The Death of Chaos

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “We’ll be back,” I said.

  “I believe you, Lerris, but I’ll be a great deal happier when you return.” She stood, and we stood, and bowed, and left.

  Outside the closed doors of the study, Krystal turned to me. “Why did you blurt that out?” Her voice was gentle.

  “I just felt it, and someone I trust a great deal told me I should trust my feelings.”

  She took my arm, and we walked back through the residence and the courtyard toward the dining hall. My stomach growled, and this time, Krystal’s did, too.

  CXIV

  Dellash, Delapra [Candar]

  “YOU ARE AWARE, Marshal, that a Recluce ship was sighted returning to Nylan, presumably from Ruzor?” Stupelltry’s fingers almost caress the sparkling, untouched, and empty crystal goblet on the veranda table.

  “I cannot say that I am surprised,” Dyrsse admits. “I would gather that the black devils have reclaimed their wizards.”

  “So you will return to the attack on Kyphros? That would leave Kyphros in our hands.”

  “Why? The Emperor has commanded us to remove the vipers of Recluce. That is our duty. That has always been our duty. If we remove them, Candar will fall. Fail to remove them, and we will never take Candar. Besides, they could return the wizards as quickly as they took them. Their ships are faster than ours.”

  “Speed is not everything,” points out Stupelltry. “They have neither the cannon nor the numbers of troops armed and trained as well as ours. While they may rely on magic, I prefer cannon, well-turned steel, and rifles that kill before a sword can respond. With a rifle, each trooper is as powerful as the average mage, and there are far more soldiers than mages.”

  “True.” Dyrsse nods toward the pitcher on the table. “Would you like some of the wine? I am assured that, as Candarian wines go, it is rather good.”

  “No, thank you. It doubtless does not compare to the vintages the Emperor favors.” Stupelltry smiles.

  “Doubtless, although I would not care to guess what the Emperor might favor in anything. My duty is to follow his commands as he has expressed them, not as I might guess.”

  “Yes, his commands…” muses the fleet commander. “They are our duty, and we will counter any speed of their ships with our numbers and cannon. Cannon reach farther than even the greatest firebolts of these western wizards.” He pauses. “Are you convinced of the speed of the black ships?”

  “They have provided rather convincing demonstrations. That is another reason why it would be better to strike now, before they can build more ships and before their wizards recuperate.”

  “Would it not be easier to mount an attack holding all of Candar? That would provide an even more secure base.”

  “How? You have Freetown, Pyrdya, Renklaar, and Worrak in the east, and control of Summerdock, Southport, and Biehl in the west. Is that not sufficient?” Dyrsse nods toward the empty goblet. “Are you sure that you would not like some wine?”

  “I do appreciate the kindness, but I must defer.” Stupelltry nods toward the ships arrayed in and beyond the harbor of Del-lash. “Since you and the Emperor are convinced, I will begin preparing for the stone-crushing efforts, and that will require a clear head.”

  CXV

  THE DYLYSS DISAPPEARED after my father provided a letter saying that he would return with such aid as he was able. The captain had promised that a Nordlan ship would be porting within the next few days.

  “A few days?” asked Tamra at breakfast. “A few days? First, they want help, and then-”

  “You don’t move a large fleet that quickly,” observed my father. “Most of the Hamorian ships are still in Dellash, according to the captain, and there are still a few more en route from Hamor. That’s three days from here, and another three to Recluce, but they’d probably take on fresh water and supplies in Freetown and Renklaar.”

  “Still…” mumbled Tamra, as she munched through hard bread.

  The plain fact was that we didn’t have a ship, and Recluce didn’t like the idea of us on one of the secret warships.

  After chewing our own way through the hard bread and harder cheese, Krystal and I walked out into the courtyard, and the sunlight, a shade less intense as the fall finally neared. The warmth felt welcome, but in a strange way, since I wasn’t cold.

  “You’re cold?” I asked.

  “The sun feels good.”

  Was I feeling what she felt?

  “Yes.” The words came with a smile.

