The Order War

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “Yes. That would be just right.”

  “Optimist,” muttered Gunnar.

  Despite Gunnar’s pessimism, the loading was complete just before Horas called out, “Dinner.”

  “I’ll be right there. I’m going to get the firebox ready to light.” Justen whittled some shavings from a branch he had taken from the woodpile. Although he had some shavings in a box in the coal bin, they were to be saved for possible emergencies.

  After setting the shavings and some chips and twigs in the firebox, he walked to the outside pump where he washed the coal dust and grime off his hands and face, then shook the water off his hands.

  The others were at the table when he entered.

  “Spiced lamb!” announced Elisabet. “And berry bread, and pie.”

  “That’s for later, young woman,” said Horas.

  “Pass the lamb, please,” asked Gunnar.

  Justen extended the bread to his mother, and then to Elisabet, who promptly slathered her slab with cherry conserve. Justen set a slice on the edge of his plate and waited for the lamb, still wondering about Seldit and Ryltar.

  “This is good,” said Gunnar. “We’re going to miss this kind of cooking.”

  Justen took a bite of the bread.

  “Why do you have to leave now? Why so soon?” asked Elisabet.

  “Counselor Ryltar wants to lock me up because I’m order-mad,” mumbled Justen through a mouthful of hot bread.

  “Finish eating before you talk,” suggested Horas.

  “You don’t know that for sure,” protested Gunnar.

  “Sure enough.” Justen held up a hand and swallowed. “I still don’t understand why. All Ryltar seems interested in is trade and money.”

  “If he’s a trader,” suggested Horas. “He wants to keep taxes low, because the levies fall on traders and businesses. If what you do starts a war between Fairhaven and Recluce, his taxes will go up and his profits will fall.”

  “He wants to confine me because I might do something that leads to war?” Justen took a sip of ale from his mug and spooned more lamb onto his plate, reflecting that he wouldn’t get cooking as good as his father’s for a long time, if ever. He swallowed.

  “Maybe he likes things the way they are,” suggested Cirlin. ‘ Traders don’t like change.“

  Justen frowned. “He does handle smuggling.” He ate some of the lamb, enjoying the meat and mixed spices.

  “It’s not illegal here, just in places like Hamor and Candar,” added Gunnar.

  “Maybe he doesn’t want Justen to succeed,” suggested Elisabet.

  “He doesn’t even know what I’m doing.” He can’t, since I myself am still not exactly sure of what’s going to happen.

  “Elisabet may be right,” said Gunnar. “Let’s say that you do something, anything, to unbalance things in Candar, anything that reduces the power of the Whites. The Whites control their trade absolutely, and they tax it heavily. They have to. That’s how they support all those armies and levies.”

  “So?”

  “The Whites have always tried to reduce free trading. What advantage does Ryltar have over the other traders? He deals with smugglers. Now, smugglers can exist only if they provide things people can’t get, or if they charge less for their services. If they don’t pay the Whites’ taxes.”

  Horas nodded. “So more White control means more coins in Ryltar’s purse?”

  “Is that enough to want to lock Justen up?”

  “I don’t know.” Justen shrugged. “There has to be something else, but what it is…”

  “Could anyone be that greedy?” mused Horas.

  “I don’t think you can underestimate greed,” answered Cirlin.

  “I still think I could go.” Elisabet looked at Justen.

  “Only when you’re as good as Gunnar with the storms, or as good an engineer as Justen, dear,” responded Cirlin.

  “That’s not fair.”

  The other four laughed gently.

  “All right. Fair doesn’t count, but I don’t have to like it.”

  Justen reached over and patted Elisabet’s shoulder. “Someday… someday… you too can go off into the world and do utterly idiotic deeds that could kill you.”

  “… and fall in love with strange people in strange places that your family has never seen,” added Horas, a twinkle in his eye.

  “… and build wondrous devices that throw your family through stone walls,” added Cirlin dryly. “Promise?” asked Elisabet. The older four laughed again, with less restraint. By the time dinner was over, the sun had dropped behind the hills.

