5.Death of Chaos
LVI
SINCE KRYSTAL WAS in Dasir-some sort of shake-up with the outliers and some problem in the region involving the local and the regional commander-I was up early. I'd fed and groomed Gairloch and the mare. After feeding the two, I took out my staff and worked a little with the exercise bag, until I was sweating. By then I felt guilty for taking the time. I always seemed to be rushing from one thing to another.
By the time I actually got to woodwork, my tunic was damp, not from exercise but from crossing the yard to and from the barn in the rain-four times-to clean the stables and feed Gairloch and the mare, and because I'd had to get some oil from the far shed.
Outside the shop the rain continued to pelt against the shop windows. Chilly as it seemed, it was warmer than it had been, and in Kyphros no one said anything about the late winter and early spring rains because there was seldom much moisture after that-not until the next winter.
The little details ate into my time at every opportunity. If it weren't the need to get finishing oil or lamp oil, it was time to sweep the floor, or refill the moisture pot, or sharpen the chisels, or take the saws to Ginstal for sharpening, or reformulate the glue, or fix a stool or chair for Rissa. That didn't even include such problems as lying flat on my back for nearly a season, or trying to improve my staff skills. With the chores held at bay, I was working on Antona's desk, muttering to myself, because the way I'd drawn the framework for the pedestals wasn't going to work. Like a lot of things, the plan looked good, but sharp edges weren't good planning because they get chipped or they hurt people. Rounding corners is better planning, but every piece has to be double mitred. Some crafters don't-they just use a forty-five-degree angle and then plane the angles down. When I tried that, each one looked subtly different, and I wasn't about to charge fifty golds for a desk with different roundings. With a simple-looking piece, for the wood surfaces to fit, I had to trim each internal brace piece exactly the same-for the entire two-plus cubits. It was easy enough, but time-consuming. Cherry is hard, and the least impatience usually ruins the wood under the blade.
As I'd suspected, Antona's desk was going to be more involved than I had figured-even though I'd thought that when I had priced it.
“Master Lerris-someone's driving into the yard,” Rissa announced from the door to the shop.
“I'm coming.” I set down the calipers and walked right onto the step under the front eave. A well-kept covered trap, with polished brasswork, was pulling into the yard. The driver wore both a waterproof and livery. Anyone who had a two-wheeled carriage also had a full-sized carriage, and anyone who could afford both was clearly wealthy.
The thin and white-haired man who stepped from the carriage and walked up to the narrow porch created by the overhanging eaves and the wide stone step was Finance Minister Zeiber. The first time I'd met him had been at the dinner where I first met the autarch, and Minister Zeiber had suggested my approach to Antonin had been too theoretical.
I still didn't like him, but I opened the door to the shop and gestured for him to enter. “Please come in, Minister Zeiber.”
Rissa stepped back and headed for the kitchen, not that I blamed her.
I followed him inside and closed the door.
“You are said to be a fine crafter.” Zeiber's deep-set eyes did not meet mine, but traversed the shop, settling for a minute on the partly completed framework for the desk pedestal. “What is that?”
“That's the beginning of a double-pedestal desk.”
“Hmmm...” He cleared his throat and looked back to me.
I couldn't really sense much in the way of disorder about him, but he made me feel uneasy. Was there such a thing as ordered-dishonesty? Or dishonesty that didn't involve chaos?
“I would like to commission a simple bookcase.”
“Do you have any idea of exactly what you want? Size, number of shelves, height of shelves? What type of wood?”
“It does not have to be large...” His eyes roamed back across the shop, stopping on the moisture pot. “What is in the pot?”
“Water. It keeps the wood from splitting if I keep the air a little moister. In the summer, I don't need the pot, but I hang damp cloths around.”
Zeiber nodded. “You are very thorough as a crafter. Surely, you could use your... other abilities...”
I laughed-softly, I hoped. “That takes a great deal of effort. What counts is how the piece looks in your home, not how it looks here.”
He waited.
“Do you want me to sketch some rough ideas for you?”
