“Come on and fight, man to man!” screams Berfir, swinging the heavy blade. “Come on, you cowardly bastards!”
As the bullets whistle around the Duke, yet more riders fall.
Behind the Duke, the shells still fall, continuing to widen the gap in the walls as yet more shattered stones slide down, exposing archers’ galleries and passages.
“Come on, devils! Stop hiding!”
Spanggg! A bullet splatters on the road stones less than two cubits from the Duke. Another bullet rips through Berfir’s sleeve, leaving a red line on his left arm.
“Cowards!” Berfir swings his blade again. “We’re almost there!”
Smoke from the cannons drifts downhill almost to the Duke, and less than a hundred cubits ahead looms the base of the earthworks that shield the deadly guns.
Thwuuuck!
The Duke pitches forward onto the dust-covered green wheat stalks, his half-helmet blown off his head by the impact of the bullet through his skull.
Three riderless horses circle, aimlessly, in the trampled wheat, while the cannon shells continue to pound the walls and the city, and dust surrounds the walls like fog. And stones continue to shatter and fall into the dry moat below the outer walls.
LXXVII
KRYSTAL DIDN’T RETURN until well after dark, and we sat alone on the back porch, waiting for the evening breezes to cool the house and the bedroom, looking at the clear and distant stars, and talking.
“I don’t know. I don’t like giving things to people,” I said slowly, “but somehow just saying that it’s bad luck or their fault doesn’t solve things. Neither does handing out a few coppers to make me feel better.”
“That’s life,” Krystal said, leaning back in the chair. “That sounds… wrong. I mean… some people make bad decisions or have bad luck, and they die or get hurt. Magisters like Lennett or Talryp want to make it so cold. If you make a mistake, you pay. If you say that every woman must pay for the stupid things she did…”
“That’s just it. It balances, but is it fair? Take Guysee-her consort was hurt trying to help someone. Was it a bad decision for him to try to help? Talryn would say it was. No one paid him for that, and she and their children paid for his decision. I’ve been lucky. Kasee paid me for helping the Finest, but no one paid Shervan or Pendril-at least not much beyond a gold or two.”
“Two golds,” said Krystal. “That’s the death payment for the outliers.”
“Two golds.” I shook my head. “I probably owe my life to a dozen people, maybe more, who are dead. If I paid their families even that, I couldn’t keep a roof over our heads.” My guts tightened at the statement. “Well… I couldn’t keep more than the roof of a cot over our heads.”
“You’re also keeping a roof over the heads of Rissa and Wegel and me.”
“I like you under my roof, but you don’t exactly need my help-”
She squeezed my hand.
“-and, I don’t know, but the Balance doesn’t really care about people, or about whether children go hungry.”
“That was what got Tamra in trouble,” pointed out Krystal. “She still had trouble with the lack of justice in the Balance. So do you, or you wouldn’t be turning a henhouse into a cot.”
“Wegel’s doing the work.”
“You’re buying the materials and paying him.”
“That bothers me, too, in a way.”
“Nothing says you can’t work on it.” She laughed, and I hugged her, because she was right, and we held each other in the quiet and the light breeze for a time.
“I worry, too, you know.” Her voice was low, barely audible above the rising whisper of the strengthening breeze. “You don’t carry a blade every day.”
I swallowed. Here I was worrying about being too charitable or not charitable enough, and Krystal carried forged death at her hip just about every waking moment. “It bothers you.”
“Sometimes. Kasee’s pretty good, and most of the time we do more good than harm.” She paused. “But I have to ask why so often everything has to be decided by force. The one-god followers talk about goodness. I haven’t seen much goodness that wasn’t backed with steel.”
“Kasee’s a good ruler, as rulers go, but Hamor doesn’t seem to care about that.”
