5.Death of Chaos
CXV
THE DYLYSS DISAPPEARED after my father provided a letter saying that he would return with such aid as he was able. The captain had promised that a Nordlan ship would be porting within the next few days.
“A few days?” asked Tamra at breakfast. “A few days? First, they want help, and then-”
“You don't move a large fleet that quickly,” observed my father. “Most of the Hamorian ships are still in Dellash, according to the captain, and there are still a few more en route from Hamor. That's three days from here, and another three to Recluce, but they'd probably take on fresh water and supplies in Freetown and Renklaar.”
“Still...” mumbled Tamra, as she munched through hard bread.
The plain fact was that we didn't have a ship, and Recluce didn't like the idea of us on one of the secret warships.
After chewing our own way through the hard bread and harder cheese, Krystal and I walked out into the courtyard, and the sunlight, a shade less intense as the fall finally neared. The warmth felt welcome, but in a strange way, since I wasn't cold.
“You're cold?” I asked.
“The sun feels good.”
Was I feeling what she felt?
“Yes.” The words came with a smile.
I reached out and touched her fingers, and the feel of chill and the welcome of the sun's warmth were stronger.
“This is odd.”
“You feel warm enough,” she said, “but I'm a little chilly.”
There was a silence.
“Have you talked to your guards?” I finally asked.
“I don't know that I want to take Perron,” mused Krystal. “He has a three-month-old son.”
“Weldein would go,” I pointed out.
“You noticed that?”
“Even / noticed that.”
“Kasee probably wouldn't mind, but I'll have to talk to her. What are you going to do?”
I didn't know. “Maybe help the townspeople.”
“Hmmm... well... they could use it.”
I could sense some doubt. “You're doubtful?”
“Yes. I don't know why.”
“I'll groom Gairloch and think about it while you're talking with Kasee.” I kissed her cheek, and she smelled good.
“Lecherous man.”
I was. I couldn't deny it, but she smiled, and I hoped she always would. Then she walked toward the autarch's residence.
I had just about finished brushing Gairloch when Justen wandered into the stable, except the gray wizard never wandered anywhere. His eyes fell on the tools. “I see you're thinking about helping more with the rebuilding of Ruzor.”
“I had thought about it.”
His skin wasn't so wrinkled, but his hair had remained gray, and he looked older, almost beyond middle age. “Have you thought about how you intend to take on the Hamorian grand fleet?”
“No.” I'd thought I'd think about that when the time came.
He sighed, and I knew I'd said something wrong. So I put down the brush, and gave Gairloch a thump on the neck.
Whheeee... eeeee...
“I know. Uncle Justen has reminded his nephew that he has once more failed in his duties.” I smiled at Justen. “Where shall we go?”
He sat down on a bale of hay. “Here's as good as anywhere. ”
I sat down on another bale.
Justen just looked at me. Finally, he asked. “You love Krystal, don't you?”
I nodded.
“Then, if you don't want to kill her, why don't you start thinking?” He held up a hand. “I've seen you do woodwork. You plan. You sketch. You check wood. You test finishes and all sorts of other things I wouldn't understand in years. Why is working with order and chaos any different?”
I just sat there. Why wasn't it any different? It wasn't. So I shook my head.
He stood.
“Wait. You're putting this all on me. The Council asked my father.”
“Your father nearly killed himself destroying perhaps thirty ships in a relatively small bay. I aged a lot in destroying a few thousand troops, and I had your help and Dayala's.”
“I aged-”
“That was stupidity and lack of planning.” He shrugged. “It's your choice. I just thought I'd ask.”
He nodded and walked out. I picked up the tools and put them back into the bin where I'd stored them. Then I walked down toward the old fort on the breakwater. I knew I'd be alone there.
The pile of rubble outside the barracks was gone, but the hole in the wall remained. There weren't enough stonemasons for all the holes in Ruzor. Something glinted between the bricks, and I bent over. What looked to be a silver fragment of a necklace lay between two old bricks. Whose? How long had it been between the bricks? I studied the wall, felt its sense of age, and wondered if fragments of jewelry, or less, were all that any of us left. I swallowed and resumed walking.
The fort wasn't as quiet as I remembered. The Spidlarian iron merchant had levered aside the fallen stones to open the breakwater to his wagons and workers, and like ants, they clambered over the nearest Hamorian hull. Banging and clanging echoed across the harbor.
I kicked a fragment of shattered stone, and it splashed into the water. What could I do? I mean, what could I really do? The shattered stones piled across the breakwater showed the effectiveness of the Hamorian cannon, and hundreds of ships could rain down enough shells to turn Nylan into a pile of gravel. Out in the Easthorns, I hadn't been able to deflect a boulder or two without nearly getting pulped. I couldn't imagine stopping falling shells.
I kicked another stone chip into the harbor and looked down the breakwater at the dark hull that the Spidlarian iron merchant's crew was already chiseling apart.
If I couldn't stop falling shells, then that meant stopping the ships before the shells were fired. But how could I do that?
I kicked another stone chip, trying to let my senses touch the ship's hull through the cold water. I shivered. The days before we left seemed short, all too short for what I had to learn.