The Death of Chaos

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “My mom, she said I’d better do something, and you’re not just a craftmaster-you’re a wizard. I want to be a wizard.”

  “I had to learn to be a woodworker first.” I wondered how to tell him that it just wouldn’t work.

  “I don’t think I’d like that.”

  “Maybe you ought to think about it some more.” I set the piece of cherry back in the bin and led him to the door and through the drizzle up onto the porch and into the kitchen.

  Rissa’s friend looked from me to her son. So did Rissa. Neither said a word.

  I swallowed. Finally, I said, “I don’t think Gallos is really interested in being a woodworker.”

  Wendre glared at her son.

  “It’s not something that you can force,” I added. “Some people are good with stone, others with blades…”

  Wendre’s glare softened somewhat, but Gallos stayed by the door.

  “Thank you.” I slipped back out the door and toward the shop. Had I been that indifferent? I didn’t think so. Sloppy? Yes, I had been sloppy, and careless, and I recalled Sardit’s frustration and anger, but the wood had always felt good in my hands. Was I asking too much? Probably, but Bostric had felt the woods, and even Brettel the millmaster had been able to feel that in Bostric, that gangly apprentice I had trained for Destrin and had married to Deirdre.

  I swallowed, wondering how Deirdre and Bostric were doing, whether they had children, and whether Deirdre had been able to keep her father alive. Destrin hadn’t been that good a crafter, but even he had understood woods.

  With another deep breath, I went back to turning the legs of the desk chair for Werfel. On the second leg the chisel slipped, and all I had was a piece of firewood, or perhaps the leg of a working stool. I shook my head at myself, both at the waste of wood and the lack of concentration.

  Rissa slipped though the door and stood at the back of the shop.

  “Yes? Are they gone?” I asked.

  “I told Wendre that Gallos would not be a good woodworker.”

  “Then why did you have her bring him?”

  “Would she listen to me? I am not the woodworker.” Rissa shook her head. “I see you look at the wood, and it is not just wood. You touch it, almost like a lover. Gallos-he would strike it with a hammer to see if he could make a hole in it.”

  I took a deep breath. “Are there any youngsters who like wood-young women, too? Men aren’t the only ones who could be woodworkers.”

  “That I do not know. But I can ask, and see if there are those who might feel that way. I will have to tell them that is what you want. If I say that-they will think Rissa has gone crazy, but wizards and mastercrafters are all crazy. So no one will think anything about it.”

  “That’s why you had Gallos come in… so that everyone would learn that I’m impossible?”

  Rissa didn’t smile, but her dark eyes did sparkle. “Gallos was already talking about how you wanted him to feel the wood and smell it. Soon everyone will know.”

  “Wonderful. All of Kyphros will think I have lost my mind.”

  “No, Master Lerris. No one presumes to know a wizard’s mind, and so who can tell whether he has lost it or not?”

  An impossible, inscrutable wizard yet-but it was better than being thought mad or chaos-tinged-and I wasn’t that much past the score mark in years. For some reason, I recalled my father and wondered what he would have thought. Probably he would have delivered a long moralistic explanation. Uncle Sardit would have understood, though, and I still would have preferred being the eccentric craftmaster to the inscrutable wizard.

  “Well, this crafter is going back to working on a desk that should already have been finished.”

  “Never… never do you stop unless you are hurt or ordered by the commander or the autarch.”

  “Can you think of any better people to obey?”

  “Men…” sniffed Rissa as she left.

  As for me, I still didn’t have an apprentice, and I still didn’t know when Krystal would return, and I was beginning to worry. Going out on a routine trip and not returning-that was what had happened to Ferrel.

  I went back to chipping and grinding old glue, and boiling water.

  XLVII

  South of Hrisbarg, Freetown [Candar]

  FROM BEHIND THE revetment at the top of the hill, Berfir looks at the round object hanging in the sky over the hill on the far side of the valley. There Colaris’s forces have dug themselves in behind heavy trenchworks. Two black lines run from a basket beneath the elongated ball to the ground.

