I thought. Was I using order? Finally, after trying to study myself, I opened my eyes again. “None.”
“That’s good. But what about the next time?”
I didn’t have an answer, but for the moment, at least Krystal wouldn’t have to worry about looking older than her consort. Then again, I’d hear about being a hero. As I thought about it, I realized that Krystal was likely to be less than thrilled. In fact, she could be very upset. I took a deep breath. Everything was getting more and more complicated.
Tamra brushed her hair off her forehead. Weldein looked at Tamra, then away. Fregin mumbled something I couldn’t hear as we rode westward toward the crossroad for Tellura. I closed my eyes and let Gairloch carry me, because my eyes were filled with white fire from the effort to hear and read lips.
Beneath us, the ground trembled, ever so slightly, as a reminder that order and chaos remained far out of balance.
XCIII
As WE RODE downhill from the Gateway Gorge toward Ruzor, Justen became more and more silent. I looked toward him, but Tamra glared at me as if to tell me to leave him alone, and I did, and we rode silently through the heat of the morning, and the even greater heat of the afternoon toward Ruzor, stopping only briefly and quickly for water.
At twilight, in the dust and the heavy stillness that blanketed the road before the sea breeze would offer some slight relief, we approached the gates to Ruzor-on the eastern side.
Krystal was waiting, mounted, well before the gate. Her guard waited also, a good hundred cubits back, accompanied by a silver-haired woman who did not, from a distance, appear as old as Krystal. The woman looked like the one in my dreams, the one who had been giving advice I hadn’t understood, and that bothered me.
Since we had traveled quickly, certainly as quickly as any messenger, although I certainly hadn’t sent any, I suspected that the silver-haired woman had something to do with Krystal’s appearance.
My consort rode forward slowly, as did I, until our legs almost touched. For a time, we shared each other’s eyes. Then she reached out. Her fingers brushed my face before they took my hand. Her face was wet, and she swallowed, but said nothing.
“I don’t think Hamor will invade from the north for a while.”
“I heard…” She shook her head, and swallowed again, then squeezed my hand. After a moment Krystal turned to Justen. “There’s someone waiting here for you. I trust you knew already?”
Justen nodded stiffly.
“You don’t sound happy,” observed Tamra.
“Dayala’s never left Naclos. She’s a druid.” He shook his head and rode forward toward the silver-haired woman.
“So are you, really,” answered Tamra, but Justen did not acknowledge her words as he approached the druid.
My eyes bounced back and forth between Justen and Dayala, while my senses tried to follow the unseen line of order that linked Justen to his druid. I realized it was the first time I had heard her named, and it sent a shiver through me, as though her name were a portent of something even more ominous than the might of Hamor.
“A real druid… silver hair and all…” said Fregin.
Justen and Dayala never actually touched one another, but the order bond between them flared so brightly with energy that I looked around. Only Tamra saw it, and she nodded at me, as if to acknowledge that she also had seen it.
I swallowed, feeling even more dread from the power of that shared bond than I had when I had first heard Dayala’s name. So much power, and she had come to seek him out.
“Are you all right?” asked Krystal softly, reaching out and touching my hand again.
“Yes.” I took a deep breath.
She looked at me.
“I’m tired, and we’ll talk about it later. And I don’t like playing like a hero. It hurts.”
That got me a nod and a faint smile.
We rode silently and slowly back to the barracks building. I didn’t realize how tired I was until I found myself letting Krystal help me unsaddle and groom Gairloch.
“You shouldn’t be doing this. You’re the commander.”
“And all the times you did it for me don’t count?”
I leaned forward and brushed her cheek with my lips.
“Someday, you just might learn to receive, as well as give.” Krystal turned for a moment. “There’s dinner for everyone in the autarch’s small dining hall. Anyone who wishes to wash up… please make haste.”
“Food… could use some food,” announced Fregin, leaning against a stable stall while one of the ostlers unsaddled his mount.
