5.Death of Chaos
CVII
WHEN WE RODE around the last corner of the High Desert mountain road, and Ruzor spread out below us, no one spoke.
The harbor fort lay in ruins-a rocky heap on the north end of the breakwater with but a single tower standing out of the rocks. Only the single stone pier remained standing, and even from where we rode, the sounds of saws and axes tearing apart the wreckage of buildings and piers cast down or into other buildings echoed out to us. Dozens of homes appeared destroyed, just piles of rubble, and nothing within two hundred cubits of the water appeared to be intact.
A chunk had been gouged out of the bluff to the south of the Phroan River, and even several gaps leered from the wall of the autarch's residence.
The autarch's flag continued to fly, and with a bit more concentration, I could see at least several wrecked hulls apparently smashed across the breakwater, and others driven into the sands on the far south end of the bay. They must have been huge ships to be visible from so far, and yet they were strewn across the shores and breakwater as though they had been toys.
“I see Gunnar got over his reticence in employing force,” commented Justen wryly.
I just looked, seeing for the first time the enormous damage wrought by the Hamorian guns, and, in return, by the storm or whatever that my father had called. I had to shiver, although the road was hot, and I was sweating, thinking about the power he had wielded. In some ways, because of all his logic and reliance on words, I had considered him the last man to resort to force.
In a strange way, I supposed, that made sense. How could he resort to force, knowing what he could do? How could Justen use force if he thought any alternative were possible?
“You look thoughtful,” offered Weldein, riding up beside me.
“I am.” I gestured toward the ruined city that had been Ruzor. “Look at that.” After a moment I added,“I hope everyone is all right.” Then I had to laugh. How could everyone be all right with such destruction?
He was silent for several moments, then asked, “Do you think that such destruction shows what happens when machines and magic clash?”
I hadn't even thought of it in quite that way, but as the conflict of different peoples who were all too alike in wanting things their own ways. “I think magic and machines are only the tools people use to express their will. It is the willingness to use such tools that bothers me.”
“Both can be horrible tools,” he answered.
“Yes.” Horrible tools, indeed, but I didn't see many alternatives when someone was out to enslave or kill you and those you loved. What seemed so futile was that it seemed to go on and on. If we were successful, then that would just make Hamor madder and more determined, and as the tools got better, the destruction would get worse. We were already seeing that. But how did we stop it, short of destroying Hamor?
For all the ruin, there were smiles on the faces of the Kyphrans in the streets, as they lifted stones hurled hundreds of cubits. Smiles on many faces, at least.
I did not smile. There were some houses where black and white bows graced the doors, and where the feel of tears persisted. And there were those houses that just were no more, only piles of stone and masonry that had crushed all beneath their crumpled walls.
We rode down the winding streets from the upper gates and finally reached the barracks, detouring around a pile of rubble just outside the barracks walls.
My father was waiting in the barracks courtyard. So were Krystal and Tamra, and so was the autarch.
I looked at Krystal, and she looked back at me, with a brief and faint smile that vanished too quickly. I took a deep breath and waited, patting Gairloch on the neck.
Kasee looked at Justen, and then at me. Justen glanced to me.
“There is no Hamorian army. Nothing remains.”
“Those who would have brought destruction to us have suffered it themselves,” said the autarch slowly, her eyes resting for a time upon Justen and then Dayala.
“As it should and must be,” added the druid.
“I could feel it,” said my father. He looked older, his face wrinkled, his hair mostly silver, just like Justen and Dayala. “And your losses, Lerris?” asked Kasee. Tamra just nodded, and her eyes flicked to Weldein and then to me.
“We lost two. They got separated in the chaos, and I think they ran the wrong way. We couldn't find any trace of them or their tracks.”
“They were swallowed by chaos.” Dayala shivered. “Once again, you, and we, have paid a heavy price.” The autarch's voice was almost flat. “We thank you.”
I wiped my forehead with the back of my hand and slowly dismounted. My legs were sore. The Finest might be used to riding days on end, but I wasn't, and my body was older, unfortunately. I smelled, and I wanted to wash up and get into clean clothes.
I still had to unsaddle and groom Gairloch. Justen, Gunnar, Krystal, and Kasee gathered together, but no one asked me to join them. So I walked him into the stables and curried him and watered and fed him. Then I patted him on the neck. “Thanks again, fellow.” Sometimes, I felt he was the only creature who really cared. Probably stupid, but that was what I felt.
When I went back to the courtyard, Krystal was waiting. The autarch and Tamra had disappeared, and my father, Justen, and Dayala slowly walked from the courtyard and into the shade, and, if they did not quite shuffle, neither was there spring in their steps, nor joy in their bearing-not exactly a joyous victory celebration.