“Oh, no. I want a case with four shelves. Each shelf would be three-quarters of a cubit above the one below. The bottom shelf should be a half cubit off the floor, and the legs should be strong enough to bear four stone worth of books. The wood should be the strongest possible.”
“For a bookcase, I'd suggest red or black oak. Lorken is too brittle, and cherry isn't strong enough. The nut woods could be rather expensive.”
“The case should be dark.”
“Black oak?”
“How much would that cost?”
“First, let me sketch what you told me.”
The public works minister frowned, but I sketched, until I had the piece laid out on paper. “Is this what you had in mind?”
“Are the legs thick enough?”
“That's why I planned to slant them in the arcs. The weight is gradually shifted to the bearing surface.” I used the quill to point out what I meant. “Here the weight rests across the entire top of the leg piece. What you don't see is that I'll run another piece of oak all the way around the inside here to reinforce the legs. That way, you'll have grace and strength.”
“You would use oak where it cannot be seen?”
“Minister Zeiber, you wish a strong case, do you not?”
“How much?”
“Eight golds,” I told him. “If you are not satisfied when it's done, you do not have to accept it.”
“And lose my deposit, I suppose?”
“No. There is no deposit.”
“How do you make coins, young fellow?”
“Frankly, if you don't want it, I could probably sell it for more to someone else.”
“Oh...” Zeiber looked positively disappointed, and he stood there for a long moment. “You will inform me when it is complete?”
“I will deliver it when it is complete-if that is agreeable?”
“Oh, most certainly.” He nodded. “You do run a different business, crafter, but to each his own. Good day.”
I barely got to the door before he did, and I watched as the trap carried him out of the yard and back toward Kyphrien.
The whole business bothered me more than a little. Minister Zeiber was in charge of public works, basically the main roads and bridges-mostly the metaled ones. I'd bid the bookcase low because I felt Zeiber had commissioned it not because of my skill, but because of my consort. There was no way I wanted it construed as an indirect bribe. He'd been surprised at my indications that I had bid lower than the going price. The whole thing bothered me. If I didn't take the work, then I was too good to do it, and that caused problems. Besides, Krystal was important enough that I'd run into the same problem with anything I did. That meant I had to do good work, and even then I wasn't going to be certain if I were getting the commission because of my skill or contacts.
Still, I needed work at the moment, and puzzling about the customer's motivations wasn't going to get the commission started.
I had just finished sketching out the last of the details for the bookcase for Minister Zeiber when I heard another horse. After setting down the quill, I walked to the door. The rain had completely stopped earlier, but the yard was muddy.
The small man on the horse wore a peaked cap of green and white plaid wool, and a quilted brown waterproof over it. Clearly at home in the saddle, he vaulted down with an ease that equaled Krystal's, tied the horse to the post with three quick turns, and bounced up to the step.
“Master Lerris, I trust?”
“I'm Lerris. How might I help you?” I held the door and gestured.
“Thank you. Thank you. I'm Preltar. I'm a wool factor- the man who deals mostly with the Analerian herders.”
That explained his ease on horseback. According to the history I'd learned from Lortren and the Brotherhood, Analeria had been the high plains region between what were now Gallos and Kyphros, when they all had been ruled from Fenard. Then Jeslek, the High Wizard of Fairhaven, had raised the Little Easthorns, driving the nomadic herders-those that survived- into the high grasslands of southwest Kyphros. The Analerians lived on horseback, and distrusted those who did not or could not ride.
“I take it that you want some woodworking done?” I closed the door.
“Quite so. Quite so.” He unfastened his jacket, rubbed his hands, then pulled off the wool cap. He had a shiny bald head and bushy white eyebrows that gave him a hawkish look. “A dowry chest. Yes, a dowry chest.”
I drifted toward the bench that held my makeshift drafting board. “Do you have any idea of what you want?”
Preltar wandered toward the beginnings of the frame of Antona's desk. “This? What might this be?”
“It's the beginning of the left pedestal of a twin-pedestal desk.”
“I see. But you're using cherry for the frame?”
I nodded. “Good crafting starts on the inside.”
“Good crafting starts on the inside! Ha! I like that. I do like that. Good crafting starts on the inside.”
I waited.
