5.Death of Chaos
VII
A GRAY SKY brooded over Kyphros, but the wind was light when Yelena-the squad leader who'd escorted me on the first part of the effort against the white wizard Antonin-and three troopers met me outside the stable. The air smelled more like rain than fall.
Krystal and her guards had left early, far earlier, and I knew she wouldn't have come home the night before-except that I was leaving. Gairloch's saddlebags were full, not only with some apprentice-type tools, but with travel bread and hard cheese. I had some fruit stashed away also, and a heavier jacket, a waterproof, and the bedroll I'd gotten in Howlett when I first came to Recluce. The canteen held redberry, but I knew that wouldn't last. All in all, Gairloch was laden.
For some reason, when I thought of the bedroll, made in Recluce, I wondered about my parents. I could have written, and sent the letter by a trader, but I'd almost felt as if they'd been the ones to throw me out, to send me on my dangergeld. And I'd never even known that my father, the great Gunnar, was a Temple master and head of the Institute for Order Studies.
Should I write? I still didn't know as I stood there in the yard.
“Good morning, Order-master.”
Yelena's greeting cut off my speculations.
“Good morning, Leader Yelena.” I swung onto Gairloch and flicked the reins. He didn't need the hint; he was already moving toward the main road.
Wheeee... eeee.
“Yes, I know. You thought we'd given this up.” I patted Gairloch on the neck, and he whuffed once.
“One never gives up being an order-master.” Yelena rode up beside me, and I had to look up at the squad leader. Her mount was a good four hands taller than Gairloch.
“Like one never gives up being a member of the Finest?”
“You die with your boots on, anyway.”
“You are so cheerful this morning.” I thwacked Gairloch too hard for a mere pat, but he only whuffed again.
Weldein tried to suppress a grin. Freyda and the other guard-Jylla was her name, if I recalled correctly-rode silently behind us.
My fingers strayed to the replacement staff in the converted lance holder. It was just solid lorken, but bound in iron- without the sort of order infusion that my old one had possessed. Of course, I'd given it that infusion, without really knowing it. As Justen had pointed out, that was one of the problems. Recluce-and my father-hadn't taught me enough, and I still didn't understand why.
“It's better than doing guard duty around the citadel.”
“Speak for yourself,” said Jylla cheerfully.
“Women,” muttered Weldein.
Since we were outnumbered, I saw no reason to comment, but shifted my weight and hoped that the day stayed cool.
I pulled the staff from the holder and began to run through the mounted exercises, since I rarely practiced them, my infrequent sparring being generally on foot.
After a time I replaced the staff, conscious that Freyda had been watching. I raised my eyebrows.
“Only the red bitch is better, I think.”
I tried not to choke. “The red bitch?”
“The gray wizard's apprentice. The subcommander made us spar against her.” Freyda winced. “My ribs still hurt, and that was three days ago.”
“You sparred with her yesterday, didn't you, Order-master?” asked Yelena. The question was not quite a question.
“Yes. I think I held her to a draw.”
“She had a few new bruises, I think.”
Tamra? I'd actually bruised her? I shook my head.
Yelena gave me a bemused smile as Freyda and Jylla exchanged glances. I fingered the staff, then concentrated on riding. We had to go through Kyphrien to get to the east road, and the mixed odor of overcooked lamb and goat, onions, and less mentionable items struck me long before we got onto the avenue. The babble was the same as always.
“... Mytara, if I've told you once about eggs...”
“... finest bronze in Candar...”
“You'd think that she'd appreciate a solid provider, but, no, she's got to insist on a dandy, one with a pretty face. What will she do when she's got three offspring, and needs money for a serving girl? Does she think of that...”
“... and you could have walked the lake and not dampened your boots...”
“Let Hyrella tell your fortune! A mere copper. Will you grudge a mere copper to learn your fate?”
“... best pies in Kyphros...”
“Thief! Thief! Get the little scamp!”
My eyes darted to the thin figure who pounded down the cobblestone road, scuttled between two women, and darted into a narrow alleyway leading down toward the river.
