The Death of Chaos (12 page)

   I laughed. “My thanks.” It was cool and good, and I drank it all. “How much for this?”

   “That'll be nine.”

   After fumbling through my purse I came up with a silver. Most of the golds were in hidden slots in my belt. It doesn't pay to carry a heavy purse that clanks.

   She took the coin and slipped it into her own purse, and handed me a single penny back. “You traveled a long way, have you not?”

   “Longer than I'd like,” I admitted.

   “Be longer than that if you're a-heading to Kyphros.”

   “Trouble there?”

   “Aye. They closed the road to the brimstone spring. I used to take Varsi, there, for baths when she was a child. A sickly little thing she was, and the spring helped. The Temple ladies, they helped, too.” She shrugged. “I'd guess they're all gone or killed. I hope Varsi doesn't need no baths this winter.”

   I glanced toward the corner, but the dog and the girl had left.

   “The older I get, the stranger things get.” She frowned. “The new Duke, he's got his men, and ours, in the north and here in the west. Here, it makes no sense. That woman in Kyphros-she never started anything, but there's a new prefect, they say, in Fenard. That's because the old one lost the war he started with her. And this Duke Berfir, he's going to fight her and the fellow in Freetown together. Makes no sense, but what do I know?”

   “When you put it that way, I can't give an answer. Dukes and folks like that don't think like us.” I had to shrug and smile. I picked up my purchases and turned.

   “They don't think.” She paused. “Well... take care, young fellow.”

   “I hope to.” I closed the red-painted door carefully. After folding up the dry clothes, probably somewhat dusty, I packed my added supplies into one of the saddlebags-all but one grain cake and a handful of the apple flakes. Gairloch got the grain cake, and I ate the flakes on the spot. I dug out the older biscuits and gnawed through one and pocketed another before I mounted Gairloch.

   On the way out of Arastia, I let him stop at what seemed to be a town watering trough and let him drink. As I stood there, I saw Varsi throwing a stick for the old dog, who didn't look quite so old. I watched, and Gairloch drank. Then we headed west.

   That Gerlis or the Duke had closed the road to the spring didn't exactly surprise me. The next problem was getting around the guards.

   Still, I rode nearly five kays without seeing any soldiers or guards. I passed homesteads, a handful of women walking toward Arastia, a youth leading a cart and horse-but no troops.

   As the end of the valley began to narrow, I passed a crossroads that led south-presumably the alternate and rougher route that Ferrel had started out on.

   I got halfway up the next hill before I ran into trouble. Three lancers stood under the tree. Another was mounted by the road.

   “You can't go this way, fellow. The road's closed.”

   “How am I supposed to get to Kyphros?” I asked.

   The lancer smiled and shrugged. “I'm sure I don't know. Not this way.”

   The three under the tree laughed.

   “So be a good fellow and just turn around.”

   I didn't even argue. Instead, I rode Gairloch back down the road until it curved enough and I was out of sight. Then we went into the woods and stumbled uphill and around thickets. We even rode across some poor holder's fields, but at the edge, and no one came out, although I could see wisps of smoke from the chimney.

   It took three times as long to cover the distance off the road, but eventually I got back on it beyond the sentries. I also had sap on my shoulder and a scratch on my cheek. I brushed leaves out of Gairloch's mane, and picked off the burrs I could reach as he carried me upward along the road toward the spring.

   My ears and senses were alert, since there had to be more sentries, and if I ran into them I certainly couldn't play dumb again, not without running the risk of incurring some form of grave bodily harm.

   At that point, I realized that, effectively, I was now a spy, and could be treated like a trooper-or worse. As a woodcrafter or even an order-master, I hadn't really thought about that. I should have, but I hadn't wanted Krystal to get fried like Ferrel, and I'd been able to handle the white wizards, hadn't I?

   This was different. I had to find out something, not just escape or avoid the Hydlenese troops, and what I found out would affect a lot of people. I wished Justen were around. Instead, I took a deep breath and patted Gairloch. He whuffed, which wasn't that much reassurance.

   It was late afternoon before I neared the valley that held the spring, and the odor of brimstone from the Yellow River had become particularly obvious in the near windless conditions.

   The road began to climb steeply and bore right as it neared the opening to the valley holding the brimstone springs. I didn't wait to get too close to any sentries guarding the valley. Gairloch and I went into the woods on the left side of the road. My perceptions told me that the rise wasn't that steep, and that the underbrush wasn't especially thick.

