The Magic of Recluce

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “What about the roads?”

  “The roads are not quite the same thing. Chaos is quite efficient at removing rock and stone. So long as it does not touch what remains, the roadbed is as solid as the stone which is left. And the few black wizards used order-mastery, after the stonemasons built the retaining walls and drains, but that was before…” He shook his head. “Sometimes I wander too much. You asked about building. Stonecutters build better than chaos-masters. The old town center at Fairhaven proves that.”

  I still didn’t have the answer I wanted, but Justen was staring into space, as if I had called him back into the past. So instead, I finished my mutton pie and let him stare.

  “Your meal is. paid for,” the gray wizard said sometime later as I finished a redberry pastry. He stood up, pushing back the spoke-armed chair, and nodded! “I’ll see you here at dawn.”

  I nodded with a full mouth, but he was gone before I could swallow.

  There wasn’t much else to do except finish stuffing myself. Then I rose and walked out into the late afternoon, wrapping my brown cloak around me.

  Fewer souls were visible in the square, but that might have been because of the thickening gray clouds and the few wispy flakes of snow that drifted across the stones with the gray winds.

  In time, I retreated back to my room and lit the oil lamp.

  With a sigh, I recovered The Basis of Order and opened it again. It was still boring, or I was tired, or both, and I turned out the lamp and climbed onto the bed for a nap.

  When I awoke again it was pitch-dark, with only a single street lamp visible through the window. I ignored the growling in my stomach, and pulled off my clothes and climbed under the coverlet. Falling asleep was still easy.

  XXXII

  SHEEP-I HOPE never to see another sheep as closely as I saw the sheep of Weevett, nor to smell them. By comparison, rancid butter smells better, at least if it is not too spoiled.

  Like Justen, I wore a borrowed herder’s jacket and trousers and boots, though I had to stuff some raw wool into the toes of the boots.

  According to the gia^ ‘tvvzatd, what he was about to do was pure order-magic. “Just because it’s ordered doesn’t mean it’s pleasant,” he added. “That’s why I’m free to do as I please most of the rest of the time.”

  I followed him from the rough shed to a pen or corral, where there must have been over a hundred of the black-faced creatures.

  Urrrr… uppp… My stomach protested, although my nose was already numb, and not from the chill of the wind. The sun beamed brightly but not warmly, and the wind whipped a thin coating of snow across the ground, scudding it into piles here and there against fence posts, in frozen ruts, and on the sheltered side of the empty wool-sheds.

  Briskly, Justen strode over to the gate where a white-haired, lean, and tanned woman stood. Her hair was thick, nearly as short as mine, and she smiled openly at the wizard. Her gray

  ‘ leathers were clean, and half a step behind her stood a taller man, balding, wearing stained leathers and holding a crook.

  “Justen…”

  “Merella.”

  Then I noticed the squad of crossbowmen ranged along one side of the shed behind the woman. Glancing in the other direction, I found a few other armed soldiers. My feet carried me after Justen.

  “Who’s the youngster?”

  “My current assistant. This is Countess Merella of Montgren. Lerris, who understands order but not sheep.”

  The countess’s smile became a grin. “He didn’t expect me. You never tell them, do you, wizard?”

  Justen shrugged. “It works better that way.”

  “Pleased to meet you, your highness.” I inclined my head, although I didn’t know what you called a countess.

  “It’s good to see you, Lerris.” Then the smile was gone, replaced by a more businesslike look. “We lost too many because of the duke and the rains. Is there anything… ? We separated out the cripples and brought the least-damaged ones.”

  “We’ll do what we -can.” He turned to me. “The ewes to be bred this year come through the chute here one at a time. We check them to make sure they’re as healthy as they look. If you feel something…”

  “I tell you?” I asked.

  Justen nodded, turning to the countess. “Lerris has a well-developed sense of order, and that will let me use my energies, I hope, on the cripples and the problems.”

  “As you wish-so long as the results stand.” The countess’s tone was neutral, although her voice was harder than before.

