The Death of Chaos (26 page)

South of Hrisbarg, Freetown [Candar]

FROM BEHIND THE revetment at the top of the hill, Berfir looks at the round object hanging in the sky over the hill on the far side of the valley. There Colaris's forces have dug themselves in behind heavy trenchworks. Two black lines run from a basket beneath the elongated ball to the ground.

   A puff of grayish smoke belches from a hole in trenches of the Freetown forces. Berfir forces himself not to duck at the whistling of the cannon shell, and at the dull thud that accompanies the gout of earth and grass that erupts from the hillside below.

   The Duke studies the flat ground below the hill where the crimson banners of Hydlen hang limply. Dark lumps lie in the dust of the flat land that had been a grain field seasons earlier. A few high browned shoots remain, after-harvest weeds. Beyond the flats that had once been grain fields, another long and low hill rises. To the left is a small stand of trees, a woodlot. To the right, fields stretch out to another set of hills in the distance.

   In the fields are far too many of the dark lumps, and, Berfir reflects, far too many had worn the red and gold plaid of Yeannota.

   Another shell pounds the hillside, this time turning a small pine into a spray of kindling, less than a dozen cubits below the left end of the trenches of the Hydlenese forces.

   Duke Berfir studies the balloon hanging in the sky and the mirror flashes from the basket. “... telling the gunners where to aim,” he mumbles to himself.

   “I beg your pardon, ser.”

   “Nothing. Nothing.”

   ... eeeee... eeee... crump! Yet another shell erupts below the Duke, gouging out the soil below the center of his troops' earthworks.

   “We need to see if we can guide the rockets into their gun emplacements.” Berfir turns and strides across the hillside, not remaining all that close to the revetments.

   “Ser...”

   As the shells continue to fall, the Duke continues onward, toward the rocket emplacements.

   The rocket officer looks up at the Duke.

   “Ser?”

   “Lift the launchers, Nual.”

   “What?”

   “Point them up.” Berfir's hand describes an arc. “So they drop down over the Freetown revetments.”

   “We'll waste rockets.”

   “We're wasting rockets now. Unless we can get to those cannon, they'll push us right back out of Freetown, and before long they'll hold the Ohyde Valley, and they'll be knocking at the gates of Hydolar and Renklaar.”

   “Yes, ser.”

   Berfir watches as the rocket crews struggle to wedge the launchers into higher positions than the equipment had ever been designed for. All the time the cannon shells creep closer.

THE HEAVY CLOUDS that had rolled in that afternoon led to a dark night, really black. I lit the lantern outside the shop, and then went back inside to work on the supporting aspect of Werfel's commission-the chair-since it definitely needed to be sturdy to bear his weight. Why was it that most of the patrons who could afford good woodcrafting needed chairs capable of handling heavy loads?

   After having finished gluing the legs of the desk chair into their sockets, I was cleaning up the glue pot and adding some water before setting it back on its tripod by the hearth. Outside, distant thunder mumbled, and rain splattered against the outside walls and the back window.

   I kept casting my senses out. Krystal should have returned days earlier, and I had heard nothing. I felt she was getting near, though, and finally I could sense the horses, and hear them through the dampness, long before they reached the yard. I had put down the glue pot and was out in the slashing cold rain even before Krystal and her guards pulled up outside the stable.

   Perron had the stable door open, and Haithen stood in the mud and held his mount's reins. The other two guards were dismounting.

   I held out a hand to Krystal, but she didn't need it as she vaulted clear of the saddle. She did need it to keep from skidding in the mud.

   “You shouldn't be out here.” Despite the concerned tone, she gave me a smile that was worth the chill.

   “I'm a lot better, and I missed you, and I should be here. And I've been worried,” I admitted, even as I was hugging her, and ignoring the blade that dug into my good leg. “I'm glad.”

   Then we didn't talk for a moment. “How can you stand me? I smell like a stable.”

   “I hadn't noticed.”

   “More needs healing than your leg.”

   “You can help,” I offered.

   Perron grinned, I thought, although I really couldn't see in the darkness and the rain. The night was so dark and the rain so heavy that even the big lantern didn't help that much. “I'm soaked, and standing here won't help you.” She was right about that, and I grabbed the reins and followed Haithen and her mount into the stable, glad that I'd insisted on raising the clay floor when it had been built. I lit the stable lantern.

   “Lerris, your stable is drier than some inns,” offered Haithen, her short hair plastered flat against her skull.

   “I do what I can to encourage the commander and her guards to stay here.”

