The Death of Chaos

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  … 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.”
<
br />   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.

  L

  TAMRA SLOWED HER mount well back from the edge of the trees and waited for Justen. The older man in gray drew up his pony beside her as perhaps two squads of horse troops rode down the road and passed from sight, the hoofs of their mounts clipping on the old stones.

  Behind the cavalry-led van followed a column of figures, also clad in a grayish cyan, marching southward on the old straight road. A single cyan banner with a hawk’s claw clutching a sheaf of golden grain fluttered intermittently in the light but cold breeze.

  The hills to the west beyond the road bore traces of white near their crests.

  The dark-haired older man patted Rosefoot on the neck as he and Tamra studied the passing soldiers.

  “…had a girl and she was mine…

  …had a fire and a cot…

  …had a horse and he was fine…

  now a blade is all I’ve got!“

  “Colaris’s forces heading out to invade Hydlen from the north?” she asked.

  “Probably.” He nodded. “But they’ll have to take the Hydolar Road, and that runs through Certis. The Viscount might have some objection.”

  The soldiers in the column carried what appeared to be thick staffs, resting them against their shoulders as they marched southward.

  She squinted, and her eyes seemed to focus into the distance. After a moment, she shivered, and she looked at Justen. “Rifles? They can’t be carrying rifles, can they? That’s what they feel like, with all that iron… but Berfir has a white wizard.”

  “They’re rifles,” affirmed Justen with a sigh.

  “How?”

  Justen paused before answering, his voice low. “Try to sense what is in their belts.”

  After a long silence, Tamra straightened in her saddle. “Little metal-steel-canisters.” She swallowed. “Will the steel shield them from chaos?”

  Justen nodded. “Miniature shells, rockets… for their guns. No more powder flasks.”

  “Why…why now?”

  Justen shrugged, his eyes still on the long column of soldiers.

  “Is this because of Lerris?” Tamra’s whisper was sharp.

  He responded with a sad shake of the head. “This started long before Lerris.” As Tamra’s mouth opened, he added, “Long before. But someone has rediscovered what was thought to be safely hidden. Nothing stays hidden forever.” He took a slow deep breath.

  Behind the soldiers came heavy, creaking wagons, each pulled by a four-horse team.

  Tamra and Justen waited and watched, watched and waited.

  LI

  THE MAN STANDING at the shop door came to my shoulder, and his rabbit-trimmed green cloak and polished boots indicated a limited prosperity. “Master Lerris?”

  “Please come in.” I glanced at Werfel’s completed desk. I was getting ready to pack it up into the wagon once Rissa’s friend Kilbon arrived to help me. “What might I be able to do for you?”

  He stepped inside and closed the door against the chill. “Durrik. I trade mostly in spices.” He brushed his thinning dark hair off a browned forehead and cleared his throat. “I do supply some spices to Hensil, and… well… Venn told me about the chairs.”

  “You woul
d like some chairs?” I asked.

  Durrik laughed. “Chairs like that-or a desk like that? I couldn’t possibly afford or justify them. No… I was wondering about an upright chest, one with compartments…”

  “To store your rarer spices in? Ones you would prefer to keep in the house or office?”

  “Exactly…”

  “That could present a problem.”

  Durrik pursed his lips.

  “The woods… and the finish. You’d need a hard finish, at least in the storage compartments, that wouldn’t add or subtract from the spices. Right?”

  “I hadn’t thought about that, but it makes sense.”

  “How big would you want the compartments, and how many?”

  “I brought a list of the spices.”

  “How many, roughly?”

  “Say… between a score and a score and a half.”

  I pulled out some sketch sheets and set them on the bench.

  “Some you’ll want more space for than others… what about bigger spaces in the base and smaller ones on top?” I began to sketch. “This isn’t what it will look like, except for the general shape.”

  The spice merchant watched, his dark-haired head tilted at an angle. “Hmmm…”

  “Do you want doors or drawers?” I paused. “Or some of each?”

  He pointed at the sketch. “What if the top ones, on each side, here, were small drawers? That would work for the rarer ones that you need only a little of. And two rows of smaller drawers here…”

  I could see some problems with his arrangement, because lots of little drawers weigh more than a smaller number of larger ones, and the chest could get unbalanced. “I’d have to balance this somehow. A lot of drawers in the top, unless I make the base wider-like this-will make it top-heavy.”

  “I don’t know as I’d like that,” Durrik said slowly. “Isn’t there another way?”

  “There are several. Each has advantages and disadvantages…” I sketched out several rough designs, beginning with a straight-sided chest where the larger drawers flanked smaller center drawers and ending with a larger piece with open shelving that could be used for books or display.