The Order War (56 page)

“Oh…” Justen awoke with a start as Martan touched his shoulder. He had slept deeply, perhaps too deeply. He had not even dreamed of Dayala, or of the White Wizards.

“If we’re to get this coal…” said the marine softly.

“Yes.” Justen took a deep breath and stretched, trying to remove the stiffness from his back.

By the time he had pulled on his boots, splashed his face in the stream to try to wake up, and rolled up his pallet, Martan had repacked the land engine, and Justen had to move the pallets to get the buckets.

“I thought we were getting coal.”

“We need water, and we might as well refill the reservoir here.”

“With those dinky buckets? It’ll take until well after dawn.”

“We need the water.”

Martan shrugged.

“Now?” groaned Gunnar.

“Now.”

“I’m hungry,” protested the Air Wizard.

“So am
I
. We can eat while we’re traveling toward this place you say might have coal.” Justen carried the first bucket up from the stream behind the way station.

Splluuussh…

“Crap!” Gunnar stood ankle-deep in the stream. “You and your water before breakfast.”

“Fill the bucket and pass it up, or carry it.”

The sky was noticeably gray by the time the land engine puffed northward.

“I told you it would take until dawn.”

Justen said nothing as he chewed on the still-moist bread packed by Horas.

“My boots will be wet all day.”

“Can’t you use that wizardry of yours?” asked Martan.

“It works fine on clothes and me. If I use it on leather, it ruins it. The boots would fall apart.” Gunnar bit into a hunk of cheese.

“How far?” asked Justen.

“…nudder oo ays.”

“What?”

“I think he said two kays,” interpreted Martan.

After taking another wide curve, even Justen could sense the iron ore and the wrought iron piled next to the dark, hut-like home that stood beneath a small hill.

A packed and wide road led left off the main road and to the ironmongery. Justen turned the tiller, and the
Demon
followed the side road. To the east, the horizon was turning a paler gray.

“We need to hurry,” said Martan.

Awwooo…ooo…oo…

“There’s a dog,” offered Gunnar.

“I hear,” said Justen. “Can you put it to sleep?”

“Probably. Wait a moment.”

Justen eased back the throttle, and the
Demon
barely edged forward.

“Dawn’s not that far off,” hissed Martan.

“He’s sleeping now,” said Gunnar in a low voice. “The coal is in a big pile between that shed and the house.”

“I’ll drive right up beside it.”

All three held their breath as Justen eased the land engine across the yard and to the coal pile.

“Awful close to the house,” whispered Martan.

“Take your bow and watch it, then. I’m going to put golds by the door—I’ll feel better about paying first—and then Gunnar and I will load the bins.”

“Be a moment ’fore I can get it strung.”

Justen set the brake and tried to walk quietly across the yard to the house. He eased four golds from his purse onto the flat log set beside the ironmonger’s door. Then he walked back toward the coal.

“Stop right there, my fine thieves!” A stocky man stood barefoot on the stones outside the doorway of the house. He carried a bow with an arrow, nocked and pointed at Gunnar.

“Should have put the ironmonger to sleep, too,” said Martan. His bow was trained on the man.

Justen sighed. “We’re not thieves.”

“Likely tale.”

“Since this has already turned into a mess, let me explain. I’m Justen. I’m one of those nasty Black engineers from Recluce. The man you have your arrow pointed at is my brother Gunnar. The fellow who has his bow aimed at you is Martan. He’s a Black marine, and they don’t usually miss.”

“I’m Thasgus, and I don’t often miss, either.”

“If you will look beside the doorstep, or let me go get it, you will find that there are four golds laid there as advance payment for your coal. That’s what we want.”

“Why are you running around in the dawn, then?”

Justen snorted. “Since we landed in Hydolar, I’ve been shot at. My land engine has been attacked. Two White Wizards tried to destroy us last night. The last time I was in Candar, I was chased practically across the continent by a pair of White Wizards.”

“Sounds like you’re not exactly wanted here. Why did you bother coming back?”