“That’s a surprise?” asked Berli, who had already unsaddled and groomed her mount.
So I made haste, but I did wash off the worst of the dust and grime. Then we did walk side by side into the small dining hall, where Kasee waited, alone, except for the servants.
“Oh… shit…” Fregin’s whisper carried through the silence.
“I hope not,” said the autarch politely.
I tried not to grin as I inclined my head.
“Just sit down.” The autarch sounded faintly exasperated. “I shouldn’t be intruding on your dinner, for a great many reasons, but, unfortunately, what I do depends on what you have done and what you can tell me.” She paused. “I think you had better eat, first.”
On the platters passed around the table were thick slices of mutton, smothered in a brown sauce. The bowls contained white strings of something, sprinkled with cheese, and the baskets had loaves of bread. There were also pitchers of redberry and dark ale. I had redberry, and Krystal had ale.
Down and across the table, Weldein filled Tamra’s mug with redberry, and a puzzled expression crossed her face. Weldein smiled politely, and nodded, then filled his own mug. Tamra then offered Weldein the platter of mutton, and he served them both.
In time, I helped myself and served Krystal. For a moment, her eyes twinkled, and she reached out under the table and squeezed my leg. A serving girl placed a plate in front of Dayala. On her plate were nuts, cheeses, and bread-only foods from plants, trees, and milk. Someone had seen to that. Krystal? I looked to my consort, and her eyes met mine.
“You need to eat.”
I did, not that I’d get any younger, but I might get less stiff and sore with food and rest. I had to use my knife with a fair amount of vigor to cut the meat. It was chewy, quite chewy, and only the spicy sauce made it palatable. The white strings were shredded seaweed with spices and goat cheese. The bread was warm and tasty, anyway.
I paused in mid-chew, then swallowed. If tough mutton was being served at the autarch’s table, what were the poorer folk eating? I looked to Krystal.
“Food is hard to get. It’s mostly because of hoarding, but Kasee doesn’t want to use troops yet.” She refilled her mug with more ale; I hadn’t realized she had drunk the entire thing.
I could understand where that would go, and yet, if the autarch had to pay higher and higher prices to feed her forces, then taxes would have to climb, and soldiers might be needed then.
After everyone had eaten at least something, Kasee inclined her head to Justen. “Where do you think Hamor will strike next, Mage?”
Justen finished taking a drink of the dark ale. “This is good ale, Honored Autarch. Would that my speculations were as good-or as certain.”
Tamra frowned, and I pondered. On the road, Justen had implied that Hamor would strike Recluce next. Why would he not tell the autarch that?
Beside Justen, Dayala sipped water.
The autarch waited, and Justen finally cleared his throat.
“I don’t know. I had thought that Hamor would strike Recluce next, but Dayala seems to think that is not so, that Hamor will strike once more at Kyphros, although not until the sun-devils hold Hydlen.” Justen shrugged.
The autarch turned to Dayala. “Lady druid, might you enlighten us?”
“The sands do not tell all,” Dayala began, her voice like husky silver bells, “but the webs of order and chaos remain in Ca
ndar. The ships will come from the sea to finish Hydlen first, and then they will come to Ruzor, even as the armies of the sun will cross the Lower Easthorns.”
“How do you know this?” asked Kasee, her voice conversational, but with a hardness behind it.
“I know what I know,” answered Dayala apologetically.
“Logic would say she is right,” added Krystal from beside me. “Hamor has not that many ships in Candar now, and twice in the past has lost fleets to Recluce. Why would the Emperor start another war before finishing the one he is about?”
That made sense, but Justen had made sense on the ride back from my contest with Sammel. I blinked.
Kasee turned to me. “Lerris? You have been silent.”
“I don’t know. I can make a case for Hamor attacking either Kyphros or Recluce, and I feel that before it’s over attacks on both will occur. As for which comes first, I don’t know. I think we have to prepare to be attacked. Perhaps, as we prepare, matters will become more clear.” I hoped they would, but I didn’t have much confidence of that.