   Still, the sun had dropped behind the hills, or low mountains, when I peered through the last of the scrub oaks at the valley itself.

   Under the rocky outcroppings at the west end of the valley, where the road from Kyphros-and Jikoya-entered the spring valley, was the spring itself. Beside the spring were the two stone buildings. One of them had probably housed the Temple sisters. I could sense tents and bodies there, but not well, because another low rise separated the grassy meadow just in front of me from the other end of the valley. Low cedar trees, no more than ten cubits high, covered the rocky ground.

   I glanced around, then decided to wait until twilight arrived. So I tied Gairloch to a tree and dragged out some of the apple flakes, biscuits, cheese, and my canteen. The canteen held only orderspelled water, unfortunately. I sat on a rock and ate. I did give Gairloch some apple flakes, and he licked them from my hand, greedily.

   When it had gotten darker, a soft almost purple darkness, filled with scattered insects, rustling leaves, and the ubiquitous smell of brimstone, I untied Gairloch. After drawing my shields around us while we crossed the meadow, I dropped them as soon as we reached the cedar trees, not wanting the white wizard to sense my use of order, especially after we reached the top of the low rise.

   I stopped partway down the western side of the rocky rise, easing Gairloch behind a wide cedar. Almost a kay from us, still to the east of the spring, was a level space filled with tents. In the middle of the tents was a larger pavilion tent, one that radiated chaos and that ugly whiteness I could sense but not see, although it almost glowed in the darkness.

   A low growling rumbled through the valley, and the tents swayed, and the ground under Gairloch trembled. I grabbed Gairloch's saddle, and he whuffed, though not loudly.

   The rumble contained and radiated from chaos. What exactly was Gerlis doing?

   Despite the growing coolness of the evening, I had to wipe the sweat from my forehead. I could feel the power welling from the white tent, and I was more than a kay away. So much power there was that I doubt he even could have sensed me, my poor abilities lost in that wave of chaos. I swallowed.

   What could I do against that kind of power? Antonin had swatted me aside at first. Even in the end, I hadn't faced his awesome power, not really, only cut him off from its sources, and hung on until he died. And, in a way, I'd done the same thing with Sephya.

   Gerlis had enough power in himself to fry me, even if I could contain him in an order bound. What could I do?

   I kept thinking, but as the evening deepened I got no answers. Overhead, a patch of stars brightened as the clouds thinned. Cold and distant, they offered no solutions, and they almost seemed to say that they had no interest in me, or in Gerlis.

   Looking back toward the camp, I began to probe around. There were still almost a dozen of the square muzzled cannon tubes, with the thin boxes of cylinders, and there was a space near the stone buildings, well away from everything else, where long flat pans, partly filled with brimstone water, lay on the ground.

   I could also sense a huge stack of charcoal, and something else. All that confirmed that Gerlis, or the Duke, was using the brimstone to make powder. But what was the powder being used for?

   Sensing around more, I could sort of trace the powder-and from what I could tell, it was mixed, then wet, and ground, then placed in the thin steel cylinders.

   “Oh...” I felt like kicking myself. The cylinders were rockets, the kind used to destroy the white fleets centuries before. Or something like them. What had happened that Recluce no longer had mighty fleets? That was just another of the questions that hadn't been answered by either my father or the Brotherhood.

   Did the Brotherhood still have rockets? Why were they showing up in Hydlen now?

   Firebolts? No... Ferrel had been killed by rockets. I couldn't prove it, but it seemed all too likely. Rockets would be deadly in a confined space, like a mountain road or pass. With enough of them, the Hydlenese wouldn't have had to be particularly accurate.

   As I considered the rockets, the valley floor groaned, and another trembling wave rumbled underfoot.

   I didn't like it, but I sent my own perceptions beneath the valley, not that I could go very deep-just deep enough to sense the webs and flow of chaos that seemed to surround both the springs and the Yellow River itself.

   Between whatever Gerlis was doing with chaos beneath the valley and the whole idea of scores of fire rockets, I just wanted to run, to ride like the demons of light were after me, but that wasn't likely to do all that much good.

   I tried again to sense what the white wizard was doing, but could only gain the impression of shifting rocks and heat and more and more chaos, mostly natural.

   In time, I rubbed my forehead, aching in rhythm with the throbbing in my arm. Gently, I turned Gairloch back the way we had come, back across the meadow and over the next wooded hill and down the road toward Arastia, and around the guards near the crossroads, although they weren't good guards. All of them were sleeping when we eased past sometime near midnight.

