5.Death of Chaos
XLV
THREE MORNINGS AFTER Justen and Tamra left, I took off the splint. It didn't hurt, but I could feel the weakness of the muscles, and only time and effort would cure that. Then I went back to work on finishing Werfel's desk. Of course, the glue in the pot had hardened. That meant chipping it out and using a mortar and pestle to powder it for a base for a fresh batch.
When I carried the pot into the kitchen, trying not to limp, Rissa looked up from slicing various vegetables.
“More of the awful-smelling glue, Master Lerris?”
“More of the awful-smelling glue, Rissa.”
“Dinner, it should not carry the odor of animals' hoofs.”
“I do need it for the desk I am working on.”
“You have a hearth.” Rissa sniffed.
“It's hard to heat this properly near a fire. A stove works better.” I changed the subject. “What's for dinner?”
“A mutton-spice stew.”
I nodded. Rissa's spiced stews were hot enough to make me forget the taste of mutton, but she wasn't through talking.
“I was talking to Verillya at the market, and she has to cook for Hunsis. He has the hauling yard-the big one off the west highway before you pass the mill road. You know, Master Lerris, you ought to talk to Hunsis. His woman-that's Freka, and she is the one who Verillya really works for-she, I mean Freka, likes fine furniture, and Hunsis certainly brings in enough coins. His wagons run all the way to Sarronnyn now that folks can take the old direct roads, thanks to you...”
As she talked, Rissa kept chopping vegetables and potatoes into the big pot, her fingers almost as quick and deft as Krystal's-almost.
“That is a thought, Rissa. Except I'm having trouble finishing the work I have now.”
“Of course it is a thought. But you should get some help- an apprentice. And you might have more time if you did not travel over and through the mountains...”
“I also might not have a consort, and I might have a very unhappy autarch. But I could use an apprentice.”
“There, there is a point. I will talk to Freka at the market about an apprentice for you.” She paused. “And you should not try to be a hero. If you are both heroes...” Rissa stopped chopping. “I will talk all morning, and then you will not get any woodworking done.”
“Thank you.” I left the pot on the corner of the stove to heat. With Rissa talking about an apprentice, I had no doubts youngsters would start showing up. I worried more about the hero comments. Did I have some sort of sign on me that said I was trying to be a hero? Heroes got killed, in the end. I hoped Krystal didn't want to be one, either.
Back in the shop, I began smoothing the drawer fronts, forcing myself to take my time. I added a log to the coals on the hearth, trying to keep the temperature even, and poured some water into the old iron pot on the hook over the coals. That was another one of those things Uncle Sardit had taught me. Wood works better if the air has some moisture in it.
Wondering didn't create desks, or chairs, and I took the smoothing blade in hand and went back over the front of the top drawer, careful not to nick the edges where the grain can splinter. I had gotten to working on the second drawer's front piece when Rissa banged on the door.
“Master Lerris, your glue's a - bubbling, and I don't want the dinner to smell like glue.”
After setting aside the smoother, I reclaimed the glue from the kitchen and put it on the smaller hearth hook, folded nearly against the side bricks, just so that the fire would keep the pot warm while I brushed the glue over the pegs and eased the top into place.
Then, while it set, because Gairloch needed exercise, and I wanted to see how the leg did riding, I curried Gairloch. I'd told Rissa I'd ride out the west road to Brene's-less than three kays-for some eggs.
“Now, Master Lerris... no more than a copper for the eggs. Brene, she has more eggs than she could ever do with, and that's lucky for us, having no chickens of our own.” Rissa looked out toward the stable. “If we had chickens...”
“No chickens.”
“Brene will be pleased to see you, and then she'll look poor and won't take your coppers until you have to force them on her, and that's how she always gets more.”
I nodded as I half fastened my jacket and edged back out to the yard where Gairloch's breath steamed in the chill.
“No more than a copper, Master Lerris... mind you.”
“Yes, Rissa.”
Whuuuffff... was Gairloch's only comment.
The cold air felt refreshing, and I let Gairloch take his own pace as we headed west. Despite the chill, I could see chickens everywhere once I turned Gairloch onto the drive that led to the small house. Chickens perched on the rail fence that surrounded the hog pen. Although some of the rails had but one end in place, the hogs seemed to be confined to the pen. Then again, maybe some had left. The smart ones?
