The Order War

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “We need a little fire work. The Yalmish and Slyak’s group ought to be enough.”

  “Here? That’s crazy.”

  “We need to get rid of that thing in the engineers’ hall. Besides, if the hall goes, the engineers won’t get in the way for a while. I don’t trust that Altara. She and Jenna are too close.” Ryltar shifted his weight on the cushion of the wooden armchair. His fingers toyed with die base of the black crystal goblet, still half full of ale.

  “Why are you so worried about this engineer?”

  “Don’t you see? He almost won in Sarronnyn, and he’s managed to get the demon-damned druids behind him. Now he’s got this land engine that travels on roads like a steam ship does on water. But according to the engineers I know, it takes an engineer to run it.”

  ‘The ones you pay to tell you what’s going on?“ Yersol took a last swallow of the ale, grimacing at the warm taste. ”No other trader could use it, and engineers don’t trade,“

  “This one does. He’s got a deal going with the Naclans. Or the Naclans are using him. First it was lorken, and then that cloth that no one had except the Tyrant of Sarronnyn. Now he’s got something that will cross Candar faster than the fastest ships.”

  “He does?”

  “Seldit watched him leave Wandernaught. He arrived here less than a full day later. The machine is up there in the engineering hall. Before long, they’ll all be able to build one like it, and where does that leave us?”

  “I told you, engineers don’t trade, Ryltar.”

  “You still don’t see. What happens if he goes back to Candar?” Ryltar’s fingers tightened on the base of the goblet.

  “You’re rid of him.” Yersol half-filled his mug. Ryltar gave the younger trader a look of disgust. “Would you think for once? Just once?”

  “So I’m stupid. Would you explain what the problem is?”

  Ryltar glared at Yersol before his expression softened. “All right. Where do we make the most profit?”

  “On the east-to-west Hamor trips.”

  “Why?”

  “You know-” Yersol paused, then continued. “Because Hamor’s bigger than Candar, and it’s a long trip by land. Our ships are a lot faster than theirs, and we don’t pay all their duties.”

  “Do they have good roads?”

  “Sure. But they’re a bitch on wagons and pack animals.”

  “And aren’t there Order Wizards in Hamor?”

  “Not many, but some.”

  “If this engineer could run aland engine, could they?”

  “Oh. Shit.”

  “Now do you see? This damned land engine gets out, and we lose-”

  “I’m slow, but I do gel it.” Yersol frowned. “But he wouldn’t even think about this. You know that. Why would anyone think about taking a land engine to Hamor?”

  “Look, Yersol. One thing I do know is that nothing in this world stays a secret, and the emperor of Hamor would do just about anything to stop us.”

  “Yeah. I’ll talk to Slyak. Have him talk to the Yalmish. It’s going to cost probably double or triple.”

  “It’s worth it.”

  “What if it doesn’t work?”

  “Even if it fails, the attempt will get Claris upset enough to get this Justen put away for a long time-for a permanent rest cure. She’s almost there now.”

  “I hope so.”

  “It will work.” Ryltar nodded. “It will.”

  CXLI

  “Fire!”

  At Gunnar’s yell, Justen bolted upright out of his blankets and yanked on his boots even as he was trying to clear his head. Two nights of less-than-restful sleep, even with the naps he took in Gunnar’s room, had left him sluggish.

  A ruddy glow came from the front of the hall, accompanied by a faint crackling as flames seemed to race toward the back.

  Justen glanced around. Martan and his two marines were dressed. “Open the door,” yelled Justen. “That one!” He pointed to the rear loading door, then threw his pack and blankets into the backseat of the land engine, even as he disengaged the brake and clutch and began to push, trying to rock the heavy machine forward.

  Gunnar followed Justen’s example, throwing his gear in the second seat and trying to push the engine toward the door that Martan and one of the marines had slid open.

  Flames also licked up a rear corner of the building, and a dark-clad figure dashed away from the loading door.