“Ah, yes, a dowry chest. It must be a quality chest, and of course it has to be of cedar, to keep the woolens and the linens, you understand, and the hinges must be beautiful and brass. Brass doesn't rust, and, if it's lacquered... but you understand all that. Hylera is marrying-we're old-fashioned, you know, and the ceremony will be in the Temple. Most folks don't think all that ceremony is necessary, but blood will tell, you know?”
Blood probably did tell, but that wasn't anything I'd choose to explore.
“Well... blood is blood, and Jisrek-he's Kilert's father- trades more in the southeast off the grasses at the edge of the High Desert. The wool is tougher there, but who wants clothes as tough as cordage? Kilert is more into the factoring-he spends most of his time in Ruzor, and since he and Hylera will be moving to Ruzor, she must have a good-quality dowry chest. Hensil, except it was really Verin-she told Mura, and Mura, well, it wouldn't do that anyone but you craft the dowry chest. Ha!”
I was breathless by then, and I hadn't even done the talking. “Hylera is your daughter. You want a dowry chest for her. It should be made entirely from cedar, preferably using the most aromatic wood to line the inside, and the hinges should be both strong and decorative, and they should be of brass?”
“Exactly! Just so. Just so. Verin said you understood what she needed, and she never talked to you even.”
“How big a chest?”
“How big? How big? Hylera... she never said, but she will be getting linens and woolens and darkness knows how many cloths and things. How big do you think it should be, Mastercrafter?”
“If it is a decorative piece, it should be smaller-probably no more than three or three and a half cubits, and a cubit to a cubit and a half high.” I bent down and used my hands to indicate the approximate size.
Preltar frowned.
“I could make it bigger, but the bigger it is the heavier it gets.”
“Heavier... yes... but she will have much to store in it.”
It was his chest-or hers? “How about this big?” I motioned again, using my hands to draw in the air a piece a third again the size of the first.
“Much better. Much better.”
I turned to the drawing board and dipped the quill, then sketched out a simple design. “How about something along these lines?”
“Hylera said something about a bumper rail... a bumper rail...”
“Yes. You run a coping around the edges at the top and bottom.” I sketched those in.
“Better. Better. And what about the hinges?”
In the corner of the paper, I drew several types of hinges- strap hinges, inside hinges, and big decorative butterfly hinges.
“Those. Yes, those are it exactly.” He pointed to the decorative butterfly hinges. “And it should be appropriate to their station, and their entrance into Ruzor. Yes... most appropriate...”
I'd have to get a coppersmith to do the too-elaborate butter-fly hinges on his daughter's chest. That might be a problem because I didn't know arty of the coppersmiths that well. So far, I'd gotten by with ironwork from Ginstal.
Borlo did good work, supposedly, but outside of three words once, I'd never really spoken to him. There was also a woman-Merrin-who had come from Southwind. I took a deep breath. I probably needed to visit them both if I needed metalwork. Like everything else, one thing led to another.
“This will be too much, Mastercrafter? Too much? You sighed.”
“I did sigh, but that was not for this chest.” The lie tightened my guts, and my head throbbed for a moment. “I was thinking about other items not within my control. I apologize. Is there anything else you would like? Or that your daughter would need in this chest?”
“Two compartments-one for linens and the other for woolens. Yes, I should have mentioned that. But ordering chests, I don't do that often, although I will, I suppose, next year again, when it gets to be Gresta's turn, and two years after that... you see, Mastercrafter, you could see many chests.” Preltar beamed. “Is it possible to get this chest for five golds?”
The hinges would probably cost me close to a gold with the decorative nature. If the top were too heavy, I might have to reinforce them with inside hinges, although I hoped to avoid that. Cedar wasn't cheap, either.
“Alas, no. The materials alone might run that.” That was an overstatement, and, again, my guts protested. This part of the business I did hate, because bargaining is based on deception of sorts, and deception is more than a little hard on me.
“I see. I see, and the look on your face tells me that it must be close to true. Fine, yes, fine, and the word is that you are honest, as honest as any, more honest than any, in fact. You tell me what a fair price might be.”
