5.Death of Chaos
LXXXIII
The Black Holding, Land's End [Recluce]
“JELLICO HAS FALLEN.” Talryn walks into the meeting room of the Black Holding. He wipes his forehead. “So has Hydolar.”
“So quickly?” Maris steps inside from the east-facing terrace and out of the faint summer breeze. “How did you find out?”
“Nordlan traders.” The broad-shouldered magister picks up the pitcher in front of Heldra, sniffs it, and sets it down. He wrinkles his nose. “It doesn't take that long when you have cannon throwing five-stone explosive shells and when the defenders are fighting with swords and arrows against those new rifles. Berfir's dead, and Hydlen's a mess. So is Certis.”
“Cold steel seems to have lost its strength.” Heldra lifts an empty mug. “To the age of new order.” She pours ale from the pitcher into the mug.
“You've been drinking.” Maris glares at her.
“Can you think of anything better to do? Meeting this far from Nylan?”
“We haven't exactly lost yet,” observes Talryn. “The trio are still intact, and the Llyse is back on station. To date the three have managed to sink more than a half score of the Hamorian ships. The Brotherhood is close to completing another warship. ”
“So glorious, so glorious...” Heldra hiccups. “Threescore warships... and we have destroyed ten.”
“Twelve,” corrects Talryn. “And the Prefect of Certis may have lost Jellico-”
“-and his life.”
“-but that cost Hamor nearly five thousand casualties. Hydlen didn't do so well. Hamor used more cannon there.”
“Neither Kyphros nor Gallos can put up that kind of resistance.” Maris paces back and forth across the end of the table. “The last war bled them both dry.”
“The fruits of our success!” Heldra thumps the mug on the ancient table. “The fruits of our success...”
“Shut up, Heldra.”
“Don't tell me to shut up.” Her hand reaches for the blade. “Not so drunk I can't carve you into dog meat.”
Marts steps back. “That's easy. Just chop me up. That won't stop Hamor.”
“Don't tell me when to stop talking.”
“Hamor is the problem,” interjects Talryn.
“All right,” concedes Heldra. “Just keep this frigging trader civil.”
“Heldra...” Talryn draws her name out like a threat.
“All right, I said.”
“Why don't we ask Gunnar for ideas or help?” Mans paces to the east window and turns.
“Him and his hidebound Institute? What help will they give? He's the one who's stopped the work on machines. Better we ask the Founders.” Heldra gestures toward the ancient blade on the wall. “It's almost as hot as when they got here.”
“Gunnar is still a great weather mage,” Talryn reflects.
“Who hasn't raised a storm in generations,” answers Heldra, lifting her mug and taking another swallow.
“He might now,” points out Maris.
“Might he now?” Heldra raises her mug. “Then here's to the great storm wizard. To the great storm wizard.”