The Death of Chaos (28 page)

THE NEXT MORNING, after Krystal left for Kyphrien, I trudged out to the stable. After feeding and grooming Gairloch and the wagon mare, I set up a sandbag on a long rope from a rafter and began a few exercises with the staff. Then I worked on hitting the bag as it was swinging.

   Before long I was panting, but I kept at it until I overreached. The staff hit the stall wall and snapped back against my weak thigh. I went down in the straw, trying not to moan. When the stars cleared, I checked my leg with my order senses, but I hadn't broken anything. I would have a huge bruise.

   Whufff... ufff... That was Gairloch's reaction as I limped out of the stable and closed the door. He'd wanted out, but I was in no shape to ride at that point.

   I limped back toward the shop, but Rissa was sweeping things out the kitchen door. “You go out to the stable, and you limp back. You do too much too soon. You and the commander, unless you slow your steps, you will not live to see thirty summers, or to see children look up to you.”

   “If I slow my steps, Rissa, I won't live to see next fall.”

   “You must run and limp from the stable to the house-that will help you live longer?”

   Put that way, she had a point, and I had to grin.

   “You... you do much, and you craft wonderful things, but will those things you make love you?”

   “Rissa...”

   She gave a last brush with the broom and closed the kitchen door, getting in the last word by saying nothing.

   After I refilled the moisture pot and reracked a saw, I pulled out the sketches for Durrik's spice chest. Then I worked a while on translating the sketches into a working plan-figuring out the bracing and the support, and how to do it with the same woods. If I could avoid it, I wouldn't put lighter or cheaper wood anywhere in the piece, even inside where few see it. Some crafters can work out those kinds of details in their head, but I couldn't-not for a new design anyway, and I hadn't been crafting long enough to have seen all types of work.

   Once I had that mostly figured out and the throbbing in my thigh had subsided into a more normal bruise, I saddled Gairloch. I needed to ride in on the western road to see Faslik about the woods I'd need for Durrik's chest and Antona's desk. Somehow, what with my injuries, the death of Faslik's sister, that desk kept getting put off.

   Depending on what Faslik had and what it cost, I might have to rework the plans for one or both of the pieces.

   A winter wren chirped once as I turned into the hard-packed damp clay road leading uphill to the mill, then flitted into the regrowing trees on the south side of the drive.

   I tied Gairloch to the post by the millrace, then walked down toward the mill, glancing at the water as it churned in the narrow stone trough toward the undershot waterwheel.

   The moss-covered stones above the waterline in the millrace testified to how long the mill had been in Faslik's family. The whine from within the stone walls of the mill testified to the continued operation of the sawmill, and that the miller, or someone, was present.

   I found Faslik at the blade, where a young man, broader across the shoulders than even Talryn, guided the logs toward the saw. Rather than bother him, I walked toward the racks where the planks and cut timbers were stacked, pausing to check the stocks. Of red and white oak and pine and fir there were plenty, but there was little lorken, less cherry, and no nut woods at all.

   Another broad-shouldered young man, with short brown hair, limped toward the rack of drying oaks, most of them small, barely a dozen spans in breadth. From their size, I guessed they would be cut for timbers, rather than planks. My own thigh still throbbed from the morning's mishap with the staff, and I nodded sympathetically as he planted his weight on his good leg and levered down the uncut oak onto a handcart.

   When the whine of the blade stopped, I limped back toward Faslik. The younger man was cleaning the saw pit, and two other young men were stacking the planks. Faslik was walking back from the north door, presumably from closing the millrace.

   I couldn't help sneezing with all the sawdust in the air.

   The millwright raised a hand in greeting. “Master Lerris, what sorts of woods you be wanting?”

   “Golden or white oak and cherry. Enough for an oak chest and a cherry desk.”

   “You looked over the racks?”

   I nodded.

   “Show me what you need, and we'll see what we can do.”

   We walked down past the racks.

   “The wide cherry. Eight of those, and five of the narrow beams here.” We walked over to the oak. “Six of the planks, and six of the beams.”

   Faslik frowned and was silent for a moment before speaking. “For the cherry, I'd guess three golds...”