“You don’t sound entirely convinced of your own wisdom.”
“I am convinced that an attack on Kyphros will occur. I am not convinced that matters will become more clear. Things always seem to be more confusing, not less.”
“Always like that…” muttered Fregin into the silence. “Yes, it is,” said the autarch with a slightly forced laugh. At the end of the table, Weldein refilled Tamra’s mug, and she said, “To what do I owe such attention?”
While he flushed slightly, he answered. “Only to being yourself.”
“And what am I to the Finest, ser?” He smiled politely and said, “Do you wish to know?” Her eyes turned icy.
“The red bitch,” Weldein said even more politely. Justen almost choked, and Kasee covered her mouth. “He has nerve,” Krystal whispered in my ear. Nerve he had, but at that point I wasn’t sure about intelligence.
Tamra laughed, and everyone else let go of their breath. Then she added, “You’re the only honest one in the bunch, except maybe Lerris, and Krystal’s responsible for that.”
“Honesty doesn’t always guarantee survival,” Weldein pointed out.
Tamra had lifted her mug, but paused before drinking, as if she really hadn’t considered the point before. Then she turned to Justen. “That’s it.”
“What’s it?” asked my uncle. “Existence-life-honesty, order…”
“Of course,” Justen said.
Their words had me lost-either that or it was so obvious that I’d never voiced it. Order couldn’t be managed on a large scale without honesty because the order handler had to be honest with himself to avoid overextending himself and getting destroyed-or aged, I reflected. In a way, though, the same was true with chaos, except, since chaos was so much more destructive, the process happened faster.
I frowned. Theoretically, that meant that an order-master could wield more power than a chaos-master. So why had chaos usually won, except at the end of every conflict? Survival? It fit in a strange way. Wielding great powers resulted in great costs, and an order mage would know that, and, being honest, would probably not want to be forced into self-sacrifice unless absolutely necessary. Chaos mages could deceive themselves about the prices; so their works were more obvious.
I shook my head. Parts were missing, but the general idea was there.
“Lerris?” asked Krystal softly. “Are you all right?”
“Oh… yes. I was dunking about honesty.” She shook her head and took another pull from her mug. “Commander?” asked Kasee. “Where do you think the attack will come?”
“Against us, but I could not explain exactly why I think so, except we are weaker, and their fleet seems determined to bring all outside trade to a halt.” Krystal shrugged.
“In time, we shall see.” Kasee smiled tightly. “In the meantime, enjoy the table.” She lifted her mug, then added, “To your return.”
We all drank, and then we had some fried cakes. After the dinner, Krystal and I walked through the narrow stone-walled corridors and up the stairs to her room, where Herreld waited.
“Evening, Commander.”
“Good evening, Herreld.”
He turned to me. “Heard what happened, Mage. We’re glad you be back.” He nodded.
“Thank you.” I nodded to him, and we entered the room. Krystal bolted the door, not that I thought anyone or anything would pass Herreld.
The quilt on the bed was even straight, and the papers were stacked in neat piles around the conference table. Krystal took off her blade, but not her boots.
Because my feet ached, I pulled my own boots off and just sat on the edge of the bed, looking out through the narrow window at the darkness, and the few lamps in the distance.
Krystal eased down beside me, but she was stiff.
“You’re upset?” I guessed.
“How did you guess? My consort has gone out to stop another wizard, and he comes back aged more than a decade, and I’m supposed to be calm?” Her voice rose at the end. “I’m supposed to be calm?”
“I did the best I could.”
“I didn’t want you to be a hero. I wanted you to come back safe.”
“I did. I’m just older.”
“Older!” she exclaimed. “What about… ?” After a moment, she sighed. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter.”
What could I say? It wasn’t as though I’d gone out and aged myself on purpose. “It does,” I answered, “but I didn’t get older on purpose. I was trying to keep the Hamorians out of Kyphros, and they had more-” I took a deep breath. Nothing I said would change things, and she’d still be angry. “Never mind… I didn’t mean to do it.” And I hadn’t.
