The Death of Chaos (53 page)

   Then, abruptly as they had entered, Krystal and Kasee rose and departed.

   Before I could say a word, the silver-haired Dayala slid into the chair beside me. Had I not known who she was, except for the darkness behind her eyes and the sense of power within her, I would have said that she was younger than Tamra, yet she was probably older than everyone in the room. Who knew how much older?

   “You are troubled because your father remains.” . “Yes. He can stay and protect Krystal, and I can't go out and do the same thing. Krystal's not angry at him because he's using his air wizardry to help protect Ruzor... or her.”

   “I wouldn't be sure of that.” I got a smile that could only have been druidic.

   Behind me, I could hear Tamra asking Justen, “Are you sure I can help more here?”

   “I have Lerris and Dayala. You're an air mage, and you need to help Gunnar, and to watch him and learn how he does what he does. There's no one else who can.”

   Somehow, I was perversely gratified to hear that Tamra was getting the same treatment I was.

   “You both have much to learn, and there is little time,” Dayala explained to me.

   “Little time?”

   “Before everything changes.” She paused. “You must learn. I also must teach you.” She rose.

   “Now?”

   “One must start sometime.” She nodded to Justen, and he gave her a smile.

   I followed her into the small garden behind the barracks where she knelt on the ground beside a line of plants I didn't know, but I didn't recognize most plants. Trees were one thing, plants another. She was barefoot.

   “Do you always go barefooted?”

   “How else can I touch the earth?”

   “In snow?”

   “In snow or ice, I could wear boots, but they are... confining.” She looked at me. “Give me your hand.”

   I had to kneel down, but I did.

   She positioned my hand with my fingers just barely touching the leaves. “Now...just feel...”

   I shook my head.

   “Feel...”

   So I tried. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, I could sense the flow of order and chaos within the plant, just as I had deep beneath Candar, except the flows moved more quickly, intertwining...

   The feeling vanished, and I looked down. Dayala had removed her hand.

   “You try it.”

   It took a while, and by the time I could do it each time I tried, the sweat was pouring down my face, and the sun hung low in the western sky.

   “Is that all?”

   “It is a great deal, young Lerris. Few indeed ever learn that, and all who do are druids.”

   “But why?”

   “Because there will be few druids before long.” She smiled sadly, and, while I tried to gather myself together, was gone, like the mist of a forest morning, it seemed.

   I wandered in a half-stupor back to the dining hall, where I ate tough lamb silently at the end of a trestle table. I didn't see Krystal, but I wasn't sure I would have seen anyone.

   Then I went back to Krystal's room where I dug out The Basis of Order, except I couldn't find anything, really, about the intertwining of order and chaos.

   By the single lamp, I was still reading The Basis of Order when Krystal returned. “You're up late.”

   “I was waiting for you.”

   “Are you packed?”

   “Yes.” I gestured toward my pack and staff in the corner. “Everything I'll need is there, except for food.”

   “Good. It's going to be hot tomorrow.”

   “It's been hot for I don't know how many eight-days.” I closed the book, trying not to yawn, and sat up with my feet over the side of the bed. The relatively cool stone felt good on my bare feet.

   “Now I know why you have trouble understanding,” said Krystal, stripping off her vest and tossing it on the table.

   “Why?” I gritted my teeth and left the vest where she had tossed it.

   “If you'd ever admitted to understanding anything, your father would always have had you thinking his way.” She sat in the chair by the window and pulled off her boots. “How does your mother deal with him?”

   “She's a potter. I told you that. She does her pieces- they're considered the best in Recluce-and she never talks about order, chaos, the Council, or whatever he does. That's probably one reason I never really understood how powerful he was.”

   “You didn't want to.”

   I couldn't help but nod, since she was probably right. “Come here. Stand by me.” She stood before the window, still in shirt and trousers, but barefoot.

   I stood next to her and looked out at the blackness of the Southern Ocean beyond the few scattered lights of Ruzor. Lamp oil, like everything else, was scarce.

   “I understand, Lerris, but, somehow, I'm still angry at you. It's not fair, but I am.” She held up a hand in the darkness. “That doesn't mean I don't love you. I do, but love doesn't always take away anger, and this is one of those times.”

   “I'm sorry.” There wasn't much I could say besides that.