Another flurry of chickens scurried away from Gairloch as I reined up outside the weathered plank-sided house.
Whufff...uffff...
“I know. I don't like them much either, except to eat.”
The door opened, and Brene waddled out. “Master Lerris! I'd be guessing that you came for some eggs for Rissa. Kind of you to fetch eggs for your own cook, but that's what makes the world turn. Kindness, that is, and a poor place the world would be.” She lifted an empty basket. “I'll be just a moment. Wouldn't be wanting to send you off without the freshest eggs...”
She waddled toward the low chicken coop, the gaps between the rough-cut boards filled with what appeared to be a moss - and - mud mixture. The boards had to have been sawmill rejects, but chickens didn't care, I supposed.
I climbed off Gairloch and tied him to a slanting post that propped up one corner of the sagging porch.
"... just let Mother Brene... don't need all those eggs anyway... more than enough chickens here...
... awwkkkk... awkkk...
I grinned, glad Brene had the chickens and I didn't.
Before long, the portly figure in the mismatched leathers and woolens, sprinkled with feathers and fragments of feathers, waddled back from the coop and presented me with a basket filled with eggs.
“Thank you.” I took the basket and set it on the porch next to the beam to which Gairloch was tethered. “They're large.”
“Good hens I've got, maybe the best west of the city. You know, you have to talk to them, helps them get into laying...”
I extended a copper.
“What? No... we do fine, and I'd scarcely be a neighbor if I took your coins, with all and what you've done for everyone. Master Lerris.”
I held back a grin. “If you don't have some coppers to buy feed for the chickens, then you won't have eggs to share. It's little enough, but you'd do me the pleasure of taking a small token at least-for the chickens, anyway.” I felt that, so long as she had chickens, I wouldn't have to have any.
“No... I couldn't, not being a neighbor.”
I shook my head. “Being your neighbor, I have to insist. It's a pittance for such fine eggs, and they are fine eggs.”
“Aye... well, I do say they're good eggs.”
“That they are.” I put the copper in her palm and closed her fingers around it. “Have you heard from Kertis?”
“Oh, such a lad. He's working hard in the warehouse there in Ruzor. Bursa came back last eight-day to tell me. Bursa travels the Ruzor road for Rinstel. Kertis sent a shawl with Bursa, a warm black one.” Brene smiled. “Bursa says that afore long Kertis will be traveling with him, maybe to Vergren on the wool-buying... almost as good as the wool from the black island... what Kertis says...”
“I'm glad he's doing well.”
“Aye, and I am, too. Never meant to be a holder, the lad, likes the city too much, and the sea's in his blood, just like his father.”
I untied Gairloch and picked up the basket. “What about the basket?”
“You just bring it back next time, or have Rissa do it.”
“We'll bring it back.” Of course, Rissa or I would have to bring it back with something in it-a loaf of special bread or something.
“Take care, Master Lerris. Tell Rissa that Kertis misses her black bread. There's nothing like it in Ruzor. Don't you be forgetting that.”
“I won't.” I had to mount carefully, because of the basket and my leg.
Brene stood in front of the sagging porch until Gairloch turned back north on the main road. The trip home was warmer, or seemed so, because the wind was at my back.
When I reined up outside the stable, I had to hold on to the saddle for a moment after I dismounted. The leg was fine, but I could tell my thigh muscles hadn't been quite ready for a long ride, although Gairloch and I had certainly taken it easy on the way back. I didn't want to break the eggs in the basket-and we hadn't.
After setting the basket on the stall wall, I unsaddled Gairloch.
Wheee... eeee.
“Not enough exercise...”
I fed him a grain cake, but he ate it in three bites, as if it were only his due. He didn't complain when I left, though, and I picked up the basket and carried it across the yard and into the kitchen. “Here are the eggs.”
“Thank ye, Master Lerris. If you'd set them on the table...” Rissa did not turn from the bowls and flour before her.
“I only gave Brene a copper. Kertis sent word through Bursa. She says that Kertis misses your black bread. There's nothing like it in Ruzor.”
“There is nothing like my black bread in Kyphrien or Dasir or Felsa, and all the world knows it...”
“I certainly know it.” The kitchen smelled good, and I contented myself with half a mug of redberry, knowing that our supplies had to last until late in the summer.
“And so does Brene, and she'll be wanting me to put a small loaf in the basket when next I go for eggs.”
“I got that impression.”
