The Death of Chaos

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “Thank you. I’ll let you know.”

  After the spice merchant left, I walked out into the yard and halfway up the hill-just to be alone when I opened the letter. I wasn’t totally alone, though. A big horsefly kept circling around, an omen of what might be a long and hot summer.

  I swatted at the horsefly, but it kept circling. So I had to set a low-level ward before it buzzed off to bother someone else. The black wax of the seal cracked evenly, and I opened the envelope and began to read.

  Dear Lerris,

  Your letter was most welcome, and your father and I were glad to hear that you are well and prospering. I told Sardit and Elisabet about your work as a crafter, but Sardit just smiled. Apparently, your name is somewhat known in the woodcrafting circles already. That may be why he has always insisted you were fine. He said to tell you that Perlot was both relieved and sad that you had left Fenard.

  Corso and Koldar also send their best. She had a daughter last fall, and named her Betina. Your aunt Elisabet was amused and pleased, I think.

  Your father says that these are troubling times, and that Recluce may be caught between the chaos of Candar and the forced order of Hamor…

  I shook my head. The chaos of Candar had been and continued to be a creation of Recluce. For my father to deny that was… I didn’t even quite have the words for it.

  … neither of which will be good for the Balance. He said to tell you that the Balance works both ways, and that it does not matter whether order or chaos comes first- there will be a balance…

  I frowned at that. My father, even as relayed by my mother’s hand, was sounding suspiciously like Justen. Then why shouldn’t he? They were brothers.

  … when the time comes, you may need to come to Recluce, but that must be your choice…

  Of course it would be my choice. Who else’s would it be?

  The trees bore well last year, even the sourpears…

  When I thought about it, I hadn’t seen either sourpears or chrysnets in Candar. Were they something that the old order-masters had created for Recluce, back before the great change?

  The rest of the letter dealt with more routine news, and I read through it quickly before I folded the letter back into the envelope and walked back to the shop, where I tucked it into the box with my other papers, wondering why my father’s secondhand words had upset me.

  “Wegel… let’s look at that cedar. We’ll start with the inside frame sections on this dowry chest…”

  He only scratched one section by trying to smooth it too quickly, something I’d done more than once for Uncle Sardit.

  Just after I clamped the corners on one inside frame, the creaking of the wagon, and Rissa’s words to the mare came through the open window beside the door.

  “Now, you be stopping right where you are, you old woman…”

  Long before she could have stabled the old mare, she marched into the shop.

  “No chickens, Master Lerris?” She lifted the basket of eggs. “Eggs is all I can get from Brene, now. No chickens. If we had our own, it’d be a different story. Even at a silver a chicken she won’t sell, maybe three for a gold, but I wasn’t about to be buying chickens for golds. Not me. Not without talking to you.”

  “Three chickens for a gold?”

  “Everything’s like that. People are getting a-feared of the Emperor.”

  I didn’t understand at all. It would take well over a year for the Hamorian forces to reach Kyphros, even if Kasee had already dropped dead. Who knew what would happen in a year?

  “That’s madness. There aren’t any Hamorians within six hundred kays.”

  “That might be so, Master Lerris, but folks are scared, and scared folks think with their hearts and not their heads. Sometimes they think with their feet, too. Like Brene. Old Brene’s talking about selling her chickens and going out to visit Tyglit-”

  “Tyglit?”

  “That’ll be her oldest. Tyglit lives out in the trade village near Upper River, toward the Westhorns. That be one of those places where the grasslands people trade come winter. Anyway, Tyglit lives out there, and not even the Hamorians like those grasslands.” She lifted the basket. “Makes no matter. She goes, and we got no eggs, either.”

  I surrendered.

  “How many chickens can you buy?”

  “If I bought a couple of hens and a young cock, Brene might let’em all go for a gold.”

  “Fine. I’ll get you the coins. Just keep them out of the shop.”

  “You be asking me to head right back out to Brene’s, after I just been there?”

