The Order War (50 page)

“There’s a wagon, like the engineers’ wagon, and it’s coming into the yard,” announced Elisabet, sticking her head into the shed where Justen mumbled over the grindstone, trying to adjust the bracket and clamp he had designed to hold the gem in place.

“A wagon?” He did not look up.

“It has four wheels, and it’s pulled by two horses, and a man sits on it and drives it,” offered Elisabet.

“Elisabet…” Justen set the clamp aside. He took a long look at his sister. “Are you sure it’s not Lyndner, come to carry you off?”

“Justen! That’s not funny.”

Justen sighed and hurried after Elisabet, catching her in the yard. “I’m sorry. But you were teasing me.”

“It’s not the same. I don’t tease you about Dayala…at least not anymore.” Elisabet sniffed.

“I won’t tease you about Lyndner. Fair?”

“Fair.”

Creaakkk…

They both turned to watch the wagon. Warin gave a brief wave from the driver’s seat, then concentrated on slowing and guiding the team up next to the stable.

Even after a few moments in the direct sun, Justen had begun to perspire, and he wiped his brow forehead on his sleeve. Then he walked over and slipped blocks under the right front wheel after Warin set the brake.

“I didn’t expect you.”

“Altara sent me off with your cloth.” Warin pointed to three large bales in the wagon bed. “She said for me to bring back some more de-ordered iron, if you have any more.” The balding engineer turned to Elisabet. “Hello there.” He grinned. “If it weren’t for Estil, I just might consider moving right up here to Wandernaught.”

Elisabet blushed.

“Careful there, Warin, or I’ll tell Estil.” Justen paused.
“There’s a good load of iron in the bin. That’s the least I can do for you…provided you keep admiring Elisabet from a safe distance.”

“Justen…” Elisabet was almost bright red.

“I think it’s time to unload the wagon,” Justen said in a matter-of-fact tone. “Elisabet? Can you take care of the horses while Warin and I move the silksheen to the shed and load the iron?”

“I can certainly handle the horses.” Elisabet tossed her head, and her blond hair fluffed in the light breeze.

Warin glanced at Justen and mouthed, “She’ll be a real handful.”

“She already is, if you haven’t noticed,” Justen whispered back as he lowered the tailgate and reached for the wide, woven straps on the bale of cloth. He frowned, realizing that he had no thread or cording. He was always forgetting something, but perhaps he could get some from Basta in Wandernaught.

The two engineers hauled the first bale into the shed.

“What are you doing with all this cloth?” asked Warin as they returned to the wagon.

“Experimenting. Remember Lystrl’s experiments with the hot-air balloons?”

“He could never get one to go higher than twenty or thirty cubits into the air.”

“I’m trying to figure out how to do better than that.” Justen reached for the straps on the second bale.

“For darkness’ sake, why?” Warin grabbed the other set of straps.

“To destroy Fairhaven.”

Warin stumbled, and the bale almost wrenched out of Justen’s hands before the older engineer caught his balance.

“You’re serious.”

“Me? Order-mad Justen? Of course not.”

“You really are serious.”

They set the second bale beside the first.

Warin looked at Justen. “I don’t know which is worse—that you’re seriously proposing this, or that I believe you might actually pull it off.”

“I’m not even sure about that myself,” laughed Justen. “I just know that I have to try.”

“You’ve definitely got Ryltar worried, Altara says.” Warin turned to head back to the wagon.

“I think anything that’s different upsets Counselor Ryltar.” Justen followed Warin out of the shed.

“I’ve got the first one stabled,” called Elisabet as she led the second horse toward the stable.

“Good.”

“Then I’ll brush them both down. They’re good horses.”

“Definitely a handful,” said Warin in a low voice.

“More than Estil?”

Warin smiled. “Let’s say that I’d be a lot safer with Estil, no matter what Altara thinks.”

“My little sister Elisabet? Dangerous?”

“No more so than her brothers.” Warin smiled faintly. “All of you scare me a little.”

Justen frowned as he took hold of the last bale. “I don’t see why.”

“That’s part of it. I like you, and I trust you, Justen, but you still scare me. You’ll go off and change the world and then wonder why everyone’s so upset. Altara told me about your black arrows and your matter-of-fact destruction of all the White cannon. And about how you walked the Stone Hills somehow.” Warin tugged on the bale, levering it toward the tailgate. “And your brother turns a valley into a lake with wizardry, and you do him one better with engineering and rockets.” Warin took a deep breath. “Let’s get this in.”

They carried the last bale into the shed.