  “Someone… set… the fire…” grunted Gunnar, his shoulder almost touching Justen’s. “Threw oil… struck it…”

  “Bastards,” grunted the marine pushing on the other wheel.

  Martan joined them, and the land engine began to roll. Justen put one hand on the tiller to keep it lined up and headed toward the door.

  Behind them, sounds of crackling and waves of heat rose. Flames also began to spread on the downhill side of the hall.

  “Ugghhh…” The sides of the craft’s armor scraped on a massive boiler section just inside the door, but Justen turned the tiller and the five pushed the land engine out through the rear loading door.

  Nearly a dozen dark-clad figures stood a good thirty cubits beyond the door. Most of them bore staffs or weapons. One carried a torch.

  “There’s the demons’ machine!”

  “Destroy it!”

  “No White evil in Nylan…”

  Justen scrambled into the driver’s seat and pulled on the brake lever to stop the land engine, then scrambled to the rear seat and the space beyond to open the firebox. He shoved some shavings and chips into place and lifted the striker.

  “Get the demons!”

  As the dark figures moved toward the land engine, Justen edged several small chunks of coal next to the wood and shavings and closed the firebox door, opening the draft vents.

  Gunnar stood rooted just outside the hall, eyes closed. The winds began to whine, to whistle, and the stars began to blink out as sudden clouds thickened.

  “Send them back where they belong…”

  From the road before the hall came the sound of more figures running.

  “Get the steam pumps… cool it…”

  “… take too long…”

  “Weather Wizard… maybe rain.”

  “Turmin… find him…”

  The dark-clad group moved toward the land engine; less than twenty cubits separated them. Justen could sense the fear within the group, a fear that had slowed its advance, and he bent down and fanned the fire in the firebox, trying to build up steam pressure.

  The crackling of timbers beginning to bum rose. So did the sound of the wind, and cold droplets began to pelt down.

  A flash of lighting illuminated the back of the engineering hall and revealed the three marines… and Gunnar, who stood apparently oblivious to the commotion, trying to direct the storm onto the fire. As the rain increased in intensity, the intermittent hissing of steam began to replace the crackling of the flames.

  “There, by the door!”

  “Stop him. He’s a weather mage!” screamed a short man in the front of the dark-clad group. The man beside him lifted a bow, the short type used generally by traders.

  In the shadows behind the land engine, Martan raised his bow and nocked an arrow, then released it. The opposing bowman collapsed, a dark shaft driven through his chest.

  Martan nocked another arrow.

  “Marines!”

  Gunnar shook his head, saw the dark-clad group, and concentrated again. Justen shoveled more coal into the firebox.

  Cracckkk!

  A thin, jagged lightning bolt smashed into the stone before the attackers, and a wave of hail rattled behind the flare of light. Justen blinked and shook his head, trying to clear his vision.

  “Get the frig… out of here…”

  “… not paid to… fight magic…”

  “Run!”

  The attackers scattered, leaving one body on the hail-strewn and wet stones.

  Martan lowered his bow and glanced at Justen. “Some trader
wants you dead and your machine destroyed.”

  Justen nodded, then saw Gunnar begin to totter. He vaulted out of the driver’s seat and half-skidded, half-ran, toward his brother even as Gunnar stumbled into a sitting position.

  Three engineers wheeled a hand pump to the rear corner of the building, and a thin stream of water played against the flames on the wood-framed windows.

  The rain continued and the hissing subsided as the rain, and the finally operating steam pumps, poured water on the engineering hall.

  Justen lugged the semiconscious Gunnar to the land engine and set him in the seat next to the driver’s place.

  Martan and the other two marines continued to survey the area around the back of the engineering hall. Finally, Martan asked, “Justen, do you know who’s after you?”

  “Ryltar, I think. But there’s no way to prove it.” Martan spat away from the land engine. “Scum. Everyone on the docks whispers about it. No one wants to say anything. Bet those were sailors hired from his ships for some extra coins-or else they were some smuggler’s bravos.” Gunnar groaned and held his head. “Everything’s fine,” Justen reassured him. “Fine? Head hurts… fire in the hall… arrows… and it’s fine?”