  A puff of grayish smoke belches from a hole in trenches of the Freetown forces. Berfir forces himself not to duck at the whistling of the cannon shell, and at the dull thud that accompanies the gout of earth and grass that erupts from the hillside below.

  The Duke studies the flat ground below the hill where the crimson banners of Hydlen hang limply. Dark lumps lie in the dust of the flat land that had been a grain field seasons earlier. A few high browned shoots remain, after-harvest weeds. Beyond the flats that had once been grain fields, another long and low hill rises. To the left is a small stand of trees, a woodlot. To the right, fields stretch out to another set of hills in the distance.

  In the fields are far too many of the dark lumps, and, Berfir reflects, far too many had worn the red and gold plaid of Yeannota.

  Another shell pounds the hillside, this time turning a small pine into a spray of kindling, less than a dozen cubits below the left end of the trenches of the Hydlenese forces.

  Duke Berfir studies the balloon hanging in the sky and the mirror flashes from the basket. “… telling the gunners where to aim,” he mumbles to himself.

  “I beg your pardon, ser.”

  “Nothing. Nothing.”

  … eeeee… eeee… crump! Yet another shell erupts below the Duke, gouging out the soil below the center of his troops’ earthworks.

  “We need to see if we can guide the rockets into their gun emplacements.” Berfir turns and strides across the hillside, not remaining all that close to the revetments.

  “Ser…”

  As the shells continue to fall, the Duke continues onward, toward the rocket emplacements.

  The rocket officer looks up at the Duke.

  “Ser?”

  “Lift the launchers, Nual.”

  “What?”

  “Point them up.” Berfir’s hand describes an arc. “So they drop down over the Freetown revetments.”

  “We’ll waste rockets.”

  “We’re wasting rockets now. Unless we can get to those cannon, they’ll push us right back out of Freetown, and before long they’ll hold the Ohyde Valley, and they’ll be knocking at the gates of Hydolar and Renklaar.”

  “Yes, ser.”

  Berfir watches as the rocket crews struggle to wedge the launchers into higher positions than the equipment had ever been designed for. All the time the cannon shells creep closer.

  XLVIII

  THE HEAVY CLOUDS that had rolled in that afternoon led to a dark night, really black. I lit the lantern outside the shop, and then went back inside to work on the supporting aspect of Werfel’s commission-the chair-since it definitely needed to be sturdy to bear his weight. Why was it that most of the patrons who could afford good woodcrafting needed chairs capable of handling heavy loads?

  After having finished gluing the legs of the desk chair into their sockets, I was cleaning up the glue pot and adding some water before setting it back on its tripod by the hearth. Outside, distant thunder mumbled, and rain splattered against the outside walls and the back window.

  I kept casting my senses out. Krystal should have returned days earlier, and I had heard nothing. I felt she was getting near, though, and finally I could sense the horses, and hear them through the dampness, long before they reached the yard. I had put down the glue pot and was out in the slashing cold rain even before Krystal and her guards pulled up outside the stable.

  Perron had the stable door open, and Haithen stood in the mud
and held his mount’s reins. The other two guards were dismounting.

  I held out a hand to Krystal, but she didn’t need it as she vaulted clear of the saddle. She did need it to keep from skidding in the mud.

  “You shouldn’t be out here.” Despite the concerned tone, she gave me a smile that was worth the chill.

  “I’m a lot better, and I missed you, and I should be here. And I’ve been worried,” I admitted, even as I was hugging her, and ignoring the blade that dug into my good leg. “I’m glad.”

  Then we didn’t talk for a moment. “How can you stand me? I smell like a stable.”

  “I hadn’t noticed.”

  “More needs healing than your leg.”

  “You can help,” I offered.

  Perron grinned, I thought, although I really couldn’t see in the darkness and the rain. The night was so dark and the rain so heavy that even the big lantern didn’t help that much. “I’m soaked, and standing here won’t help you.” She was right about that, and I grabbed the reins and followed Haithen and her mount into the stable, glad that I’d insisted on raising the clay floor when it had been built. I lit the stable lantern.