“I’m not exactly popular anywhere right now. That’s
true. I came back because—” Justen shrugged, hoping he did not have to unbalance the order and chaos around him, although he was willing to do so “—I thought it might be interesting to meet the High Wizard in Fairhaven.”

“Mind if I have Dessa look by the step?” asked the stocky ironmonger.

“Go ahead.”

“Dessa! Look next to the step by the door. Tell me what’s there.”

“You want me to look by the doorstep?”

“Yes, woman. Look by the step. And don’t mind all the wizards in the yard.”

“Wizards in the yard? My, my…” A thin woman peered out the door. “Well, there’s a bone here. Looks to be chewed by Gutfull. And a bit of ribbon…”

“The other side, please?” asked Justen.

“Oh…here? There be four coins, Thasgus. Look to be gold. Wait a moment. My scissors are iron.”

Several faint
clinks
followed.

“They look gold, and they ring gold.”

“You lower that bow,” offered the ironmonger, “and I’ll lower mine. There’s more of you, anyway.”

Justen nodded, and Martan lowered his bow slowly. So did the ironmonger.

“What kind of coal ye be needing?” Thasgus set the bow against the house. “For four golds, you can have as much of the best as you can cart in that little wagon.”

“Could you throw in a little redberry and a mug of beer?” pleaded Justen.

Thasgus frowned. “Who wants the beer?”

“I do.”

The ironmonger laughed. “A Black Wizard who drinks beer?” Then his face clouded. “Ye be sure you’re a wizard?”

Justen drew the light around him, vanishing from the other’s sight, then walked toward Thasgus, appearing less than three paces away. “Satisfied?”

“Takes all kinds.” The stocky ironmonger shook his head. “But those White Wizards will turn you into ashes,
from what I hear tell. You fellows seem a little…nice…to do such a thing, even if you do have a funny way of doing business.”

“Don’t judge the ore by its shine, Thasgus,” warned Dessa from the doorstep. She carried two pitchers.

“Yes, woman.” Thasgus glanced at Justen. “You found the coal. Shovels are in the shed.”

“Thank you.”

“No thanks. You’re paying for it.”

Martan nodded and smiled, but he kept the bow half ready.

“You take those curves too fast,” protested Gunnar. “I can feel the wheels skidding sideways on the stone.”

“It’s safer that way.” Justen laughed. “It makes it harder for an archer to hit us.”

“What archer even knows we’re on the road?” Gunnar paused. “You know something? We haven’t seen anyone on this road today. No one.”

“It’s only a bit past dawn.”

“Early morning,” Martan put in.

“Fine. We still haven’t seen anyone. I don’t like it.”

“That’s why it’s better to move fast. They’ve probably warned everyone off the road. It will make it easier for us to get to Fairhaven. We’re really not far away.”

“You’re not going to just drive right into Fairhaven, are you?”

“Of course. We’ll take the main road from the south and head straight for the great square, or whatever it’s called.” Justen straightened the tiller and glanced to his right, then to his left. The road continued to wind between the low hills that presumably guarded the approach to Fairhaven.

“Justen, can’t I get a serious answer?”

“I need a hill.”

“A hill?”

“A hill south of Fairhaven. A tall hill with a clear view of Fairhaven and the White Tower, and with a road that will take us partway up.”

“Just like that?” asked Gunnar. “Am I supposed to create one?”

“No. Look for it.”

“While you’re throwing me all over the land engine?”

Martan nodded from the third seat, his face slightly pale.

“Do what you can.” As the road straightened, Justen pushed the throttle forward. Behind him, Martan groaned almost inaudibly.

For another ten kays, Gunnar withdrew into himself and out of himself, and Martan hung on to the sides of the third seat.

“Around the next corner, there’s a hill. It looks out on Fairhaven.”

Justen slowed the
Demon
as they rounded the corner and studied the hill. “It’s too far away.”

Gunnar sighed. “We’re getting close to Fairhaven.”

“Not as close as I need to be.”

“Great. Let me look again.”