   “I don't think she needs much encouragement.” That was a low-voiced comment from Perron. Krystal actually blushed. I coughed. By the time we got Krystal's mount rubbed down and her saddle and gear wiped dry and clean, and headed for the house, big wet flakes of snow had begun to fall, interspersed with the rain that seemed more like ice. “A real winter's on its way.”

   “It looks like it.” I squeezed her hand and then held the door for her.

   Rissa was standing there, her hands on her hips, stains on her apron, and a scowl upon her face. “Lamb stew will have to do. Thank the darkness I baked today. If only I could know when you would be here, Commander...”

   “Lamb stew is fine, Rissa. It is far better than march rations or inn fare, especially at this time of year.” Krystal smiled and stretched. “It's good to be home.”

   “And your guards, where are they?”

   “Hanging out their gear to dry in the stable. The ride back, especially from Felsa, was through the rain.”

   Rissa looked at us. “Drowned rats-they look drier.”

 
 We looked at each other. She was right.

   So we went into the bedroom where I stripped off my soaking work shirt, and Krystal pulled off her tunic, and I dropped the wet shirt and hugged her again. Her damp skin was chill, but she felt so good.

   She kissed me, and we hung together for a few moments- until her stomach growled.

   “I haven't eaten since breakfast...”

   I got her an old heavy work shirt, and an older one for me, and followed her back to the kitchen where the guards stood waiting.

   “Sit down.” Krystal gestured.

   Rissa set the stew pot on a breadboard in the middle of the table and a basket filled with three loaves of warmish bread beside the pot.

   “... better than the barracks...”

   “... best food... anywhere...”

   “Stop mumbling with your mouth full, Jinsa,” admonished Perron.

   Rissa put down mugs. “Herbal tea or dark ale I have.”

   “Ale,” said Krystal firmly. “It's been a long eight-day.”

   Haithen and I had tea; the others had ale.

   By the time I'd sipped half a cup of tea and felt warm, Krystal and her guards had each had at least two helpings of stew, and Rissa had put two more loaves of bread in the basket.

   I was full with one solid helping, but I'd had bread and cheese at midday, and I hadn't been riding through an icy rain.

   “How were the harbor defenses?” I asked after swallowing my last mouthful of stew.

   “Ruzor really doesn't have any.”

   “No defenses? What about all those walls?”

   Krystal took a mouthful of stew without answering. Perron looked down at his bowl.

   “Might I have some more bread?” asked Haithen.

   I looked at the basket, not believing it was empty, but it was.

   The two other guards looked at each other and down at the table.

   “Have as much bread as you want,” offered Rissa. “Of bread, we have plenty.”

   “I see,” I offered. “Against Berfir's rockets, the walls aren't that much good?”

   “Nor against the Hamorian long cannon, apparently.” Krystal stopped and took a long pull of the dark ale. “The old fort sits on the breakwater, and that's too exposed.”

   “Did you get that from the envoy from Southwind?”

   Krystal took a deep breath. “Hamor has a squadron of a dozen steel-hulled steam cruisers at Dellash and more on the way.”

   “Dellash? Where's that?”

   “You know the island opposite Summerdock?”

   “That's in Delapra, but Delapra's almost part of Southwind.”

   “Not any more. There's a big Hamorian trading station in Summerdock, and the Hamorian traders use the port year-round now.”

   The picture got very clear. Hamor was using Dellash, wherever that was, as a naval base to “protect” its trade in Candar.

   “So that was why the Southwind envoy came to Ruzor and not Kyphrien?” I asked.

   “She wasn't an envoy.” Krystal's tone was openly sarcastic. “She was merely taking a pleasure trip.”

   “A pleasure trip? With a staff of a half score?” suggested Perron.

   “ 'Just a simple traveler I am, Commander Krystal...' ” Krystal snorted, then emptied the mug. “I'd like some more...”

   Rissa nodded and brought her the pitcher.

   Krystal filled her mug to the very top, then had to sip quickly to keep it from overflowing.

   “She talked a great deal about the Hamorian cruisers, their draft, their guns, their displacement, their armor, their marine contingents, and their proximity to Summerdock.” My consort took another deep swallow from her refilled mug. “Dellash used to be a fishing village. It now has a deep-water stone breakwater and three piers, not to mention a huge mountain of coal that magically appeared from nowhere.”

   I was getting a sinking feeling in my stomach as Krystal talked, one that wasn't helped by the way the guards looked at the table and not at either of us.

   “Why hasn't anyone heard about this?”

   “Obviously, the Emperor didn't want it to be heard. Not until now, anyway.”

   I liked that even less.

   “Does Kas-the autarch know?”

   “Not yet. But there's little enough she could do tonight.”

   I glanced toward the window, and the heavy flakes of snow that continued to fall.