“The thing is,” Warin added, “just like Dorrin, you’re going to be a great person. But a lot of people die around great people, and as much as I like you, I really don’t want to get too close.”

“I’m sorry.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Warin waved off the words. “I admire you, but I wouldn’t go to Candar with you for all the iron in Recluce and all the gems in Hamor.”

“Stay for dinner?” asked Justen with a grin.

“Of course. I’ll even stay for breakfast. Things are safe enough with your father around, and he’s a good cook. Now, let’s get Altara’s de-ordered iron into the wagon.”

Carefully, Justen picked up the small silksheen balloon from the center of the workbench. The balloon skin of the second model measured nearly three cubits from top to bottom, but folded and deflated, Justen could lift it effortlessly. He glanced toward the carefully cut sections of silksheen lying in the flat rack he had built. Even with Elisabet’s and Horas’s help, the cutting and stitching and sealing were going slowly.

At the least, the models had proved that the idea worked—assuming that he could keep the basket and equipment light enough.

After setting the model carefully on the end of the bench, he centered the lens frame and remeasured with his calipers. The frame held the smaller of the two cut and polished fire-eyes and the lens that would focus the sun’s light onto the polished and re-ordered gem. For his first experiment with the polished fire-eye, the beam from the gem would strike only a square of heavy iron less than two cubits below the gem.

Both the crystal lens and the gem were set in sliding and adjustable brackets, whose position would depend on where Justen wanted his “organized chaos” to strike. He suspected that the brackets would have to be much farther apart when he actually used the balloon.

When he had finished measuring and locking the brackets in place, he lifted the square of heavy iron and carried it out into the yard, placing it on a square stone paving slab, a corner of it missing, that he had begged from the quarry.

Finally, after a quick glance to ensure that the cloudless summer sky had remained so, he brought out the frame and
set it on the paving slab, too. Then he carefully centered the frame above the heavy square of one-span-thick iron plate, a chunk weighing more than a stone.

Elisabet, Cirlin, and Horas stood on the porch. Horas shifted his weight from one foot to the other, while Elisabet, looking more like the young woman she was becoming than the gawky girl she had been, gazed calmly toward Justen. The calm, feminine look vanished as Justen caught her eyes, to be replaced with a girlish grin.

Justen grinned back.

Cirlin’s face was sober, as if she did not totally approve of Justen’s experiments. That was not exactly surprising, Justen reflected. Since his return, he had indicated love for a druid, built two devices unsanctioned by the Council, and was planning worse.

Much worse, assuming that the experiment turned out the way he thought it would. Darkness knew what Gunnar would think. His brother had indicated that he might show up…but with Gunnar, that could mean anything.

Justen turned the frame slightly, calculating the sun’s position, and fiddled with the lens bracket. A point of light struck the fire-eye, and an even finer beam touched the iron.

Justen stepped back almost a dozen paces and concentrated, closing his eyes and weaving a little light into the lens, smoothing the flow onto and into the gem. The now-familiar shadow gathered around him and fell across the house.

Sssssssss…

The line of light from the gem became a line of fire that fell on the plate. Sparks fountained into the sky. Immediately, Justen relaxed his grasp on the light, and the shadows disappeared.

He took a deep breath and stood up.

“Is that all?” murmured Elisabet.

“For a moment.” Justen walked forward to inspect the plate. In the brief time he had concentrated the light, his light-sword had stabbed halfway through the heavy iron. The engineer frowned. Impressive as the beam from the gem had been in some ways, explosive powder was more effective.

He walked back almost to the porch. “Don’t look at the lens, please. It could hurt your eyes.”

“But we want to see,” protested his sister.

“Elisabet.” The name came from three voices almost simultaneously.

“All right,” conceded Elisabet. “All right. I don’t see why you’re all so worried, but…all right.” With a flick of short blond hair, she turned to view the oak beside the road.

Justen wet his lips and took another deep breath before closing his eyes, stretching to gather a wider sweep of light, weaving, focusing, and sensing the growing flow of order like a river from the heavens, even as a darker force seemed to gather, welling from—

Sssttt…cruummppttt!

Justen felt himself being thrown against the stones of the porch foundation, the wind whipping past him with the force of a waterspout.

Thuddd…

He struggled to raise his arm, but the blackness smashed his thoughts from him.

“…ugghhn…”

Someone groaned, then groaned again. Justen realized he was the one groaning, and he forced his mouth closed.

…Justen…dearest…

Rain fell across his face, cold, dripping. He opened his eyes, but only bright sparks fluttered in front of his vision.

Justen…dearest. Think. Balance. Balance the forces…

Listening somehow to the faint thoughts of Dayala, he sought both the chaos and the order within himself, accepting both of them, and the bright flashes faded. He squinted.