“One last question, Master Preltar. You want two compartments. Do you want separate flat lids inside?”
“Oh, yes. Of course. One would not want anything to mix from the linens to the wools. Yes, very separate compartments.”
“Eleven golds, and I'll deliver it anywhere around Kyphrien.” With his mention of Ruzor, I wasn't about to commit to that.
His lips pursed for a moment. “More than I had thought, yes, more, but Hermiel had said it would be fifteen and not a copper less.” He smiled. “In these things, she is often closer to the coin than I. Done for eleven, and I would hope that it could be done before the harvest.”
“I would hope so, also.”
“A pleasure doing business with you, Master Lerris. A pleasure, indeed, and if you need the finest and softest wool in Kyphros, Preltar will have it. Yes, indeed, we will have it.”
After he rode off I wiped my forehead and took a deep pull of cold water, afraid that my tongue might race away after listening to his rapid words.
I finished sketching what Preltar wanted before I went back to the design for Minister Zeiber. Then I harnessed the cart and drove down to Faslik's. I didn't see Wegel, but one of Faslik's older sons helped me. The wood for both pieces came to nearly seven golds, although that really wasn't right, because I'd have some left over, and in time, the remnants were often sufficient for smaller pieces. At least they had been when I had worked in Destrin's shop, and Uncle Sardit had assured me that such was often the case.
That night, after I unloaded and racked the wood, with Krystal gone, Rissa and I had leftover stew with fresh bread. I climbed into bed early to get the weight off my leg.
I didn't drop off to sleep immediately, not with my mind going over Minister Zeiber's commission. Why had he done it? Was he trying to get around Mureas and to Krystal through me? Talkative as he had been, Preltar had almost been a relief, although his tactics had probably gotten him the chest cheaper than I would have offered. The next time, if there were to be a next time, would be different. I just hadn't run into a Preltar before, and I learn better from experience, as I had unhappily discovered. Others' words didn't always mean something to me, unfortunately, as both Justen and my father and Uncle Sardit-and I-had discovered.
Grrrrrurrr...
Although the rain had stopped, the wind had picked up after I had put out the lanterns, and sometimes the house timbers groaned in the wind. I hadn't noticed the sound at dinner, but in the darkness I did.
The sound seemed familiar-familiar beyond even the sound itself. Certainly, the groaning happened in any high wind, but, as I lay in my bed wishing Krystal were there, the repeated groans reminded me of something else.
My father had always made me try to follow the winds, but the winds didn't sound like that. I lay in the darkness and tried to recall where that sound had come from. The house had certainly groaned in the wind many times before, but I'd never had the feeling before. Why not? What had happened?
Grrrrurrrrr...
Gerlis! The feeling beneath the ground in the brimstone spring valley! The groaning of hot molten rock and fire...
I cast my thoughts downward, and let my mind follow my senses through the clay, through the rocks, this time not forcing them, but following the broader paths of order. It seemed almost effortless-until deep below Kyphros I could feel the mixing of iron and chaos, chaos and iron. And the iron held the chaos, no matter how much the chaos twisted.
Beneath the earth, the intertwining of order and chaos seemed more complex. Why was the Balance more simple in the open air than beneath the surface of the earth? Or was everything more complex beneath what seemed to be?
I tried to let my senses pass through the subtle mixtures of ordered red and white iron and white-red chaos that seemed pure fiery destruction. Mixtures of order and chaos, patterns intertwining, caught my senses, and I felt myself drawn to them. There-an upwelling of pure black, somehow brilliant white-red simultaneously, twisted around a fountain of white tinged with red, and.beyond it a rhythmic pulsing of smaller order-beats against a squarer kind of chaos, like a level almost, except how could chaos have any order or form? How could chaos be like a level?
Had there always been such an intertwining of order and chaos? I tried to let myself drift along the lines of order, along the forces that made Gerlis's and Antonin's powers seem small, toward a small fountain of blackness that somehow seemed to geyser deep out of the melting rocks far below, far below Kyphros. Even as my senses drew near, the fountain changed, and a torrent of white boiled around the blackness, and red chaos oozed, then spurted forth.
