Three figures in white-white boots, tunics, and trousers-stood halfway between the unloading platform and me mountain wall that marked the end of the road.
Their breath floated like white steam above the cold stone and over the scattered patches of snow and ice.
Behind them, the stone-master directed the spout to spew the smaller granite chunks into the space between two foundation blocks. The yet-unlined watercourse beside the leading edge of the road held no water, nothing except powdered rock, grainy snow, and scattered ice fragments.
Tweet.‘ Tweet! A whistle split the chill.
“Stand clear! Stand clear!” The warning shrilled from the thin lips of the overseer, a woman in white leathers who also wore a sword and a white, bronze-plated skullcap.
“Close your eyes! Close your eyes!”
The nameless workers huddled behind the movable plank barriers, eyes closed.
Crack! Crackkk!
A flash brighter than the noonday sun, sharper than the closest of lightnings, flared across the stone wall that faced the end of the highway. Rock fifty cubits deep splintered, separated, and slid into a rough pyramid at the base of the canyon. Rock dust mushroomed, adding a powdered white mist to the air, blurring the sharp edges of the canyon walls.
“Head out. Load up,” called the overseer.
Two of the three wizards walked slowly, tiredly, back toward the amber coach that waited where the smooth-finished paving stones ended.
The workers staggered from behind their barricade toward the pile of granite that would be removed for fill, or for reshaping by the stonecutters before the masons came and fitted and mortared the stones together.
“Load up!” came the command again.
The workers’ steps carried them once more toward the tumbled rocks, as workers’ steps had carried nameless prisoners for centuries on the great highway to the west. Even before the dust had settled, those steps carried them, as so many before them, forward toward the loading rack that other prisoners had slid into place beside the tumbled stones.
“Just the gray stones…”
The long line of workers edged forward, men and women bearing identical baskets.
Clink… clink… Behind them, the stonemasons resumed their work, Grafting the flush-fitted gray walls and storm drains that linked the base blocks of the road.
The loading crew began to place the squarish stones into the loading bin, and the first porter eased his basket into the rack.
“Next!”
The workers shuffled forward, their leather boots scraping on sharp-edged stones.
“Next!”
V
“What’ll you have, gents?”
Gunnar coughed, cleared his throat, and motioned to Jus-ten.
“Dark beer.” Justen glanced past the serving woman toward the new gas lamps by the door, still unlit in the afternoon light pouring through the half-open windows of the inn.
The woman looked at his black tunic and trousers.
“Dark beer,” he repeated.
“I don’t even want to know about your day, Engineer.” The heavy, gray-haired woman shook her head and glanced toward Gunnar.
“Greenberry.” The sandy-haired man’s fingers drummed idly on the polished dark oak.
“That’s not much better. You like anything to eat? The mutton pie’s tasty, and even the chops are good today.”
“No, thank you,” the brothers said, almost in unison.
“Well…” murmured the woman, turning toward the kitchen. “No telling with wizards and engineers… just no telling, but what they’ve done today, who’d really want to know? Dark beer and greenberry…”
Justen grinned.
“The beer’s not good for you. Why do you drink it? Just to make Father angry, or to annoy me?” Gunnar smiled faintly.
“I suppose that annoying my terribly superior older brother is as good a reason as any. Except that it’s not true. I just happen to like the taste. Besides, I am not a great Order Master, a superior Air Wizard such as you. I’m just a lowly engineer who toils in the workrooms under the scathing eye of Altara.”
“Is she really that bad?”
“No. She pays no attention when you do it right, and she gets hotter than the Little Easthorns the day they were raised when you don’t.”
“Justen! Gunnar!” a bright voice interrupted.
Both men looked up as a black-haired young woman paused near their table.
“Oh, Aedelia. How are you?” asked Gunnar. “How’s your brother?”
“His leg’s much better, and Mother said to tell you hello when I saw you.”
“What are you doing in Nylan?” asked Justen.