  “You’ve been asking me about chickens for nearly a year, and now you practically tell me we’re in danger of going hungry if we don’t get chickens…”

  “Master Lerris… some days, I never be understanding you.”

  I went into the bedroom and dragged out my purse. There was enough there without going into the strongbox hidden behind the storeroom wall off the shop.

  “Here is a gold and three silvers. Try not to use the silvers.”

  “I’ll be a-trying everything.”

  I didn’t watch her drive back out the southwestern road, but went back to mixing the finish for Durrik’s chest.

  Wegel set down his knife.

  “Let’s see what you wrote on the cherry, Wegel.”

  He brought over his box, and I flipped through the cards. “Cherry… hmmm… why didn’t you write anything about how brittle it is?”

  “Br-br-brittle… ?”

  I looked at him. “Get me a scrap of cherry-a little one.”

  He looked down at the floor, which needed sweeping, and then trudged over to the scrap box.

  “Take your knife. Try to cut it. No, not at an angle; just saw it…”

  He looked horrified, as well he might. I was asking him to break a blade.

  “Don’t you see? You have to work the grain. It’s too hard…” Finally, I could see he understood. “Now, that’s what I want you to put on the card.” I handed him his box back.

  At that point, I let Wegel go out to the stable and work on putting up the wall boards. The floor was in, although it needed smoothing, and so was the door to the yard. Later, Wegel could put in a window, but I’d have to buy the glass, and he’d have to make his own bed.

  Still, he whistled at times when he worked, and he always watched closely when I asked him to.

  I went back to work on Preltar’s chest-until Rissa returned. I still needed to do more on Zeiber’s case, but that would have to wait.

  “Master Lerris…” said Rissa.

  Braaaawkkk… awwkkkk… aaawwwk…

  “You got the chickens, I hear.”

  “Seeing as you had the extra silver, I got four hens and a scrawny young cock-just for a gold and a silver.”

  She handed me back the extra silvers, but I let her keep one, and I tried to ignore the squawking and clucking.

  “Master Lerris, we’ll need a coop or a henhouse for them. I can put them in the stable now, but won’t be long ‘fore the cats and-”

  “I understand, Rissa.” Of course, no one had mentioned a coop, but I should have figured that out as well.

  That night, after having to stop work on the dowry chest to help Wegel with the corner framing that he hadn’t done right, after drawing a rough plan for the henhouse, after listening to Rissa’s praise of chickens, and the distant braaawkk… brawk from the stable, and finally eating something that was hotter than burkha and heavier than leaden oak, I washed up in cold water and sat on the bench on the porch for a while, looking at the stars above the horizon and wondering.

  Life wasn’t supposed to be quite this way. I was older, but I didn’t have as many coins, not really, as when I’d been a journeyman for Destrin. I’d found someone I loved, but it seemed like I saw her less and less. I was becoming known as a crafter, and yet I had to bargain more and more, rather than less and less.

  Since I was tired, and my leg still ached when I was tired, I stood up and headed insi
de to the empty bedroom, where I undressed slowly.

  With another deep breath, I turned back the quilt and climbed into bed, looking toward the other side, the empty other side. Krystal was still in Ruzor, and probably would be for a time, maybe a long time. So was Kasee, and so were most of the Finest, trying to ready the city against the Hamorians.

  I took another deep breath, trying to ignore, for the moment, the distant order-chaos rumbling.

  Grrrurrrr… grurrrrr…

  Deep in the night, deep beneath Candar, chaos and order warred, and I tossed in an empty bed.

  LXVIII

  Nylan, Recluce

  THE FORMER TRADER strides into the Council Room.

  “You look upset, Marts.” Heldra pours greenberry into her mug, then wipes her forehead with a white cloth. “Darkness, it’s hot this spring.”

  “I am upset. Worrying about the weather! At times like this?”

  “It’s hot everywhere, Gunnar says. Underlying chaos, he claims.” Talryn fingers his mug.