A man and a donkey stared at the land engine from a side road. Justen waved brightly. The man’s mouth dropped open.

“How about that one?”

“It’s really not as high as I’d like.”

“What are you looking for? Maybe we should have brought a White Wizard like the great Jeslek to create what you need.”

“Gunnar, I’m worried, too.”

“There’s a hill on the next curve. It’s shorter, but it’s mostly clear to Fairhaven, and you might be able to get this contraption to climb it if you really got moving. And it’s the last real hill before Fairhaven. After it, there’s one low ridge and then the city starts. This one is only a sheep meadow. The one below it has houses.”

“All right.”

“There’s a lane there. It goes partway up.”

Justen eased the throttle farther forward.

Martan’s fingers tightened around the iron-plated oak as
the land engine swayed more violently. Behind them, road dust rose into a high plume.

More than five hundred cubits short of the hilltop, the wheels dug into soft ground and spun.

The half-score sheep had half-walked, half-trundled, toward the cottage downhill from where the land engine was stalled.

Justen sighed and set the brake. “We’ll have to carry the stuff up there.”

“With everyone watching?”

“You want to do it after they send troops?”

Justen climbed out of the
Demon
and stared at Fairhaven. For a moment, the low, glittering white buildings to the north shimmered…shifted…and Justen felt as though he were standing on the edge of a deep abyss and that those buildings tilted into the depths. He swallowed. Fairhaven was even more unbalanced than Nylan—but different.

“Are you all right?” asked Martan.

“I’m fine.” Somehow, the marine’s enthusiasm reminded him of Clerve. He swallowed again.

A man with a staff marched from the cottage uphill toward the
Demon
and the three from Recluce. Justen began to unfasten the wicker balloon basket.

“What business have you here?” The shepherd had a short brown beard, and he waved the staff at them.

Justen stepped forward, staying well beyond the range of the staff.

“I’m Justen, and I’m a Black—really a Gray—Wizard from Recluce. I’m setting things up to bring down Fairhaven and the White Wizards. Feel free to watch or to depart. One way or another, this won’t last for more than a day.” He shrugged theatrically, appeared to disappear for an instant and then reappeared. He spun a coin toward the shepherd, who let it fall. “That’s a gold. Call it rental for your meadow.”

The man scooped up the coin without a word and backed down the hill, glancing from the marine with the bow to the two wizards and back.

Justen smiled, then whistled as he finished unfastening
the balloon basket and began to carry it up to the hilltop. The notes sounded leaden, even to himself.

“All of this?” asked Martan.

“Everything in the lockers that’s not food or weapons. You bring what weapons you think we need, and Gunnar can bring the food.”

“Why are we carrying it all up to the top?” asked Gunnar.

“Because it’s the highest point on the hill,” explained Justen between breaths. “I’m out of shape.”

At the top, he set down the basket and started back downhill.

Gunnar shrugged and followed him.

It was still somewhat short of midday by the time Justen sat in the middle of a pile of equipment and a smaller pile of coal beside the small heating stove with the tubing to the balloon.

“Now what?” asked Gunnar.

Justen continued to fiddle with the single lens as the stove puffed hot air into the slowly inflating balloon. “We put a shield—just the hint of one—around the balloon and then wait until they notice we’re here.”

“What if they don’t?” asked Martan.

“Oh, they will.” Justen grinned, glancing at the mid-morning sun well above the browning grass of the eastern hills. “That’s what these are for.” He nodded toward the curved mirror and the wide crystal lens. “I intend to send a signal or two.”

“I was afraid of that.” Gunnar massaged the back of his neck. “And after that?”

“I get the balloon and the lenses ready, and you and Martan build a rock shelter.”

“A shelter? I came to fight,” protested Martan.

“You’ll fight, I’m sure,” Justen said gently, “but not until after I take on the White Wizards. You need to protect Gunnar while he’s ensuring that the skies stay cloudless. A wizard with his senses in the skies has no way to protect his body.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll be up in the balloon basket. I should be safe from
most weapons there.” Justen shrugged. “But it can carry only one, anyway.”