  Justen looked at the herder. ‘’Send one through alone first.“

  … Bheeeaaaa… A black-faced four-legged wooly heap bumbled down the chute-really, just two low fences set three cubits apart-that led from a gate in one corral to a second empty corral.

  I tried to feel the sheep, and the action wasn’t quite so hard as I had feared, since there was no sense of disorder, and even a faint underlying sense of scheme and order. Looking at Justen, I said. “She seems fine. No disorder, and a faint sense of order… health…”

  He nodded. “Can you strengthen that order just a bit?”

  I didn’t know how.

  “Watch and use your senses.”

  So I did, and what he did to the sheep was like smoothing the grain of fine wood to bring out its natural flow. That’s not quite right, but that’s what it felt like.

  “Send another one.”

  With the second, I was able to do what the gray wizard had, with a little help, and by the fourth or fifth ewe I was working alone, with Justen watching. Until a larger ewe, perhaps the twentieth, came skittering down the chute.

  Even before the animal got to me my stomach turned, and the beast seemed to glow in a whitish-red fire underneath its wool.

  “Justen… this one…”

  Even the gray wizard seemed to pale momentarily, but he just nodded to the head herder. “Pull this one out for the white corral.”

  “Chaos?” asked the Countess. I had forgotten she still remained, watching the procedure.

  Justen nodded as another herder guided the diseased, chaotic animal toward a smaller fenced area.

  By then the flow of animals had increased, and I was breathing sheep, tasting wool, and feeling ready to baaaa myself.

  In some of the ewes, the underlying order-flow was barely there, and those I strengthened as I could.

  Black-face… baaaaa… oily wool-taste coating my tongue… baaaa… splaaattt… “Fine…” Black-face… “Pull this one…” Sheep gas… dung… oily wool-smells… baaaa…

  The parade of animals seemed endless-until the corral was empty.

  I looked up, somewhat dazed. The countess had left somewhere in the middle of processing the first corral-when, I could not have said.

  “Over here,” Justen said.

  I thought I saw a few more silver hairs in his head, but that could have been my imagination. I trudged in the direction he pointed, my eyes burning, my stomach turning, growling and empty.

  Across the field waited another large corral of sheep.

  I glanced upward. The sun had not even reached mid-morning. “Oh…” That was the way the morning went… ewe after ewe, with Justen looking grimmer and grimmer with each chaos-disordered ewe set aside.

  By noon my eyes were blurring, and there must have been close to a hundred of the chaos-tinged ewes crowded into the white corral.

  “Take a rest, Lerris.” Justen’s voice was firm. “We’ll get something to eat before we finish up here, and then ride over to the southern gathering.”

  “There’s more?”

  Justen’s smile was half-amused, half-grim. “You’ve just begun. Two days here, and another two days at the gatherings outside Vergren. There you don’t get an inn the first night, just a pallet and a tent.”

  I sagged against the split rails of the corral while Justen approached the white corral, remaining propped there while two herders funneled the ewes to him one by one. This time, he actually touched each one.<
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  When he was finished, about two-thirds had been returned to the herd. The remaining animals milled around the corral.

  With slow, measured steps, the gray wizard moved back toward me. The sun glinted on hair at least half silver, though his face seemed no more wrinkled, unlike the times after Frven.

  “Why so much chaos?” I asked.

  “How can you tell?” he responded, steadying himself on one of the low chute-rails.

  “You’ve been withdrawn for the last two days, looking where only wizards look, and paying little or no attention to anyone. I don’t know you, but it seems more than work.”

  “You’re right.” He shook his head. “Nature seeks balance, and Recluce went too far this time.” He frowned. “I hope,” he added under his breath.

  At the last words, I frowned. “You hope Recluce went too far?”

  “Not what I meant. I hope it is a question of natural balance.” He pushed himself away from the chute-rail and began to walk toward the middle shed. “Let’s eat. They’re setting up a table in one of the sheds.”