“Father was bringing in some timber for the shipwrights and I was waiting, when I thought I saw you two come in. So I told Father I’d be back in a bit and came to say hello.” Aedelia smiled broadly.
“Could you join us?” Justen motioned to one of the two empty chairs, trying not to be too obvious in his admiration of her endowments.
“I wish I could, but Father’s already delivered the timber and it’s a long drive back, even with an empty wagon… or mostly empty. We did get some fresh fish and a bolt of Austran linen.” Aedelia straightened up. “I really do have to go.” With a last smile, she was gone.
Clunk… clunk… The two heavy mugs came down on me table. “There you be, honored young gents. And that’ll be five for the both of you, three for the beer and two for the green stuff.”
Gunnar extended a half-silver. The woman nodded and took the coin.
Justen lifted his mug and took a deep swallow. “Ah… that’s good.”
“Do you do that just to annoy me?”
“No. I do it because it tastes good, and it was a long day. And because- Leave it at that.” Justen stopped and glanced into the comer, where two white-haired men sat hunched over a Capture board. The game had clearly only just begun, since most of the white and black tokens were still stacked beside the board. He looked back at Gunnar. “Krytella was looking for you the other day, when you were at Land’s End.”
“And you’re telling me now?”
“I haven’t seen you since then,” Justen pointed out before taking another swig of the dark beer.
“You’re drinking that too fast,”
“So? Drink your damned greenberry.”
“Justen… I haven’t done anything to you, have I? We are brothers, you know.” Gunnar’s voice was lower, softer.
“No, it’s not you. It’s just…” Justen shrugged.
“Women problems?”
“I suppose so.” Justen took another swallow from the mug. “And student problems.”
“I told you that teaching wasn’t all that Verdel said it was.”
“You’ve told me a great deal.”
“Sorry.” Gunnar sipped the greenberry. “Are you going for a ship’s Brother slot?”
“I went out with the Llyse the other day-”
“I know.”
“I know you know. You know everything. Just let me talk, all right?”
“Sorry.”
“Anyway, I watched Pendak. He seems pretty good with the shields, and he can tell when someone’s not telling the truth. But I don’t know. The whole business really bothered me. That poor crew had been manipulated. They didn’t even know who the captain was.”
Gunnar nodded. “Pendak told me about that. He was upset.”
“Why would someone do something like that?” Justen took another swallow of the dark beer.
The blond man shook his head. “Maybe the White Wizards are trying to provoke us again.”
“Why would they do that? It’s never been terribly effective before.”
“People’s memories are short.” Gunnar paused. “What did Pendak do?”
“What could he do? The real captain jumped overboard. And the ship hadn’t really done anything.”
“I don’t like this,” Gunnar muttered, slowly sipping his greenberry.
“That’s what Pendak and Captain Hyntal said. Why would a merchant ship try to get away when we were just on a routine patrol? It doesn’t make sense.” Justen took another swallow of the dark beer, licking the remnants off his lips before setting the mug on the table.
“It has to make sense. We just don’t know how.” Gunnar looked up. “There’s Krytella.”
“Of course.”
Gunnar frowned, but stood and waved. “Krytella!”
The redhead smiled broadly and hurried across the room, gracefully stepping around the unoccupied tables. “I was looking for you.” She leaned forward and kissed Gunnar on the cheek.
“That’s what Justen told me. It took a while to wind up the search of the archives.” Gunnar gestured toward one of the empty chairs.
Justen took a last sip of the dark beer and motioned to the serving woman. Gunnar was so damned noble. He hadn’t even tried to point out that Justen had waited three days to mention Krytella’s inquiry.
“Thank you for remembering, Justen.” Krytella’s smile was warm, her pleasure genuine. That Justen knew even with his merely average-for an engineer-order-senses.
“Yes, folks? Would the healer like redberry or greenberry?”
“Redberry,” Krytella answered.
