The Order War (60 page)

As the mountain pony plodded along, followed by the mule with the two iron-copper bars and the supplies from the land car, Justen continued to search out Gunnar. Gunnar, like Justen, had clearly found a mount, assuming that the signs Justen had been following were Gunnar’s and that Gunnar had indeed been heading for Lydiar.

Burying Martan and gathering his few personal items for his family had taken a while, not that Justen begrudged that poor repayment. But during that time, Gunnar had gained a solid head start.

The Gray Wizard studied the rain-drenched countryside. Whatever else he and Gunnar had done, they had definitely called rain. The hillside meadows were drenched, and small rivulets poured down across the stone road. The catch basins nearly overflowed.

For once, Justen was glad of the solid workmanship of the White Wizards’ stone road. The dirt roads would be mud after nearly three days of rain. Justen snorted. In his own way, he had also brought rain, not that Gunnar or any of the Black mages could have approved of his techniques.

The fast-moving clouds were higher now than they had been in the morning, and since midday, no rain had fallen. A break in the clouds foretold the possibility of sunlight later on.

Justen had just read the kaystone indicating that Hrisbarg, the small town said to provide the metal for the Iron Guard, was less than a dozen kays eastward when the air began to tingle.

His eyes followed the feeling to a low hill ahead, almost astride the road. A small stone house graced the summit, but the tingling came from lower on the hillside. Gunnar, calling storms even with his diminished powers? And a sense of chaos?

Justen nudged the chestnut ahead.

When he turned the next wide corner, just past a temporary waterfall that arched down beside the road, he could see the coach with the four lancers, and the single horse lying in the road.

Gunnar stood behind a gray boulder, partway up a hillside steep enough and wet enough to discourage the lancers…at least for a while.

Hhssttt…

A modest firebolt flared past the Weather Wizard.

Hsssttt…

Justen looked ahead. The White Wizards clearly blocked any passage on the road to Lydiar, and retreating did not seem attractive at the moment, not for Gunnar at least.

Hhhssttt…
A line of reddened white, blinding and ugly, flowed from the White Wizard. Justen slammed an order-shield around himself and the mule, closing his eyes as the barrage of white fire-rain cascaded over the shields, and as the damp pine tree behind him flared into flame and collapsed into dust. He dismounted awkwardly, his left leg slowing him, and half-stumbled, half-ran, toward the mule.

Now…he recalled, the reason for creating the Brother
hood of Engineers had been the fact that in a world with less order, chaos was stronger on a one-on-one basis.

“So much power…” Even as he spoke, Justen fumbled with the long bundle on the mule, finally unstrapping the poles, hoping that the two he had would be enough.

Hhhssttt…
The dark-haired engineer felt his order-shield shiver under the assault. He hoped he was helping Gunnar!

After he lifted the first iron pole with the heavy copper center, and the second, he began to scramble up the hillside. He needed to get uphill and in front of Gunnar—if he could.

Hhhsssttt…

The shock of holding off the firebolt flung him onto the rocky ground, and he could feel a slash across his cheek even as he gathered his feet under him and struggled uphill.

“…two of the Black bastards…”

An arrow flew past him, then another, as he dodged through the waist-high brush.

A gust of wind swept across the hillside, and the next arrow went wide, perhaps because of the sudden wind, or perhaps because he fell forward when his boot caught on a root.

He stumbled on until he reached a point that was almost above the coach. He plunged one of the iron poles into the soft ground and staggered on.

Hhhssttt…

The jolt of once more holding back the firebolt flung him forward, and his right hand came away from the sharp rocks bloody.

He managed another dozen steps before he took the second iron pole and jammed it into the ground, throwing his senses into the iron in the rocks far below, struggling, panting, trying to open a corridor of order from the iron below to the two iron poles on the hilltop.

Another firebolt whistled past him.

He took a deep breath and dropped his shields. Then he raised his hands as if to challenge the White Wizards on the road below. He waited, ducking as another arrow passed his shoulder.

Hhhhssstttttt!

The sky buckled with the power, and the trees on the dis
tant hills shook as though a mighty wind had bent them, while the ashes of the vegetation around Justen swirled across the hillside.

Justen forced himself to leave his feeble shield down, instead channeling that massive bolt of energy toward the iron and copper poles, toward the channel that linked the poles to the heavy order of cold iron deep within the earth.