  “Lerris, your stable is drier than some inns,” offered Haithen, her short hair plastered flat against her skull.

  “I do what I can to encourage the commander and her guards to stay here.”

  “I don’t think she needs much encouragement.” That was a low-voiced comment from Perron. Krystal actually blushed. I coughed. By the time we got Krystal’s mount rubbed down and her saddle and gear wiped dry and clean, and headed for the house, big wet flakes of snow had begun to fall, interspersed with the rain that seemed more like ice. “A real winter’s on its way.”

  “It looks like it.” I squeezed her hand and then held the door for her.

  Rissa was standing there, her hands on her hips, stains on her apron, and a scowl upon her face. “Lamb stew will have to do. Thank the darkness I baked today. If only I could know when you would be here, Commander…”

  “Lamb stew is fine, Rissa. It is far better than march rations or inn fare, especially at this time of year.” Krystal smiled and stretched. “It’s good to be home.”

  “And your guards, where are they?”

  “Hanging out their gear to dry in the stable. The ride back, especially from Felsa, was through the rain.”

  Rissa looked at us. “Drowned rats-they look drier.”

  We looked at each other. She was right.

  So we went into the bedroom where I stripped off my soaking work shirt, and Krystal pulled off her tunic, and I dropped the wet shirt and hugged her again. Her damp skin was chill, but she felt so good.

  She kissed me, and we hung together for a few moments- until her stomach growled.

  “I haven’t eaten since breakfast…”

  I got her an old heavy work shirt, and an older one for me, and followed her back to the kitchen where the guards stood waiting.

  “Sit down.” Krystal gestured.

  Rissa set the stew pot on a breadboard in the middle of the table and a basket filled with three loaves of warmish bread beside the pot.

  “… better than the barracks…”

  “… best food… anywhere…”

  “Stop mumbling with your mouth full, Jinsa,” admonished Perron.

  Rissa put down mugs. “Herbal tea or dark ale I have.”

  “Ale,” said Krystal firmly. “It’s been a long eight-day.”

  Haithen and I had tea; the others had ale.

  By the time I’d sipped half a cup of tea and felt warm, Krystal and her guards had each had at least two helpings of stew, and Rissa had put two more loaves of bread in the basket.

  I was full with one solid helping, but I’d had bread and cheese at midday, and I hadn’t been riding through an icy rain.

  “How were the harbor defenses?” I asked after swallowing my last mouthful of stew.

  “Ruzor really doesn’t have any.”

  “No defenses? What about all those walls?”

  Krystal took a mouthful of stew without answering. Perron looked down at his bowl.

  “Might I have some more bread?” asked Haithen.

  I looked at the basket, not believing it was empty, but it was.

  The two other guards looked at each other and down at the table.

  “Have as much bread as you want,” offered Rissa. “Of bread, we have plenty.”

  “I see,” I offered. “Against Berfir’s rockets, the walls aren’t that much good?”

  “Nor against the Hamorian long cannon, apparently.” Krystal stopped and took a long pull of the dark ale. “The old fort sits on the breakwater, and that’s too exposed.”

  “Did you get that from the envoy from Southwind?”

  Krystal took a deep breath. “Hamor has a squadron of a dozen steel-hulled steam cruisers at Dellash and more on the way.”

  “Dellash? Where’s that?”

  “You know the island opposite Summerdock?”

  “That’s in Delapra, but Delapra’s almost part of Southwind.”

  “Not any more. There’s a big Hamorian trading station in Summerdock, and the Hamorian traders use the port year-round now.”

  The picture got very clear. Hamor was using Dellash, wherever that was, as a naval base to “protect” its trade in Candar.

  “So that was why the Southwind envoy came to Ruzor and not Kyphrien?” I asked.

  “She wasn’t an envoy.” Krystal’s tone was openly sarcastic. “She was merely taking a pleasure trip.”

  “A pleasure trip? With a staff of a half score?” suggested Perron.