  I reached out and touched her fingers, and the feel of chill and the welcome of the sun’s warmth were stronger.

  “This is odd.”

  “You feel warm enough,” she said, “but I’m a little chilly.”

  There was a silence.

  “Have you talked to your guards?” I finally asked.

  “I don’t know that I want to take Perron,” mused Krystal. “He has a three-month-old son.”

  “Weldein would go,” I pointed out.

  “You noticed that?”

  “Even / noticed that.”

  “Kasee probably wouldn’t mind, but I’ll have to talk to her. What are you going to do?”

  I didn’t know. “Maybe help the townspeople.”

  “Hmmm… well… they could use it.”

  I could sense some doubt. “You’re doubtful?”

  “Yes. I don’t know why.”

  “I’ll groom Gairloch and think about it while you’re talking with Kasee.” I kissed her cheek, and she smelled good.

  “Lecherous man.”

  I was. I couldn’t deny it, but she smiled, and I hoped she always would. Then she walked toward the autarch’s residence.

  I had just about finished brushing Gairloch when Justen wandered into the stable, except the gray wizard never wandered anywhere. His eyes fell on the tools. “I see you’re thinking about helping more with the rebuilding of Ruzor.”

  “I had thought about it.”

  His skin wasn’t so wrinkled, but his hair had remained gray, and he looked older, almost beyond middle age. “Have you thought about how you intend to take on the Hamorian grand fleet?”

  “No.” I’d thought I’d think about that when the time came.

  He sighed, and I knew I’d said something wrong. So I put down the brush, and gave Gairloch a thump on the neck.

  Whheeee… eeeee…

  “I know. Uncle Justen has reminded his nephew that he has once more failed in his duties.” I smiled at Justen. “Where shall we go?”

  He sat down on a bale of hay. “Here’s as good as anywhere. ”

  I sat down on another bale.

  Justen just looked at me. Finally, he asked. “You love Krystal, don’t you?”

  I nodded.

  “Then, if you don’t want to kill her, why don’t you start thinking?” He held up a hand. “I’ve seen you do woodwork. You plan. You sketch. You check wood. You test finishes and all sorts of other things I wouldn’t understand in years. Why is working with order and chaos any different?”

  I just sat there. Why wasn’t it any different? It wasn’t. So I shook my head.

  He stood.

  “Wait. You’re putting this all on me. The Council asked my father.”

  “Your father nearly killed himself destroying perhaps thirty ships in a relatively small bay. I aged a lot in destroying a few thousand troops, and I had your help and Dayala’s.”

  “I aged-”

  “That was stupidity and lack of planning.” He shrugged. “It’s your choice. I just thought I’d ask.”

  He nodded and walked out. I picked up the tools and put them back into the bin where I’d stored them. Then I walked down toward the old fort on the breakwater. I knew I’d be alone there.

  The pile of rubble outside the barracks was gone, but the hole in the wall remained. There weren’t enough stonemasons for all the holes in Ruzor. Something glinted between the bricks, and I bent over. What looked to be a silver fragment of a necklace lay between two old bricks. Whose? How lo
ng had it been between the bricks? I studied the wall, felt its sense of age, and wondered if fragments of jewelry, or less, were all that any of us left. I swallowed and resumed walking.

  The fort wasn’t as quiet as I remembered. The Spidlarian iron merchant had levered aside the fallen stones to open the breakwater to his wagons and workers, and like ants, they clambered over the nearest Hamorian hull. Banging and clanging echoed across the harbor.

  I kicked a fragment of shattered stone, and it splashed into the water. What could I do? I mean, what could I really do? The shattered stones piled across the breakwater showed the effectiveness of the Hamorian cannon, and hundreds of ships could rain down enough shells to turn Nylan into a pile of gravel. Out in the Easthorns, I hadn’t been able to deflect a boulder or two without nearly getting pulped. I couldn’t imagine stopping falling shells.

  I kicked another stone chip into the harbor and looked down the breakwater at the dark hull that the Spidlarian iron merchant’s crew was already chiseling apart.