  Justen and Martan laughed.

  “Fine? Some sense of humor you have. Ohhh…” Gunnar rubbed his forehead again.

  As the rain continued to fall, Justen put up rain canvases over the seats, and the three marines climbed into the third seat. Justen stoked up the firebox and checked the steam pressure.

  “The Llyse should be in this morning. Anyone up for a ride down to the pier?”

  “Uh…”

  “I won’t make you ride,” Martan grinned at the other two marines, “but it’s probably safer than walking, or worrying about who’s out there.”

  “Yeah…” mumbled one marine.

  “We can’t get shot with an arrow, either,” added the other, a fresh-faced young woman.

  “Ready?” asked Justen, his hand on the throttle.

  The three marines looked at each other.

  Justen released the brake and eased the throttle forward, and with an initial creak, the land engine headed out of the alley.

  A look back as he turned onto the main road reassured Justen that the rain and the pumps had saved most of the building. Still, more than a score of engineers scurried around the steaming facade of the hall even as the rain continued to fall on the blackened roof timbers.

  “Good thing most of the building’s stone,” said Martan, following Justen’s quick glance.

  “They weren’t after the building,” said Gunnar, still massaging his forehead.

  “What were they after, then?”

  “I could guess, but I really don’t know.” Justen shook his head. Why was Ryltar after him? Was it just a question of coins?

  A tall figure on the uphill side of the hall stood and watched. Justen waved to Altara before turning the tiller to guide the land engine down toward the harbor.

  The machine puffed up onto the stones of the harbor causeway as a faint gray seeped out of the Eastern Ocean.

  The command “Cast off!” rang from the end ship on the short pier.

  “Didn’t want to stay around, I see,” said Martan as he watched two crewmen loosen and release lines from the bollards. Then the crewmen scrambled onto the black-hulled schooner, whose colors and lack of flag almost certainly announced her as a smuggler.

  Justen turned the land engine onto the main pier.

  “That’s, one of the ships Ryltar was dealing with,” said Gunnar.

  “He knows every smuggler east of Hamor,” laughed the woman marine.

  “Lurena?” Martan glanced down the pier.

  “Yes, ser?”

  “Get the squad down here by full dawn and bring Jislik’s kit and mine.”

  “Yes, ser.”

  Justen brought the land engine to a stop to let Lurena out, then eased the engine out to the spot on the pier where the Llyse was supposed to dock.

  “How are you going to get this on board?” asked Martan.

  “Very carefully.” Justen laughed. “With a heavy crane attached to the lifting posts.” He pointed to the circular heavy rings in front of the driver’s seat and behind the third seat. “All the Mighty Ten have short cranes, and the land engine isn’t as heavy as it looks.”

  “Hyntal will love it.” Martan grinned.

  “Why?” asked Gunnar.

  “He hates the Whites, and anything that would upset them…”

  “I hope so,” murmured Justen.

  Gunnar raised his eyebrows, but said nothing. Martan leaned back in the third seat.

  Even before dawn, the remaining ten marines had marched out to the end of the pier.

  “Let’s go, Jislik.” Martan smiled at Justen. “This will be fun.”

  “Fun?” muttered Gunnar from the seat beside Justen.

  “Marines have a strange sense of humor.”

  “That’s why they’re marines.”

  “Form up!” snapped Martan as he stood on the pier before the land engine.‘ “This is a special engine that’s going on the Llyse. Last night some smugglers tried to fire the engineering hall to destroy it. Your job is to make sure that DO one-except members of the Council, if they should appear-gets close to this part of the pier until this engine is loaded on the Llyse. Is that clear?”

  “What about the dockers, ser?”

  “Let them do their work, but keep them clear of this engine.”

  “Yes, ser!” Justen leaned back in the driver’s seat and let his eyes close.

  “Justen?”

  The engineer straightened with a jolt. “Hah? What? Is the Llyse here?”