Heavy clouds dropped rain and hail across the blackened space that had been grass.

Slowly, he levered himself upright.

“Demons…” Then he lurched toward the porch steps. “Elisabet! Elisabet!”

His sister lay in a heap, crumpled against the furniture that had been swept onto the far side of the porch by the force of the power he had unleashed. Blood oozed down her face from a gash hidden by her hair. But his trembling fingers and
senses revealed that despite cuts and bruises, she seemed unhurt and the pulse of order beat strongly in her veins.

On his knees, Justen scrambled toward the other slack forms. Horas seemed more stunned than physically injured. Justen turned toward his mother, sensing the pain and damage, and offered what order he could spare to Cirlin, whose breathing was labored and shallow.

The porch and the gray clouds beyond seemed to tilt. Justen tried to take a deep breath, but a line of pain shot up his side, and his chest seemed to contract. This time, he could not fight off the blackness that swallowed him.

Beltar swept into the lower room of the White tower, even before the clunk of the door against the chaos-whitened stone had finished echoing down the corridor. “Eldiren! Eldiren!”

Eldiren looked up from the basin where he had dipped a corner of a towel to dampen it. He blotted the blood off one cheek with the dampened corner. “Yes, mightiest of High Wizards?”

“Eldiren…do you want to go the way of Zerchas?”

“You’d only waste your power.” The slight White Wizard continued to blot away the blood. He laughed once. “This business of exploding screeing glasses is getting to be a bother.” He straightened and looked at the High Wizard. “No. I don’t know exactly what happened, but it had the feeling of combined order and chaos.”

“That’s what I thought. It came from Recluce.”

Eldiren inclined his head slightly and pressed the towel to the thin slash on his cheek. “You know more than I, then.”

“I’d like you to try to find out what caused this…this abomination. It feels too much like that engineer you…‘killed.’”

“That killing may haunt me for some time, I fear.”

Beltar frowned. “You still don’t admit it, do you?”

“Admit what?”

“For having so little power, Eldiren, you’re almost insufferable.”

“With so little power, mightiest of High Wizards, could I afford to be less?” Eldiren finally lifted the damp towel from his cheek. “It would be nice to have a real healer around at times.”

“You…” Beltar finally closed his mouth. He walked over to the table on which broken glass lay in the rough semblance of a circle, then turned back to Eldiren. “Use a goblet, or whatever, but find out what caused this…mess.”

“Of course. Your desire is always my command.” Eldiren bowed.

Gunnar and the healer, Gyris, looked down at Justen, stretched out on his bed. The lamp in the wall sconce flickered in the breeze blowing through the half-open window, but the early evening wind was light and too infrequent to cool the heat that had returned after the chill of the hail and the thunderstorm.

“Well…” grumbled Justen, too sore to wipe the dampness from his forehead.

“You have two cracked ribs, more bruises than you’ll ever count, and you’re probably lucky to be alive.” Gyris frowned. “From the marks on your back, it looks like you were thrown against the wall. What happened?”

Justen started to shrug, but the twinges from his ribs stopped the gesture short. “I don’t know exactly. I was testing some lenses, and somehow that generated an explosion, or a storm, or something. I remember being thrown against the wall…and then crawling up the steps to find Elisabet and the others.”

“Very strange.” The dark-haired healer pursed her lips. “I may talk to Turmin about this.”

“He was the one who suggested the work with lenses,”
Justen offered. “He said it was theoretical, but this isn’t exactly a theoretical soreness.” He offered a faint smile.

“Once you get over the soreness, you can move around. But don’t lift anything heavy, and stay away from smithing and hammering until the ribs knit. I suspect that you have more than enough order-sense to know when your ribs are healed.”

“Thank you,” said Justen.

“Thank you,” echoed Gunnar with a nod to the healer.

“I won’t say it was a pleasure, Gunnar, but it was interesting to deal with…”

“Order-madness?” suggested Justen politely.

Gyris raised an eyebrow. “You said that, not me. It has been interesting. But I prefer to avoid the interesting when possible.” She half-turned to Gunnar. “Everyone else should be fine. Your mother has a badly bruised rib that almost feels like it was broken and healed.” Her eyes dropped back to Justen.

Justen smiled faintly. “Don’t look at me.”

“From what I’ve heard, I wouldn’t put anything past you, Justen.” She picked up her pack and added, “Try not to get into any more trouble.”

Gunnar took her arm for a moment, as if to lead her out.

“You, either, Gunnar.”

“Me?”