  Maris turns and steps up to the window. Beads of sweat ooze from his forehead, but he does not wipe them away. Finally, he turns back to face the other two. “Those Hamorian warships… now, they’re intercepting traders from Candar.”

  “And what might they be doing with those traders, eating them for breakfast?” The short and broad mage sets down the mug.

  “This is serious.”

  “Oh, I agree,” says Heldra, before taking another long swallow of the cold juice.

  “They’re paying half the declared value of the shipments to Nylan-or throwing them overboard.”

  “That is serious.” Talryn leans back in his chair.

  “You two, you don’t understand,” snaps Maris. “That means Hamor gets the goods at half price and the traders from Candar still make some coins. They’ll bitch, but they won’t risk smuggling or breaking the embargo.”

  “I said it was serious,” points out Talryn. “I might as well joke a little. There’s not much humor anywhere right now.”

  “They sank the Grestensea.”

  “I presume because the captain didn’t want his cargo tossed into the Gulf and tried to outrun them.” Talryn takes the greenberry pitcher.

  “Everything he owned was on the ship. You think it’s funny? I don’t understand you two. I really don’t. Enough is enough.”

  “Oh, I see,” says Talryn. “You want us to send our mighty trio up against-what is it now?-fivescore armored warships, and say, ‘We won’t put up with this anymore’?”

  “You’re saying we can’t match their ships?”

  “We’ve had the trio there for half a season, and we’ve gotten four of their ships. They’ve added a score more. You can figure the arithmetic,” answers Talryn.

  “Or perhaps,” adds Heldra, “you think we should take our two thousand-odd armed Brothers and marines and send them out against the close to ten thousand Hamorian soldiers already in Candar? They should charge the Hamorians-using good black steel swords-and let themselves get cut down by those nasty new Hamorian rifles? That’s good arithmetic, too.”

  “What are we going to do?” demands Maris. “All you do is ask impossible questions.”

  “You want direct action, like everyone new to the Council does,” points out Talryn, “like I once did. But we don’t have the resources for the actions you want. We can whittle away at Hamor, but we never have had the resources to take on the Empire directly, at least not since the fall of Fairhaven.”

  “Impossible questions are important.” Heldra smiles. “They lead to answers.”

  “Sometimes,” adds Talryn. “But we try.”

  “What have you two come up with now? Do I want to know?” Maris slams his hand on the table.“No. I’d be a fool to want to know.”

  “We’ll have to take the fight to those who count.” Heldra draws her blade, almost carelessly, and sights along the edge.

  “Your black squads?” demands Maris. “Is that wise?”

  “Hardly, but we’re beyond wise choices.” Heldra looks at the blade and replaces it in the scabbard. “We were selected, like you, Maris, to preserve order with a minimum of taxes and resources, and to avoid changing our society much. Every time we suggest something, you ask how we’ll pay for it. Until it affects you traders, and now you want us to act-immediately. Well… we’ll act, as best we can, with three ships and a relative handful of troops.”

  “You’re going along with this?” Maris asks Talryn.

  “Rignelgio or Leithrrse?” Talryn asks Heldra, his tone somewhere between disgusted and idle, as his eyes ignore Maris.

  .“Both, and the commander of the Hamorian forces in Freetown. Also the Hamorian fleet flagships. Of course, it will require pulling one of the trio off station for nearly a season. You’ll recall”-she turns to Maris-“that was why we didn’t send another set of black squads against Sammel. It would have taken one of the trio away from Dellash for three eight-days, and we thought that destroying Hamorian warships had a higher priority. We might have been wrong, but”-she shrugs-“it’s so much easier to decide that after you’ve made the wrong decision.”

  “What are you two talking about?” asks Maris. “Holding those who make decisions or who are responsible for carrying them out personally accountable for those decisions,” says Heldra. “You’re mad.”

  “No,” says Talryn slowly. “Not mad. Just late.”

