves. Hensil’s house sprawled over the hillside amid those groves-a low and white-walled building that seemed to take as much space as a small grove.
All the bumps stopped once I drove past the twin posts that marked the beginning of the drive up to the stables that served the house. The drive was graveled and graded smooth, and I shook my head, deciding that I should have asked for more for the chairs.
Two guards stopped me a good hundred cubits from the main yard. One held a crossbow on me-stupid, in a way, because it’s only good for one shot. The other waved a blade that I could have taken away with one blow of the staff.
“What’s your business?”
“I’m Lerris, the woodcrafter. I’m delivering the chairs that Master Hensil commissioned.” I gestured toward the back of the wagon.
He lifted several rags and sacks before pointing toward the yard.
It wasn’t that easy, not with the half-dozen guards in the yard, all of whom had to check that the chairs were indeed chairs. What else did Hensil do besides grow olives?
The carved double doors with the inlaid glass panels didn’t diminish my suspicions, nor did the long stable, or the golden-oak coach being polished by three grooms. Of course, olive-growing could have been highly profitable.
Hensil, almost overflowing his brilliant blue tunic and trousers, and bulging over a silver-buckled belt that barely held his trousers closed, arrived even before the last guard had finished inspecting the chairs.
He bowed with that excessive gesture that signified no respect at all. “Ah, Master Lerris.”
“The same.” I inclined my head. “I have delivered your chairs.”
“I can’t say as I expected them so soon.” Hensil looked at the wagon.
His consort, a graying wom
an as slender as he was ample, stood under the portico, saying nothing, a heavy green woolen shawl wrapped around her.
“A man of your eminence should have his commissions when they are ready.”
“I had heard that you were injured.”
I inclined my head again. “I was, but the leg injury left me more time to work on the detail you requested.”
He finally nodded. “Well, let us see if they will do…”
I bit my tongue and climbed down off the wagon seat, having already set the brake earlier. I slowly removed the canvas, and then the chairs, carrying them up the three steps one by one onto the covered porch.
Hensil watched, trying to keep his face impassive, but his eyes glittered, especially when they rested on the inlaid H in the back of each. His consort looked at each one, then at the olive grower.
Finally, as I carried the eighth one onto the porch, she slipped up to him, and he bent down. I strained for the words.
“… beautiful… but they make the table look poor.”
“Cover it with linen,” he mumbled back, straightening.
Then I watched as he inspected every join, every angle. He didn’t look at the way the grains matched, and that bothered me, because that was really the hardest part, to make each part seem to flow together.
“They seem adequate,” the grower observed.
“I think you will find them more than adequate, Ser Hensil.” I gave him the overly deep bow he had used earlier.
He started to scowl, then smiled, looking more like a hungry mountain cat than a man, but I really didn’t care. I knew the chairs were good.
“We’d agreed on fifteen,” he finally said, his voice jovial.
“We did.” I smiled back, adding, “And that’s a bargain. You did well, Master Grower.”
“… uppity crafter…” The mumble came from one of the guards.
“… idiot…” hissed another. “He’s a black mage, too, that one is.”
I heard a swallow, but Hensil ignored it.
“One moment, Master Lerris.” The olive grower walked back into the house.
His consort looked at the chairs, looked at me, and smiled briefly. She still said nothing to me, although her eyes flicked toward the guards. Under the circumstances, it was probably better.
From what I’d seen, even as rough as I was with the staff, I probably could have taken any of the guards, but not the whole dozen-but Tamra and I might have together-if my leg had been fully healed.
Hensil returned with a leather purse. “Here you are.”
As I took it, I could sense the golds, and there were sixteen.
. “Thank you.”
“You didn’t count them.”
“I appreciate the extra, Ser Hensil.”
There was another swallow from the guard nearest the steps.
Hensil actually laughed. “I might like you yet, Master Lerris.” He gestured.“Send back a small barrel of the black olives with the craftmaster. He deserves some of our best. We’ve his.”
He had style, and I grinned back at him with a headshake.
Even his consort smiled faintly.
The small barrel of olives was the size of a flour barrel and probably worth two golds itself. Hensil and his consort and the chairs had disappeared through the glassed doors before the olives and I rolled down the drive and back toward Kyphrien.
Once I was clear of the estate, I did check the purse, and there were sixteen standard golds. I looked at the staff. I now had a reason for it, but the barrel of olives might actually deter thieves, since they might figure I had no coin, only olives. I hoped so.
Jahunt had been right, of course. No sooner was I back on the Ruzor road toward Kyphrien than it began to drizzle, almost an ice mist that froze my lungs and created a deep aching in my leg.
The rain also deterred would-be thieves, or maybe my totally bedraggled appearance did. By the time I bounced back to the house, my jacket was damp through, and ice flakes were crusted into my hair, while my ears were freezing. I didn’t have that much order strength left, I’d discovered.
Rissa, of course, greeted me.
“Master Lerris.” Rissa shook her head. “For a craftmaster, you’ll be having no sense at all. Out in the rain yet, and that leg is still not healed. It won’t be healed when you’re old and gray the way you treat it.”
