L. Modesitt - Wellspring of Chaos

Kharl wondered about the words-obviously dangerous. “I saw a white wizard once. He gathered young people, mostly girls, and when he was done, they died. Not a mark on them.”

“Did he look younger afterward?”

“I don’t know.”

“He probably was younger. His body had more concentrated good chaos, the strength of youth. What happened to him?”

“He died.” Kharl had said too much. “But…you must be from Recluce…you know so much…”

“Ah, yes. I must confess that I was born in Reflin. My father was a baker, and a poor bakery it was. I didn’t learn a thing. Zera does all the baking, and a good thing it is.” The mage took another sip of the redberry cider, then looked at Kharl. “My talking isn’t going to help you much. Of course, not knowing what you want doesn’t help much either.”

“I know what I want,” Kharl said. “I want to put things to right. I’d liked to have done that in Brysta. I just didn’t know how.”

“What was wrong in Brysta?”

“My consort was hung for a killing she had nothing to do with. I was flogged for trying to defend her and for stopping the lord’s son from taking his pleasure by force with a neighbor girl. Another man was hung because he told the truth about the lord’s son…”

“Ah, yes…telling the truth. That’s often the recipe for disaster. Even a poor mage recognizes that. What else?”

“A weaver girl had to hide in a rendering yard because the tariff farmer seized her mother’s house and shop and tried to force her into indenture at a pleasure house. That white wizard-the one I mentioned-was working with the lord’s son and killed young girls for his use, and no one even seemed to notice.”

“It’s that way in most lands. It has been more often than not,” Lyras pointed out. “Why should it be different in yours?”

“It should be better everywhere, but a man wants to see things better where he was raised.”

“Not all men. Not even most men.”

“I’m not most men.”

“No. You’re not.” Lyras laughed. “Become a justicer. That way you can change some of those things.”

“A cooper? As a justicer?”

“Haven’t you ever heard of the Justicer’s Challenge? All the world knows about it. It’s a practice that’s only accepted here and in Nordla.”

“I’ve heard of it,” Kharl admitted. “Didn’t seem like something for a cooper.”

“It’s seldom used.” The older man laughed again. “That’s because no one dares. Failure means that the challenger suffers the fate of the accused-the punishment of each of the five accused comprising the challenge.” Lyras took another sip from his mug. “Forget about that now. What you really need is some exercises that will help you understand what power you may have and the limits of that power.”

Kharl managed to refrain from saying that he’d already said that.

“I have several suggestions,” Lyras went on. “Some order-mages are weather mages. There is a way to tell if you have that talent. Take a kettle and put it on a hot stove. Watch the steam. Try to move the cloud of steam around. It works better in a cold room-”

“Steam…and weather?”

“Oh…clouds are made up of water, like steam. Where do you think the rain comes from? Then, others are healers. Serious wounds create an angry reddish feel within them. If you can sense and remove that kind of chaos…that’s what a healer is.”

“An exercise?” asked Kharl.

“There aren’t any that I know of. Oh…if you can study small animals with your senses, and feel how order works in them, that might help. I’ve heard that there are earth mages, who can sense the flow of order and chaos in the ground beneath, and some of them are smiths. As a cooper…maybe you come by that naturally. In hot metal…right from the forge fire, the order bonds are weaker, and chaos is, well, more fluid-that’s how the black engineers on Recluce make all that black iron…another trick, really only a trick…is to use your senses to let light flow around you. Light flows like water in a way, you know. Unless you’re very good with order-sensing what’s around you, you’ll be blind, but sometimes it’s useful not to be seen…never could do that one myself, but I’ve seen it done…”

Kharl continued to listen, feeling that, perhaps for the first time, he was getting an idea of what order-magery was all about-or rather the feeling, beyond words on the pages of The Basis of Order , that what the words had hinted at could actually be accomplished.

“…Now there’s one last thing. About that staff. There was a reason why they wouldn’t take that back, one that they didn’t tell you. You need to look up a phrase in The Basis of Order . You have a copy, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Kharl admitted grudgingly.

“There’s a phrase in there about staffs, blackstaffs. It’s important…and that’s probably more than I should have said, and don’t ask me more.”

“Why not?” Kharl asked bluntly.

“Because it’s something you have to find, or it won’t mean anything. Tell it to someone directly…it never works. Already, I may have told you too much.”

How could anyone be told too much? But then…he’d tried to tell his boys things, and they’d had to learn for themselves. “Thank you.” Kharl paused, trying to make sure he remembered everything that Lyras had said. “Why did the Emperor of Hamor send chaos-mages, and not order mages?”

“I’m scarcely the emperor,” Lyras pointed out. “But I’d guess that’s because comparatively weak chaos-wizards can create much destruction, and there weren’t any strong order-mages here.”

Kharl didn’t quite understand the connection, and it must have shown on his face.

“Oh…you don’t see. But then, how would you know?” Lyras shook his head. “Because black mages serve order, they preserve and strengthen ties and forces. So…a strong order-mage couldn’t throw free chaos at a white wizard, but he could walk through all that chaos with his order shields and strike one blow with a staff or something-not a blade-and destroy the white wizard. But…the emperor didn’t think there were any order-mages in Austra.”

“So the mages he sent to support Lord Ilteron-”

“Ilteron is only a hill baron. His sire couldn’t strip him of his hill lands in the Shiltons, much as he would have liked to. Ilteron’s been building his own personal guards for years. Lord Estloch chose to ignore that, although I warned him.”

“Why does everyone think Ilteron was behind the lord’s death?”

Lyras snorted. “The timing, for one thing. Lord Ghrant reached his majority last year. If Estloch had been killed before that, there would have been a regency, and doubtless wiser heads, such as Hagen and Lady Renyra, would have been on the regency council. Lord Ghrant’s inexperienced, but he wants things his way. But he doesn’t like people arguing with him; he hates personal confrontation. He’s the sort that’s happy to order someone else to shed the blood, but doesn’t want to strike the blow himself…”

Kharl had his doubts about relaying that to Hagen.

“And then there’s Malcor. He’s been bowing and scraping all over the Great House for the last two years. Lord Estloch dies, and Malcor vanishes without taking his leave and reappears back in the hills, making a visit to Ilteron. Also, Malcor is known to be excellent with a crossbow.”

“Doesn’t anyone else know this?”

“Several score, I’d imagine, but none with the nerve to say such out loud. There’s no gain in it. It won’t bring back Lord Estloch. It raises the question of why anyone who would state that didn’t tell someone before, and, should Ilteron succeed in overthrowing Ghrant, which is most likely, it subjects the speaker to the loss of lands and life. So…everyone is silent.”