   “You are. I know, but you still don't really understand. Maybe it's better that you're going with Justen and Dayala. Talk to her.”

   She squeezed my hand.“We need to get some sleep. You'll be up early, and it won't be that long before the Hamorian ships arrive, according to your father.”

   So we did sleep; after a while and after a fashion.

Worrak, Hydlen [Candar]

THE MAN IN the tan uniform crosses the wooden slats that cover the iron-plated deck, repositioning the tan field cap over his bald scalp. He pauses beside the turret and studies the gun barrel that rises from the armor. Then he turns and climbs the iron ladder to the bridge.

   “Marshal Dyrsse.”

   “Commander Gurtel.” Dyrsse bows. “I came to wish you well and offer the Emperor's blessing.”

   “Thank you. I received your orders, and I regret you won't be accompanying us. You won't reconsider that, ser, would you?” asks the fleet commander.

   “Unfortunately not. The press of administration, you know. Force Leader Speyra and Submarshal Hi'errse are highly capable of handling their land forces, and I could certainly not improve on your knowledge of your vessels and their tactics.” Dyrsse offers a rueful smile. “My job is to ensure that our base of operations here expands to be able to supply and support the fleet. Not glamorous, I fear, but necessary, like coal. Very necessary.”

   “We all appreciate your efforts, Marshal Dyrsse, especially in dealing with such a...” The white-haired commander shrugs. “You know what I mean.”

   “A disrupted command structure and an unexpected amount of black magery?” Dyrsse asks with a smile.

   “Yes, there has been that, too much of that, and after this effort, I hope we can turn to deal with the real problem.” The commander's eyes flick to the northeast.

   “We all do the Emperor's bidding.”

   “That we do.”

   “I won't take more of your time. The Emperor is with you.” Dyrsse inclines his head for a moment.

   “May he be with you, Marshal.”

   Dyrsse receives the salute, then turns and descends the iron ladder to the main deck, where he crosses to the quarterdeck, returns the salute of the ship's guard, and walks down the plank to the stone pier.

   Beyond the harbor's calm waters are thin plumes of smoke from the more than forty ships bearing the sunburst.

   The marshal's eyes focus momentarily beyond the ocean and the ships, toward the unseen isle to the northeast. Then he looks back at the warships and shakes his head. “Poor tools.”

I STOOD BY Gairloch in the dawn, saddlebags packed, and my pack between them, my staff already in the holder. Justen and Dayala were already mounted. Although she was barefoot and rode bareback, with only a halter on her mount, she let the leads from that lie across her mount's mane, loosely knotted. The half-squad of mounted guards held Weldein and Berli and four others I didn't know, except vaguely by sight.

   The day promised to be clear-and hot. Nothing had changed in that way and probably wouldn't soon.

   My father stepped up and hugged me briefly. “Let Justen pull his own weight.” He grinned and looked at his brother.

   “Just so long as you pull your weight here and take care of my apprentice,” snapped Justen, but he grinned too, for a moment.

   Krystal gave me a hug, and I did hold her, and she whispered in my ear. “Let Justen do it. Stop doing it all yourself, stubborn man. I want you back, and not as a gray-beard.”

   “I'll try.”

   “Try harder,” she hissed.

   “All right.”

   She kissed me, gently, and passionately enough to tell me that she really meant it, before she stepped back, and I climbed up on Gairloch.

   My father looked at me and nodded, and I nodded back.

   “Just them... going out to stop an army?” The words reached my ear, but not the identity of those Finest who watched.

   “Tough bastard, that Lerris is... stop an army if he has to tear himself in pieces first.” Fregin's sardonic response was slightly higher.

   Krystal frowned, for a moment, before looking at me and mouthing, “Don't do it.”

   I smiled back at her, and touched Gairloch's flanks. Justen eased Rosefoot up beside me. Few indeed outside the Finest's barracks even were about when we rode out onto the old stone-paved byways and wound back and forth on the climbing streets toward the eastern road to the Gateway Gorge. Those few women out trudged slowly, most carrying bundles, some on their heads, their eyes fixed sightlessly on the future they dreaded. At least, it looked that way to me.

   “Quiet, it is,” murmured Berli to Weldein.

   “Too quiet, far too quiet.”

   Justen looked over at me. “Too much fear. Fear never did anyone much good.” Then he chuckled. “I'm getting old. All people fear, but giving in to it is what causes trouble. Decisions ruled by fear aren't usually good ones.”

