The Death of Chaos (38 page)

DESPITE THE HENHOUSE, the chores, and woodworking, Wegel, with some help from me, got his own narrow room finished enough to use. He would have plenty of chances to improve his craft, since he needed just about every item of furniture, although Faslik brought over a nice single bed. I did provide a lamp, and the oil, which was another item getting dearer by the eight-day. A lot of the increased prices and shortages weren't the result of real shortages, but of greed and fear. It would be seasons, if ever, before the Empire could take over Candar, although the black Brotherhood of Recluce had done precious little. Somehow, I didn't think that would last.

   I'd managed to ride down to the south side of Kyphrien and commission some more hinges from Merrin-far less elaborate and expensive. I hadn't seen Yense or his accomplice, but I'd left Merrin's door open just in case.

   After wiping my forehead and looking around the too-dusty shop, I took a long drink from the pitcher-the dry heat of Kyphros pulled water out of my body like an oven-dried bread dough. I offered the pitcher to Wegel, but he shook his head. He didn't seem to need the water as much as I did, but then he'd been born in Kyphros.

   “Sweep up the chips and the damned red dust, first...”

   “B-but... M-m-master Lerris... it'll just...just g-g-get d-d-dusty again.”

   “I know, but I believe in struggling against disorder even when it's futile.”

   The blond young man shook his head sadly and picked up the broom. I picked up a soft rag. The red dust was gritty, and it had a tendency to stain the light-colored woods if it got damp. The way I was sweating, even wiping my forehead continually wasn't enough to keep some moisture from hitting the wood. I was making it a habit to dust anything I worked on before I started.

   After the dust from the sweeping settled, I was going to put a finish coat on Durrik's chest. I shook my head. The finish coat should be the last work of the day, when no more dust was being raised, and when the wind died down. Thinking? What about thinking, Lerris?

   Instead of working on finishing the chest, I smoothed the inside lids of the dowry chest until there was space enough for a finish coat there.

   Plane and wipe my forehead. Plane and wipe; plane and wipe... the pattern was tedious, but it worked.

   After that, we cut the last of the planks for another set of traveling chests-not that we had a buyer, but if Preltar were that nervous, there had to be others, and the chests weren't that difficult to make. Wegel could do a pair while I did more finish work on Antona's desk and on Zieber's case. “J-J-Jahunt b-be here,” said Wegel. “Jahunt?” I set down the plane on the bench and walked out onto the porch where the one-eyed peddler stood. Even with the light breeze, the morning was hot, nearly as hot as in midsummer, and the grass in the meadow beyond looked more like midsummer, and ready to brown. “Greetings.”

   “Greetings, Master Lerris.” The peddler looked down at the stone underfoot, then back at me. “I was a-thinking... ye being a mastercrafter... well... would ye be having small things I could peddle for ye?”

   “Small things?”

   “Breadboards? I seen those at the craft fairs, years back. Or napkin rings, carved ones?”

   “M-m-master Lerris...” stammered Wegel. “You have some things like that, Wegel?”

   “A f-few.”

   I pursed my lips. “Jahunt. Most of what we craft here is furniture. I don't do many things that small. Wegel does a few...”

   “But... an apprentice, beggin' your pardon...”

   “Wegel is better at carving than I am. If he's willing to let you hawk what he has, count yourself lucky.” I cleared my throat, dry from the heat and the dust. “Why are you asking us? You used to hawk scissors for Ginstal.”

   “Ginstal went to Hrisbarg, ser.”

   “Hrisbarg?”

   “Now that the Empire has Freetown, and the regent there has reopened the old iron mines... Ginstal said they'd be needing a good ironmaster who knew the mines, and that's where he learned the trade. His brother lives there, someplace called Howlett...”

   I recalled Howlett, not exactly favorably.

   “... Ginstal was saying that the new steam pumps would let them dig deeper, and he was a-tired of wondering what the Empire would do... or who was going to attack Kyphros next.”

   I wondered how many people in Candar felt that way. Was that what the Empire counted on?

   “Begging your pardon, ser?” said Jahunt.

   “Oh, nothing.”

   “You had that faraway look, ser.” The peddler shivered and looked at Wegel.“He looks like that, young Master Wegel, and I'd not be in his way.”