“Their leaders are very shrewd. They’re a lot more experienced than we are.” She shook her head. “They’ve already got the support of most people in Freetown and Montgren. Certis probably won’t last long-half the people hate the Viscount, almost as badly as the Gallosians hate their Prefect. With the Hamorians’ new weapons, who can stand up to them in battle? We’ve barely been able to purchase a score of those new rifles, and not many of the cartridges-but they’re sending every foot soldier to Candar with one.”
“You make it sound impossible.”
“Well, dear man, just how do we stop an empire? And when I ask that, it bothers me, because it sounds like I’m asking you to go out and be a hero, and I don’t want you to.”
“Why not?”
“Because… heroes really aren’t very nice people, and I’m afraid that you’ll change.”
“Maybe that’s why Justen avoids things,” I said. “He was a hero once, maybe more than once, and he never wants to do it again. That was a long time ago, and they didn’t have machines like Hamor does. He destroyed Fairhaven, and everything else collapsed.” I laughed. “If the Hamorians had any idea.of what he’d done, I don’t think that they’d ever let him anywhere close to their capital or their emperor. Not that he’d go. Anyway, the machines change everything.”
“I wonder,” mused Krystal. “Do they? Really? You keep talking about the boiling chaos building beneath Candar. That sounds to me like something’s upset the Balance.”
“It has. My father thinks that it’s mostly Hamor.”
“Don’t order and chaos have to balance? Won’t it strike back at the Empire?”
“How? Hamor is a third of a globe away, and the chaos is here.” I frowned. Krystal had something, something so obvious that I couldn’t quite figure it out.
“I don’t know. You’re the order mage. I’m just a professional soldier.”
“Just? Hardly.” I ruffled her short hair.
“You’re the one who bought me my first blade.”
“Because you needed it.”
“Oh, Lerris…”
“We can’t solve all the world’s problems tonight. And you’re leaving tomorrow.”
“You could come to Ruzor.”
“What would I do, besides get in your way?”
“You never get in my way. Are you worried about losing the crafting business?”
“A little-except I don’t seem to have much left.” And I didn’t. Commissions seemed to have vanished.
“What about the desk?”
“We’re just about through with it.” I shrugged. “After that…”
“Then you could come-you could bring tools, couldn’t you?”
“I could…”
“You don’t sound like you want to.” Krystal’s voice carried a slight edge.
“It’s not that, not exactly. Going to Ruzor doesn’t feel quite right, but I don’t know why, and it bothers me because I don’t. I don’t like your being there, either.” I laughed. “Then, I don’t like your being away so much, anyway.”
“You have to trust your feelings,” she said slowly. “But you could visit, couldn’t you?”
“I’d at least have to finish the henhouse.”
She laughed. So did I, and we left the cooling winds and the cold stars for a warmer bedroom.
LXXVIII
THE THREE DRUIDS stood in the grove of the ancient one, watching the sands that depicted all of Candar shift and boil.
The youngest druid held her lips tightly, recalling another time when she had watched the sands, then in hope. In the space before her, under the ancient oak that was older than Recluce, older than the citadel of Jellico, older even than ancient and departed Westwind, she watched the sands
boil, changing from white to black and black to white.
“The angels will not return, not for all the songs, not for all of the cold iron of the machines,” said the male druid. His thin silver hair, his thin face, both topped a frame so frail that it seemed closer to vapor than flesh and bone.
“The price will be paid,” stated the other woman. “None have paid this price in generations, and the arrogance of the Emperor will ensure that his pride will be laid low.”
“His will not be the only pride laid low,” said the youngest druid.
“Oh, Dayala, never has it been easy for you and Justen.”
Dayala smiled, sadly. “I will be with him this time, Syodra. I will leave the Great Forest.”
“I thought you would be, should be.”
“All songs are sung a last time,” offered the old singer. “A last time when the words regain their purity and power.”
“In Balance, no less.” Syodra laughed, but the tears flowed from her eyes as her fingers stroked the smooth-gnarled bark of the oak.
Dayala’s lips brushed the fingers of the singer, and her fingers squeezed those of Syodra, before she walked away from the grove and toward the river, and the boat, that would carry her to Diehl-and the journey beyond.