   “Decisions forced by anything probably aren't good,” I answered, my thoughts more on Krystal, more on her words and her desire to tell me to come back. I shivered. I just hoped Tamra and my father could add something to the defense of Ruzor, but how could mere storms stop steel-hulled, heavy-gunned warships?

   I could have asked the same question of us. How could an earth wizard and a druid-smith stop an army of thousands? We didn't have to guess where the Hamorians were coming from, not when the routes were limited. The more direct route from Hydlen-the one through Sunta and Arastia-was blocked by the boiling lake that had grown from the impact of chaos on the brimstone spring and by the steaming waters of the Yellow River. That left the lower pass from Faklaar.

   To get there we had to make almost a huge half-circle, heading up the river road through the Gateway Gorge and then up the Sturbal to Lythga and through the pass toward Faklaar.

   Riding up the river road, I could see clouds of dust rising to the east, out over the High Desert, and my throat and nose felt dry and cracked almost before we had left Ruzor and long before we reached the cliff road itself.

   The section of the road through the Gorge was misty, as always, although the mist seemed not to rise as high, and the upper walls of the Gorge on both sides were red in the sunlight, and dry.

   “Dry this year,” said Weldein. “The river's down a lot, more than I've seen in a long time.”

   Somehow, that figured.

   “Could be hard on the crops,” added Justen.

   “The orchards will be all right, the olives, anyway,” pointed out Berli.

   Since I knew little about any of them, I didn't say much, though I wondered how the dry weather would affect the chickens.

   We arrived in Felsa at twilight, and stayed in the near-empty barracks there. Dinner was cold mutton and colder noodles, with water. Justen had a pitcher of ale-better, he said, than anything else on the table. He was probably right, but even if I were a gray wizard, ale still didn't feel that good to me. Dayala ate only the noodles and some dried fruit that she had apparently brought. Even Gab-loch's grain cakes seemed more appetizing than cold mutton, and I ate more noodles than meat, if slowly.

   Dawn came too early, but we were outside Felsa's walls and on the road before the sun cleared the rounded slopes on the other side of the Sturbal that marked the edge of the High Desert.

   “There are fields here,” I said, “and over beyond the river is the High Desert. A few kays make a big difference.”

   “Sometimes, sometimes.” Justen clearly wasn't in the mood for talking, and neither was Dayala, who rode bareback beside Justen. Mostly, she walked, barefoot, talking to the horse.

   After that response, I patted Gairloch on the neck instead of trying to continue a conversation. I looked over again, wondering if the two were conversing, silently, and if I had interrupted them.

   Justen could have been more gracious, anyway. I patted Gairloch again. At least, he whuffed back.

   Even though the road beyond Felsa was broader than most, from the time when the mining wagons carted copper down through Felsa to Ruzor for shipping around Candar, the surface was rough. Dust and clay filled parts of the twin ruts worn in the limestone paving blocks, and the road's shoulders were uneven, and, in places, missing. After a morning of bouncing along, I was sore already. I let Gairloch pick his own way, and he did better than I would have.

   “Rough road,” I finally said to Justen.

   “That's what happens when order is imposed on nature and then withdrawn.”

   “Another profundity.” I was getting more than a little tired of the obscurities. “Nature has an order of its own.”

   “Nature does not withdraw,” observed Dayala with a faint smile. “Men do.”

   While I wondered whether she had meant all she implied, she continued, apparently oblivious to the possible play on words. “Nature is really more of an intertwining of order and chaos. The results look ordered, but that is why meddling by people often creates terrible results.” Dayala smiled almost apologetically.

   “Because people disrupt either the chaos or the order more, and that leaves one force relatively stronger, and the Balance is thrown off?” I asked.

   “Yes. It is more complex than that, but that is what happens. That is why it is often so hard for people to live in harmony with nature.”

   I could see that. Some people would always do too much- too much order, too much chaos-and never understand. “And druids can?”

   “Druids can-but not all those who are born in Naclos become druids, and some who are born elsewhere do.” She grinned at Justen, and the expression made her look more like a young girl.

   “What happens to them-the ones who don't understand? Do they get thrown out, as in Recluce?”

   “ Some leave. Some die.”