  Justen and Gunnar carried their packs out to the land engine. There Justen checked the coal bins again, easing another shovelful of coal into them. Then he opened the firebox and used the striker to light the shavings and wood, adding a few chunks of coal to begin building up the fire. Once the edges of the coal had caught, he closed the door and left the scuttle by the firebox. He didn’t want to use the coal from the bins until the land engine was actually on the road.

  “Let’s put the packs here.” He reached out and set his by the third seat, and reached back to get Gunnar’s.

  Then he used the small bellows to force the fire into a hotter flame, waiting to add more coal.

  Sssssss… Justen reached above the back of the third seat, trying not to snag his sleeve on the wicker balloon basket, containing assorted supplies, in order to close the steam valve. The balloon fabric was folded and stored in one of the storage spaces under the black iron armor. Then he eased forward and climbed out of the land engine to stand beside the driver’s seat with Gunnar.

  In the early twilight, Cirlin, Horas, and Elisabet stood a pace or so back from the land engine.

  “I still wish you’d let me go,” said Elisabet. “One ride wasn’t really enough.”

  “Watching that one was bad enough,” mumbled Horas.

  Elisabet turned toward her father. “I wasn’t in an any danger. Justen wouldn’t even go fast.”

  “Praise the darkness he didn’t.”

  Justen hugged Elisabet, then Cirlin and Horas. Gunnar did the same, beginning with Horas.

  “We’d better get moving,” suggested Gunnar as he stepped back from hugging his sister.

  “Be careful with that… thing,” warned Horas, . “It’s no different from a Brotherhood ship, dear,” noted Cirlin.

  ‘ “Ships are dangerous, too.”

  Justen grinned as he caught the teasing tone in his father’s voice. “We’ll be careful. As careful as we can be.”

  “That’s probably not careful enough.”

  In the quiet, punctuated only by the gentle hiss of steam, Gunnar climbed into the seat beside the driver’s seat, and Justen slipped into the driver’s seal, wiggling the tiller. The third seat, raised and to the rear, was vacant.

  Justen eased the throttle to begin the steam flow to the turbine.

  Creakkkkk… The land engine rolled down the lane and toward the road. Behind them, Cirlin, Horas, and Elizabet waved. The brothers waved back through the twilight.

  Neither Gunnar nor Justen spoke until they were on the road to Wandernaught.

  “You know… some of the people are going to think that we’re some sort of monster when we puff through town.” Gunnar pursed his lips.

  Without taking his eyes from the road, Justen increased the steam flow to the pistons driving the shaft. “They might, but not many people will be out, and we don’t sound very different from a heavy wagon. The engine’s not really noisy.”

  “I don’t know. This is bigger than most wagons.”

  “Not if you consider that we don’t have any horses up front. But we’ll have to see.”

  They rolled past Shrezsan’s and Yousal’s house, and Shrezsan’s parents house, and into Wandernaught. The main street was clear of horses and wagons. Upstairs lamps were lit in the quarters above the cooper’s and above Basta’s, and two lanterns flared outside The Broken Wheel. Three men stood under the lanterns, two of t
hem gesturing toward the larger figure, who lifted a truncheon. “… off with ye! Not another word!”

  “Our coin’s good as any!”

  “Light’s piss! What the frig is that?” The middle figure turned and dashed toward the alley, away from the inn and the passing land engine.

  The other two watched openmouthed as the machine rolled up the street and past the inn. “It’s something…”

  “I know it’s something! Looks like a wizard’s nightmare.”

  “Yousal said that wizard… Justen…” The voices faded from Justen’s hearing, straining as he was, as the land engine passed the post house. He turned the tiller, and the craft headed toward the High Road.

  “You only scared the shit out of one in three,” said Gunnar, “and they know it’s you. How long before Ryltar finds out?”

  “A day after we get to Nylan. Maybe two. We’ll get there maybe two days ahead of the post,”

  “How?” asked Gunnar warily.

  “We’re going straight through. Where could we stop?”

  “You can’t steer this thing that long.”