LXXIX
AFTER KRYSTAL LEFT for Ruzor again, the weather got even hotter, and the dust got drier and redder, and I took a lot of cold showers for a lot of reasons, but the effect wasn’t all that lasting.
What was lasting was the continuing distant rumbling of chaos from beneath eastern Candar, almost as if it were moving closer to Kyphros, but I still couldn’t tell except that it seemed stronger, louder, as it echoed through the depths. Either that, or I was becoming more adept at reading and sensing the depth.
That morning, more than an eight-day after she had left, hot as it was, I got out the staff again and trudged to the stables, raising a slight cloud of dust, and trying to ignore the brawwking of the chickens.
After feeding Gairloch and the mare, I began to practice, trying to step up my speed against the demon-damned swinging bag, as I did most mornings. One good thing about the bag was that I didn’t have any restraints against delivering really hard blows. That way I could get some exercise and work on delivering more power. Somehow I worried that I might need it.
After a long series where I actually got the better of the heavy sandbag, stopping its swing cold without totally shivering my own arms, I paused to catch my breath and wipe my forehead. Of course, it came away muddy from my sweat and the reddish-brown dust that seemed to be everywhere.
“It is a bad time when good men practice with weapons,” said Rissa from the open stable door.
I wiped my forehead again.
Whhheeeee… That was Gairloch’s only comment on the matter.
Braawkk… Even the chickens seemed to have a viewpoint of sorts.
“It’s worse when good men are bad with weapons.” Rissa shook her head, and, at that point Jydee and Myrla skittered out the door behind Rissa, giggling as they went. My audience had been larger than I’d thought, and that was bad and good. Good because I’d been wrapped up in exercising. Bad because I hadn’t sensed them. Did that mean that when I was exercising hard, my order senses were blunted?
Not that long after I’d put away the staff, I began to work on plans for a tall storage chest for clothes-a bigger and deeper version of Durrik’s spice chest-not that I was getting anything from it, since I hadn’t the faintest idea who would buy something like that.
Finally, I put down the quill and studied Antona’s desk and chair. I hadn’t attempted to deliver them. First, I didn’t know where to cart the two pieces, exactly, and, second, my making inquiries about the Green Isle would have set off a few rumors I would rather have avoided. So I had offered Guysee a few coppers to deliver the envelope the day before.
That gave her coins, and I certainly didn’t want to send poor tongue-tied Wegel off to Antona’s establishment. If he wanted that kind of pleasure, he’d have to find it himself, not through my assistance, indirect or otherwise.
My fingers brushed the cherry. I’d miss both of the pieces, because I had done-or we had-good work, and the carved and inlaid A was far better than I could have easily done.
After Guysee had returned the afternoon before, she had solemnly informed me that the lady in green had taken the envelope and laughed. “So cautious is Master Lerris!”
Cautious? In some ways, I guessed. Was I too cautious?
With a deep breath I picked up the quill again and dipped it in the ink, but I hadn’t drafted four lines before there was a clatter of horses in the yard. Antona and her carriage, and a wagon that bore the painted black outline of two horses and a wagon- Werfel’s sign-rolled into the yard. Werfel was not driving the wagon, but a thin gray-haired man was, accompanied by a younger and burlier fellow.
I went out into the heat of the yard. “Greetings, Lady Antona.”
“You are always so polite, Master Lerris. Let us see your masterwork.”
I inclined my head and held open the door.
After she entered, Antona looked at Wegel, steadily, until he blushed.
“Don’t be embarrassed, young fellow, just because a bawdy old woman enjoys the sight of you. Your master’s too cautious. Besides, looking that way at him could cost me my head, and I’m right fond of it.”
Her head? Surely, Krystal wasn’t that jealous.