  “No, but young Yersol is, and he doesn’t look too happy. And I think Altara is walking up the pier.” Gunnar peered around. “And Martan has that smile that says he’s just waiting to turn his attack cats on Yersol.”

  Justen yawned and struggled to clear his mind. He managed to brush his hair back and smooth his clothes, but his unshaven chin itched and his eyes felt like they contained half the sand of the western beaches. He climbed down and stood beside the land engine and waited for Yersol to speak. Altara had stopped a good twenty cubits behind the trader.

  “I don’t believe that this… device… should be leaving Recluce without the approval of the Council,” stated the young trader.

  “Oh? Are you a member of the Council?” asked Justen.

  “I am certain that Counselor Ryltar will be here shortly to… reinforce that concern,”

  “I’m sure he will be,” Justen admitted. “I’m sure he will be. But there are a few problems with your statement.” He smiled faintly and waited, trying to keep his expression calm even while his heart had a disturbing tendency to pound. What have I started? And why is everyone so upset over something as simple as the land engine?

  “I fail to see any problems,” announced Yersol.

  “First, you are not a member of the Council. Second, Counselor Ryltar is only one of three, and he is not the senior member,”

  Yersol swallowed.

  Justen glanced out past the breakwater. Was there a puff of smoke heralding the Llyse? He hoped so, and hoped that they could get the engine on board. Still… would Hyntal agree, and how long would the Llyse have to stay in port?

  “We’ll see, Justen. We’ll see. You won’t pull this off.” Yersol turned and marched back down the pier.

  “He’ll be back with Ryltar before long,” Gunnar prophesied.

  “Not for a while. If Ryltar were around, he’d have already been here.”

  Justen walked toward Altara, conscious that his legs felt like lead weights.

  “Do you think you can get away with this, especially without getting Hyntal and Martan in trouble?” asked the chief engineer, her voice low.

  “I don’t know. But it has to be done.”

  “Has to? Are you deciding the fate of the world, Justen?” Altara’s eyes blazed.

  Justen retur
ned Altara’s intent expression. Then he smiled faintly. “Me? A junior and very order-mad engineer? How could I possibly do anything that would change the world?”

  “You? You’ve made a frigging good start. The Brotherhood is about ready to close the gates and wall Nylan off from the rest of Recluce for the first time in three centuries. The only question is whether they turn the cannon and rockets of the Mighty Ten on all the smugglers first.” Altara lowered her voice. “The only thing that hasn’t come out is Ryltar’s name, maybe because Yersol-” her hand gestured toward the end of the pier after the departing trader “-started talking really quickly about the problems of smugglers and Ryltar’s efforts to keep them in line-and offering to pay for all the damage to the engineering hall.”

  “None of that changes anything,” Justen responded quietly.

  “And what about this? And what are you going to do with the Llyse? I can’t believe you’re just going to dump this in the Gulf or the Eastern Ocean.”

  “Why not?”

  “Justen.”

  “I’m going to do what has to be done.” Justen’s gray eyes-abruptly as black and as deep as the great forest- turned full on Altara.

  The chief engineer stepped back involuntarily. “You are dangerous. Ryltar was right about that.”

  “All change is dangerous,” Justen affirmed.

  Wheeee… The steam whistle on the Llyse announced the ship’s entrance into the channel and called for dockers.

  “Just about everyone around Dorrin died or suffered, Jus-ten. Remember that. And Creslin was blind for most of his life. Are you up to that kind of sacrifice?”

  “We’ll have to see, won’t we?” Justen swallowed. *Can I… ask… this…?*

  The thin but clear response seemed to follow: *Can you not, dearest?*

  He shook his head. Am I imagining the answer? Or am I answering myself?

  “You’re either great or truly order-mad, and I can’t say which,” Altara offered a grim smile. “Maybe it makes no difference. Do you mind if I stay?”

  The marines drew up closer to the land engine as two dockers slowly walked from the port-master’s office toward the end of the pier.

  “No. I respect you, Altara, but I have to do what I feel must be done.”