5.Death of Chaos
XII
East of Lavah, Sligo [Candar]
AFTER DRAWING BACK the drapery that covers the shelves of the rough bookcase against the cottage wall, the man in brown smiles. His eyes stop on each volume, as if to drink the words and the knowledge within.
“What you could tell...” He laughs. “What you do tell. What you are already telling!” Then he shakes his head. “For so long, so long, you have been hidden.”
The clopping of hoofs on the hard ground outside drifts through the half-open window by the crude door. Sammel lets the cloth drop across the front of the case, leaving what appears as a draped but narrow table.
He turns and walks to the door, which he opens. He steps out and stands on the crude stone stoop, looking westward toward the small river valley that holds the town, although Lavah is more of a hamlet than a town.
On the stoop he waits for the two figures who have tethered their horses to the rude hitching rail beside the first of the irregular stones that form a rough walk to the cottage door. The high thin clouds turn the sun's golden-white light into a bright grayish-white.
“Greetings.”
“Greetings be to you, Master Sammel.” The thin trader walks toward the cottage.
Sammel steps inside and walks to the crude table, where he picks up a single scroll.
“What is there of value in a scroll?”
“This one contains a way of separating natural waxes and fats. It will give you a means to make better candles.” Sammel hands the scroll to the trader.
“Better candles? When they have gas lamps on Recluce? And good oil lamps in Freetown and Hydolar?”
“How many candles are sold every year? How many people buy lamps and how many buy candles?” Sammel shakes his head. “People will pay more for better candles.”
The thin trader nods his head. “Aye... I suppose so. Theryck would pay for it. He's the renderer in Tyrhavven.” He sets a pouch on the table and steps back.
Sammel leaves the pouch where the trader placed it.
“Master Wizard Sammel, begging your pardon, ser, but what do ye suggest we do about the Duke's taxes?” The shorter trader glances nervously from the man in brown to the doorway of the small cottage.
The cold light coming through the window glistens white.
The trader wipes his forehead and tugs at his salt - and - pepper beard.
“I doubt that Duke Colaris will be worrying about trying to collect taxes in Sligo for much longer.” Sammel's voice is smooth and deep. He smiles politely.
“What's that mean?” The shorter trader halts his pacing by the door to look at the balding wizard.
“Refuse to pay his taxes. He has no claim over Sligo.”
“An' maybe not, but he's got an army, and that's something we don't.” The thin trader studies the white shaft of light coming through the window, and finally lifts his arm through it. The sparkling white dust motes dance, and the sunbeam shimmers enough to cast faint shadows on the dark walls.
“Then wait,” counsels Sammel. “Make an excuse to his tax-collectors. There will be more than enough chaos in Freetown to keep them and the Duke busy before long.”
“You saying that Duke Berfir's goin' to strip the hide right off old Colaris? Don't see how as that can be, seeing as Colaris's got near on twice as many troops.”
“Then why do you bother to consult me? You know more than I do.” Sammel's voice remains calm, almost soft. He smiles a warm smile, focused into a distance the others do not see.
The thin trader glares at the shorter one by the door.
The short trader looks at the floor. “Beggin' your pardon, ser. That be not so. You know more, but we don't know enough to know what we don't know.”
“That was well put, Master Trader.” Sammel chuckles, a warming sound, and looks at the hearth, on which the fires seem to intensify their flames and heat. “Duke Berfir has a strong wizard, perhaps not strong enough for all eventualities, but strong enough to hold the south against the autarch. Duke Berfir also has weapons that spew fire. They are terrible weapons, and little that Duke Colaris has will stand against them in the open field.”
“What's to keep Duke Colaris from making such weapons?”
“Nothing-except he has not the knowledge to construct them. Knowledge is power, especially for a ruler. That's a lesson that has been forgotten.”
The short trader looks at Sammel. “Why you telling us this? What's in it for you?”
“For me? Call it the love of knowledge. Say that knowledge is a friend who was buried too soon and for too long.”
The shorter trader rolls his eyes.
“Think that I am mad, do you? Watch!” Sammel thrusts a hand, index finger extended, toward the glass of water on the table. From the water a line of fire rises and unfolds into a flower. Then it vanishes. “All vanishes except knowledge.”
The two traders shake their heads.
Sammel looks at the two, and his deep-set eyes glow. “You think that I am just a mad wizard.”
The two step back involuntarily.
"What is the knowledge of the price of a spice worth? The knowledge of the value of a cargo? You deal in knowledge, and you cannot see its value? You purchase knowledge, and you cannot see its power?
“Knowledge is my friend, and my ally, and he is far more powerful than any Duke, far more powerful than even the Emperor of great Hamor.”
“Beggin' yer pardon, Ser Wizard... we never said it wasn't so.”
“Then I would ask you not to roll your eyes at me, Ser Trader.”
“No, ser. No, ser.”
Sammel watches as the two back out the door.
Once the sound of hoofs fades, he laughs.