   “There's little enough she could do anytime,” offered Perron.

   Krystal took a long slow breath and another deep swallow of the ale, while Perron refilled his mug.

   “How is Yelena doing?” I finally asked.

   “Everyone respects her,” Krystal said with a faint laugh, “especially after she discovered on the first day how Kyldesee diverted funds into her own purse.”

   “A lot of things reappeared in the armory and the storerooms,” added Haithen. “Especially after word got around that she knew you, Master Lerris.”

   “Somehow, I doubt that my name had a lot to do with it. Yelena is more than competent without having to rely on third-rate wizards.”

   “You'll notice how he's finally given up denying that he's a wizard.” Haithen winked at Perron.

   “Denial would be hard now, even for Lerris,” added Krystal. “He's known as both a hero and a wizard.”

   “You're supposed to be on my side,” I protested.

   “In matters of state, my loyalty is to the autarch.” She actually managed to say it with a straight face. Then she grinned.

   We talked for a time longer, but not much longer, because everyone was yawning, me included.

   Haithen left first, peering into the yard. “There's a span of demon-damned snow on the ground. Snow? This early in Kyphrien?”

   “You have your boots on. You want help getting them off?” Perron leered at her.

   “You'll have more than enough trouble with your own.”

   The other male guard shook his head. The woman-Jinsa-grinned.

   Krystal stood up, and so did I, leaving them to their own devices.

   Later, once the bedroom door was closed, I asked, “Why was this traveling envoy there to warn you about Hamor?”

   “Lerris... think about it. If Southwind is so worried that they can't even send an official envoy to Kyphrien, but only an unofficial traveler to Ruzor, what does that tell you?”

   “They don't think they can afford the slightest affront to the Emperor. They're worried that Hamor will use any pretext to take over Delapra and Southwind.”

   “In practical terms, Hamor already controls Delapra. Early in the fall, when we were worried about Hydlen, they sent a ship-one ship-off the breakwater at Summerdock. It reduced the lighthouse to rubble with three shells from their new long cannon.” Krystal hung her jacket on one of the pegs in the closet, then sat on the edge of the bed.

   I pulled off one boot, and then the other, taking the liberty of massaging a shapely calf.

   “I need a shower.”

   “After this weather?”

   “I can't stand being this filthy.”

   “You look good to me.”

   “Lerris...”

   “It's cold.”

   “I need a shower, and you can warm me up.” She smiled, and I had to smile back.

KRYSTAL LEFT EARLY the next morning, through the slush that the night's snow had become even before the sun rose. Her departure, with her guards, was through a yard that had become an expanse of freezing mud.

   I edged along the front of the house and shop and circled through the virgin slush to get to the stable to groom and feed Gairloch and the cart horse.

   Gairloch pranced a bit in his stall.

   “You may want to be ridden, but we're not going anywhere until this slop freezes or dries out.”

   ... eeee... eeee...

   “No.” I did pour a few more oats into the corner of his manger.

   Whuffff... Whatever that meant.

   While he ate, I mucked out the stall, and then repeated the process with the cart horse, and with Krystal's stall.

   I looked at the guards' stalls. They were filthy, too. I looked for a while, then picked up the shovel. At least we were getting a lot of manure for the gardens, and Rissa didn't mind it at all, for which I was grateful.

   All that cleaning meant washing up in too-cold water before I went back to working with light and fine-grained woods- manure and dirt do stain, contrary to some beliefs. I shivered as well, and the shivering meant my leg twinged again, and I had to sit in front of the shop hearth for a while to warm up.

   There I saw the moisture pot was dry, and I needed to add some water to the glue pot, and by then I realized I had to bring in more wood for the hearth, and I dragged in dirt and mud, and that meant sweeping the floor.

   Some mornings went like that, and the sun was well clear of the horizon before I was actually at work, accompanied by the dripping of ice and slush falling from the eaves outside.

   I'd resumed work on Werfel's desk-the chair, actually- when a catching of the smoothing blade told me it needed sharpening, and since I was sharpening, I did the chisels, which had gotten too dull, and the knives. Before long it was midmorning, and I hadn't really done any work at all, but the shop looked good and the tools were sharp, except for the saws, but I let Ginstal do that. A bad sharpening job will ruin a good saw faster than just about anything, and I had too much in the saws, and too little confidence in my ability there.

   I had finally gotten back to smoothing the desk chair for Wertel when I heard another rap on the shop door.

   Rissa stood there with a young man. Mud dropped from his worn boots all over the entryway...

   “This is Turon...”

   I sighed. “Have him brush his boots off.”