  “Would you mind explaining? I’m just a dumb trader, here because the Guild would like to know what happens before it happens-at least once in a while.”

  Talryn leans forward, and his eyes darken. “One of the problems in dealing with empires and large countries is that those who make the decisions never suffer the consequences. One way or another, we have been moderately successful in visiting consequences on those in Candar who create unfortunate circumstances, such as the previous Duke of Freetown. You may recall that Duke Colaris did not attempt to repeat the policies of Duke Halloric toward us. Unfortunately, Hamor is more than a third of the globe away. Now that the Emperor has sent senior commanders and envoys, they shall have the opportunity to experience the same treatment as they have visited on others.”

  “You are mad,” whispers Maris. He turns to Heldra. “You’re going to lead them, I suppose?”

  “No,” says Talryn. “Before long, we’ll probably still face an attack here. We don’t need counselors running all over the Eastern Ocean. We’ll also probably have to explain this to the Guild and the Brotherhood. Everyone wants explanations when there’s trouble. They can’t be bothered otherwise.”

  “You’re both mad.”

  Talryn shrugs. “No. If we do nothing, Hamor will own Candar over the next five years. If we try to fight directly, we will be overwhelmed. So… we fight those who make decisions, and those who command.”

  “But there are others who will take their places.”

  “For how long?” asks Heldra.

  LXIX

  “THAT’S IT. HOLD it there.” I hammered the plank in place, and the back wall of the henhouse was complete. After taking a deep breath, I wiped the sweat off my forehead on my ragged sleeve.

  The braawkking of one of the hens seemed but cubits away, even though all were somewhere on the other side of the stable.

  “Th-this side?” asked Wegel, brushing away a large horsefly. The horsefly circled back in for another nip, and Wegel smashed it flat against the bracing timber, then wiped his hand on his trousers.

  “Might as well. I’m tired of tripping on chickens, even if I do like eggs. Maybe we’ll have enough to eat a few by fall. Chickens, not eggs.”

  Wegel grinned.

  “Get another plank.”

  He kept grinning, but we only got two more planks done before we heard hoofs.

  I recognized the small man with the peaked cap of green and white plaid wool, even before he vaulted from his mount-a big white stallion of the kind I never wanted to ride. Preltar tied the horse to the post with quick turns of the leath
er reins.

  “Master Preltar. Have you come to inquire about the progress of your daughter’s dowry chest?”

  “Quite so. Quite so.” He rubbed his hands together, then followed me into the shop where he pulled off the wool cap and held it in both hands.

  Wegel followed us inside and looked at his carving. I nodded. He might as well do some work on it while I talked to the wool factor. He couldn’t put the heavy planks for the henhouse in place by himself.

  Wegel wiped his hands on a rag, sat on the stool, then looked back down at the wood in his hand, without moving the knife.

  I pointed to the chest, such as it was. “I’ve refined the plans and set up the framing here, and cut the wood. Here are the inside sections…”

  Preltar nodded as I explained. “You’re coming along well, Master Lerris. Yes, well. I must be frank. Frank, of course. The chest will be superb, I’m sure, but I would like something quite different. Quite different, and as soon as you could do it practically. I would pay a bit of a bonus. A bonus, you see.” He gestured with the cap, his bushy white eyebrows and unfocused expression giving the look of an absentminded hawk, were there such a bird.

  A bonus I could deal with. “What is this you would like?”

  “A traveling storage chest, and I would like two of them. Two, if you please, and very functional, and light, but strong.”

  “How large?” I went over to the drawing board. “Most of the time they would be carried by wagon-but a horse should be able to carry one in an emergency.”

  “Probably not much more than two cubits by a cubit and a half, and a cubit deep?” I used my hands to indicate a rough size.

  “A shade bigger. Could they be a shade bigger?”

  I laughed. “They can be any size you wish. I was thinking about a horse having to carry one. I’d use fir, I think. That’s the best for strength when you’re worried about weight.”