A cool thread of black beckoned, and for an instant, I felt as though I almost understood the interweavings of the patterns, like the grains of a perfect inlay on a lorken table.
A line of molten chaos, red with dull white, lashed from nowhere, and needles like knives burned through me. Another, thicker band of white began to twine around my senses, dragging me deeper into the depths. Realizing that I could get trapped within the depths, like Justen had somehow trapped the wizards of Frven, I tried to wrench free-even as another thinner white line slashed at me again, moving impossibly quickly in the deeps.
A band of black, ordered iron, ripped at me, and another line of white, tinged with red, slashed, and my soul and my face burned. Beneath Kyphros, in those depths, I struggled, recalling belatedly, again, Justen's cautions, and lessons.
I forced myself, my senses, into a ball of self.
I am me! I am Lerris! Lerris... Lerris... LERRIS!!!!
The lashes of chaos and order continued, but I could feel their powers weakening, and I redoubled my efforts, trying to master myself before chaos and order did.
I am me! Me... me... ME!!!!!
An image formed-one that I knew was not real-and yet it was.
A figure in green stepped forward, out of the depths, lifting a blade. I strained to see the face, but shadows remained across the face of the soldier who carried no shield, only the short cavalry blade. Then, out of the shadows, two soulful eyes pierced me.
I died for you, and death is chaos. You, the great wizard, and you have left me in the depths, and I followed you and saved you. You have multiplied death, with fire and brimstone, and never will I see Barrabra again.
Though I could not move, though my senses and body were separated, I shuddered, then tried to look through the figure with my order senses, but only the tiniest pulses of energy appeared behind the image that extended a blade that became a staff as it was extended-a staff filled with the fire of chaos.
Take it... it is yours... great master of chaos...
Master of chaos? Never! I tried to push the staff away.
... take if...
The figure of Shervan hurled the staff at me, and a dull aching smashed across my chest.
... it is yours, great wizard, great master of chaos...
The image of the outlier faded, but another appeared, that of a dark-haired woman in white. She smiled, and beckoned, but an ugly burned slash across her neck looked like a second mouth, gaping, opening...
... oh, Lerris, you loved me, or you loved the body I held, and you killed me... you loved me... and I suffered this from your love... I gave up my life so that your love could live, and you threw it away...
No! I did not love you. I never loved you.
... but you did, and you hated her... and you twisted her and killed me...
You killed yourself. You took what never belonged to you!
Those white-clad arms grasped for me, and I threw up a shield, but a finger, impossibly long, reached out and seized my left arm, and those nails flared fire, and I could feel my flesh sizzling, smell the stench of burned flesh.
... you loved her, and your love killed me... and will kill her...
I pushed away the image of Sephya, and yet another rose out of the endless depths beneath Kyphros-a sandy-haired woman in green leathers with a jagged scar across her cheek urged her mount toward me, then reined up. Her shortsword jabbed at my breast.
... great wizard, great warrior... the greatest in all Candar...
Great warrior? Not me! Great wizard?
... the greatest... for who else has dared the depths and survived the firebolts of chaos? Who else... tell me that I did not die for a weakling. Tell me I did not die for nothing...
With all the burning and pain, I could feel tears. Had Freyda died for nothing? Had Justen been right? No! I refused to accept that, and I thrust her away. But before she faded, the flat side of the sword, thrown in disgust, slammed against my right arm. Flat side or not, it hurt.
... come... great bearer of destruction...join us... Another figure rose from the swirling fog of order and chaos-a man cloaked in white, who smiled, and his smile was sparkling dust, as were his body and his garments down to his white boots.
Behind him, I could feel rising hordes of the dead, could feel the crimson- and green-cloaked soldiers, the white-cloaked figures of chaos wizards.... join us...
Red-whitened ashes flowed from one arm... while the other bore four blackened spots, burned through white cloak and skin and flesh, bums aching with the pain beyond pain.... join us...
I looked dully at the wizard. What couldn't I see? Why did every figure I thrust away bring up another, and more pain, more injuries?
... join us... great wizard... join us, for you deceive yourself as you believe we deceived you... believer in order alone, believer in deception... deception...