The small heat stove continued to puff hot air into the silksheen.

The beam of light from the hilltop played across the White tower again. Beltar squinted. “That damned engineer is giving me a headache.”

“That is clearly his intention.” Despite his calm words, Eldiren massaged his neck and forehead, his fingers lingering momentarily on the scar above his eyebrow.

“What’s in that light? Light’s supposed to be mostly chaotic.” Beltar walked toward the window, then turned back, his fingers playing with the amulet of office.

“It’s ordered, somehow. That’s part of the reason it’s so bright.” Eldiren moistened his lips.

“I thought you said that the engineer was coming to Fairhaven.” Beltar paced back toward the window, glancing southward.

“I said I
thought
he was. He’s close enough, isn’t he? Do you want that light in the square out there?” Eldiren gestured toward the east window and the patch of green visible in the open oblong.

The light played across the tower again, and the screeing glass hummed faintly.

“Demon light! He’s going to smash more screeing glasses. Isn’t it time for the Council to convene?”

“You had me tell them mid-morning.”

“It is mid-morning.”

“Not quite,” observed Eldiren. “Most of them are heading toward the Council chamber now. What will you have them do?”

“I think we need to move—behind adequate Iron Guard and lancers, of course—to the south of the city and bring our combined forces to bear on this…engineer.”

“Don’t you think that is what he wants?”

“I don’t really care what he wants. Just how much longer can we ignore him?”

“I could ignore him for a long time,” said Eldiren.

“I don’t have that choice. I am, if you recall, the High Wizard, and all the members of the Council are going to have headaches, if they don’t already. If we don’t do something…today…”

“They may want you to do it alone,” suggested Eldiren. “As you so rightly point out, you are the High Wizard.”

“Any Black who’s strong enough to create that…is more than a match for any White.”

Eldiren smiled faintly, the smile giving a sardonic cast to his thin face.

“Stop smirking,” Beltar ordered. “I admit it, and at least I do. You still claim you killed him. Some dead engineer!”

“At the very least, they’ll insist you be the focus.”

“I know. I know.” Beltar took a deep breath and looked at the empty bottle of wine on the side table. He licked his lips, then stood abruptly. “Call Jehan.”

“He’s downstairs.” Eldiren eased from the straight-backed chair and walked to the tower door, leaving it ajar. His boots scuffed on the tower steps. “Jehan…”

Beltar walked to the window on the south side of the room, his eyes taking in the flashes of light and the round object that seemed to burgeon from the top of the hill from where the light came. “A sphere filled with hot air…what does he have in mind?” He shook his head, then turned as he heard two sets of boots trudging up the stairs.

The two wizards stepped into the High Wizard’s quarters and stood, waiting.

“Jehan, after we finish here, I want you to find Marshall Kilera and have him assemble the Iron Guard—every one who’s fit—and all the White lancers. We’ll move out on the Blacks right after the meeting.”

“As you wish,” Jehan said without inflection. “Is that what the White Council will decide?”

“That is what the Council will decide,” Beltar affirmed. “Do they have much choice?”

“They could decide on another High Wizard,” suggested Eldiren.

“Ha! And they’d slaughter the thinnest pig in the yard, too. You really think that any of them want to go out and face those Blacks?”

“Well…they don’t look especially overwhelming. Outside of that wagon and a handful of black iron rockets, what do they have?” Eldiren’s voice was light, almost mocking.

“Just the confidence to challenge the mightiest wizards in the world,” Jehan observed. “A bag filled with hot air, and more order than any one of us has ever seen in one place.”

“You two!” snapped Beltar. “What do you mean?” He pointed at Jehan.

“This Black mage keeps doing the impossible. What is to stop him again?”

“We are. The entire White Council.”

As Beltar glared at Jehan, Eldiren lifted his eyebrows.

“You two,” repeated Beltar. He cleared his throat. “Jehan—just go take my message to Marshall Kilera. I want him to ready whatever forces he has to march as close to midday as possible. Then rejoin us. We’ll be in the Council Room.”