A cold, black bolt of order, a lightning bolt of nothingness, of darkness, flashed back from the two iron posts, even from the granite stones of the house on the hilltop above, and down toward the coach, guided by the channel Justen had opened.

Without thinking, Justen closed his eyes and covered his face.

Aaaaeeeee…
The pain of the mental scream froze Justen in place, but only for an instant, until the blast hurled him into the ashes—and back into darkness.

He tried to climb from the darkness, but his fingers and feet seemed immobile, unable to lift him clear.

“Easy…easy, you idiot.” Suddenly, Gunnar was beside him.

Water dropped on his face—tears. Gunnar’s tears.

“I’m all right,” he mumbled, trying to get the taste of ashes from his mouth as he slowly sat up. Even the air smelled like damp ashes.
Does the entire world smell as though it has been burned?

Gunnar held him for a moment. “Are you sure? You look like fish bait.”

For a while, Justen leaned against his brother, conscious that the ground was warm under him, unpleasantly so. Finally, he sat up and looked around. Overhead, the sky was the darkness of a late winter afternoon, and heavy drops of rain had begun to fall, raising steam from both the hilltop above—where only two melted granite posts remained of the house that had stood there—and from the road where the coach had stopped. All that remained on the road was a raised lump of stone and metal resembling an irregular drop of melted wax.

“This place feels like chaos,” mumbled Gunnar.

“That’s because it is. There’s a lot of order and chaos
locked up wrong in the rocks here.” Justen spit out ashes and used his damp sleeve to blot the blood off the slash in his hand. “We probably ought to get moving. It’s not really good to stay here long.”

“Is it good for you to stay anywhere long?” Gunnar forced a laugh as he helped his younger brother stand up.

They half-stumbled back down the road and around the curve. The pony and the mule had retreated but they remained in sight.

Justen sighed, hoping the animals didn’t keep walking back to the west. He wasn’t up to chasing them. For a moment, he looked over his shoulder, taking in again the melted granite stones, stones that looked like candles whitened and seared by a glassblower’s pipe. Of the two iron poles there was no sign at all. He shivered.
What sort of force is it that can vaporize iron, even with the lower levels of order and chaos in the world? With what sort of power did the Naclans provide me?

Yet what else could he have done? The Council had had no intention of stopping the White Wizards, and neither did the Naclans, except for the one called Justen.

“We need to get those horses,” reminded Gunnar.

“I know.” Justen turned. “I know. But one’s a pony and one’s a mule.”

“I’m glad you followed me.”

“So am I.”

They trudged toward the animals, and the rain fell, and the steam rose off the rocks.

Altara bowed to the Council.

“Might we have your report, Chief Engineer?”

“I have submitted a written report, counselors. If I might summarize…”

“Please do.” Claris nodded for the engineer to continue.

“Whatever the nature of the…disruption in Candar—”

“The destruction of Fairhaven, I believe?” asked Ryltar.

“I understand that the…disruption had that effect. That does not include the destruction that apparently occurred all over Candar, or the tidal wave that destroyed nearly a third of old Nylan. All of those were, I believe, side effects. Even the destruction of Fairhaven was not the primary intent. Or at least not the major impact.”

The three counselors exchanged glances and then looked at Turmin, who sat at one end of the table.

“Go ahead,” ordered Claris. “What was the primary intent?”

“To reduce the amount of free chaos in the world.”

“A laudable goal,” suggested Ryltar with only the slightest edge to his voice, “except that it clearly had the opposite effect. That doesn’t include the cost to us. The rather considerable cost, I might suggest.”

“No,” corrected Altara. “The disruption effectively destroyed the massed power of chaos developed by the Whites, and according to Magister Turmin—” Altara nodded to the Black mage “—there is no chaos-focus or concentration remaining.”

“You mean that the disruption reduced the power of both order
and
chaos?” asked Jenna.

“Exactly,” interposed Turmin. “Young Justen did what was thought to be impossible. He somehow concentrated disordered light into ordered light and focused it on chaos.”

“He did this alone?”

“Yes,” said Altara.

“That part he did alone,” said Turmin nearly simultaneously.

“Engineer, what does this mean for the Mighty Ten?”

Altara took a deep breath. “We
might
be able to disorder what order remains in the black iron in all the ships. If Turmin is correct, we could build three much, much smaller ships—after we rebuild the engineering hall. It has suffered a great deal lately.” Altara glanced at Ryltar. “Such smaller ships would be almost as fast, but we could not armor them heavily, and they would have to use a single gun. They would be effective against most ships on the oceans.”