Krystal followed me as I carried my gear to the washroom. “How did things go here... for you ?” I asked as I stripped off my filthy shirt and began to wash off layers of road grime and sweat.
“Not too badly. Your father insisted that we abandon the harbor fort, except for him and Tamra and a few troopers. He was right. The guns pounded most of it to rubble. They almost drowned, I think, when they left, and she had to drag him clear because he was so tired.”
“It looks as though he raised quite a storm.”
“No one who lived here has ever seen anything like it. We can salvage all that metal and some of the equipment from the hulls. It will take a while, though.” She laughed a short laugh. “A Spidlarian metal merchant already showed up with a bid on one of the wrecked ships. Bodies are still washing up on the beaches.”
I kept washing. “What about the Finest?”
“We lost maybe twoscore, but when they started shelling the bluff, we lost nearly a thousand outliers.”
I winced, thinking of even more Pendrils and Shervans. “Then the waves came, and the storm, and the rain, and probably scores more will die of the flux. If we're lucky.”
I dumped my shirt into the tub and quickly scrubbed it. The water turned black, and I had to rinse it with water from the pump spout.
“How does the autarch feel?”
“She's tired. We're all tired, and she's worried. More than that, I don't know. About some things, she doesn't say.”
We walked up to her room, silently. I just wore my trousers because the shirt was wet from my impromptu laundry efforts. Herreld held the door for us, and Krystal closed it while I stretched the shirt across the stones outside the window. Then I found my last clean shirt and struggled into it before beginning to dig things out of my pack.
“How about you?” she finally asked. “What did you do?”
“I did some scouting, told Justen where the chaos was, and watched.”
“You did let Justen handle it?”
“I did as he suggested, watching and helping a little, but he and Dayala did it all. And it was hard for them.” Krystal waited.
“Two of the troopers ran off in the mess, and I tried to find them, but we couldn't.”
“That's what Dayala said.”
“Sorry. I'm tired, and I'm not thinking that well.” I looked toward the window and the hot sunlight. “What else happened here?”
“You've seen it. Their guns killed close to a thousand troops, mostly levies as it happened. Probably twice as many townspeople died. The whole waterfront except for the old stone pier is gone. We don't know how many homes and other buildings were destroyed, but I'd guess several hundred. A few Hamorian sailors managed to get ashore. By the time we could get to the shore, we couldn't save them.”
“The storm?”
“No. The townspeople.”
“Oh.” More hatred, more killing, yet, in a way, who could blame them?
Krystal sat down in the chair at the end of the table. There were deep circles under her eyes. “You're tired.”
“Yes, Lerris, I am tired. It goes on and on. Every time we survive, we have to fight a bigger battle, and more people die. We won, I think. But the city is a mess; thousands were hurt or died; and... for what?”
I understood, and I wanted to say so, but it was worse than that. “It's not over,” I finally said.
“It's not? You have to find another cause to be a hero?” I shook my head. “Look at Justen and my father and Dayala. Do they look like they're filled with joy, like everything's all over? Do you remember what Justen said about Hamor really being after Recluce?”
“So you will get to be a grand hero after all?” Krystal stood and walked toward the window.
“Will you stop it? That isn't what I meant at all. You said that it didn't seem like it ever would end. I feel the same way, and I don't know what to do.”
“That's just it. What you have to do! You, you, you! You and your father, Tamra and Justen! Why couldn't you all have left Candar alone?”
“You're from Recluce, too.”
“I don't feel like it. I pick up a blade, and it seems so useless. You destroy armies, and your father destroys fleets. My troops die and die and die, and nothing I do changes anything.”
“You held Kyphros together before I ever showed up. You also routed the Hydlenese when I was lying on a baggage cart ”
“And lately?”
I looked at her, trying to penetrate the darkness in her eyes. “As you keep telling me, just how many times can I do these great deeds? What you do is not limited that way.”
“I don't know that I believe that.”
I sighed.
“I don't understand you,” she finally said. “You can craft beautiful things, and worry about chickens and people who have nowhere to live. And then you can go out and help destroy thousands of people. And all you can say is it's going to get worse.”
“You've used a blade.”
“And I've killed people. I admit it. But I didn't slaughter them as though they were sheep, by the hundreds and thousands. They were still people.”
“They're still people to me. It hurts when people die. It hurts when I ride past piles of stones that used to be houses.”
“It doesn't seem to stop you.”
“Corpses haven't stopped you, either,” I snapped.
She looked at me with cold eyes and turned. “I need to meet with Subrella and Kasee.” Then she was gone.
I walked to the window and stared out at the blue waters of the bay, at the already rusting hulks strewn there. I didn't understand. Why was Krystal ready to take off my head? Dead was dead. Why did it matter how someone died?
More important, what could I do about it?