“Another dark beer,” Justen added.
The serving woman raised her eyebrows but only said, “Coming up-one redberry and a dark beer.”
“You shouldn’t-” began Krytella.
“I know. Good engineers and good wizards don’t drink alcohol because it’s bad for their order-senses.”
“Oh, Justen… I didn’t mean to be short with you. But I am a healer, and…” The redhead shrugged.
Clunk… clunk… Two more heavy mugs arrived. “That’ll be another five for the two.”
Justen handed over a half-silver.
“Thank you.” Krytella inclined her head, then took a swallow of her redberry.
“Just before you arrived, we were talking about how the White Wizards were playing games with a Lydian ship.” Gunnar sipped from his greenberry as Krytella waited for him to continue. “They planted some illusions in the crew’s minds about who was captain, and then they conditioned the crew to run from the Llyse.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“The real captain jumped overboard and drowned. He never came up.”
“Are you sure?” Krytella set her redberry down.
“I was there,” Justen answered. “There wasn’t any sign of life. I suppose that could have been an illusion, too. But it really doesn’t matter, does it? The damage was already done.”
The redhead nodded slowly. “I see what you mean. Recluce drove a poor captain to suicide. But I still don’t see why the White Wizards would bother.”
“It has to have something to do with their effort to take over western Candar.” Justen looked at the mug without lifting it. He really hadn’t wanted a second dark beer.
“But what?”
“It doesn’t matter,” suggested Gunnar. “They can’t control the sea. There’s too much basic order in the oceans.”
“Maybe that’s not their objective,” Justen pointed out, all too conscious of how alive and vibrant Krytella seemed, sitting there between them… even as she leaned toward Gunnar.
“What other aim would they have?” Krytella took a small sip from her mug.
“If they build distrust of us… and then if we do commit any forces to Sarronnyn or Suthya, wouldn’t the Sarronnese be worrying as much about Recluce as about Fairhaven?”
Krytella looked at the older brother. “What do you think, Gunnar? Is that possible?”
“It could be.” The blond man shrugged, then grinned. “But we certainly won’t solve that one this afternoon.” He took a deep swallow of the greenberry.
Justen glanced toward the Capture game in the corner. “Is that old Gylart over there?”
“The Gylart who’s Counselor Jenna’s uncle? Or the fisherman?” Krytella asked.
“The former counselor.” Justen took a sip of the second beer. It did taste good, he decided.
Gunnar nodded. “It’s the old counselor.”
“He’s good at Capture.”
“How can you tell?”
Justen lifted his shoulders and smiled sheepishly. “He just is.”
“Would you two like to come to dinner?” Krytella smiled. “I mink it’s a fish stew, but it smelled good, and there’s plenty of it. Mother and Aunt Arline baked pearapple bread, too.”
Justen’s stomach growled. “I think that’s my answer.”
“Justen…” Gunnar sighed.
“Fine. I need to help them. Just show up after the second evening bell.” Krytella flashed another smile and pushed back her chair.
“Do you have to go?” asked Gunnar.
“If I’m having company, I do.”
Justen watched as the redhead left the public room. Then he took another sip of beer before turning to his brother. “You lucky bastard.”
“Why?”
Justen shook his head. For all that he could see storms an ocean away, Gunnar was sometimes so dense. Was that why the girls swarmed around him? Justen took another sip of the second beer mat he hadn’t wanted at first. At least a home-cooked dinner would be better than eating in the engineers’ mess.
VI
“The Iron Guard has secured the Roof of the World, and Zerchas is studying the remains of the Westwind archives…” The tall, older wizard at the speaker’s podium coughed.
“Couldn’t be much left after ten centuries.” The sotto voce murmur echoed through the momentary silence before the tall wizard continued.