  If I couldn’t stop falling shells, then that meant stopping the ships before the shells were fired. But how could I do that?

  I kicked another stone chip, trying to let my senses touch the ship’s hull through the cold water. I shivered. The days before we left seemed short, all too short for what I had to learn.

  CXVI

  AS THE CAPTAIN of the Dylyss had promised, a Nordlan ship did enter the bay and dock at Ruzor less than three days later. The Feydr Queen, like the Eidolon that had brought us to Candar, was an older vessel, with paddles and shining brasswork.

  “Our passage is being paid by the Council,” my father said as we walked up the pier.

  “So kind of them,” groused Justen, “since they need our help.”

  “They’ll take us to Land’s End, though, not Nylan.”

  “That’s five days’ ride from Nylan, and they expect us…” Tamra went on to say how stupid it was for the Council not to have just transported us on the Dylyss. Somehow, I thought the Council decision perfectly understandable. Not wise, but understandable in light of their fears.

  I was thinking, momentarily, of Gairloch, who remained in the stables at Ruzor, since the Feydr Queen had no stalls, nor equipment for handling horses. Berli had promised to take care of him, and of Rosefoot, and that was all I could ask.

  As we walked up the plank, the master nodded to each of us, but the more interesting words came from the mutterings of the crew.

  “… more damned wizards than I’ve ever seen…”

  “… better be a bonus on this run…”

  “… she’s a druid…”

  “… a druid? Oh, shit…”

  “… three gray wizards.”

  “… beyond shit, Murek.”

  I wasn’t sure that I liked being classified as beyond manure, a dubious distinction at best.

  Somehow, Tamra, Krystal, and I, and Haithen, shared a cabin, while Justen and Dayala had the smallest one to themselves, and Weldein, my father, and the two other guards, Dercas and Jinsa, shared the third.

  No sooner were we on board, though, than the lines were loosed and the paddle wheels engaged, and with a continuous thump, thump, thump, the Feydr Queen was on her way seaward.

  Side by side at the polished wooden railing, Krystal and I watched Ruzor dwindle, the faintly acrid smoke from the stack swirling around us intermittently.

  “Still glad you wanted to come?”

  “Glad?” asked Krystal. “No. We belong together. That’s not a question of glad or sad. I wish we could stay in Ruzor, but we can’t. Hamor would come and destroy it.”

  So I had to find a way to destroy them, or their fleet.

  “Yes.” She answered the unspoken thought, as was becoming ever more common between us.

  I had an idea, only an idea, about how to do it. Of course, it would take every bit of molten iron beneath Recluce and beneath the Gulf, plus every bit of storm energy my father and Tamra could raise, plus more luck and good fortune than ever seen anywhere-and it still might not work.

  I shook my head.

  “I’m sorry.” Krystal squeezed my hand.

  “So am I, but-”

  “-we have to do what we have to do,” Krystal finished.

  After the Queen left the bay, the ship began to pitch, and Tamra hung over the rail. She had been terribly sick on the way to Candar, as well.

  This time, though, Weldein stayed by her. Unlike me, the first time, he had sense enough not to talk, just to be there. The young subofficer had guts, that was certain. I still worried about his judgment, since Tamra wasn’t always gentle.

  Justen and Dayala stood at the railing near the stern, their hair fluffed in the slight breeze.

  “I need to talk to Dayala. Would you mind?” Krystal asked.

  I could sense both the concern and a need. “No. Not too much, anyway.”

  “It’s for us, but I’d feel…” She was telling the truth about that.

  I had to smile. “Go ahead.”

  She walked along the polished rail, toward the stern. As I watched, the two women leaned over the rail, enjoying the brisk breeze and the sunlight. Dayala frowned at something, and Krystal touched her arm. Finally, Dayala nodded and smiled, but the smile was a sad one.

  The druid seemed to be explaining something, and I turned away. Whatever it was, Dayala could explain it far better than I could. Far better, I suspected, than Justen could.