“The two of you.” Gyris frowned, then shook her head as she shouldered her pack and allowed Gunnar to escort her from the room.

Justen took a gentle, slow breath and waited for Gunnar to come back.

After Gunnar had seen Gyris to her mount and returned, he looked down at Justen. “What in the demons’ minds were you doing?”

“Working with order.”

“Darkness save us if you started to work with chaos!” Gunnar sighed. “Exactly why are you doing this? And who will be the next innocent victims of your experiments?”

“No one.” Justen cleared his throat, gingerly and softly. I’m done with the experiments, at least with the dangerous ones. Now all I have to do is finish putting the balloon to
gether and complete plating the land engine. I can probably start that in a few days.”

“With cracked ribs?”

“They’ll heal fast.”

“You did heal Mother, didn’t you? That’s why you’re in such bad shape.”

“What else was I supposed to do?”

Gunnar looked at the lamp and then gazed out the window into the growing darkness.

“Ryltar will be moving to have you confined—as soon as he finds out about this. You’ve just proved, you idiot, that you are not only order-mad, but dangerous to everyone around you!”

Justen stopped another shrug before he could complete it. “Order-mad because I’m trying to figure out how to stop a threat that no one sees besides me?”

“We’ve lasted a long time with Fairhaven. Recluce won’t blow away any time soon, unless you’re the one who blows it away.” Gunnar frowned. “Just what was this ‘experiment’ anyway?”

“I was trying to order light and make it stronger.”

“You certainly made it stronger. But I don’t understand the hail or the storm that appeared so quickly.”

“When the light gets ordered like that and creates heat…well, it doesn’t really create heat. Remember the forge?”

“Oh, shit. So you made the air overhead really cold. That chilled out the water into hail and we got a thunderstorm. Now you’re going to use your damned engineering to muck up the weather, too?” Gunnar slammed his hand into the wall.

“Not here. Not anymore.” Justen tried not to yawn, but the stifled yawn hurt all the same.

Tap…

“Is Justen going to be all right?” Elisabet peered into the room.

“He’ll be fine,” snorted Gunnar. “The rest of us may not survive his engineering, but he’ll be just fine.”

Elisabet stepped just inside the doorway. “What he did was really neat, Gunnar. You could see—I didn’t look, Justen, I meant I saw with my senses—the rays of order coming
from the fire-eye and hitting that iron plate, and it was like a huge storm building. I ducked and dragged Dad down, but Mom wasn’t quick enough. She’s lucky she wasn’t hurt worse.”

“She was,” said Gunnar sourly. “Justen healed her. That’s why he’s a mess.”

“So everyone’s all right except Justen, and he will be. Why are you so upset?” Elisabet’s fine eyebrows drew together for a moment.

“Because…”

“Is it because Justen’s getting to be a good all-around wizard like you?”

“Elisabet, that’s not fair to Gunnar.”

“All right.” She turned to face Gunnar. “I’m not grown up yet, and no one really listens to me. But I think Justen’s right. People here on Recluce just can’t keep saying that what the Whites do doesn’t matter because they can’t hurt us. What happens when they get powerful enough so they can? Then how many people will be killed? Or won’t it matter, because everyone who’s alive now figures he’ll be dead then?”

“It’s not something that will happen soon,” Gunnar pointed out.

“Oh, you don’t think Creslin should have changed the weather and made a refuge for order, then, because the Whites had killed only a few people?” Elisabet stared at Gunnar.

Justen grinned as he lay there.

“You’ve been listening to Justen again.”

“What if I have? If you won’t go to Candar with him, I will. I can do everything he needs. Then you can sit at home and claim that whatever happens wasn’t your fault. I hate you!” Elisabet glared at Gunnar.

“But…” Gunnar protested.

“Justen had to go to Candar before you’d think about it—”

“I never said I wasn’t going with him. I did say that he was going to kill everyone around him if he weren’t more careful.”

The door opened and shut with a dull thud. The three looked at their father.

“This has got to stop.” Horas delivered each word with the force of an ax. “You three are arguing as if nothing happened today. Like schoolchildren. As if upsetting all of nature and blotting out the sun is just some…magister’s learning tool. Justen almost killed all of us, and then himself.”

Gunnar looked at his brother. Justen tried to repress a grin, a grin he didn’t quite understand.

“What are you grinning at? This isn’t a game, son. You think I don’t know, but you almost killed your mother, and then healed her before you thought she knew. That was dangerous, and it was dishonest. You have the right to risk your own life. You don’t have the right to risk hers.”

“It seems that everyone has figured that out,” admitted Justen wryly. He tried to shift his weight, but his ribs twinged again.