   “N-not me...”

   The squawks from the henhouse told me that Rissa was feeding chickens or collecting eggs. A crow from the young cock-perched on the top rail of the fence by the henhouse- confirmed that someone had invaded his territory.

   “Young cocks...” I muttered.

   “Not being so old, yourself, Master Lerris,” cackled Jahunt.

   Maybe not, but at times I didn't feel all that young, either.

   “I'd guess I'd be pleased to have any woodwork things young Wegel might offer, leastwise till the Hamorians show up,” Jahunt offered.

   “You may have a long wait,” I suggested.

   “You going to take them on, then? Folks say you be a mighty mage.”

   “Just mighty enough almost to get killed a few times. No... I wasn't thinking about that.”

   “If'n folks like you don't stop them, who will?” asked the peddler.

   Wegel looked at me, and I didn't have an answer.

   “A good question, but I don't have the answer.” I turned to Wegel. “You can work out something with Jahunt, but it's on your free time, not mine.”

   “T-t-thank you.”

   I smiled. “I don't know thanks are necessary. Double work isn't much fun.” While Wegel stammered and Jahunt dickered, I went back to the shop, where it was already hotter than outside, despite the open door and windows that meant more dust and grit. Again, I felt as if I couldn't get ahead.

   There I began on the notching and dovetailing for the traveling chests. With the way Jahunt was talking, there might be quite a market for traveling chests, though I still didn't see the Hamorian sunburst entering Kyphros anytime soon, not with Krystal holding and fortifying Ruzor.

   Wegel came back before long, smiling, at least until I put him to work on a traveling chest-a simpler version.

   Later, just before dinner, I had him clean the shop, and then I did the finish work on Durrik's chest so that it could set undisturbed overnight.

   Dinner was some type of chilied eggs, wrapped in peppers. Even Wegel was sweating after two of them, but like all youngsters, he ate five. I stopped at three, and ate more maize chips than I should have, and drank a lot more water than was wise.

   I curried Gairloch after dinner, and he was skittish, probably because of the early summerlike heat that was creating a high haze in the sky and large numbers of hungry flies that seemed to buzz everywhere.

   The chickens... they just brawwked and generally made noise and messes, but we did have eggs.

   The night was warm, but dry as it was, falling asleep wasn't that hard. Staying asleep turned out to be somewhat harder. Grrrurrrr... eeeeeeeEEEEEE! I sat up in bed, shaking from the mental force of the rever- berations of chaos. Without probing, not that my senses would travel that far, even underground, even if I were a reluctant earth wizard, I knew that the brimstone spring had exploded in chaos-that fire and steam cascaded down the Yellow River into Hydlen.

   I huddled on the bed, suddenly cold in the warm evening, with the quilt gathered around me.

   Where would chaos strike next? Would it all form around Sammel? Could he avoid it? More important, how could he refuse such power? But if he were accepting it, why was it erupting in Hydlen? And where was all that chaos coming from?

   Unbidden, the words of my father's letter slipped into my thoughts: “... the Balance works both ways... it does not matter whether order or chaos comes first...”

   I knew Recluce wasn't creating that much additional order, not unless things had changed more than I could believe, and I was in Candar, and neither Justen, nor Tamra, nor I were adding that much to the order forces. So who or what was?

   Hamor? But didn't there have to be order to make steel or black steel? Not if my father were right. Justen, if he and Tamra weren't still traveling somewhere in Certis or wherever, could have confirmed that, but I really didn't need confirmation.

   I took a deep breath, and shuddered under the quilt, while hundreds of kays away fire and steam cascaded down the Yellow River.

Northwest of Renklaar, Hydlen [Candar]

BERFIR WAITS BEHIND the heavy earthen revetment as the latest barrage from the Hamorian long guns walks its way up the left side of the trenchworks. The shells are lofted, falling from the heavens like the thunderbolts of the long-dead angels-or like the spears of the demons of light.

   The screams and moans of the Hydlenese troops are lost in the pounding explosions of the cannon.

   Crumpt! Crumpt! Crumpt!

   With each explosion, dry soil geysers into the sky, and a plume of dust drifts back almost into each shell crater in the hot stillness of midday.