   “There is a trial,” Justen added. “No one has to undertake it, but you are effectively... excluded... from what goes on in Naclos if you don't. Some people leave, rather than face the trial. Others face it and fail to survive.”

   I shook my head. How were the druids any better than Recluce?

   “You are displeased,” said Dayala.

   “Yes.” I was more than displeased. I was angry, though I wasn't quite sure why.

   “Are all beings perfect?” she asked softly.

   “No. Of course not. Not even the mythical angels.”

   Whheeeee... eeee... Gairloch was letting me know he was thirsty.

   I patted his neck. “In a bit... in a bit.”

   “And if a being would hurt others, or nature, then what should those others do?”

   “I don't know.” And I didn't. If I imposed a forced order on someone, and I thought I might be able to, though I'd never tried, then that was violence against that person's will. If I didn't and they stole or hurt others, that was violence against those who had done no wrong. But exiling or killing someone because they might do violence didn't seem right. Neither did waiting until after they did. Yet exiling or killing someone to prevent wrongness wasn't right, either.

   “Let me explain,” she went on. “In Naclos, the trial is there to help someone come into understanding with the Balance. You have done this yourself, whether you know it or not. That you have done this is easily seen. Some people die because they cannot accept or understand the Balance. Others fear the trial, and we let them go live in the Empty Lands.”

   “You don't send them out of Naclos?”

   “No. Some go, but they are not sent. We would prefer they remain in Naclos, for their safety and the safety of others. There is some risk to them, because they must live with others like themselves, but that is either their choice or because they are flawed.” She shrugged, even as she slipped off her mount and began to walk, guiding the horse behind Rosefoot and up beside Gairloch. She walked quickly, yet effortlessly.

   I knew what I didn't like about it-an individual didn't seem to matter at all. Only the community counted. Just as in Recluce, you either conformed or left.

   “Someone who is different-you just throw them out?”

   “No.” She gave a laugh that was half laugh, half snort. “We have many who are different. My father was quite different. He was a smith, and you can understand that was different for druids. He still lived in the Great Forest. Justen met him.”

   “He was a good smith, very good with tools,” mused Justen, as if his mind were kays away.

   “So were you.”

   Again, I had this feeling that I had missed something, but I plunged on. “If you accept differences, then why... ?”

   “Why do we exile or create death? That is only for those who will not accept differences.”

   I pondered that for a time. Dayala, barefooted, kept pace with the horses without even breathing hard.

   Acceptance? Was that the key? But Recluce did not accept differences. Yet clearly Naclos had accepted Justen, and he certainly wasn't a run-of-the-mill druid.

   “Why do you risk your life for the autarch?”

   “Because Kyphros accepted me, I suppose.”

   She shrugged, as if to suggest something, and waited, but I didn't have any answers. Or all the answers I had were wrong. It was wrong, in my mind, to reject people who were different, but no group of people could accept those who would kill or disrupt a society... I shook my head.

   “Dayala, you've confused the poor man enough.” Justen's voice was affectionate.

   “I confused you once, too. But not for long.”

   “I'm still confused, woman, and I know it. He's going to have trouble dealing with the idea that there just aren't any answers that don't hurt people, often innocent people.”

   I wanted to take my staff and bash Justen. Except... except... I had the horrifying feeling that he was right, and maybe that was what had bothered me all along.

   Dayala handed the reins of her mount to me, and I took them, dumbly, and watched her stretch her legs and run. She was almost as frisky as a colt-a filly, I guess, really.

   “She could run down any horse, you know?” Justen said.

   “I didn't know, but I see it now.”

   “It took me a long time to really appreciate her.” He shook his head, almost sadly, leaving something unsaid.

   I swallowed. Justen wasn't exactly withdrawn. His eyes traveled every cubit of the grasslands to the west of the road, then swung back to take in the trees beside the narrow winding Sturbal. Yet he said little, less than he had said when I had traveled with him earlier.

   Behind us, Weldein and Berli talked in low voices.

   “... you're playing with fire...”

   “...I know... but...”

   “Do you think she knows?”

   “Probably,” said Weldein. “How could she not?”

   “I don't know, but it sometimes happens.”

   So we rode through the day, along the river and toward Lythga, and each kay we covered seemed to bring me closer to the white-red mass of chaos that seemed to lurk beneath and along the Easthorns.