  “I don’t intend to.” Justen laughed. “You’re going to learn how.”

  “Me?” gulped the Weather Wizard.

  “You,” affirmed Justen.

  CXXXVIII

  Beltar took a deep swallow from the goblet and immediately refilled it. “Here in the tower, you have to drink it quickly, before it sours,”

  “The result of centuries of chaos, no doubt,” murmured Eldiren.

  “No doubt.” The High Wizard set his goblet on the table and fingered the links from which the gold amulet hung across his white tunic. “No doubt.” He picked up the goblet and took another deep swallow.

  “Being High Wizard isn’t as much fun as conquering places, is it?”

  “No fun at all.” The High Wizard carefully set his goblet on the table again and glanced toward the half-open tower window. He wiped his forehead, for the stillness of the hangings revealed the lack of breeze on the hot, early fall day. “Everyone hates you, and each one tiptoes around. No one says anything but ‘Yes, High Wizard. Yes, High Wizard.’ ”

  “Yes, High Wizard.”

  “Eldiren! Just because I’m half-potted, it doesn’t mean I can’t think.”

  “What would you have me say?”

  “You could tell me what you found out about that wizard.”

  “Which…wizard?”

  “The one who exploded the screeing glasses. Twice… wasn’t it?”

  Eldiren’s fingers brushed over the thin scar on his cheek. “Ah… yes. That wizard.”

  “You know full well it was that wizard.” Beltar reached for the wine bottle again.

  “I don’t know. He’s hard to even find. The glass isn’t clear, and it seems like there’s a mix of order and chaos around him, but it’s all ordered, except how can chaos be ordered?”

  “Oh, frig you.” Beltar took another deep swallow from the goblet before refilling it and setting down the empty bottle with exaggerated care. “You mean that we’ve got… a real, honest-to-darkness… Gray Wizard, the kind everyone says there can’t be?”

  Eldiren fingered his goblet, whose contents he had not touched. “I couldn’t say for sure, I think so.”

  “Frig! I got ‘Yes, High Wizard’ this and ‘Yes, High Wizard’ that, and now I’ve got to worry about a demon-damned Gray Wizard who goes around exploding screeing glasses so no one can even find him?”

  Eldiren stared at the table.

  Beltar downed the remnants in his goblet and set the glass aside. “You’re not drinking. Let me have yours. You look at it too long and it’ll turn sour. Like everything else round here.”

  CXXXIX

  Clever. Very clever,“ Altara ran her fingertips across the parchment-thin black iron armor, backed with span-thickness black oak. ”But then, you’ve always been clever with applications, Justen. How, might I ask, did you get through the gate in this contraption?“

  “He told the guards that he was delivering it to you,” said Gunnar, “and that you’d be angry if it didn’t get there. When that didn’t quite convince them, he pointed out that either the device was good, in which case, they couldn’t stop him, or that it wasn’t, in which case, the engineering hall was the best place for it. Then he told them that he was the order-mad engineer. Quite a performance.”

  “I can bet,” Altara glanced from Gunnar to Justen.

  “It really wasn’t,” Justen protested. “Besides, not very much of the land engine is original. I told them that, too- that it was just like a small ship. Most of the parts and assemblies are what we use on the ships, or small adaptations.”

  “I recall that there was nothing terribly original about your black order-tipped arrows, either,” noted the chief engineer dryly, “I’d be terrified to think what you might do if you really got original. Something like this is bad enough.”

  Justen decided not to mention the balloon or the beam of ordered-light created from the polished and ordered fire-eyes.

  Gunnar glanced at the hard-packed clay beside the rear loading door leading into the engineering hall. - “So, what am I supposed to do with this… device?” Altara offered a wry smile.

  “I thought that you and the others might wish to examine it for a day or so before-” Justen broke off.

  “Yes. Spare me the details, Justen.” Altara glanced toward the early morning sun, just above the Eastern Ocean. “Do I understand that you want to hide this original needle in the haystack in the engineering hall for a day or so? Is that what you’re really asking?”