   Overhead, the white-gold sun burns in the bright blue-green oven of heaven, and the dust drifts slowly southward in the light wind, over the red-clad troops, bringing with it the odor of dust, of blood, and corruption.

   A rocket arches into the sky, then drops toward the western Hamorian gun position, falling short by a dozen cubits, and spraying flame across the earthworks. Soldiers duck, then reappear, untouched.

   Nearly a dozen rockets arc toward the Hamorian guns before one hits, and a wedge of flame and black smoke flares skyward on the west flank of the Hamorian position.

   “Take that, sundevils!” Berfir smiles, and his hand strays toward the hilt of the big blade he still wears in the shoulder harness.

   Now the shells walk toward the Hydlenese rocket batteries, even as more rockets impact uselessly on and around the earthworks that protect the two Hamorian batteries.

   Crumpt! Crumpt!

   The big shells drop inexorably closer and closer to the Hydlenese rocket launchers until they finally strike the emplacement. Soil, rag-doll figures, dirt, and smoke erupt into the sky. Then, fire, sparks, and smaller explosions wash across the left side of the Hydlenese lines.

   The Duke sprints toward the carnage, ignoring the still-falling shells, his blade out for emphasis as he bellows orders. “Re-form with the right battery. Re-form at the right!”

   Soldiers stagger past him, blank-faced.

   Berfir thwacks one-not a solid Yeannotan, thank darkness-with the flat of the big sword. “Re-form with the right battery! Now!”

   The soldier reaches for his own empty scabbard before his eyes refocus on the tall Duke. “Ah... yes, ser. Yes, ser!”

   Slowly, the serjeants repeat the refrain, as the two remaining rocket officers and a handful of soldiers trudge southward behind the remaining earthworks toward the heavier earthworks of the right rocket battery.

   The Hamorian guns continue to boom, and the shells scream downward, creating a zigzag pattern of craters across the front of the Hydlenese earthworks, as the shells walk back toward the other rocket battery.

   With the impacts, more dust drifts across the Hydlenese lines.

   Berfir turns and walks back from the turned soil and torn bodies of the left rocket emplacement to the command revetment, ignoring the handful of officers who await him. He looks down at the big sword, helplessly, and then resheathes it. He walks to the crude slit embrasure in the earthworks.

   The plumes of smoke from the distant hillside drift across the churned ground of the field, across the abandoned cottage and the shattered remnants of a small barn.

   “Ser?” The words rasp from the officer in red, his uniform coated in dust, who stumbles up to the Duke. “The scouts report... they're bringing up another battery of the guns.”

   “When will they be in place?” asks Berfir tiredly.

   “Probably not until late today, maybe early tomorrow.”

   “Should we pull back now, or wait for darkness?” Berfir blots the dirt and sweat off his forehead with the forearm of his left sleeve.

   “Ser... if you wait much longer...”

   “I know... I won't have any troops left.”

   “Yes, ser.”

   “Sound the retreat. Try and keep them on the river road. I'd like to have some forces left by the time we reach Hydolar.”

   “Hydolar?” asks the officer.

   “You think we can defend Renklaar with all those ships they brought to Freetown?”

   “Hydolar?” repeats the officer. “That means we're giving them the Ohyde Valley?”

   “Hydolar-unless you can find a way to lead a successful charge against their guns and rifles.” Berfir looks back through the slit. The shell explosions continue their slow walk across the hillside.

EARLY SUMMER HAD struck Kyphros like a hammer, the sun burning through the blue-green sky and searing the land into stunted grasses and dusty roads. In the midst of the heat and dry winds, Durrik had collected his spice chest. I had collected the hinges from Merrin in time to finish both the dowry chest and the travel chests for Preltar and collect his proffered bonus.

   Zeiber had even accepted his case and offered a gold bonus. I'd reluctantly deferred. There was no way I could take a bonus from Zeiber. He'd even looked pleased at the case, touching it and shaking his head.

   After that, Wegel and I had completed and sold four more travel chests. I was even getting close to finishing Antona's desk, and Wegel had placed a few small carvings with Jahunt, but the peddler was having trouble selling much of anything. That was what he told us, anyway.

