The Death of Chaos (50 page)

   “Too much contact would kill him?”

   “You see what happened to me, and I used order to channel it.” I wasn't about to mention my failing hearing and the pain of seeing, not as we were finally getting back to some semblance of closeness.

   “Oh, Lerris.”

   Her arms went around me, and mine around her. At that point we didn't need words. We needed to be close.

Worrak, Hydlen [Candar]

THE STAFF ON the breakwater flies the crimson banner of Hydlen, a banner ragged from the rock chips and shell fragments flying around and through it. A squat stone-walled fort rises from the middle of the breakwater.

   In the nearly flat blue waters of the Gulf of Candar circle the steel-hulled ships, plumes of smoke from their funnels identifying them as steam-powered, the golden sunburst on the pale blue flag identifying them as from Hamor.

   Another shell arches over the breakwater and into the fort that guards the harbor entrance. Stones cascade down from the breech in the wall, rolling into the oily water of the harbor. The crimson banner of Hydlen, more ragged, continues to flutter in the sea breeze.

   With the regularity of a pendulum, the shells leave the guns of the Hamorian squadron, and with nearly equal regularity slam into the fortifications that bar the invaders from the port of Worrak.

   On the bridge of the Frentensea, Leithrrse smiles as he watches the progress of the guns in hammering down the barriers to the harbor.

   “Won't be long now, ser,” advises the captain. “Not long at all before we can steam right in.”

   “Good. Good. Teach those Hydlenese a lesson. And the black devils hiding on their island.”

   The captain glances seaward, frowning. “Something out there. Maybe they're not hiding any longer.”

   “Out there?”

   “I'm more worried about Recluce than Hydlen, ser.”

   “The unseen ships?” Leithrrse laughs.

   “Unseen, mayhap, but those unseen ships have sunk near on a dozen of ours so far.” The captain squints. “See... there's a wake out there. Low one, and it's headed our way.”

   “Guns!” yells the envoy and acting regent, gesturing toward the wake.

   “How do you hit a ship you can't see?” asks the gunnery chief.

   “There's a wake there. Use the wake,” snaps the captain. “Aim right ahead of the wake. Use enough shells and you'll hit it.”

   “But don't they have magical armor?”

   “Demon-damn! No magic is going to stop a five-stone shell! Stop bitching and start aiming. Leapfrog the guns if you have to.”

   “Yes, ser.”

   Once the gunnery officer has left, the captain wipes his forehead.

   Leithrrse smiles as the gunnery officer begins to bellow orders and the turrets turn.

   Geysers of water raised by the Hamorian shells begin to appear in the offshore waters in front of the thin line of white that marks the track of the unseen attacker.

   After a rocket slams into the thicker armor above the waterline of the Frentensea, flames cascade up over the side of the Hamorian ship, even as the dull impact of the rocket echoes through the hull.

   More shells track the invisible attacker, and more water geysers up from the flat shallow waves of the Gulf around the Recluce vessel that the Hamorian gunners cannot see.

   A thin haze of gunpowder smoke creeps across the sky, then drifts shoreward, where it combines with spray off the breakwater to shroud the battered harbor fort.

   The Frentensea shivers as her bow explodes in flame.

   “Keep shooting!” yells Leithrrse.

   More columns of water flare into the sky, then collapse into themselves in a mass of spray on the nearly calm waters of the lower Gulf of Candar.

   Two rockets strike the smaller ironclad beside the Frentensea, and flames race across the forward decks and around the main turret. Another set of flames licks the superstructure.

   CcccccRRRuMMMMMPPPTTT! Chunks of iron and wood fly skyward with the explosion of the smaller ironclad.

   Leithrrse ducks behind the iron shielding on the Frentensea's bridge, but the fragments from the smaller Hamorian ship clatter against the hull harmlessly, and the flagship leaves the widening oil slick behind, a slick that oozes over wood fragments, and a few struggling figures. Flames lick at the oiliest parts of the slick, creeping toward the survivors.

   The Frentensea's big guns continue to lead the curving wake of the unseen Recluce vessel.

   “Ser! There's another one!” The lookout points astern, where a wake, almost foam-white, arrows toward the big Hamorian cruiser.

   “Guns! Keep on the outboard one!” snaps Leithrrse. “Get him first!”

   A huge fireball blossoms in the middle of the seemingly empty sea, and then a low black structure appears, breaking into fragments as Leithrrse watches, the flames raging across the waters as the wreckage plummets from sight.