A firebolt seared my chest. Smoke rose, and I could smell singed hair-mine.
... join us... you cannot escape... you are a hero... and heroes never escape... they must always save someone else... until they are lost... and you will be lost to your heroism, great wizard... join us...
...cannot escape... cannot escape-the thought hammered at me. Cannot escape... what couldn't I escape? Being a hero?
Then I swallowed, and ignored the bums, the smoke, the pain, and I held out my arms, inviting the dread figures to me, for they were me, and I was them.
A dull wailing rose and fell somewhere in the depths... and the depths rumbled.
I dropped the frail shields I had raised and waited. Grrrurrrr... rrrrrrurrr...
Order and chaos swirled through me, and I knew-knew that they were not separate, but two sides of the same coin, knew that one could fight neither chaos nor order, but only those who misused one side of that coin. I knew, too, that the evil fostered by Recluce would be countered by an equal evil, and I shuddered. So did the earth.
The chaos and the order slashed through me, burning, but both were mine, and could be no one else's.
Finally, I lay there, sweating, for a long time before I lurched upright and lit the lamp. I could feel my eyes widen as I took in the singe marks and burns that outlined where my body had rested on the sheet, and the burns on the quilt.
I staggered toward the small mirror. My body was crisscrossed with burns, and blisters crossed my reddened face. My head throbbed, as though it had been squeezed between the jaws of my own wood presses. Small sharp knives stabbed through my eyes.
Finally, while I felt like shaking my head, I dared not, for I felt as if it would have fallen off.
Slowly, I trudged to the kitchen and lit a lamp. Then I pumped some water and slowly blotted my face and the burns on my body. A heavy dark welt was turning into an ugly bruise on my right arm, as was another across my chest. Five oozing bums marked my left forearm.
With what little order strength I had left, I tried to keep chaos from the wounds as I washed away the stench of brimstone in the dim lamplight. I kept bathing the worst of the burns in cold water until the fire subsided. “Master Lerris...”
I didn't even realize I was naked as I turned. “Ohhhhh...”
Rissa went down like an unsupported sack of flour. Did I look that bad? I was certain it hadn't been my naked body. She'd clearly seen naked males before. I looked down.
I didn't look wonderful, with welts, burns, bruises, cuts- and all from just lying in my bed and speculating and seeking out order in the depths beneath?
No wonder a lot of mages didn't survive very long. I pulled on an old shirt, which was loose enough not to bind, before I blotted Rissa's face. She finally sat up, shuddering. “I'm sorry, Rissa. I didn't mean to disturb you.”
“What... be... you... doing?”
Her words seemed to waver in and out of my ears, but I caught the general idea and answered. “Learning about being a mage-the hard way. I don't seem to be able to learn any other way.”
“Oh... Master Lerris... when will you be learning not to meddle?” Rissa straightened herself and got to her feet.
“Probably never.”
“Darkness help those around you. Darkness help us all...” She swallowed. “Like the commander says, you were born to be a hero, and that is a terrible burden.”
“I'm all right,” I sighed. “And there's nothing you can do tonight.”
“Darkness... cook for a wizard... and he boils himself... terrible world we live in... terrible...” She walked toward her room at the back of the house, and I set down the damp cloth and headed for the bedroom. I'd worry about cleaning things up in the morning-assuming nothing else rose out of the depths to smite me.
I eased myself back into bed-on Krystal's side-the unburned, unsinged side. Tomorrow, I'd have to send Rissa to buy linens.
At first, I couldn't sleep, not with the aches and pains, nor with the endless questions, although it helped to leave my eyes closed. Why was seeking order and chaos in the ground easier? By rights, it ought to have been more difficult, since earth and clay and rock were far heavier than air.
I tried in the smallest way to sense the winds and the clouds overhead, and my head began to throb. I felt that, while such sensing was perhaps a shade easier than when my father had first insisted, sensing what lay beneath me was far, far, easier. Was I really an earth wizard? I'd never heard of an earth wizard. Why not? I didn't have an answer, and all the order-searching had left me bruised, beaten, wounded... and tired. So finally I fell asleep to the creaking of the house timbers.