   Then we took the side road, along the way Ferrel had probably intended to come. In that sense, I felt safer. The cause of her death wasn't unknown. It was just terrible. But with the wizard in his valley, and night all around me, I didn't fear the rockets.

   I still didn't understand why the Duke of Hydlen was sending troops away from his border with Kyphros or what Gerlis was doing in the brimstone valley, but staying around might not answer the question, and might well lead to him noticing me.

   So I rode slowly and quietly through the hills, trying to put distance between me and Gerlis. Overhead, the cold stars and their indifferent light began to vanish behind the growing clouds.

East of Lavah, Sligo [Candar]

“HONORED MAGE.” THE taller of the two men in green bows, and almost clicks his heels. He glances around the modest room, taking in the table with the oil lamp on which some stacks of paper rest under a smooth stone, the draped bookcase, and the pallet bed and chair. “I see no... apparatus...”

   “Nor will you. I offer knowledge.” Sammel nods. “What is your master's need?”

   “The Viscount of mighty Certis has no needs,” says the shorter man.

   “I beg your pardon. What might he desire of this humble seeker and disseminator of knowledge?”

   “It is said that you may know ways of making firearms more dependable and of assisting the Viscount in the defense of his people.”

   “You wrote something of the sort, did you not?” asks the short man.

   “In a fashion,” answers Sammel. “In a fashion.”

   “So what have you to offer?”

   “That would depend on the Viscount's needs and some small remuneration.”

   “The Viscount does not pay. You serve.”

   “In Sligo, the Viscount rules? I was not aware of that.” Sammel clears his throat.

   “He will soon.”

   The taller man gestures to the shorter. “What Hendro means is that the Viscount may be forced to take measures against Duke Colaris to ensure the safety of Ms people.”

   “I am sure, and I am also sure that he would not grudge a poor seeker of truth a handful or two of golds for knowledge that would help him achieve that.” Sammel steps forward to Hendro. “Might I see your knife? The little one.”

   Hendro looks to the tall man, who nods, and then extends the knife to Sammel.

   Sammel takes the knife carefully, by the leather-wrapped hilt, holding it between two fingers. His eyes dose, and a halo of white surrounds the blade, which begins to glow, rising quickly from orange to cherry-red to a white that begins to spark. Sammel opens his eyes, bends, and gently tosses the sparking blade into the cold logs in the hearth. Flames flare up, even as iron droplets fall through the grate onto the stones.

   Hendro backs away.

   “That is what one can do with knowledge.” Sammel smiles politely.

   “I daresay you have made your point, Ser Sammel,” says the taller man. “I know of no other wizard who can burn cold iron.” He looks to Hendro. “I do not think the Viscount would grudge the mage his livelihood.”

   “How would your... knowledge help... defend Certis against Duke Colaris?”

   Sammel turns and lifts two scrolls from the table. Each is tied neatly with twine. “This describes a way to preserve food.”

   “Food! What does that have to do with firearms? This mage may be powerful, but what help is that, Julk?”

   “How much time do your troops spend foraging?” asks Sammel. “What if all they had to do was to open a container from a wagon? With food from the fall harvest-even in midsummer?”

   “How much metal does that take?” Julk twists the corner of one mustache.

   “Glass is better. The process is there for that, too.”

   “But you mentioned firearms?” persisted Hendro.

   “I did. Those ideas are less valuable, but since you do want them...” Sammel picks up a third scroll. “This tells how to keep chaos from firearms, so that they may be used in all battles. It also allows faster recharging of both cannon and handheld weapons.” He presents the scroll to Hendro.

   Hendro looks at it, but does not open it.

   “I will let you take those, and, if you are satisfied, you may reward me as you see fit. If not-” Sammel shrugged. “I will provide knowledge to those who value it more.”

   “I think that is more than fair, ser mage.” Julk bows, straightens, and takes the third scroll from Hendro, who blinks. “I am certain you will be receiving the Viscount's thanks in a way that will ensure your continued... supply of knowledge.” Julk bows again, and so does Hendro.

   “The preservation of food...” Sammel adds.

   Both men straighten.

   “It could prove useful in laying away supplies for a cold winter.”

   “And a siege?” asks Julk.

   “There will be no long sieges.”

   The two from Certis exchange glances and bow again.

   Sammel watches, a sad smile crossing his lips.