“It was clear when I left.” I glared at her. “And if I don’t deliver my work, then I don’t get paid, and we don’t eat. I like eating better than not eating.” I pointed to the olive barrel. “For a bonus, Hensil sent a barrel of black olives, the good ones, he said.”
“Olives are well enough, and we can use them, but coin is better.”
“There was also a one-gold bonus.”
For a moment, only a moment, she was speechless, since a gold was half a season’s wages, and I paid better than many. “Best you get that poor horse into the stable and come into the kitchen. A kettle of warm cider I’ll have on the table, and there’s a loaf of black bread just ready to come out of the oven.”
I thought that meant she approved.
After eating, I decided I didn’t have to go to work immediately, not on crafting, not on Werfel’s desk. That could wait. Instead, I took out a quill pen. I dreaded writing the letter, but my parents did deserve that.
“Good,” stated Rissa. “You work too hard.”
In one way, Rissa was right, and the kitchen was warm, and my leg and muscles were sore. In another way, she was wrong. Writing the postponed letter was scarcely going to be easy.
She continued to work on the next loaves of bread as I wrote. Sometimes, I stopped and just let the smell of yeast and fresh damp dough roll around me.
I had more bread, and I actually finished a whole loaf myself.
Later, I looked at the letter. Deciding to write had not been easy, nor had the words come easily, but my parents at least deserved to know that I was well and prospering-at least relatively. My eyes skipped down the pages.
… regret it has taken me so long to send word… hope and trust you are well… for a time was an apprentice to your brother Justen… then Uncle Sardit will be relieved, I hope, to learn that I have returned to woodworking… a journeyman in Fenard for a year or so… now have a small shop in Kyphrien… need to seek an apprentice… that should give Uncle Sardit a laugh…
… have joined with Krystal, from Extina… beginning to understand something about love… she is commander of the autarch’s blades… share a home when she is not planning campaigns or fighting them… even have learned to ride a mountain pony named Gairloch…
… have had some adventures with various white wizards… recovering from assorted injuries… and concentrating on woodworking more now…
… still do not believe that order is of necessity boring, but that there is far too great a danger in failing to explain what order is and what it means… telling a youngster that order is important is meaningless without showing why-and Recluce is so ordered that the dangers are not at all obvious…
I didn’t know if what I had written about order was quite right, but the general idea was. No one likes to accept “because that’s the way it is” as an answer, especially young people, and while people like my father and Justen with vast experience found certain aspects of the world obvious, the rest of us didn’t.
“Won’t be long ‘fore dinner, Master Lerris.”
I took the hint and folded the letter. Then I went back to the workshop and put my seal across it, and set it aside in the box for my papers-who would have thought that being a woodworker meant keeping stacks of papers?
I shook my head. Tomorrow I’d have to ride into Kyphrien to arrange for it to be carried to Recluce. Probably one of the wool merchants-like Clayda-could do it.
I checked the water in the moisture pot and added a log to the shop hearth before heading back to the washroom.
XLVI
WERFEL’S DESK, LIKE everything else, was taking longer than I planned. This
time, again, it was the glue, which I’d neglected, and needed to remake. The problem with glue is that it hardens, usually before the joins are ready. So I was chipping and grinding, and heating more water when there was a rap on the shop door.
Three people stood there-Rissa, another woman, and a black-haired youngster-presumably the first response to Rissa’s efforts in informing all of Kyphros that I was seeking an apprentice. All she had needed was my admission that I needed one.
My leg no longer twinged when I walked across the shop, but it did tremble if I put weight on it for too long, although the bone seemed completely healed.
“This is Master Lerris,” said Rissa. “Wendre thinks Gallos would be a good woodworker.”
I inclined my head to Wendre, a stout woman with long brown hair wound into a bun. “Sometimes, woodworking is difficult.”
The youngster looked up at me. He wasn’t as tall as I am, but most Kyphrans aren’t. “You’re a wizard, aren’t you?”
“At times, but I spend more time doing woodworking.”
Rissa tugged at Wendre’s arm. “I have some fresh bread. Let Master Lerris talk to Gallos.”
Wendre let herself be tugged out of the workroom.
“Come over here.” I walked toward the bin that contained my odd-sized pieces-too big to burn and too small to use except for boxes, breadboards, inlays, or small decorative items-except for the inlays, things that would have been done mostly by the apprentice I didn’t have. After fishing out a piece of cherry, I handed it to Gallos. “What can you tell about this?” He took the wood, but he looked at me as if I were crazy. “It’s wood. It’s a piece of wood. That’s all it is.”
“What would you do with it?”
“Make things, I guess. Isn’t that what you want an apprentice for?”
“What does it feel like?”
He shrugged, his black eyes puzzled. “It feels like wood.”
“Is it smooth or rough? What does it smell like?”
“Smooth, I guess. It smells like wood.” He handed it back tome.
I did not sigh. “Why did you come to see me?”
The Death of Chaos Page 26