“She's a sly one, Brene is, for all that she's a good, woman.” Rissa cleared her throat.
I retreated from the kitchen to the workshop where I did a last polishing of Hensil's chairs before I loaded them on the wagon, padding each one with lint and rags, and covering them with a waxed canvas, just hi case it rained.
Then I sat down for a while to rest, just to catch my breath. I didn't sit down long, because I could smell the hot metal of the dry moisture pot, and I had to refill it. Then I fastened my jacket back on and went out to the stable. After harnessing the cart horse, I guided the horse and wagon out into the yard, limping a bit because my thigh was getting tired. I'd started with the cart, but then Rissa had told me about a spare wagon Hunsis had, and the cart hadn't been big enough. So now I had both cart and wagon. Somehow, I was always ending up with more.
Gairloch whinnied when I took the cart horse.
“You never liked being a cart horse. So don't complain.”
He whinnied anyway, and I felt a little as if I were deserting a friend as I eased the wagon out into the yard.
“Now where are you going?” demanded Rissa, thrusting her head out the kitchen door.
“I'm delivering the chairs to Hensil.”
“You take off that device from your leg, and you are well?”
“Well enough to deliver these and get paid.”
“You men...” But she went back into the kitchen.
I set my staff along the side of the wagon bed where I could reach it. I doubted anyone would want to steal a load of chairs, even expensive chairs, but these days I was discovering all sorts of new and unpleasant truths.
I released the brake and flicked the reins, and nothing happened. I snapped the reins a bit harder. As the wagon lurched forward, I was glad I had padded the chairs. At the end of the drive the wagon half turned, half skidded onto the west road leading into Kyphrien, because I hadn't swung wide enough. Why was it that everything I hadn't done a lot before I seemed to have trouble with?
Krystal was still in Ruzor, or on her way back, and Justen and Tamra were somewhere on the road to Vergren. Although it would be eight-days yet before spring, Justen needed to be there before the ewes were bred. I didn't quite understand the timing because in Recluce, breeding occurred earlier. Were the sheep in Montgren different?
There was still a lot about Candar that I didn't understand- like why Kyphrien was the capital city of Kyphros and so far from the ocean. Of all the countries in Candar that had access to the sea, only Kyphros and Sarronnyn had capital cities that weren't seaports or on major rivers navigable by seagoing vessels. Was it coincidence that both were matriarchies?
The wind was a low moan, coming out of the Westhorns, cold as the ice that it had swept over on its travels from the Roof of the World to the sea.
I flicked the reins gently, not wanting to move the cart horse into a trot that might jolt the chairs-and me-but wanting to move more quickly.
Despite the chill and the recent rains, the road into Kyphrien was fairly smooth. I waved as I passed Jahunt, the old one-eyed peddler who hawked things like scissors and pins for Ginstal.
“Good day, Ser Lerris. Watch for the rain.”
“Good day, Jahunt. The clouds are pretty high for rain.”
“Not high enough, young fellow. Not high enough.”
“We'll see.”
I did try to sense the weather, but didn't have much luck. I'd never had much success with the high winds. I suppose that was why I'd been more than a little surprised, in reflection, on my ability to sense the energy flows beneath the earth. Who'd ever heard of an earth wizard? Then, outside of finding metals, what use was an earth wizard who was an order-mage? Maybe that was me, master of mostly useless order magic.
Farther toward the city, two guards and a huge wagon covered with canvas, but only half full, passed me. Both guards wore blue surcoats and light chain mail under the coats- enough to stop casual brigands, I supposed, but not much match for a good blade or even a good staff.
The white-bearded guard glared at me, and I glared back, but he didn't lift a blade, and they rode past. I cast out my senses to see what the wagon was carrying that was so valuable. Only the sense of clothlike tubes came back to me. Then I nodded to myself-carpets, carpets from Sarronnyn. That explained the blue surcoats and the guards. The patterned Sarronnese carpets were among the best in the world, if not the very best.
The west gate-really the southwest gate, but everyone called it the west gate-was unguarded, but all the gates to Kyphrien were unguarded. Why not, if an enemy had to travel days just to get there?
Cold or not, the marketplace was filled, and I could hear the usual commotion from three blocks away-which was as far as I could keep from the square. The only circular roads in Kyphrien were inside the city, from military planning, I guessed.
“Fresh chickens!!!! Get your fresh...”