  Dinner was a hot soup, cold sliced mutton and cheese, black bread and redberry preserves, and as much hot cider as I wanted. Unfortunately, to me it all tasted like oily wool. The food steadied me and stopped the protests from my guts. About the time I started to feel human again, we trooped out to start all over with another bunch of ewes.

  Then I climbed on Gairloch and rode to the southern gathering grounds, where we worked until we could not see. I could barely finish supper before collapsing.

  The next day was the same, and so was the day after, except that first we rode until nearly noon. On each day, the countess appeared for a time, looking nearly as grim as Jus-ten.

  The fourth day wasn’t quite as bad, although it was after dark when we returned to the Weavers’ Inn.

  “Just take the robe in your room and follow me.”

  “What…”

  “We’re taking a bath.”

  And we did, in a small room off the kitchen, with hot water and soap, and for the first time since leaving Recluce I felt clean. We left the borrowed clothes there and wore the robes back to our rooms, where I found clean sheets on the bed, my own clothes cleaned and brushed, my boots shined, and a small purse with five gold pennies.

  I thought I’d more than earned it.

  By the time we actually dined the room was deserted, the fire low. We were served by the innkeeper himself. The veal was tender, the sauce succulent, and the golden wine like a fine autumn, perhaps the first time I had really enjoyed alcohol. Neither of us felt much like speaking until we had finished the main course and sat looking at a large redberry pastry.

  “You did well, Lerris.”

  “I see how you earn whatever they pay you,” I answered, returning the compliment as best I could. “That’s hard work.”

  “There hasn’t been that much disorder since near the beginning,” mused the gray wizard, stroking his chin thoughtfully.

  “You mentioned Recluce. What did you mean?”

  “I’d hoped that the Recluce efforts against the duke had rebounded, so to speak, but the signs aren’t right. This is all too recent, almost as if…”

  “As if what?” I took a small bite from the pastry.

  He shrugged. “As if… well… as if you had gone with Antonin.”

  “How could this happen? Does it take as much work to sow chaos as it took for us to heal it?”

  “Less work. That’s the problem. Destruction is almost always easier than construction. It’s as though Verlya or Gerlis were working together with Antonin and Sephya. Or Sephya has gotten much stronger.” He shook his head again. “But that’s hard to believe.” He sipped the golden wine.

  “Chaos-masters don’t work together?”

  “Cooperation, beyond an apprentice-master or a male-female bond, is almost a contradiction in terms for chaos. Then again, the great ones seldom have to, since there are few to oppose them.”

  “You oppose them,” I ventured.

  “Not directly. I’m not order-pure enough for that.” He set down the glass. “I’m tired, and tomorrow we start for Jellico.”

  “Another commission? More sheep?”

  “Actually, in Jellico, it’s seeds.”

  “Seeds?”

  “Good seeds beget good crops, and Certis grows oilpods, the kind they squeeze for the scented lamp-oil that Hamor prefers…”

  I yawned. Some aspects of wizardry and order-mastery were still boring. At least, though, the seeds couldn’t smell… I hoped.

  XXXIII

  OFF TO THE left was a line of trees that met the road about two kays ahead in what looked to be a grove. Under the pale blue sky, warmed by the winter sun, the frost and whatever snow might have fallen earlier had melted away from the road, and the stubble of the fields and occasional meadows. . Now that we had crossed the Montgren Gorge and passed into Certis, the occasional fenced-field and extensive sheep meadows had largely given way to entirely fenced fields, now covered with maize stubble or other grain stalks. The huts were larger, and many even boasted woodlots back away from the road. But the landscape and the countryside were boring. After all, how much creativity is there in fences and huts? And how long can you pass them without being lulled into stupor by their similarities?

  Justen did not talk that much, and I did not press the gray wizard.

  Wheeee… uhhh… Gairloch tossed his head, prancing for an instant, then slowing down.

  Wheeee… eeee. Whatever it was, Rosefoot agreed with Gairloch.

  I looked at Justen.

  “They’re thirsty,” he said.

  “Is that a stream up ahead?” ‘

  “1 believe so. There is even a pavilion of sorts there, if I recall.”