  Justen stepped away and headed forward, finally leaning on the rail beside me. “How are you doing?”

  “You mean how am I coming in developing mass destruction and disaster?”

  “It might help if you didn’t look at it quite that way.”

  “I’m not. It’s going to take a lot of iron, and a lot of order, and a storm and who knows what else.”

  He waited.

  “I think I can do what you did, but open a channel through the water if there are order-based storms in the skies.”

  “For three hundred ships?”

  “I was thinking of the water they were sailing across acting as a chaos-binding agent.”

  “Steaming across,” Justen corrected automatically, before frowning. “It might work. It would take a great deal of order.”

  He was right about that, and I didn’t really want to think about how much order.

  “If you start preparing the channels ahead of time, you might be able to make it work.”

  “How soon?”

  . “As soon as you set foot on Recluce.” He nodded to Krystal. “Your consort thinks in large terms.”

  “We have a large problem.” Her laugh was forced, too.

  “We do, unfortunately.” Justen turned.

  “What were you and Justen talking about?”

  “Death, disaster, and destruction, and how to create them.” I forced a bit of a laugh. Justen slipped away.

  “You don’t feel that way.”

  “No.” I looked at her. “It’s already getting harder, isn’t it?”

  “To be deceptive? Yes.”

  “I don’t like what I’m planning, and I don’t have any better solutions. Neither does Justen.”

  “That bothers him. That’s what Dayala said.”

  “It bothers us both, then.”

  She squeezed my arm for a moment, and I could feel the warmth and the affection. I closed my eyes and enjoyed it.

  “You don’t do that often.”

  “Not often enough.”

  So Krystal and I talked and watched Tamra and Weldein and the crew until we were called to eat.

  When we entered the mess, my father was sitting at the end of one of the wooden tables bolted to the floor. “The tea’s strong. You can smell that, but the biscuits are hot. The cheese will be dry and flaky.”

  “Resting?” I asked.

  “Thinking,” he answered with a smile.

  Dry, flaky cheese or not, the biscuits and tea were good, and so was the dried fruit-if chewy.

  After the plain and d
ry-but filling-dinner, Krystal and I went back out on deck.

  The foam where the bow cut the water almost seemed to glow in the late twilight, and the pitching of the ship was less. Tamra was up near the bow, where the breeze was strongest.

  “Do we ever escape our past?” I wondered, thinking about returning to Recluce.

  “Not often,” interjected Justen as he and Dayala neared. “People think they can, but”-he shrugged-“most of us won’t pay the price.”

  “Why not?” asked Krystal quietly. “Is it that high?”

  “High enough,” answered Dayala. “Who wishes to admit honestly her mistakes, and not blame them on someone else? Who can accept the understanding that we cannot change the past, only the present?”

  We both shivered, and our hands reached for each other’s.

  CXVII

  AS THE FEYDR Queen eased up to the old stone pier at Land’s End, the pier that was supposed to predate the Founders, one figure waited in the late afternoon sunlight. Almost no wind crossed the harbor, unusual for Land’s End. I recognized the short hair and slender frame. So did my father, but he only looked and raised his hand.

  “Your mother?” asked Krystal.

  I nodded as she raised her hand in greeting.

  “Landers off.” One of the sailors leaped onto the pier and looped a line around one bollard and then raced down the pier to take another.

  “Easy in! Easy!”

  The Feydr Queen edged toward the pier, her sides cushioned by heavy hemp bumpers, as the sailors doubled up the lines and made the old steamer fast.

  “Pleasure serving you all,” said the captain to my father as he waited for the plank to be lowered. “Here’s hoping you can do something about those Hamorians. Hate to turn the eastern trade over to them, too.”

  “We’ll do what we can, Captain.” My father inclined his head.

  “… not want to get in his way…” came from one of the line-handlers.

  “… avoid ‘em all when you can, and be nice when you can’t…”

  Justen and his silver-haired Dayala stepped down the plank after my father. Then came Tamra, and Krystal and I, then Weldein and the rest of Krystal’s guard.