   Rissa shook her head and handed the youth the boot brush. He looked at it. She made a brushing motion.

   “Ah... clean the boots.” Turon smiled broadly and took the boot brush.

   I did not shake my head as he used it to fling mud everywhere around the doorway. I didn't even wince when one glob landed on my good varnish brush. I just set down the smoothing blade and walked across the shop.

   Rissa smiled and stepped outside, shutting the door behind her, leaving me with the young man. Turon was big for a Kyphran youth, almost as big as I was.

   “You want to be a woodworker?”

   “Yes, master.” He grinned, a wide ready grin, and an empty one.

   “How do you know you want to work the wood?”

   “Because, the woods, I love them. They smell so good when they are cut, and the smooth woods, like there, they are like a girl's skin.” He pointed toward the desktop.

   I handed him the block of cherry, and his fingers caressed it. “What is this?”

   “Good wood, hard wood, and you will make many things with it?”

   “It's small for many things.”

   “You could make a whistle. I made a whistle. See?” He extracted a crude wooden whistle and waved it.

   “Usually, I make larger things.”

   “I see the chairs.” His dirty fingers gently touched the curve in Werfel's desk chair, and I tried not to flinch.“They are pretty. Stasel has no chairs like these.”

   “Most people don't. They're hard to make.”

   For a long moment, Turon looked at the chair. Then he put away the whistle and his eyes flickered toward the plank floor. “Even the floor is clean.”

   “A woodcrafting shop should be clean.”

   He smiled sadly. “I am sorry.”

   So was I. The problem with Turon wasn't his feelings, but his brains. Why couldn't I get an apprentice who could sense the woods and think?

   After Turon trudged out and back down the road to wherever he had come from, I got out the big broom and swept all the mud back out into the yard. Then I cleared off the boards leading to the workroom. I hated mud in the house or the shop-my Recluce heritage again.

   Rissa reappeared as I completed sweeping. “He is a good boy.”

   “He is good. That I could tell. And he would work hard. But...” I paused before continuing. “He could not learn what he would need to learn.”

   “It is not easy to be a woodworker.”

   “No.” Then, I wasn't sure it was easy to be good at anything, let alone outstanding. I did good woodwork. Not as good as Uncle Sardit, and maybe not always as good as Perlot in Fenard, but good, and people were already seeking me out. Was the world that short of people able to craft well and willing to work hard enough to turn out good products?

   “It is sad,” Rissa said slowly. “The good ones, they have no brains, and the smart ones, they will not work.”

   “Sometimes the smart ones get around to learning they must work.”

   “Seldom, I think.”

   “I didn't like to work.”

   “I think not, Master Lerris. I think not.” She frowned. “Poor Turon... it is sad.”

   I felt sorry for the eager-faced youth, but all my pity would not give the boy the understanding needed for what I did. He could have made crude benches for Destrin, but I didn't make crude benches.

   Still... I felt badly. In time, after cutting off a slice of white cheese and munching it with a crust of dried bread, I walked back to the shop. My hair got wet from the melting slush dripping off the roof.

   After spending all afternoon on the finish for Werfel's desk and chair, I was more than ready to put away polishing rags and oils by the time Krystal arrived. “You smell good,” she said.

   I hadn't hugged her because my hands were oily, and they would have left rather permanent marks on her greens.“Finishing Werfel's desk.”

   “You still smell good.” I grinned.

   “Perron and the others are eating, or will be.”

   “You want a private dinner?”

   “We have some things to discuss.” My face must have fallen. “What did I do?”

   “Oh, Lerris.” Her laugh was a little sad. “You didn't do anything. Except sometimes I worry that you're going to go off and be a hero again. And sometimes, I like to be alone with you, and sometimes... I just don't want them knowing everything.” She perched on the stool. “Finish up what you were doing.”

   “I was almost finished.” I spread out the rags to dry-on the stone slab well away from the hearth and with plenty of space. Many a woodcrafter had lost a shop to a rag fire, and I didn't want to be one of them.

   Perron stood as we entered the kitchen. “We're almost done, Commander.”

   Krystal nodded, and we walked back to the washroom. She washed, but left her greens on, but I was grimy enough that it took more time. I also changed into a clean brown shirt. When I got back to the kitchen, Rissa had set the brown plates on the table, and with roasted chicken halves for each of us, garnished with the good black olives. “Chicken?”

   “We could have chicken more often if we had our own chickens,” Rissa pointed out. “No chickens.”

   Rissa shrugged. “Not so many chicken dinners, then.” As Krystal filled her mug with the dark ale I had bought with a small portion of the proceeds from Hensil's chairs, or, if I counted it that way, from the autarch's wardrobe, she laughed. “You two...”