  “Pavilion?”

  “A roof erected on four timbers, nothing more than a rain shelter.”

  A rain shelter we didn’t need, but it was probably better than stopping by the roadside.

  The pavilion was there, but a nearby oak had pulled up its roots, toppled, and broken the ridgepole. Between the fallen green oak and the collapsed pavilion, most of the travelers’ area was unusable, although a path worn by other travelers led down a drop of half-a-rod to the stream.

  At the top of the incline, I dismounted and led Gairloch toward the water.

  Whee… eeeee… He tossed his head, and I studied the trees that stood back off the watercourse. I saw nothing. Then I tried to sense chaos. Nothing there either.

  “Well… here you are… drink what you can.” I looped the reins over the saddle and got out my water bottle.

  Wheeeee… eeeeee…

  “I know it’s not a warm stable, but it is decent water.” Standing upstream from Gairloch, I smelled the water, licked it from my hands, felt it with my mind. Nothing-just good cold water. So I drank some, scooping it up with my hands, while trying not to slip off the brown grass-tuft where I squatted. Then, after wiping my face on my sleeve, I filled the canteen and replaced it in its holder.

  Justen-where was he?

  I grabbed for the staff, then eased up the incline to the rest area.

  The gray wizard was nowhere to be seen, but a man in a soldier’s vest and a chain-mail shirt appeared from behind the mound of collapsed thatch, a plate skullcap secured with leather thongs. His sword was unsheathed and pointed in my direction.

  “Another pilgrim…” His voice was raspy, his brown beard scraggly, and his step measured.

  I could have outrun him, even to Gairloch, but I didn’t know where Justen was and who might be with the soldier, and whether they might have a crossbow, a longbow, or a rifle. So I took an even hold on the staff, arranged my feet, and waited.

  “What do you want?” I asked. It seemed like a fair question, even to a maniac with a glint in his eye and a sword in his hand.

  “Just your horse and your money.”

  “That’s a bit much.”

  “Damned pilgrim. You’re all alike.”

 
Whssm!

  I let the first stroke pass by.

  Whhsttt!

  Thunk! Even I was surprised at how unskillful he was, at watching his sword fly onto the hard clay.

  I waited to see if he would go for the sword on the ground or the knife at his belt.

  His eyes darted from mine to the staff and to the sword and back. Then he sighed. “Quarter?”

  I nodded.

  Click.

  I ducked and turned.

  Swish. The blade of the heavier man nipped the edge of my cloak, and I wished I had discarded it as I staggered sideways.

  Thunk.

  Clank. His foot skidded on something, and he stepped back.

  I used the instant to duck out of my cloak, regaining a balanced stance and concentrating on the unshaven and grizzled veteran before me. His eyes were bloodshot, but his hands seemed steady enough.

  His blade dipped, then turned.

  I did not move, watching eyes and edge simultaneously.

  He stepped back and sheathed the sword. “Damned wizards. Begging your pardon, ser, but I didn’t know which kind you were.”

  {•tried not to let the confusion show as I looked from the one, who was trying to stand on a very sore leg, to the older man who watched us both.

  Both soldiers’ leather vests had two irregular light patches on the shoulders, with two small holes within the lighter colored space. Wing-like insignia had recently been removed.

  Their chain-mail shirts scarcely qualified as armor, except to protect against spent arrows and weak slashes, but their swords had been serviceable enough.

  Neither one bore the taint of chaos. Neither did they exactly. radiate order. Which left the possibility of unpleasant mercenaries running out on their contracts and turning bandit. I wished Justen were around, but the gray wizard seemed to have vanished.

  “Wizard problems?” I asked. “Just wizard problems?” I added.

  The older man, mostly gray-haired although he did not look much older than Justen, spat onto the road. The younger looked at the sword lying on the frozen clay.

  “You can get it, if it stays in the scabbard.” I did not relax my control of the staff until he sheathed the sword. “You still have to explain why I shouldn’t do something unpleasant to you.”