   “Now... the other-”

   WHHHHHSTTTTT! CRUMPPTTTT!

   His words are cut off as the Frentensea explodes into an inferno of flame, flying metal, and chunks of meat that had once been sailors.

Dark ships shall speed upon the waters, and destruction shall fall from the heavens, shattering the greatest of walls, and even the weakest of those who bear arms shall strike with the force of firebolts.

   For every shield shall there be a greater sword, and for every sword, a swifter quarrel to bring it low. For every firebolt shall there be a higher wall of ice, and for every wall of ice, a ladder of fire with which to scale it.

   For every prophet shall come another who says the opposite, and whoever shall offer his words last shall the people follow, and they shall turn one way and then the other, for no road shall offer certainty, nor peace, nor rest. And none shall sleep easy.

   Men and women shall question, and so shall the angels. Yet for every answer shall they find a score more of questions, each with yet a score more answers, until then-words and their reason be stopped with words whose meaning escapes even the highest.

   The dark ships shall cover the oceans, thick as sands upon the shores, and they shall come from the end of the earth to the city of black stone, north of the sun and east of chaos.

   Those of the black city will cover their faces and wail loud lamentations, claiming that they had ever stood against chaos, and the dark ships of the sun shall neither heed nor turn from their course.

   And on the shores of truth shall stand those serving neither order nor chaos, yet both, and without trumpets, without firebolts, shall they sow confusion upon the waters.

   From that confusion, shall the dark ships of the sun seek refuge, but neither the mountains nor the oceans shall provide succor. Mountains shall be rendered into dust, and oceans shall be burned and boiled, and ashes shall cover all, and chaos shall die...

         The Book of Ryba Canto DL

         [The Last]

         Original Text

Part III - FINDING THE BALANCE

“WHAT BRINGS YOU here to Mattra, Gunnar? Usually, I'm the one who has to seek you out.” Elisabet opened the door and stepped aside.

   “This.” The sandy-haired man held up a scroll. “Might I come in?”

   “Certainly. I'll even get some redberry. It must be something to pry you out of Wandernaught. For once, I'm not chasing you.” She grinned and headed for the kitchen.

   Gunnar pursed his lips, but followed. His sister set a pitcher and two mugs upon the table. Gunnar looked at the pitcher, then sat. Elisabet filled both mugs before seating herself.

   “The Council has learned that the Emperor is sending his fleets against Kyphros,” said Gunnar after taking a short swallow of redberry. “This is good.”

   “Thank you. It's fresh.” Elisabet offered a brief smile that faded all too quickly. “I would have thought they were going to send a fleet against us. After all, Recluce has kept Candar weak and fragmented. By opposing any real changes within the isle, the Council has kept us from getting much stronger, and that means we're comparatively weaker. So why is Hamor going to attack Kyphros?”

   “Lerris and his consort Krystal have apparently thwarted their takeover of Candar.”

 
 “I'm afraid your son's taking more after Justen than you, Gunnar.” Elisabet laughed. “But that doesn't make much sense. Didn't the trio sink nearly a third of the Hamorian fleet before the fleet sank the Llyse?”

   “You knew about the Llyse?”

   “Gunnar, I listen to the winds as well as anyone.”

   The sandy-haired mage shook his head. “That's probably why. They don't have enough ships around Candar to feel safe about attacking Recluce. It wasn't a large fleet anyway, not compared to what they have and what they're building.”

   “It's already built,” pointed out the sandy-haired woman. “It has to be, from all the growth of chaos. That means the Council wants Kyphros to be our buffer?”

   “It's more complex than that. I think the Emperor knows that Recluce has never had more than a handful of powerful mages, and most of those are now in Kyphros. The royal house there has carried a grudge against us since even before the present Emperor's grandsire was exiled.”

   “Now that Austrans bow to his every whim, the Emperor is ready to expand Hamor's control in our part of the world?” Elisabet pulled at her chin. “And his scheme is to weaken Recluce before they ever attack us directly?”

   “Exactly. And that's the way the Council would have it. They'd be happy to have Kyphros and the rest of Candar fed to the mountain cat first, but I'm going to Kyphros.”

   “You really are, aren't you?”

   He nodded.

   “Justen said something about that once, about Candar being the shield of Recluce in the end.” The sandy-haired woman looked off the porch toward the shop where the sound of a cross cut saw is followed by the susurration of finishing cloths. “I'm not sure that Justen's not right.”