“I wouldn’t bet on that,” said Antona. “You might, but I wouldn’t.” She walked toward the desk, sitting in the open space back from the door, her fingers slipping over the finish of the desk and the chair. Her eyes rested on the inlaid carved A where the darker lorken stood out-but not ostentatiously- from the lighter cherry.
“Why did you make the inlay darker, rather than lighter?”
“It’s less obvious, Lady. I didn’t think you would wish to flaunt it.”
She laughed. “Master Lerris, you’re a wise man.”
“Only about some things.” I still recalled her veiled reference to Krystal.
“But you understand your weaknesses, and that makes you stronger.”
“You’re far too kind.”
“Me? Kind? You are the charitable one.”
“For doing what I like to do?” I tried to change the subject.
“You like to craft. Few people truly enjoy what they do.” Her gray eyes sparkled for a moment before she asked,“Would you do a dining set for me? Chairs like you did for Hensil, and a table?”
“Now?” I couldn’t help the surprise. No one was commissioning anything in Kyphros, which made a strange kind of sense. A good piece of woodworking will last for generations, but people don’t make that commitment when they aren’t certain about the future.
“Don’t sound so surprised. My business, unlike most, does better in hard times. People need consolation.”
I nodded. That made sense. “It would be costly, and it would take longer.”
“That would be fine.” She frowned. “The chairs cost Hensil sixteen golds.”
What didn’t the woman know? “That was rather a bargain.”
“I won’t quibble. Say thirty golds for the chairs, but I’d like twelve. Then another fifty golds for a table to the standard of the desk.”
I thought. I’d never had anything close to a commission that huge. Eighty golds! “I will have to have a deposit on something that large, Lady, if only for the wood. And it will probably take most of a season to obtain and season enough cherry.”
“Always honest, Master Lerris. That’s what I like about you. Are you that honest in the bedroom? No, don’t answer that.” She laughed. “That wasn’t fair. Fun, but not fair.”
I knew I was blushing.
She handed me a purse with two hands. “There are eighty golds there. Fifty for the desk and chair, and a deposit for the dining set.”
I tried to take the heavy leather bag graciously, but it’s rather hard to take a bag that weighs more than half a stone gra
cefully.
I tucked it inside the empty moisture pot for the moment when Antona went to summon the carters, and while Wegel opened the other half of the door, the half that usually was closed except when we lugged in lumber or eased out finish work.
“Easy with that desk. It’s a masterwork, and you dent it or scratch it, and Werfel won’t be able to find a hole deep enough to hide you,” announced Antona politely, without raising her voice. Of course, I could have used her tone to etch designs in brass, but she didn’t yell or shout, and I had some idea that she expected to be obeyed.
The two carters loaded the desk, and I helped pad and anchor it.
Guysee, Jydee, and Myrla watched from the end of the yard next to the rough cot that the henhouse had become. The second henhouse was rougher, much rougher, than the first, probably because Wegel had done most of it, but the hens didn’t need crafting. They needed protection, mainly from wild dogs and mountain cats, although I hadn’t seen many cat traces.
Both girls watched with wide eyes, Guysee with a certain sadness, as Antona’s carriage bore her back to Kyphrien.
I sent Wegel out to the shed for some lamp oil and to check how much grain was in the feed barrel. I didn’t need either, but I wanted to get the golds into the hidden strongbox in the small storeroom as quickly as possible, all but a few, anyway.
After that, since we didn’t have any other great and pressing work, I harnessed the mare and took the wagon and Wegel with me to Faslik’s to see if the millmaster had any more cherry for Antona’s dining set.
He didn’t, and, like me, he wanted a deposit. I gave him five golds and a promise of five more in an eight-day.
When we got back to the shop, I handed Wegel several sheets of paper. “You sketch a design for the chair backs-one that we can make and one that fits with the desk and chair we just delivered.”
“M-me?”
“Why not? I’m not saying we’ll use the design. That depends. But you need to practice that now, too. Any half-decent journeyman can join wood smoothly. What you make when you join it is what determines how good you are.”
The Death of Chaos Page 42