“... spices... spices straight from the docks of Ruzor...”
“... corn flour...”
Two youngsters glanced at the wagon, then at me. One frowned, then shook his head at the other, and they slipped into an alley. I glanced down at the staff, glad I had brought it.
I found the south road and turned onto it, looking back for the young thieves, but caught no glimpses of them, as the wagon gently shook its way over the stones.
Once past the southern gate to Kyphrien, the clamor died away, but the roughness of the ride did not. Especially after I guided the wagon over the stone bridge of the Ruzor road, the clay ruts on the southern road were frozen into jokingly uneven obstacles. With every bump my leg twinged, and I wished I were riding Gairloch.
The ruts evened out as I headed south into the hills that held the faded gray-green leaves of the olive groves. Hensil's house sprawled over the hillside amid those groves-a low and white-walled building that seemed to take as much space as a small grove.
All the bumps stopped once I drove past the twin posts that marked the beginning of the drive up to the stables that served the house. The drive was graveled and graded smooth, and I shook my head, deciding that I should have asked for more for the chairs.
Two guards stopped me a good hundred cubits from the main yard. One held a crossbow on me-stupid, in a way, because it's only good for one shot. The other waved a blade that I could have taken away with one blow of the staff.
“What's your business?”
“I'm Lerris, the woodcrafter. I'm delivering the chairs that Master Hensil commissioned.” I gestured toward the back of the wagon.
He lifted several rags and sacks before pointing toward the yard.
It wasn't that easy, not with the half-dozen guards in the yard, all of whom had to check that the chairs were indeed chairs. What else did Hensil do besides grow olives?
The carved double doors with the inlaid glass panels didn't diminish my suspicions, nor did the long stable, or the golden-oak coach being polished by three grooms. Of course, olive-growing could have been highly profitable.
Hensil, almost overflowing his brilliant blue tunic and trousers, and bulging over a silver-buckled belt that barely held his trousers closed, arrived even before the last guard had finished inspecting the chairs.
He bowed with that excessive gesture that signified no respect at all. “Ah, Master Lerris.”
“The same.” I inclined my head. “I have delivered your chairs.”
“I can't say as I expected them so soon.” Hensil looked at the wagon.
His consort, a graying woman as slender as he was ample, stood under the portico, saying nothing, a heavy green woolen shawl wrapped around her.
“A man of your eminence should have his commissions when they are ready.”
“I had heard that you were injured.”
I inclined my head again. “I was, but the leg injury left me more time to work on the detail you requested.”
He finally nodded. “Well, let us see if they will do...”
I bit my tongue and climbed down off the wagon seat, having already set the brake earlier. I slowly removed the canvas, and then the chairs, carrying them up the three steps one by one onto the covered porch.
Hensil watched, trying to keep his face impassive, but his eyes glittered, especially when they rested on the inlaid H in the back of each. His consort looked at each one, then at the olive grower.
Finally, as I carried the eighth one onto the porch, she slipped up to him, and he bent down. I strained for the words.
“... beautiful... but they make the table look poor.”
“Cover it with linen,” he mumbled back, straightening.
Then I watched as he inspected every join, every angle. He didn't look at the way the grains matched, and that bothered me, because that was really the hardest part, to make each part seem to flow together.
“They seem adequate,” the grower observed.
“I think you will find them more than adequate, Ser Hensil.” I gave him the overly deep bow he had used earlier.
He started to scowl, then smiled, looking more like a hungry mountain cat than a man, but I really didn't care. I knew the chairs were good.
“We'd agreed on fifteen,” he finally said, his voice jovial.
“We did.” I smiled back, adding, “And that's a bargain. You did well, Master Grower.”
“... uppity crafter...” The mumble came from one of the guards.
“... idiot...” hissed another. “He's a black mage, too, that one is.”
I heard a swallow, but Hensil ignored it.
“One moment, Master Lerris.” The olive grower walked back into the house.
His consort looked at the chairs, looked at me, and smiled briefly. She still said nothing to me, although her eyes flicked toward the guards. Under the circumstances, it was probably better.
From what I'd seen, even as rough as I was with the staff, I probably could have taken any of the guards, but not the whole dozen-but Tamra and I might have together-if my leg had been fully healed.
Hensil returned with a leather purse. “Here you are.”
As I took it, I could sense the golds, and there were sixteen.
. “Thank you.”
“You didn't count them.”
