The Order War

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

The beam of light from the hilltop played across the White tower again. Beltar squinted. “That damned engineer is giving me a headache.”

  “That is clearly his intention.” Despite his calm words, Eldiren massaged his neck and forehead, his fingers lingering momentarily on the scar above his eyebrow.

  “What’s in that light? Light’s supposed to be mostly chaotic.” Beltar walked toward the window, then turned back, his fingers playing with the amulet of office.

  “It’s ordered, somehow. That’s part of the reason it’s so bright.” Eldiren moistened his lips.

  “I thought you said that the engineer was coming to Fairhaven.” Beltar paced back toward the window, glancing southward.

  “I said I thought he was. He’s close enough, isn’t he? Do you want that light in the square out there?” Eldiren gestured toward the east window and the patch of green visible in the open oblong.

  The light played across the tower again, and the screeing glass hummed faintly.

  “Demon light! He’s going to smash more screeing glasses. Isn’t it time for the Council to convene?”

  “You had me tell them mid-morning.”

  “It is mid-morning.”

  “Not quite,” observed Eldiren. “Most of them are heading toward the Council chamber now. What will you have them do?”

  “I think we need to move-behind adequate Iron Guard and lancers, of course-to the south of the city and bring our combined forces to bear on this… engineer.”

  “Don’t you think that is what he wants?”

  “I don’t really care what he wants. Just how much longer can we ignore him?”

  “I could ignore him for a long time,” said Eldiren.

  “I don’t have that choice. I am, if you recall, the High Wizard, and all the members of the Council are going to have headaches, if they don’t already. If we don’t do something… today…”

  “They may want you to do it alone,” suggested Eldiren. “As you so rightly point out, you are the High Wizard.”

  “Any Black who’s strong enough to create that… is more than a match for any White.”

  Eldiren smiled faintly, the smile giving a sardonic cast to his thin face.

  “Stop smirking,” Beltar ordered. “I admit it, and at least I do. You still claim you killed him. Some dead engineer!”

  “At the very least, they’ll insist you be the focus.”

  “I know. I know.” Beltar took a deep breath and looked at the empty bottle of wine on the side table. He licked his lips, then stood abruptly. “Call Jehan.”

  “He’s downstairs.” Eldiren eased from the straight-backed chair and walked to the tower door, leaving it ajar. His boots scuffed on the tower steps. “Jehan…”

  Beltar walked to the window on the south side of the room, his eyes taking in the flashes of light and the round object that seemed to burgeon from the top of the hill from where the light came. “A sphere filled with hot air… what does he have in mind?” He shook his head, then turned as he heard two sets of boots trudging up the stairs.

  The two wizards stepped into the High Wizard’s quarters and stood, waiting.

  “Jehan, after we finish here, I want you to find Marshall Kilera and have him assemble the Iron Guard-every one who’s fit-and all the White lancers. We’ll move out on the Blacks right after the meeting.”

  “As you wish,” Jehan said without inflection. “Is that what the White Council will decide?”

  “That is what the Council will decide,” Beltar affirmed. “Do they have much choice?”

  “They could decide on another High Wizard,” suggested Eldiren.

  “Ha! And they’d slaughter the thinnest pig in the yard, loo. You really think that any of them want to go out and face those Blacks?”

  “Well… they don’t look especially overwhelming. Outside of that wagon and a handful of black iron rockets, what do they have?” Eldiren’s voice was light, almost mocking.

  “Just the confidence to challenge the mightiest wizards in the world,” Jehan observed. “A bag filled with hot air, and more order than any one of us has ever seen in one place.”

  “You two!” snapped Beltar. “What do you mean?” He pointed at Jehan.

  “This Black mage keeps doing the impossible. What is to stop him again?”

  “We are. The entire White Council.”

  As Beltar glared at Jehan, Eldiren lifted his eyebrows.

  “You two,” repeated Beltar. He cleared his throat. “Jehan-just go take my message to Marshall Kilera. I want him to ready whatever forces he has to march as close to midday as possible. Then rejoin us. We’ll be in the Council Room.”