   I poured some redberry into my mug, and began to dismember the chicken, even before Rissa set the bowl of buttered beans between us. Then she put down the bread basket and two jars-one of greenberry conserve and one of apple butter- before slipping out of the kitchen and closing the door.

   “Berfir has set up guard stations on all the roads into Hydlen.” Krystal took a deep swallow of her ale, and used her belt knife to dissect the chicken in the effortless way I had always envied. My chicken already looked like the result of a mountain cat's attack. “He's not stopping anyone yet.”

   I nodded, taking a sip of the redberry. Then I massaged my left leg. It still got tired too quickly. “How is his war with Colaris going?”

   “His troops crossed the hills north of Renklaar and started across the farm valleys south of Freetown. Then Colaris got organized, and nothing much seems to have happened, except a bunch of battles that no one is winning. I got word today that Berfir's raising another set of levies out of Telsen.”

   “He isn't going to try to use the Frven road, is he? That belongs to Montgren.”

   “The Countess has rather less ability to defend herself than Colaris.”

   “Berfir wants to take over all of eastern Candar, is that it?”

   “If he could. Hydlen has always worried about Freetown, even when it was Lydiar, and Colaris started the war.” She shrugged. “The olives are good.”

   “Hensil's best. A little bonus.”

   “Oh, Lerris. Somehow, there's always something extra with you.”

   I decided to change the subject. “What stopped Berfir?”

   “We think Hamor sent some gold, and Colaris is getting some advice from another wizard.”

   “Wonderful.”

   “It's our friend Sammel.”

   “Sammel? From Recluce? He didn't seem the chaos type. Not at all-he seemed more like a hermit or a pilgrim.” I recalled Sammel in sandals and brown robes, with a soft voice. He'd been older than any of us, almost in his forties, but with a gentle commanding sort of manner.

   “What did Tamra think of Antonin to begin with, with his feeding of the poor and all that?” asked Krystal.

   “There is that.” I took a deep breath. “Still, that bothers me. Why would he adopt chaos?”

   Krystal took another sip of the dark ale and broke off another corner of the bread. “We don't know that. We just have word that he has given some rather special scrolls out-not just to Colaris, but to the Viscount, and even to Berfir. Kasee thinks some have even gotten as far as Hamor.”

   “That sounds like chaos-or setting up chaos.”

   “Maybe he's selling knowledge to support himself. Justen does that, as you've pointed out.” She had an amused look on her face.

   “It's different with Justen.” I slathered some greenberry conserve on the dark bread.

   “It probably is.” Krystal winced. “How you can do that...”

   “Sometimes, tart stuff is good.”

   “I wish you hadn't said it quite that way.”

   I almost choked.

   “The Viscount of Certis has pledged his support to the Countess,” added Krystal conversationally. “He's issued a call for a levy in the spring.”

   “Shit...” I mumbled through the mouthful of chicken. The more I heard, the less I liked it. And I had thought the war between Gallos and Kyphros had been bad.

   “Kasee would like you to come to an audience sometime about an eight-day from now.”

   “Me? A mere woodworker?”

   “She wants you to wear grays again.” Krystal snorted. “You haven't been a mere woodworker in years, and everyone in Kyphros has known it for seasons.” She paused to slice up another section of the chicken, then she refilled her mug and took a deep swallow.

   “So why am I slaving at doing things like Werfel's desk?”

   “Because great wizardry doesn't pay as well as great woodworking?”

   “I'm not sure great wizardry pays at all.”

   “Kasee has paid you.” Krystal paused. “I almost wish she hadn't, except for the wardrobe.”

   “Why?”

   “Because...” She shrugged. “You want to please too much, and I worry that you'd kill yourself being a hero again just to please me or her.”

   “Not her.”

   “Well... if you please me otherwise...”

 
 I groaned. “Why does she want me at the audience or whatever it is?”

   “Because she's seeing an envoy from Hamor. A real one. That's why she's requested you wear grays.”

   I really wanted to groan then, but I'd already groaned too much. That's the trouble with complaining too early. When you really need to, no one will listen. “I'll really have to wear those grays again?”

   “Yes.”

   “What about Tamra and Justen?”

   Krystal shrugged, and I knew what she meant. They were somewhere in Montgren or Certis, but who knew where?

   “So I have to play at being court wizard?”

   “Is it really playing?”

   She probably had me there.

   I watched as she took another swallow of the ale.

   “That's a lot of ale.”

   “I know.” She gave me a sloppy smile. “... thought it might help...”

   At least I had enough sense not to ask what it would help with, and it did-later.