Jehan nodded, then turned and hastened out the door and down the steps.

Fingering the heavy amulet that hung from the chain around his neck, Beltar inclined his head to Eldiren. “What choice do I have?”

“Not much. I think that you’re stronger than the Black mage, but he clearly thinks he can win…somehow. And despite your rumors that the Black Council was going to imprison him for being order-mad, I don’t think he is. I think they’re scared of him, and that bothers me.”

“It bothers me, too.” Beltar shrugged. “But what am I supposed to do?” He winced as another flash of ordered-light flicked through the window.

Eldiren shivered.

“Am I supposed to walk up that hillside and say, ‘Please go away’? Will that work?”

“No. And if you did that, Derba would have you in chains for treachery, or you’d end up blasting half the Council into
dust.” Eldiren laughed with a self-mocking note. “I told you what would happen if you got the amulet through sheer power.”

“You did, but that doesn’t help now. Just what do you suggest?”

“That you can accept?” Eldiren shrugged. “Use more power. Back it with troops and hope that you don’t end up destroying us all. And don’t turn your back on anyone until it’s over.”

“You’re honest.”

“I’m not powerful. I don’t have any choice.”

“Shall we go?” asked Beltar.

“I am at your command, High Wizard.”

“So you are.” The High Wizard straightened his tunic, let the amulet drop to the end of the heavy gold links, and squared his shoulders. He walked to the door, and Eldiren followed. The thud of their boots was the only sound as they descended the stairs.

“You could give up the office of High Wizard,” suggested Eldiren as they entered the lower hall. “Or try to talk to the Black.”

“Eldiren.” Beltar sighed in exasperation. “If I gave up the amulet, I’d eventually get fried, just like Sterol did, because they’ll need someone to blame. Besides, that presumes that this Black will win, and that’s far from certain. Last time, he ran from you. Survival isn’t quite the same as triumphing.”

“Sometimes it’s the same thing.”

“Then throw in your lot with Derba.” Beltar ignored the servant who scuttled aside. He continued down the wide hallway to the Council Room without looking at Eldiren.

“You at least listen to honesty. He doesn’t know what it is,” Eldiren offered.

“Then you’re trapped, just like me.”

“Worse. I have to depend on you.”

Beltar paused at the door to the chamber. “Ready?”

“Of course.”

A low humming, comprised of multiple conversations, filled the room.

“…why doesn’t our great High Wizard just take care of
the uppity Black himself? Why call the Council?”

“…same Black who destroyed half the armies in Sarronnyn…”

“…someone strong enough to worry the White Butcher? What a pity.”

“…pity us…you mean…”

Beltar stepped onto the dais, Eldiren at his shoulder, and the murmurs died away. He waited for a moment. “I have called the Council in order to deal with the insult posed by the Black mage.”

“You need the whole Council for that?” asked a voice from the group in the middle of the white-hung chamber.

Beltar shrugged. “I think it’s far better to use excessive force than to have wizards and troops picked off one by one, the way it was in Sarronnyn. You might recall that we got nowhere there until we brought in more than a handful of White Wizards.”

Jehan eased in from the side entrance and stopped beside Eldiren. As Beltar’s eyes rested on him, Jehan nodded. Beltar smiled.

“You are the greatest wizard ever, Beltar,” Derba began. “That, at least, is what one has been led to believe.” Derba offered a smile that was not far from a smirk. “Yet you’re saying that it will take all of us to deal with three mere Order Wizards from Recluce?”

“You’re supposed to be able to move mountains. Why can’t you just lift the mountains under them?” Inadvertently, after speaking, a heavyset wizard massaged his forehead looked away from the High Wizard.

Beltar sighed loudly. “Just what will happen to all of Fairhaven if I call on chaos and raise mountains right here? What do you think, Flyrd?” His eyes fixed on the heavy wizard.

“You tell us,” suggested Derba.

The stone on which Derba stood vibrated, and the redheaded wizard lurched in place.