“I appreciate the extra, Ser Hensil.”
There was another swallow from the guard nearest the steps.
Hensil actually laughed. “I might like you yet, Master Lerris.” He gestured.“Send back a small barrel of the black olives with the craftmaster. He deserves some of our best. We've his.”
He had style, and I grinned back at him with a headshake.
Even his consort smiled faintly.
The small barrel of olives was the size of a flour barrel and probably worth two golds itself. Hensil and his consort and the chairs had disappeared through the glassed doors before the olives and I rolled down the drive and back toward Kyphrien.
Once I was clear of the estate, I did check the purse, and there were sixteen standard golds. I looked at the staff. I now had a reason for it, but the barrel of olives might actually deter thieves, since they might figure I had no coin, only olives. I hoped so.
Jahunt had been right, of course. No sooner was I back on the Ruzor road toward Kyphrien than it began to drizzle, almost an ice mist that froze my lungs and created a deep aching in my leg.
The rain also deterred would-be thieves, or maybe my totally bedraggled appearance did. By the time I bounced back to the house, my jacket was damp through, and ice flakes were crusted into my hair, while my ears were freezing. I didn't have that much order strength left, I'd discovered.
Rissa, of course, greeted me.
“Master Lerris.” Rissa shook her head. “For a craftmaster, you'll be having no sense at all. Out in the rain yet, and that leg is still not healed. It won't be healed when you're old and gray the way you treat it.”
“It was clear when I left.” I glared at her. “And if I don't deliver my work, then I don't get paid, and we don't eat. I like eating better than not eating.” I pointed to the olive barrel. “For a bonus, Hensil sent a barrel of black olives, the good ones, he said.”
“Olives are well enough, and we can use them, but coin is better.”
“There was also a one-gold bonus.”
For a moment, only a moment, she was speechless, since a gold was half a season's wages, and I paid better than many. “Best you get that poor horse into the stable and come into the kitchen. A kettle of warm cider I'll have on the table, and there's a loaf of black bread just ready to come out of the oven.”
I thought that meant she approved.
After eating, I decided I didn't have to go to work immediately, not on crafting, not on Werfel's desk. That could wait. Instead, I took out a quill pen. I dreaded writing the letter, but my parents did deserve that.
“Good,” stated Rissa. “You work too hard.”
In one way, Rissa was right, and the kitchen was warm, and my leg and muscles were sore. In another way, she was wrong. Writing the postponed letter was scarcely going to be easy.
She continued to work on the next loaves of bread as I wrote. Sometimes, I stopped and just let the smell of yeast and fresh damp dough roll around me.
I had more bread, and I actually finished a whole loaf myself.
Later, I looked at the letter. Deciding to write had not been easy, nor had the words come easily, but my parents at least deserved to know that I was well and prospering-at least relatively. My eyes skipped down the pages.
... regret it has taken me so long to send word... hope and trust you are well... for a time was an apprentice to your brother Justen... then Uncle Sardit will be relieved, I hope, to learn that I have returned to woodworking... a journeyman in Fenard for a year or so... now have a small shop in Kyphrien... need to seek an apprentice... that should give Uncle Sardit a laugh...
... have joined with Krystal, from Extina... beginning to understand something about love... she is commander of the autarch's blades... share a home when she is not planning campaigns or fighting them... even have learned to ride a mountain pony named Gairloch...
... have had some adventures with various white wizards... recovering from assorted injuries... and concentrating on woodworking more now...
... still do not believe that order is of necessity boring, but that there is far too great a danger in failing to explain what order is and what it means... telling a youngster that order is important is meaningless without showing why-and Recluce is so ordered that the dangers are not at all obvious...
I didn't know if what I had written about order was quite right, but the general idea was. No one likes to accept “because that's the way it is” as an answer, especially young people, and while people like my father and Justen with vast experience found certain aspects of the world obvious, the rest of us didn't.
“Won't be long 'fore dinner, Master Lerris.”
I took the hint and folded the letter. Then I went back to the workshop and put my seal across it, and set it aside in the box for my papers-who would have thought that being a woodworker meant keeping stacks of papers?
I shook my head. Tomorrow I'd have to ride into Kyphrien to arrange for it to be carried to Recluce. Probably one of the wool merchants-like Clayda-could do it.
I checked the water in the moisture pot and added a log to the shop hearth before heading back to the washroom.