The heavyset merchant puffed to a stop and glared at Yelena. “You serve the autarch, and you let him get away! Why didn't you stop him?”
Yelena reined up, and so did I. Several passersby turned.
“Well, why didn't you stop him?” The man's heavy waxed mustaches waved as he panted out his question.
“I would have had to ride over people,” answered Yelena.
“That's no answer. You let a thief get away! I intend to let the autarch know of this... disgraceful...”
“... there goes Fusion again...”
“... too fat to chase anyone and too crooked for anyone to help him...”
Fusion turned. “I heard that. Liars! Liars!”
“...too fat...”
“... too full of himself, he is...”
Yelena struggled to keep a straight face, as Fusion rolled his bulk back to face me. “You! Tell those guards to chase the thief.”
“Me?” I shook my head. “He's gone. What did he steal?”
“He took some olives, right from the barrel. Scooped them up and ran off.” The fat man waddled toward me.
“... kid could have used the olives more than Fusion...”
“You're that famous order-master! Why don't you make sure there's order here in Kyphrien?” Fusion's acrid breath hit me harder than his words as he leaned forward, his face less than two cubits from me. Why was it that people like Fusion recognized me and some of the Finest didn't? Probably because Fusion watched parades like the one Kasee gave on my return to Kyphros, and the soldiers were working or on picket duty- or something.
“I presume he was hungry,” I said evenly, letting Gairloch back away.
“So he was hungry! He stole my olives, and what are you going to do about it?” Fusion stepped forward to close the distance between us again.
Yelena fingered her blade, and Freyda and Jylla watched with impassive faces.
“Let me understand this,” I temporized. “This young thief was so hungry that he took some olives out of the barrel right in front of your eyes?”
“Of course. How else would I have seen him?”
“Does not that tell you something? He is either terribly arrogant, terribly stupid, or terribly hungry. If he is arrogant or stupid, he will try something like that again, and, before long, someone will catch him.” I cleared my throat. “Unhappily, if he is that hungry, he will steal again also, and he will be caught.” I tried to think through what I should say as the merchant jabbed a fat finger at me.
“You won't do anything? A fine wizard you are!”
I caught his eyes. “You are wealthy. You are well fed, and you have the means to protect yourself. You are angry because a boy made a fool out of you, and you want to blame someone else. This thief is long gone. I am not a white wizard who sniffs after blood. Nor am I a white wizard who burns people into cinders. What do you want?”
“I want justice!”
I grinned. “But you have justice. A hungry boy has been fed, and you have warned everyone about a thief. Is that not justice? Or would you call it justice if a white wizard threw a firebolt and turned that hungry thief into ashes?”
“Bah... the autarch will hear about this... you'll see... you'll see...” Fusion gave me a last glare before turning and waddling away.
“... not a bad answer for a young wizard...”
“... not thai good...”
“... he's right about Fusion. He's too well fed to chase his young wife around the bed... forget about thieves...”
We continued riding along the stone-paved street that would lead to the east road.
“That wasn't a bad sermon,” said Yelena. “Do they teach you that in wizard's school?”
“There isn't a wizard's school. My father and Justen were always telling me to think before I spoke. People like that merchant don't give you any time to think.” My fingers touched the smooth wood of the staff, and the wood offered some comfort, although I was careful not to put any more order into the staff. You can divide your soul that way. That's really what happens to some wizards, and they don't even know it. I know. It happened to me, but I managed to get it back, mainly because Justen insisted that I reread The Basis of Order.
“I don't believe in theft.” I coughed. I wasn't used to talking that much. Woodworking without an apprentice is quiet work. “But I don't believe that whipping or killing people desperate enough to steal food in the daylight is likely to do much good.”
“No.” Weldein glanced toward the eastern gates less than two hundred cubits ahead.
Jylla and Freyda nodded.
I gave Gairloch another pat and looked back toward the autarch's residence, although I couldn't see it, and then at the road stretching ahead.