   Wegel was sweeping up the shop in the late afternoon while I was racking and organizing fir lengths for another travel chest when Krystal rode back into the yard, leaving a trail of dust that hung in the air for kays, turning almost pink in the twilight.

   Braaawkkkk... brawkkk... Two of the hens pecked away at the hard, cracked ground around the side of the henhouse.

   “No chickens?” Krystal brushed road dust from her leathers even before she swung down from the saddle. I shrugged. “Rissa was persuasive.”

   “Ah, no, Commander. Only when Brene would sell no chickens, only when she was ready to pack up her house and leave to visit Tyglit, only then would Master Lerris consent to the chickens. And now-now we have chicks that will be dinners before fall, and now we have eggs, plenty of eggs.”

   The cock announced his presence from the rail near the henhouse.

   “And too much crowing,” I said.

   Krystal laughed, but I could see the lines around her eyes, the additional silver hair, and the looseness of her leathers. “Do we get chicken tonight?” asked Perron. “You would have chicken tonight if Master Lerris had seen fit to buy the chickens earlier.” Rissa went back into the kitchen.

   Krystal and I walked across the yard to the open stable doors, leading her mount.

   “You're staying here, I hope?”

   “There's really nowhere else to stay. Only one wing of the barracks is open, and that's to support Liessa.”

   “Showing the flag?”

   Krystal nodded. “The heir stays here to reassure the people, but any attack will come at Ruzor.”

   “Is it that bad?”

   She nodded, but said nothing, and I got the message. It was bad enough that she didn't even want to talk in front of her personal guard.

   I got out the curry brush. “Durrik picked up his spice chest, and Preltar paid for his dowry chest and a couple of others. Zeiber offered a bonus, but that I turned down.”

   “It sounds as though you've done well.” Krystal loosened the girth and removed and racked the saddle. “You were right about Zeiber.”

   “We haven't done badly for a while. Wegel's sold some carved pieces through Jahunt.”

   “Jahunt?”

   “The peddler. He used to sell stuff for Ginstal, except Ginstal moved back to Hrisbarg. Jahunt said he was a master miner years back.”

   “They closed the mines before I was born,” said Jinsa from the middle of the stable.

   “Before I was born, and that's something,”, added Dercas. “What be for dinner?”

   “Food? Finish grooming that nag, and clean up before you worry about food,” advised Perron. “There's always good food here. There's even enough for the rest of us after you eat.”

   Jinsa snickered.

   “Man has to know the important things. Good food, good mounts, and Barrel's no nag.”

   “Enough,” said Perron quietly.

   Haithen unsaddled her mount without a word, and I could sense her discomfort from halfway across the stable, mirroring Krystal's. How women put up with it, I didn't know, but I was more than glad I didn't have to endure the pain and discomfort firsthand. Secondhand and removed was disconcerting enough, especially with two of them in the same state.

   After I finished currying the gelding, I stepped behind Krystal and rubbed her back, especially the lower part.

   “That feels good.”

   “Good.”

   Rissa had a mutton curry dish with noodles and bread steaming on the table almost as soon as Krystal and I were washed up.

   “Good stuff!” Dercas licked his lips.

   Jinsa glared at the other trooper.

   “Please sit down,” said Krystal.

   I sat and served her, then me, and passed the noodles to Wegel, then dished out the mutton and sauce. Wegel took a substantial helping, just short of being too large. Dercas did the same.

   “It would be nice if you men left some,” said Haithen, her voice sharp.

   I looked at my plate.

   “I don't mean you, Master Lerris.”

   “You'd better not be,” added Rissa, “since he's the one providing the table.” She set down a second loaf of bread in a basket.

   For a moment, no one said a word.

   “I like being here better than in Ruzor.” Jinsa brushed her short hair back off her forehead.

   “Doesn't the sea make it cooler?” I asked.

   “Not that much, and it's damp. You sweat, and you're never dry, and pretty soon everything smells like mold unless you wash it all the time, and if you do nothing really ever gets dry.” She shuddered.

   “Beautiful Ruzor by the sea,” added Krystal. “Keeping supplies and food from spoiling is one of Yelena's biggest problems. Besides getting them.”