“How?” protested Ryltar. “The Hamorians have ships two hundred cubits or more—”

“Not any longer. No high-pressure steam boiler will operate without black iron—not now, and only small ones at that.” Altara lowered her eyes for a moment. “Justen has destroyed most of the concentrated order in the world. Most black iron is not so strong as when it was forged. Even steel cannot contain chaos forces as effectively as before.”

“We could build it back, couldn’t we?” asked Ryltar. “Our trade…our traders…”

“It took more than three centuries of the efforts of the Black Brotherhood of Engineers to get from Dorrin’s first small ship to the Mighty Ten.”

“There is another question, I submit,” suggested Turmin.

The counselors looked to the end of the table.

“Two, really. First, can Recluce afford to make such an investment again, now that the world knows that such an investment can be destroyed? Second, will anyone want us to do so once it becomes known that our power was based on actually creating more and more chaos in Candar?”

Altara nodded slowly.

“I see your point,” responded Jenna. “Could we afford to tax our trade so heavily when most merchants and shippers will be sorely pressed to rebuild or reconfigure their ships without more taxes? That doesn’t include the cost of rebuilding most of Nylan.”

Ryltar swallowed.

“Do you have anything else to add, Chief Engineer?”

“We will build one small ship that will work under the current order-chaos balance. That is all we can do without additional funds, and we doubt that more funds will be forthcoming. Nor do we wish to exceed the limits suggested by Magister Turmin. Not when we know the consequences.” Altara rose and stepped back. “By your leave?”

“You may go.” Claris nodded brusquely. “You also, Magister Turmin…and the clerks as well.”

When the chamber was empty, Claris turned to Ryltar. “Ryltar? Weren’t you the one who knew that this…Justen…was order-mad?”

The wispy-haired counselor frowned, but nodded.

“And yet you said and did nothing?” added Claris. “And now he has apparently decided to stay in Candar, where he cannot be touched?”

“We do not know that. And I did express some concern, you will recall,” protested Ryltar.

“It does not matter,” pointed out Jenna. “If he is that powerful, how could we touch him?”

“The way you acted let him destroy our warships and our merchant fleet,” pursued Claris. “Every ship berthed in Nylan was either swept away or destroyed—as were those in Lydiar, Renklaar, and who knows how many other ports.”

“I did protest. And my office and warehouse were totally destroyed.”

“Ryltar, most of your wealth is stored in Hamor, and that was where most of your ships are. So convenient.” Claris’s eyes were hard.

Jenna grinned, an expression less of glee than malice. “Of all of us, you had the most knowledge, and yet you kept asking what we could do.”

“You seemed to support him.” Ryltar wiped his forehead. “You didn’t listen to me.”

“Support him? If you, or anyone, were to review the records, you would see that both Jenna and I merely stated that we could not act without knowledge. You had that knowledge, and you kept it from the Council. Without the knowledge you had, your protests were meaningless, and you hid that knowledge so that you alone would profit.”

“What are you getting at?”

“Your resignation, for the good of Recluce.”

“What?”

“It is likely to come out shortly that you kept this knowledge from the Council—thereby preventing us from acting in a timely fashion—in hopes of profiting from the information you alone held,” suggested Claris calmly. “You certainly would have profited.”

“And,” added Jenna, “you also ordered your ships out of
Nylan but did not tell Hoslid and the others of your actions. They lost ships. You lost only engines.”

Ryltar looked from one woman to the other. “You’re both mad. You can’t do this.”

“Mad?” Jenna laughed softly. “No. And we can do this. In fact, unless you leave Recluce quickly, Ryltar, a number of very angry traders are going to be gathering at your door, and I don’t think your excuses will carry much water.”

“Ryltar,” added Claris, “being a counselor requires acting for the good of all Recluce. All too often, you found reasons why we should not act. Those reasons always benefited you. This time, we will follow your example and do nothing, except to tell the people what has happened.”

Ryltar wiped his forehead again.

“If you resign now,” suggested Jenna brightly, “it might be a day or so before the official announcement is made. I suspect that with the powers of the White Wizards severely reduced, there might even be some opportunities in places like Sarronnyn and Suthya, where the Whites had not really consolidated their hold. You might find them more…congenial.”

Ryltar swallowed and looked from one set of bright eyes to the other. Finally, he swallowed again and reached for the pen before him.