  Jehan nodded, then turned and hastened out the door and down the steps.

  Fingering the heavy amulet that hung from the chain around his neck, Beltar inclined his head to Eldiren. “What choice do I have?”

  “Not much. I think that you’re stronger than the Black mage, but he clearly thinks he can win… somehow. And despite your rumors that the Black Council was going to imprison him for being order-mad, I don’t think he is. I think they’re scared of him, and that bothers me.”

  “It bothers me, too.” Beltar shrugged. “But what am I supposed to do?” He winced as another flash of ordered-light flicked through the window.

  Eldiren shivered.

  “Am I supposed to walk up that hillside and say, ‘Please go away’? Will that work?”

  “No. And if you did that, Derba would have you in chains for treachery, or you’d end up blasting half the Council into dust.” Eldiren laughed with a self-mocking note. “I told you what would happen if you got the amulet through sheer power.”

  “You did, but that doesn’t help now. Just what do you suggest?”

  “That you can accept?” Eldiren shrugged. “Use more power. Back it with troops and hope that you don’t end up destroying us all. And don’t turn your back on anyone until it’s over.”

  “You’re honest.”

  “I’m not powerful. I don’t have any choice.”

  “Shall we go?” asked Beltar.

  “I am at your command, High Wizard.”

  “So you are.” The High Wizard straightened his tunic, let the amulet drop to the end of the heavy gold links, and squared his shoulders. He walked to the door, and Eldiren followed. The thud of their boots was the only sound as they descended the stairs.

  “You could give up the office of High Wizard,” suggested Eldiren as they entered the lower hall. “Or try to talk to the Black.”

  “Eldiren.” Beltar sighed hi exasperation. “If I gave up the amulet, I’d eventually get fried, just like Sterol did, because they’ll need someone to blame. Besides, that presumes that this Black will win, and that’s far from certain. Last time, he ran from you. Survival isn’t quite the same as triumphing.”

  “Sometimes it’s the same thing.”

  “Then throw in your lot with Derba.” Beltar ignored the servant who scuttled aside. He continued down the wide hallway to the Council Room without looking at Eldiren.

  “You at least listen to honesty. He doesn’t know what it is,” Eldiren offered.

  “Then you’re trapped, just like me.”

  “Worse. I have to depend on you.”

  Beltar paused at the door to the chamber. “Ready?”

  “Of course.”

  A low humming, comprised of multiple conversations, filled the room.

  “… why doesn’t our great High Wizard just take care of the uppity Black himself? Why call the Council?”

  “… same Black who destroyed half the armies in Sarronnyn…”

  “… someone strong enough to worry the White Butcher? What a pity.”

  “… pity us… you mean…”

  Beltar stepped onto the dais, Eldiren at his shoulder, and the murmurs died away. He waited for a moment. “I have called the Council in order to deal with the insult posed by the Black mage.”

  “You need the whole Council for that?” asked a voice from the group i
n the middle of the white-hung chamber.

  Beltar shrugged. “I think it’s far better to use excessive force than to have wizards and troops picked off one by one, the way it was in Sarronnyn. You might recall that we got nowhere there until we brought in more than a handful of White Wizards.”

  Jehan eased in from the side entrance and stopped beside Eldiren. As Beltar’s eyes rested on him, Jehan nodded. Beltar smiled.

  “You are the greatest wizard ever, Beltar,” Derba began. “That, at least, is what one has been led to believe.” Derba offered a smile that was not far from a smirk. “Yet you’re saying that it will take all of us to deal with three mere Order Wizards from Recluce?”

  “You’re supposed to be able to move mountains. Why can’t you just lift the mountains under them?” Inadvertently, after speaking, a heavyset wizard massaged his forehead looked away from the High Wizard.

  Beltar sighed loudly. “Just what will happen to all of Fairhaven if I call on chaos and raise mountains right here? What do you think, Flyrd?” His eyes fixed on the heavy wizard.

  “You tell us,” suggested Derba.