   “How is she doing?” I broke off a corner of bread and passed the basket to Wegel, who took a much smaller chunk, after a quick glance at Haithen.

   “ Yelena? Like the rest of us, she has too much to do and too little time to do it. I think she misses being in the field. She's spending what little free time she has practicing.”

   “That's probably what I should be doing.” I'd done some, but I still felt rusty, especially without Tamra to keep me on my toes.

   “You two... all this talk of weapons practice and preparation. Many seasons will pass before any Empire takes Kyphros, for that is what the Book of Ryba has said, that no man will take Kyphros.” Rissa stopped abruptly as Perron looked at her.

   “Prophecies are only as good as those who enforce them.” That was the lanky soldier's only comment.

   “We're pretty good, then,” barked Dercas.

   “At eating, anyway,” added Jinsa.

   Neither Krystal nor I added much to that, and, after dinner, we retreated to the bedroom, where I helped her pull off her boots and rubbed her back.

   “Does that help?”

   “You know it does. You just want me to tell you.” Her voice was muffled because she lay facedown.

   “We men need to hear we're appreciated.”

   She rolled over and threw a mock punch at me, mock enough that I managed to duck. If she'd been serious, I would have been nursing a bruise somewhere.

   “Careful... I'm a fragile man.”

   “Fragile? Ha! I've roasted meat less than that wizard roasted you. Don't tell me you're fragile.” She grinned, momentarily, before her eyes focused a thousand kays away.

   After a long silence, I asked, “How are you doing? You seem kays away.”

   “This preparing for the coming of the Hamorians... it seems endless.”

   “I wonder if it's not more like the coming of the demons.”

   Krystal raised her eyebrows, then stretched out on the bed on her back. “Darkness, this feels good, almost as good as having my back rubbed. What did you mean about the coming of the demons?”

   “There's a lot of chaos rising, all over Candar. Preltar bought traveling chests, and didn't even quibble over the prices, and he's the type that quibbles over everything. Brene-Rissa told you about her. It doesn't make sense. Nothing's going to happen that soon.”

   She shook her head. “It has. The Brotherhood assassinated the first regent-Rignelgio, not Leithrrse. They've also sunk at least three Hamorian cruisers, iron-clad or not, and one of them had the Hamorian fleet commander on board. Leithrrse has taken command of everything, and he seems to know what he's doing. Renklaar just fell, and supposedly the harbor waters were as red as the banner of Hydlen. The Hamorians landed another five thousand troops in Freetown, and they're marching on Hydolar. Montgren has surrendered to the Emperor's regent, and the Viscount of Certis has sent out notices for all his levies.”

   “That's worse than I thought.” I'd been thinking more in terms of chaos, but the physical impact of the Empire was something again.

   “It will get worse.”

   “Has Leithrrse sent any messages to Kasee?”

   Krystal shook her head.

   I waited, then added, “I think the brimstone spring exploded two or three eight-days ago. The impact of the chaos woke me up.”

   “Kasee got a report that about half of Arastia was destroyed by the fires and steam. The river's still steaming.”

   “I can still hear the chaos groaning.”

   “Can you do anything about it, Lerris?”

   “I don't know what. Too much chaos really means too much order.”

   “Too much order? There can't be that much order in Recluce.”

   “It's not all coming from Recluce. I got a letter from my parents.”

   “You did? I'm glad you wrote them.” She grinned. “Tamra would be, too. I haven't heard from either Justen or Tamra. Have you?” She shook her head. “I'm tired, and I'm not thinking too clearly. What did your parents say?”

   “My mother did the writing, but she said my father said the Balance worked both ways. It seemed odd at first.”

   “That does seem odd.”

   “But I figured it out. Recluce limited the amount of order in both Candar and in Recluce to limit the amount of chaos. Hamor is using tools and machines to create order...”

   “And that creates more chaos?”

 
  “I think so.”

   “Darkness help us all.” Her eyes refocused in the distance, and I held her hand for a time, leaving her in her thoughts.

   Then, when she was almost asleep, I helped her undress. Through the night, I held my commander close, and I could almost ignore the deep groanings of chaos surging beneath Candar-almost.