“… and has discovered that the Sarronnese garrisons had preserved some of the original manuscripts, Cerryl’s name be praised.” A young, broad-shouldered, clean-shaven and black-haired White Wizard stood just inside the doorway. He pursed his lips and motioned to another young wizard before stepping through the archway and walking down to the row of couches in the antechamber.
The second wizard, round-cheeked and fair-haired, followed.
“Cerryl’s name be praised, Cerryl’s name be praised! It wants to make me puke, Eldiren. Did you know mat Cerryl was a fifth-rate White Wizard, if that? He wasn’t fit to carry the great Jeslek’s boots.” The young black-haired White Wizard who spoke glanced toward the archway to the Council Chamber. “Let’s walk down to Vislo’s.”
“It’s scarcely fashionable, Beltar.” Eldiren scuffed a white-leather boot on the granite floor.
“Fine. Then no one fashionable will be there.”
The two young men waited out into the warm spring and the white light of Fairhaven, out into the shadow cast by the Tower. Beltar paused momentarily, then marched across the short, wiry grass of the new Wizards’ Square, for all that it was three centuries old. Eldiren scurried to keep up.
“Why are you so upset by old Histen?”
“First, he’s playing games with Lydian ships. What good will that do?”
“He’s trying to force the Blacks into being seen as tyrants.”
“Has that ever worked before?” snorted Beltar. “And then all this praise of Cerryl the Great-Cerryl the Great! I can raise the chaos springs from the rock beneath Candar and no one cares. Worse than that, Zerchas and Histen have threatened to turn the Iron Guard and the White Company on me if I try.” Beltar halted at the far side of the square and took several quick breaths. “Forget Vislo’s.”
A young boy silting on a passing farm wagon pointed toward the white-clad wizards. “There’s one! And another one. Real White Wizards!”
Eldiren raised a hand and waved.
“He waved. He waved!”
“That’s it,” muttered Beltar. “Play to the peasants.”
“Why not? It doesn’t hurt, and it certainly costs nothing.”
“You sound like Zerchas and Histen and Renwek.” Eldiren touched Beltar op the shoulder, “Sometimes… what they say makes sense.”
“Oh?” The
black-haired wizard turned and looked back at the glittering White Tower.
“You’re bitter because they don’t need your powers now. They will.”
“They don’t think so.”
“Does it matter what they think? Do you really believe that Recluce will stand idly by as we finish the Great Highway through the Westhorns and take over the entire west of Candar?”
“Why not? They didn’t do a damned thing after Spidlar or south Kyphros, or the islands.”
“They weren’t ruled by the Legend. They also weren’t the home of Megaera. Besides, once we take Suthya, Southwind will fall-”
“Suthya! We haven’t even attacked Sarronnyn.”
Eldiren shook his head. “Recluce can’t stop us in Sarronnyn. You know that. What’s really left after that? Suthya, Southwind, and a bunch of druids in Naclos. No one lives in the Empty Lands or the Stone Hills.”
“No one ever will.”
“When Recluce finally marshals order, then they’ll need you. Don’t throw it away by giving them any excuses now. That was your idol Jeslek’s problem. He forced his power on them, and that made him a target too early. Let Histen and Zerchas be the targets.”
Beltar pursed his lips. “I don’t know.”
“Think about it. You have time. They don’t. Anyway, you might as well enjoy Fairhaven now. Look at the Council members. They meet, and then they have to go back to their posts all across Candar.”
“Another one of Cerryl the .Great’s wonderful ideas. Scatter the able away from Fairhaven.” Beltar scuffed a boot against the curbstone.
Eldiren shook his head, then waved back to another small boy.
VII
The wide porch of the house low on the hill and its location in the older section of Nylan-barely above the armory and practice fields, and overlooking the warehouses that served the port-were the only aspects that confirmed the structure’s age. The varnish on the recently refinished red-oak flooring of the porch was clear, and the oil-stain preservative on the wood framing the wide windows was fresh. The black stones of the exterior wall shimmered with calm and order.
The Order War Page 2