“Very pretty, Beltar.”

“I think what Beltar is trying to point out,” suggested Eldiren, “is that it might be rather dangerous. Raising moun
tains has a tendency to destroy the landscape and whatever else is nearby.”

“Jeslek did it.” Derba crossed his arms and stared at Eldiren.

A pulse of light flicked through the window on the south side of the white-walled hall. Eldiren winced, while Jehan squinted. Several other wizards in the chamber shifted their weight.

“And we’re still paying for it. Today there’s only high desert and thin grass on most of the so-called Little Easthorns,” continued Eldiren after a momentary pause. “That scourge was nearly three centuries ago.”

“So…” Derba drew out the word. “You’re saying that if you use your mighty powers, they may be so mighty and you will have so little control over them that Fairhaven itself will be destroyed?”

“I did not say that.” Beltar glared at Derba, and lines of flame appeared around both wizards. “The Order Wizard has shields. They seem strong. To break those shields will break everything else around unless we can focus our powers directly on him. Also, you might remember that if we create great forces of chaos, we might just create another order-focus in him. Does anyone remember what happened the last time chaos overbalanced order that much? Does anyone remember why Cerryl the Great—”

“You’re invoking Cerryl?” asked Derba. “I find that rather amusing.”

The flash of order-light flicked through the chamber again.

“Most powerful wizards,” called a voice from the group on the lower level, “could we agree on a course of action? The rest of us are having some difficulty in dealing with the current disruption.”

“Yes, most exalted High Wizard,” said Derba. “Exactly what do you plan?” His red hair glinted with what seemed the fire of chaos itself.

“We have two Iron Guard regiments and their Fifth mounted, plus the Eighth White lancers. Add maybe a hundred in detachments—”

“That’s a great deal fewer than the two Black mages destroyed in Sarronnyn, is it not?” asked the heavyset Flyrd from near the back of the group.

“At that time, there were exactly two real White Wizards with our forces, opposed by several thousand Sarronnese, plus a dozen or more Black engineers and a detachment of Black marines, all supporting these Black mages. Here, they have themselves and one marine. That’s scarcely an overwhelming force, friend Flyrd,” suggested Beltar.

Eldiren and Jehan exchanged a brief glance. Jehan rolled his eyes at the inconsistencies in Beltar’s rebuttal.

“Might that just not signify extreme confidence? The rumors are that one of those Blacks is he who shattered every screeing glass in Candar.” Flyrd crossed his hands across his white robe and waited.

“The rumors also indicate,” countered Beltar, “that he had to flee Recluce and that the Black Council was about to restrain him for being order-mad.” The High Wizard smiled. “Any man who sets himself up to challenge an entire continent is somewhat unbalanced.”

“If he’s mad, then, why don’t you just handle it?” asked Derba, a broad smile playing across his face.

Beltar frowned, and white sparks rose around him, forcing Derba’s shields back.

“I withdraw the question, powerful and mighty High Wizard.” Derba retreated, pursing his lips.

The white sparks dropped away from Derba, and Beltar smiled. “Since we are agreed, and since this is best resolved as soon as possible—as suggested, let us depart.”

“Now?”

“What…”

Beltar smiled. “I have already called up our forces and they are in readiness before their barracks on the south side of Fairhaven. Marshall Kilera awaits our arrival and support. I expect every member of the Council to be outside the hall and ready to go.
Now
.”

Derba wiped his damp forehead. Flyrd glanced nervously from Beltar to Derba and then to Eldiren before turning toward the rear of the chamber.

Beltar watched for a moment, then strode out, ignoring
the murmurings that began to rise. Eldiren and Jehan followed.

“…notice that Histen just wasn’t able to get here.”

“…Eldiren didn’t look too happy.”

“Even Derba backed down…”

“…foolishness…”

“…be over in instants. Stupid Black…”

“So stupid. So stupid that he destroyed half our army in Sarronnyn.”

“…a choice? Who has a choice?”

The wizards began to move toward the waiting mounts and coaches.