   “You always did stand up for Justen.”

   “Gunnar, you're too old for self-pity and 'Elisabet loved Justen best.' You have to believe that Justen was right.”

   “Oh?”

   “We've used what he taught you, haven't we? Otherwise we'd long since be buried with the High Wizards of Fairhaven-excuse me, Frven.” She offered a sad smile. “Actions tell where the heart is.” She poured more of the cold redberry into his mug.

   “They're worried.”

   “Do tell. They want you and Justen and Lerris to rescue them again. Is that why you're doing it?”

   “If I don't go, Justen will slip away, and Lerris will have to save Ruzor alone.”

   “Getting soft in your dotage, aren't you?” Elisabet smiled at her brother.

   He grinned at her. “A little.” The grin faded. “Lerris is on the way to finding out how to destroy us all. Put him and Justen together...” He looked down at the table.

   “You knew it would happen sooner or later. How long did you think what Justen discovered could be hidden?”

   Gunnar laughed. “Not as long as it was. The Council was more adept-”

   “More ruthless,” snapped his sister, “and Hamor wants a reckoning in blood.”

   “I suspect Dorrin was right.”

   “Much good that will do us now. Do you want help? I can go with you.”

   “Not now. Perhaps later.”

   She smiled. “If there is a later.”

   “There will be.” His eyes lifted to the mug of redberry. “There will be.”

   “Yes. That reckoning has been waiting for a long time, hasn't it?”

   “Since Dorrin.” He nodded. “Maybe since Creslin and Megaera. Maybe since the angels.”

Worrak, Hydlen [Candar]

“You SUMMONED ME?” The thin officer in tan steps into the room. His holster is empty. Behind him the two guards stand outside the open door. One holds the officer's sidearm.

   “I did, Force Leader Speyra.” Dyrsse gestures to the table in the middle of the spacious room, and to the map upon it. “Please sit.”

   The door closes with a dull thud.

   Speyra purses his lips and sits on the edge of the seat of the carved chair. Behind him, the hillside villa's window frames the placid harbor waters-and the battered breakwater and the pile of stone that had been a fortress. Black-hulled ships brood over the harbor, some with thin plumes of smoke trailing from their stacks.

   “You see here-the Fakla River?” The marshal traces the line of the river west from Worrak.

   “Yes, ser.” Speyra nods and straightens in the chair.

   “You will be taking the second army up this road, through the vale, here, and into Kyphros. Take the road north from Lythga and then west into Kyphrien.”

   “All the way to Kyphrien?”

   “All the way. Do what is necessary. The Emperor and I have absolute confidence in you, Leader Speyra.”

   “You're not coming?” asks the officer.

   “You are perfectly capable, Force Leader Speyra, and you will be provided more than enough cartridges and even some mobile field pieces.” The marshal smiles. “Someone has to watch for another strike from the nest of vipers. And coordinate your support.”

   “No one has yet taken Kyphros.”

   “Fenardre the Great did, and so will we. For the Emperor. The most force the autarch can muster is less than eight thousand outliers, levies, and her Finest.” Dyrsse wipes his balding head with the fine white cotton handkerchief.

   “I believe it only took one wizard and a handful of troops to block the Easthorn road.”

   “We lost less than a third of our troops in that effort. We also enlisted the help of another wizard and cleared the old highway into Certis. That gives us a more direct way to move troops at least as far as the Easthorns.” Dyrsse smiles again, briefly, and studies the map on the table before him.

   “Ser... have we not lost a number of commanders... and the wizard?” The force leader purses his lips and shifts his weight from one foot to the other.

   “We have. Good commanders, and two regents. And if they were willing to risk their lives for the Emperor, then... can we do no less?”

   “Yes, ser. I mean, we can do no less.”

   “Good. You will have four thousand troops. You will see less than a tenth of that, even if you march all the way to Kyphrien. The autarch's forces are all in Ruzor. Kyphrien is your destination. You will have more than enough force to accomplish your mission.”

   “Yes, ser. Then what?”

   “The usual. You hold the city for the Emperor and follow the established practices. In the meantime, the fleet will be reducing Ruzor, and then attacking up the Phroan River. Because Ruzor is where most of the autarch's troops are, you will see few, indeed.”

   “And if I do?” A faint sheen of perspiration coats the force leader's forehead. “If I do?”

   “You won't. But if you need reinforcements, you shall have them. Don't worry about that in the slightest.” Dyrsse smiles.