  The stone on which Derba stood vibrated, and the redheaded wizard lurched in place.

  “Very pretty, Beltar.”

  “I think what Beltar is trying to point out,” suggested Eldiren, “is that it might be rather dangerous. Raising mountains has a tendency to destroy the landscape and whatever else is nearby.”

  “Jeslek did it.” Derba crossed his arms and stared at Eldiren.

  A pulse of light flicked through the window on the south side of the white-walled hall. Eldiren winced, while Jehan squinted. Several other wizards in the chamber shifted their weight.

  “And we’re still paying for it. Today there’s only high desert and thin grass on most of the so-called Little East-horns,” continued Eldiren after a momentary pause. “That scourge was nearly three centuries ago.”

  “So…” Derba drew out the word. “You’re saying that if you use your mighty powers, they may be so mighty and you will have so little control over them that Fairhaven itself will be destroyed?”

  “I did not say that.” Beltar glared at Derba, and lines of flame appeared around both wizards. “The Order Wizard has shields. They seem strong. To break those shields will break everything else around unless we can focus our powers directly on him. Also, you might remember that if we create great forces of chaos, we might just create another order-focus in him. Does anyone remember what happened the last time chaos overbalanced order that much? Does anyone remember why Cerryl the Great-”

  “You’re invoking Cerryl?” asked Derba. “I find that rather amusing.”

  The flash of order-light flicked through the chamber again.

  “Most powerful wizards,” called a voice from the group on the lower level, “could we agree on a course of action? The rest of us are having some difficulty in dealing with the current disruption.”

  “Yes, most exalted High Wizard,” said Derba. “Exactly what do you plan?” His red hair glinted with what seemed the fire of chaos itself.

  “We have two Iron Guard regiments and their Fifth mounted, plus the Eighth White lancers. Add maybe a hundred in detachments-”

  “That’s a great deal fewer than the two Black mages destroyed in Sarronnyn, is it not?” asked the heavyset Flyrd from near the back of the group.

  “At that time, there were exactly two real White Wizards with our forces, opposed by several thousand Sarronnese, plus a dozen or more Black engineers and a detachment of Black marines, all supporting these Black mages. Here, they have themselves and one marine. That’s scarcely an overwhelming force, friend Flyrd,” suggested Beltar.

  Eldiren and Jehan exchanged a brief glance. Jehan rolled his eyes at the inconsistencies in Beltar’s rebuttal.

  “Might that just not signify extreme confidence? The rumors are that one of those Blacks is he who shattered every screeing glass in Candar.” Flyrd crossed his hands across his white robe and waited.

  “The rumors also indicate,” countered Beltar, “that he had to flee Recluce and that the Black Council was about to restrain him for being order-mad.” The High Wizard smiled. “Any man who sets himself up to challenge an entire continent is somewhat unbalanced.”

  “If he’s mad, then, why don’t you just handle it?” asked Derba, a broad smile playing across his face.

  Beltar frowned, and white sparks rose around him, forcing Derba’s shields back.

  “I withdraw the question, powerful and mighty High Wizard.” Derba retreated, pursing his lips.

  The white sparks dropped away from Derba, and Beltar smiled. “Since we are agreed, and since this is best resolved as soon as possible-as suggested, let us depart.”

  “Now?”

  “What…”

  Beltar smiled. “I have already called up our forces and they are in readiness before their barracks on the south side of Fairhaven. Marshall Kilera awaits our arrival and support. I expect every member of the Council to be outside the hall and ready to go. Now.”

  Derba wiped his damp forehead. Flyrd glanced nervously from Beltar to Derba and then to Eldiren before turning toward the rear of the chamber.

  Beltar watched for a moment, then strode out, ignoring the murmurings that began to rise. Eldiren and Jehan followed.

  “… notice that Histen just wasn’t able to get here.”

  “… Eldiren didn’t look too happy.”

  “Even Derba backed down…”

  “… foolishness…”

  “… be over in instants. Stupid Black…”

  “So stupid. So stupid that he destroyed half our army in Sarronnyn.”