   “That's a great deal for young cherry.”

   “Young cherry?”

   “The grains are wide-spaced...”

   Faslik frowned and spit into the clay floor. “For a young fellow...”

   “I had good training.”

   “I can't do less than two and a half.”

   “Two and a half, then.” As an outsider, I still didn't like to press too much, and cherry was scarce. “And the oak?”

   “What would you say was fair?” Faslik smiled at me.

   I hated beginning the bargaining. I frowned. “The white oak, here, is fair, but you've got a lot of it, and not many people want it in the spring, when coins are short. Say eight silvers.” I was aiming for a gold.

   “Not a copper less than a gold and three.”

   I shrugged. “Nine silvers.”

   “A gold and two, and that means my family will have to eat maize bread.”

   “A gold, and that means my pony will have to graze at the roadside, for I won't have enough coins to buy hay or grain.”

   “A gold and one, but only because you've been fair, and I want to keep selling to you.”

   I sighed, mostly for effect. “A gold and one.”

   Faslik took my hand. “Done.”

   “I'll pick it up later today, if that's all right. I didn't bring the wagon with me.”

   He nodded.

   “Ma... maa... ster... ?” asked a voice.

   Beside me stood the young man with the clubfoot.

   “Yes?” I tried to make my voice gentle as I turned to him.

   “Don't be bothering die mastercrafter, Wegel...” said Faslik gently.

   “It's no bother.” I looked at the youth, more of an overgrown boy. “You had a question?”

   “Ab-bout... cra-cra-cra... fting... ser.” He looked down, then pulled a small figure from his tunic, a winged figure with a woman's face and long flowing hair. “Do... do... you...” He stuttered and fell silent, then thrust the carving at me.

   “He's always been like that, Master Lerris, a good lad, but not quite able to say what he means. He's a good lad.”

   I took the carving and studied it, far better than anything I had been able to do. Every line matched the grain of the wood. My eyes almost burned, and I shook my head.

   “You did this?” I asked.

   Wegel nodded.

   “He's a good lad,” said Faslik. “A good lad.”

   I shook my head again. “No... you don't understand. This is so much better than anything I could do.”

   Faslik gaped. So did Wegel.

   “I can make furniture, and I know it's good, but... art like this...” I looked at Wegel. “If you want to work hard, I'll teach you what I know about woods, and crafting. It's often very hard, and it has to be done right. I don't like sloppy work. And sometimes, it's just plain messy. A crafter's shop has to be kept clean, and we have to wash it a lot to keep the dust down. Will that be a problem?” I watched his face.

   “N-nn-noo... m-mm-ii-ll... clean.”

   He looked at his father.

   So did I. “With your blessing...”

   “You don't have to, Master Lerris.” The millwright looked down.

   “Don't have to?” I laughed.' Together, we could do things I've only dreamed about. I've sent word all over Kyphrien that I needed an apprentice, and I never looked among those who work most closely with the woods.“ I swallowed. ”But... would... I mean, what about the mill?"

   “Bro... brothers...” stammered Wegel.

   “His brothers...”

   Faslik's eyes narrowed. “What's the apprentice fee?”

   I shook my head again. “No... it would be good if you would help him with a few tools, though. I really don't have enough for two.”

   “Everyone says you're a good man, even if you're an outlander and a wizard,” Faslik said slowly.

   “I don't eat apprentices, and there will probably be times when he'll have to mind the shop while I'm gone.” I frowned. “You'll have to bunk with the commander's guards for a while, until we can build you your own room. They're not there all the time, but-”

   “You be sure about this, Master Lerris?” asked the father. “About his foot...”

   “I'm sure. If he can lift your timbers, his foot certainly won't be a problem. All he needs is one good one for the foot treadle.”

   “You be sure...”

   “You don't believe me, draw Rissa aside and ask her.” I handed the carving back to Wegel. “Keep this safe, Wegel.”

   Wegel looked at me, eyes wide.

   “How soon can you start?”

   He shrugged and looked at his father.

   “Be taking a bit to work this out, get tools he needs... say an eight-day?”

   “Fine.” I smiled at the young man. “I'll see you in an eight-day.”