“What happens when you kill someone outright?”

Justen took a deep breath. “Just before you came in, Gunnar was telling me that I was going to kill everyone around me if I weren’t more careful.”

“He’s right. Just when are you going to stop this foolishness?”

“I’m done with the experiments. I was telling Gunnar and Elisabet that.”

“Now you’re going to kill people for real?” Horas asked, exasperation in his voice.

“Stop sounding like Lydya in the old chronicles,” snapped Justen. “Everyone says that life will be fine if I just forget this foolish obsession of mine. ‘Go on, Justen. Don’t worry about anything. Recluce will be fine. Don’t worry if the Whites conquer all of Candar. Don’t worry if all trade with Recluce gets cut off. Everything will be fine.’” Justen glared from his prone position. “Well, it won’t be fine. I’m sorry this happened. It won’t happen again, because as soon as I can, I’m leaving.”

Horas’s shoulders slumped. “You can’t keep doing this, Justen.”

The door opened again, and Cirlin stood there. “It is
rather difficult to get any rest with the four of you arguing about whether Candar and the world should be saved and if Gunnar or Elisabet should help Justen save it, and whether Justen meant to hurt us.” She turned to Horas. “I know Justen didn’t mean what happened.”

“Good intentions don’t bring back dead people,” Horas said, an edge to his voice. “Justen will go off and save the world, but I’d like him to leave our corner halfway intact.”

“That’s the problem, and that’s why Justen’s right and you’re wrong, Father,” Elisabet said.

Gunnar took a deep breath. Justen tried to hold back the insane grinning feeling he felt.

Elisabet turned to her mother, then to her father. “I will go! And you can’t stop me! You don’t understand how important it is. You don’t!”

“Elisabet…” Gunnar’s voice was low. “Justen and I and Martan will go, and as soon as we can.”

“You two…” sighed Horas. “More death and destruction?”

“You act as if I have a choice,” said Justen slowly. “I don’t.”

“You have to blow up your family?” snapped Horas.

“No. I have to right the Balance…except that the ancients didn’t exactly hand me a map.”

“You are going to save the world? And face who knows how many White Wizards, when you couldn’t handle even a few in Sarronnyn?”

“I know more now.” Justen forced a smile. “I think you saw that.”

“You’ll destroy us all.”

“I don’t have a choice.” Justen kept his voice even.

“But—”

“Horas,” said Cirlin evenly, “if Justen doesn’t have a choice, he doesn’t have a choice. And if that’s the way he feels, then we need to help him get to Candar as quickly as possible. Before we start a civil war here on Recluce.”

“That’s ridiculous,” said Horas.

“Oh?” asked Cirlin. “And what are we doing right now?” Her eyes swept the group.

A short silence filled the room.

“I think I can persuade Heldra and her daughter to help with the stitching on Justen’s balloon,” added Cirlin.

Horas shifted his weight from one bare foot to the other.

“Father…I didn’t mean it,” Elisabet pleaded. “But Justen’s right. I know he’s right.”

“We’ll see, daughter.” Horas looked at Justen. “Heldra, unlike the rest of us, is not likely to stitch your fancy silksheen on faith.”

“I’ve still got some golds to pay them with.”

“That would definitely help.” Cirlin’s eyes traversed the four. “Now that we’ve settled that, can we get some sleep? Or some quiet?”

“Oh, Mother…” But Elisabet hugged Cirlin, very gently. Then she stepped toward her father. “I’m sorry, Father.”

“It’s all right.” Horas took a deep breath. “Mostly.”

“I’m sorry, Father,” Justen added. “I wasn’t careful enough.”

Elisabet slipped her arms around Horas.

Gunnar gave a faint smile past her to Justen, and Justen nodded.

Cirlin shook her head. “Such an amiable and agreeable group. So willing and eager to see each other’s views.”

Horas coughed. “Speaking of views…Since everyone’s still up, and since no one is about to listen to my views—”

“Oh, Father,” said Elisabet, exasperation edging her tone.

“I’m going to put out cider and a perfectly good peach pie. Shouldn’t go to waste, I say,” said Horas. His tone turned wry. “After all, Justen might turn his lenses or something on it.”

“If you’ve got some ale,” said Justen, easing himself into a sitting position and ignoring the twinges in his ribs, “I’ll take you up on the pie.”

Gunnar gave a faint, exasperated headshake.

“I’d like that, too.” Elisabet led the way to the kitchen.

Horas stood aside, then gave Justen a long look and a sad headshake.

Justen swallowed, but struggled to his feet.