  “… a choice? Who has a choice?”

  The wizards began to move toward the waiting mounts and coaches.

  CLI

  The wind whispered across the browning hillside grasses, and Justen straightened from shoveling coal into the small stove, leaving the door ajar for a moment. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and took a deep breath, turning to the north.

  There, in the center of the plain between the hills, the higher towers of Fairhaven glistened white, like fangs thrusting from the valley floor. The tallest tower-that of the High Wizard himself-pulsed with the shimmering white that carried the unseen reddish tinge of chaos beneath it. Between the orderly rows of buildings and avenues was the everpresent green of the short trees, the vines, the grass. White and green, green and white: Fairhaven, the jewel of Candar.

  Justen shook his head. Did he really believe that he and Gunnar-and Martan-could take on the massed wizards who had built such a city?

  *You can…and you must…*

  He pursed his lips. Easy enough for Dayala and the Angels. They weren’t the ones who were watching a small-sized army slowly march toward them. One army, accompanied by dozens of wizards-and good old Justen was intending to prevail with a bag of silksheen filled with hot air, a wicker basket, some rods, two fire-eyes, and the sun?

  He laughed softly. His father had been right. He’d finally gotten himself in an impossible situation.

  *Justen, believe in the Balance… and yourself. You must!*

  *Indeed I must…*

  *I am with you, beloved…always with you…*

  He took a deep breath.

  Above Justen, the balloon shivered in the breeze. On the hillside below, Gunnar and Martan carried black iron plate from the land engine toward the crude revetment of stone Justen had insisted they build. He could hope that the black iron and stone would protect them.

  Clunk… The dull sound of metal against rock echoed across the hillside as the two men set the plate against the stones.

  Justen took a deep breath, trying to relax, but the tightness in his guts persisted, as did the tension in his shoulders. He took a long look at Martan, young and proud and strong, and so willing to do great deeds. Justen sighed. Great deeds, indeed. Feeling more like a butcher about to be covered with blood, he swallowed and glanced back toward Fairhaven and the ap
proaching White Wizards.

  The line of White forces, while not nearly so impressive as those that had besieged Sarronnyn, stretched nearly a half-kay along the main road leading south. The White lancers leading the forces were no more than a kay from the point where the hillside road veered off the main road. Behind them rode the mounted Iron Guard, their crimson-trimmed banners fluttering in the light wind. Then came the Iron Guard foot. Behind them came the white banners of the wizards, with nearly a dozen of the White Wizards mounted on white horses, followed by two white-gold coaches flying gold-trimmed white banners. Over the oncoming soldiers and wizards hung a cloud of reddish-white, unseen except by mages, that promised power, chaos-and disaster to all who opposed the massed will it represented.

  Justen shivered. Then he nodded and called, “Martan! I need to get up there!” As the marine came trotting, Justen shoveled hot coals into the heat pan of the balloon. He checked the lines and disengaged the fire-cloth piping from the stove to the balloon. Gunnar walked up behind Martan.

  “They’re getting close enough. I should get the balloon up.” Justen glanced at the taut silksheen fabric and at the two lines holding it down, each line tied to a heavy stake. “Martan?”

  “Yes, ser?”

  “Once I get in the basket here, start letting the line go from each stake. Hold on to just the one. The other should unwind by itself. Then make sure it’s tied tight. After that, get back to your revetment and protect Gunnar. Like I told you, a wizard with his mind in the skies can’t protect himself, and I’m counting on you.”

  “Yes, ser.” Martan nodded solemnly.

  Justen frowned for a moment. “How many rockets are left in the land engine?”

  “Less than a score.”

  “Use them first, while the Whites are still massed together and making a good target.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  Justen forced himself to meet the young, proud face. “Thank you.”

  “Thank you. I wouldn’t have missed this for anything.”

  “I hope you feel that way when it’s all over.” Justen turned to his brother, giving him a quick hug. “Keep the skies as clear as you can. That’s all I ask. All I need. And stay in that shelter! We moved that armor plate for a reason.”