  “Yes, honored and knowledge-seeking Chief Engineer.”

  “And in .that way, you will doubtless ensure that every engineer alive knows what you have done and how to replicate it. So either your design will endure forever or the Council will decide to banish us all?”

  “I think it highly unlikely that the Council will banish you all,” said Gunnar.

  “Maybe not. Then again, it may not be that improbable. The honorable Counselor Ryltar has inquired about your health only a half-score times over the past several eight-days. He seems to want to ensure that your rest cure is… thorough.”

  “I don’t see it,” said Justen through a yawn.

  “Who knows?” Altara looked at Justen. “You look tired. How much sleep have you had?”

  “Not much lately.”

  “And what are you really up to? As if I didn’t know.”

  “You want me to tell you?” Justen forced a laugh. “We’re just trying to subvert the entire Brotherhood by showing how easy it is to build a land engine.” He tried not to wince at the stab of pain through his skull at this small lie.

  Altara shook her head. “You really can’t keep this here long.”

  “I know. But it is an engineering device. Two nights?”

  “We’ll see.” The chief engineer looked toward Gunnar. “Can you keep him out of trouble? And get him some sleep?”

  Gunnar shrugged.

  “Are you going to sleep in Gunnar’s room?” asked Altara, turning back to face Justen.

  “Not at night. I have some provisions so that I can sleep in the land engine, or next to it.” Justen looked at the rear wheel.

  “I’m not sure which is worse, admitting you to the Brotherhood quarters or to the engineering hall.” Altara laughed nervously.

  “I’ll stay away from the hall during the day,” offered Jus-ten.

  “Well, let’s get this land wagon, land engine-whatever you call it-inside, before too many people see it.”

  Justen released the brake and used the last of the steam to start the land engine rolling.

  “Over there,” suggested Altara. “We won’t be using the big mill for a couple of eight-days.”

  “Do you want me to explain it-the land engine-to anyone before we go get something to eat?” asked Justen. “I’m sure you’ll find a way before you leave-”

  “Justen!” Warin walked past Altara and hugged the younger
engineer. He paused. “You shouldn’t be back. You still look tired.”

  “Maybe I shouldn’t. Here’s our project,” Justen grinned at Altara. “A land engine. See… we took the small boiler.

  Behind them, Altara glanced at Gunnar. Both shook their head.

  After Warin left, Gunnar grabbed Justen by the arm. “I’m starving, and if you don’t get out of here, Altara will throw both you and the land engine out.”

  They slipped out the back door and down the alley toward the harbor.

  “Why did you say you wanted to sleep in the hall with the land engine? That isn’t going to be comfortable.” Gunnar looked at the shops ahead.

  “I probably won’t sleep.” Justen yawned. “After we get something to eat at Houlart’s, I’m going to sleep on the floor of your room.” He glanced toward the morning sun. “Tonight and for the next few nights, I’m going to try to stay awake… or merely doze with some wards.”

  “I doubt that wards will work well around so much iron. Maybe Martan could spare someone to help.” Gunnar yawned, too. “Houlart’s is around the next comer.”

  “Good.” In turn, Justen yawned again.

  Only two tables in the public room were occupied, and the brothers took a corner table, one from where Justen could study the entire room. As he sat down, he glanced at the doorway by the kitchen, where Houlart was speaking to a young woman. He strained to catch the words, but could catch only a few fragments.

  “… Yersol… street opposite… engineer’s back…”

  He frowned. Where had he heard the name Yersol? Did it matter? It had something to do with Ryltar. He leaned toward Gunnar and whispered, “You were right.”

  “Huh?” Gunnar jerked fully alert.

  “Never mind. I’ll tell you later.”

  “What’ll it be, gents?” asked Houlart, standing by the table.

  “Food, good hot food,” mumbled Gunnar.

  Houlart smiled the professional smile of all innkeepers.

  CXL

  “Who’s in port?”

  “The Yalmish, and our Viella, and Slyak’s bunch-I don’t recall what the current name of his rig is.” Yersol set the mug of warm ale on the worktable between them.