   “Th-th-thank... y-y-you...”

   “I'm glad I found you.”

   I was whistling as I walked back to Gairloch, certain that Faslik was shaking his head. Maybe I could even learn about carving by watching Wegel and feeling how he did it. If not, he could carve, and learn cabinetry. Someday, he might even be better than I was.

   Gairloch whuffed at me, maybe because I was whistling, or just to put me in my place.

   Rissa was out when I returned, probably getting eggs from Brene or flour from Hirst's mill, or something else that I hadn't the faintest idea we needed.

   I stabled Gairloch and waited until she got back, with a basket of eggs.

   “You did not tell me you would need the wagon.”

   “I didn't know whether Faslik had the wood ready.”

   “Will the commander be here for dinner?”

   “She said she would. I haven't heard otherwise.”

   “Strange it is, cooking here.” She shook her head and walked into the kitchen.

   I climbed up on the wagon and flicked the reins.

   When I got to the mill, Wegel loaded every scrap of wood as though it were gold. If I could have caught his face in a carving, it would have made me an immortal artist, but I couldn't, and I didn't.

   I did say, “I hope you like working with me. It's not always easy.”

   He just looked down for a moment. Finally, he handed me the carving. I couldn't refuse, but I decided it would still be his-that I would only hold it for safekeeping.

   I could see the tears seep down his face when I looked back, and I felt as if my own eyes were burning. How terrible it must be to be so overjoyed that just a single person valued your skills.

   When I got back to the house, I put the carving on the table in the bedroom. I wanted Krystal to see it first. Then I unloaded the wood.

   Perron and Krystal entered the stable while I was still grooming the cart mare.

   “Don't you ever stop?”

   At least she was smiling, and I hugged her.

   “Where have you been?”

   “Getting wood for my next projects...”

   “The lady's desk?”

   “And the spice merchant's chest,” I added, setting aside the curry brush and closing the stall door.

   We groomed her mount together, and then washed up while Rissa set out the dinner. Except I lit the big lantern and then washed up, but she wasn't finished, and she stood and watched as I shaved.

   Perron and the three guards waited until we returned and sat down at the table.

   “Did anything interesting happen to you at the mill?” asked Krystal.

   “Well, I did find an apprentice...”

   Rissa gave me an appraising look as she set the big pot on the wooden server in the middle of the table. “Where did you find such a wonder?”

   Perron just looked at the loaves of bread in the basket that Rissa had left by the oven. Jinsa grinned at Dercas.

   “At Faslik's... Wegel-his youngest.”

   “Ah... the one who carves...” murmured Rissa.

   “You knew about him?”

   “He is a carver. Was I to know that you wanted a carver, an artist?” She shrugged as if to indicate that somehow I had failed to communicate.

   “Rissa...” I began.

   Jinsa laughed softly. Krystal shook her head, and I stopped talking. Nothing I said would change Rissa's mind.

   “You can't win,” mouthed Perron.

   "He'll start in about an eight-day

   “Will he be happy doing the drudgery that goes with woodworking?” asked Krystal.

   “I don't know, but he's doing drudgery at the mill for his father. Here, at least some of his carving will go into things people use.” I cleared my throat, and took a sip of the cold water. We'd run out of redberry, and at the out - of - season prices I wasn't about to buy more. “You're the one who said I needed an apprentice.”

   “I did, and I am glad you'll have someone else to help. Just don't take it as an excuse to go off doing wizardry.”

   “Me? I'd rather stay home and do wizardry.” I ladled out a heaping dish of yet another variety of goat stew for Krystal, highly spiced, then one for myself, before passing the ladle to Jinsa, who took an even bigger helping. I looked at Krystal, hoping to change the subject. “Have you heard anything from the olive growers?” Olive growers came to mind because I'd delivered the chairs to Hensil.

   “The olive growers are worried about pirates. So are the wool merchants. They claim that the autarch cannot protect their shipments to Biehl or to Jera, let alone to Nordla.”

   “The autarch isn't responsible for the sea. Does she even have a fleet?”

   “That was the point,” said my consort after swallowing a mouthful of stew and washing away the steam with a mug of dark ale.