  “ ‘Just a simple traveler I am, Commander Krystal…’ ” Krystal snorted, then emptied the mug. “I’d like some more…”

  Rissa nodded and brought her the pitcher.

  Krystal filled her mug to the very top, then had to sip quickly to keep it from overflowing.

  “She talked a great deal about the Hamorian cruisers, their draft, their guns, their displacement, their armor, their marine contingents, and their proximity to Summerdock.” My consort took another deep swallow from her refilled mug. “Dellash used to be a fishing village. It now has a deep-water stone breakwater and three piers, not to mention a huge mountain of coal that magically appeared from nowhere.”

  I was getting a sinking feeling in my stomach as Krystal talked, one that wasn’t helped by the way the guards looked at the table and not at either of us.

  “Why hasn’t anyone heard about this?”

  “Obviously, the Emperor didn’t want it to be heard. Not until now, anyway.”

  I liked that even less.

  “Does Kas-the autarch know?”

  “Not yet. But there’s little enough she could do tonight.”

  I glanced toward the window, and the heavy flakes of snow that continued to fall.

  “There’s little enough she could do anytime,” offered Perron.

  Krystal took a long slow breath and another deep swallow of the ale, while Perron refilled his mug.

  “How is Yelena doing?” I finally asked.

  “Everyone respects her,” Krystal said with a faint laugh, “especially after she discovered on the first day how Kyldesee diverted funds into her own purse.”

  “A lot of things reappeared in the armory and the storerooms,” added Haithen. “Especially after word got around that she knew you, Master Lerris.”

  “Somehow, I doubt that my name had a lot to do with it. Yelena is more than competent without having to rely on third-rate wizards.”

  “You’ll notice how he’s finally given up denying that he’s a wizard.” Haithen winked at Perron.

  “Denial would be hard now, even for Lerris,” added Krystal. “He’s known as both a hero and a wizard.”

  “You’re supposed to be on my side,” I protested.

  “In matters of state, my loyalty is to the autarch.” She actually managed to say it with a straight face. Then she grinned.

  We talked for a time
longer, but not much longer, because everyone was yawning, me included.

  Haithen left first, peering into the yard. “There’s a span of demon-damned snow on the ground. Snow? This early in Kyphrien?”

  “You have your boots on. You want help getting them off?” Perron leered at her.

  “You’ll have more than enough trouble with your own.”

  The other male guard shook his head. The woman-Jinsa-grinned.

  Krystal stood up, and so did I, leaving them to their own devices.

  Later, once the bedroom door was closed, I asked, “Why was this traveling envoy there to warn you about Hamor?”

  “Lerris… think about it. If Southwind is so worried that they can’t even send an official envoy to Kyphrien, but only an unofficial traveler to Ruzor, what does that tell you?”

  “They don’t think they can afford the slightest affront to the Emperor. They’re worried that Hamor will use any pretext to take over Delapra and Southwind.”

  “In practical terms, Hamor already controls Delapra. Early in the fall, when we were worried about Hydlen, they sent a ship-one ship-off the breakwater at Summerdock. It reduced the lighthouse to rubble with three shells from their new long cannon.” Krystal hung her jacket on one of the pegs in the closet, then sat on the edge of the bed.

  I pulled off one boot, and then the other, taking the liberty of massaging a shapely calf.

  “I need a shower.”

  “After this weather?”

  “I can’t stand being this filthy.”

  “You look good to me.”

  “Lerris…”

  “It’s cold.”

  “I need a shower, and you can warm me up.” She smiled, and I had to smile back.

  XLIX

  KRYSTAL LEFT EARLY the next morning, through the slush that the night’s snow had become even before the sun rose. Her departure, with her guards, was through a yard that had become an expanse of freezing mud.

  I edged along the front of the house and shop and circled through the virgin slush to get to the stable to groom and feed Gairloch and the cart horse.

  Gairloch pranced a bit in his stall.

  “You may want to be ridden, but we’re not going anywhere until this slop freezes or dries out.”