After a time, Krystal sighed once more and ran her fingers through my hair. “There’s only a little gray.”
“Yes. I suppose I could be like Justen, but the idea of using order to keep myself young doesn’t sound quite so good now.”
“Why not?” She kissed my neck gently, not insistently, just gently.
“Like a lot of things… it doesn’t feel right.”
“How did it happen?”
I laughed, and the sound was harsher than I intended. “I don’t know that, either. I was getting beaten around so much I didn’t even feel the aging.”
“I don’t understand. Justen is a gray wizard, and he’s lived for centuries. You do one thing, and you age.”
“I think it has to do with how I did it, not what I did. If I understand Justen correctly, he used order to focus more order on chaos. When he did that, he reduced the amount of both order and chaos in the world. I used order to focus chaos back on Sammel, and I didn’t reduce, not much anyway, the amount of anything. That’s why the ground still trembles. There’s a lot of chaos still beneath Candar.”
“That’s not fair.”
“No. But the Balance has nothing to do with fairness. A purely ordered life will last longer. My father looks younger than Justen, and he’s older, not a lot, but older, and it takes Justen more use of order to maintain himself. That might be why Justen avoids chaos.”
“Too much contact would kill him?”
“You see what happened to me, and I used order to channel it.” I wasn’t about to mention my failing hearing and the pain of seeing, not as we were finally getting back to some semblance of closeness.
“Oh, Lerris.”
Her arms went around me, and mine around her. At that point we didn’t need words. We needed to be close.
XCIV
Worrak, Hydlen [Candar]
THE STAFF ON the breakwater flies the crimson banner of Hydlen, a banner ragged from the rock chips and shell fragments flying around and through it. A squat stone-walled fort rises from the middle of the breakwater.
In the nearly flat blue waters of the Gulf of Candar circle the steel-hulled ships, plumes of smoke from their funnels identifying them as steam-powered, the golden sunburst on the pale blue flag identifying them as from Hamor.
Another shell arches over the breakwater and into the fort that guards the harbor entrance. Stones cascade down from the breech in the wall, rolling into the oily water of the harbor. The crimson banner of Hydlen, more ragged, continues to flutter in the sea breeze.
With the regularity of a pendulum, the shells leave the guns of the Hamorian squadron, and with nearly equal regularity slam into the fortifications that bar the invaders from the port of Worrak.
On the bridge of the Frentensea, Leithrrse smiles as he watches the progress of the guns in hammering down the barriers to the harbor.
“Won’t be long now, ser,” advises the captain. “Not long at all before we can steam right in.”
“Good. Good. Teach those Hydlenese a lesson. And the black devils hiding on their island.”
The captain glances seaward, frowning. “Something out there. Maybe they’re not hiding any longer.”
“Out there?”
“I’m more worried about Recluce than Hydlen, ser.”
“The unseen ships?” Leithrrse laughs.
“Unseen, mayhap, but those unseen ships have sunk near on a dozen of ours so far.” The captain squints. “See… there’s a wake out there. Low one, and it’s headed our way.”
“Guns!” yells the envoy and acting regent, gesturing toward the wake.
“How do you hit a ship you can’t see?” asks the gunnery chief.
“There’s a wake there. Use the wake,” snaps the captain. “Aim right ahead of the wake. Use enough shells and you’ll hit it.”
“But don’t they have magical armor?”
“Demon-damn! No magic is going to stop a five-stone shell! Stop bitching and start aiming. Leapfrog the guns if you have to.”
“Yes, ser.”
Once the gunnery officer has left, the captain wipes his forehead.
Leithrrse smiles as the gunnery officer begins to bellow orders and the turrets turn.
Geysers of water raised by the Hamorian shells begin to appear in the offshore waters in front of the thin line of white that marks the track of the unseen attacker.
The Death of Chaos Page 50