L. Modesitt - The Chaos Balance

“Lick those up, Husenar. I don’t like the floors soiled, especially when my administrators are acting for others.”

Husenar complied, then straightened, standing stiffly.

“What about this petition? Why need it be brought to me? Why did they not present it themselves?”

“The Accursed…Forest…rods and rods of the rice fields and the bean fields-those not already flooded-they are gone.”

“Gone?”

“The forest has awakened-”

“The Forest of the Nameless? Have the wards failed? The wards have never failed.”

Husenar bowed again. “The wards are no more, and the forest lives.”

“I have taken their petition under advisement, and I will act accordingly.”

After the petitioners and Duhru departed and the doors closed, Lephi turned to Themphi. “About that mess with the Eighth Mirror-”

“They could not so dishonor a peasant.”

“Themphi…did you not hear what I said? When a man is so distraught he will die rather than accept two years’ wages for a dowry, something is wrong. She is doubtless a spineless wench, but when peasants believe such girls are innocent they do not pay taxes, except under duress, and we do not need that now. I tell you again: you will find the guilty parties. If they are the officers, they can also choose duty to protect the people of Geliendra from the Accursed Forest-for the rest of their lives.” Lephi smiled coldly. “I want every peasant to know that I heard and acted, and every officer to know that girls outside the households of officers or the pleasure class are to be left untouched. I do not care how many paid concubines they have, but they must be sure that the purchases of concubines are well witnessed. Well witnessed.” He paused. “Of course, if it is the girl, and you had best be very sure, then she should be publicly violated by at least a company of Mirror armsmen. Whatever happens, I want both punishment choices made public, so that I receive no more petitions such as this.”

Themphi swallowed.

“Send some of the engineers to check the forest, and the wards. How could they possibly have failed?”

“I do not know.” Themphi shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “The wards are very old, and the ancient accounts record that the forest was cunning and patient before it was restrained.”

“Then you will go and repair the damage, and restrain the forest once again. After you complete your work on this mess with the girl. Send no engineers from the Second. We need them to re-create the fireships, to reclaim the ocean from the eastern traders.” Lephi stared at the wizard. “Had your predecessors not allowed the ancient fireships to deteriorate, we would have no such problems.”

“Sire, they had no choice.”

“There is always a choice.”

“Not where chaos is concerned.” Themphi ignored the dampness on his forehead.

“Do you question your Emperor, Themphi?”

“Emperors have choices, Sire, except where order and chaos meet. The same is true of wizards. I cannot change what was and is, even at your command.”

“Bah…you sound just like Triendar. Do they cast spells over you when you are young so that you all sound alike?”

“Chaos and order do not change because we exist, Sire.” Themphi shifted his weight again.

“Wizard, your powers must serve Cyad, not the other way around. See that they do, or your nephew’s children or his children’s children will bow under the yoke of the easterners. Lands either become more powerful or less powerful and then perish. I intend to make sure Cyador becomes more powerful. You may go.”

“Yes, Sire.”

Even before Nylan sat at the table and balanced Dyliess on his right knee, his eyes kept ranging to the end of the great room toward the central pedestal and the staircase. He could feel the slight movement of warm air from the furnace ducts set in the central stone pedestal that held the stairs and around which the tower was built. Interspersed with the warmth were gusts of cold dry air from the opening of the main tower door as guards headed up to handle livestock details or wood-carrying.

Breakfast was the usual-some bread, some cheese, and for the stout-hearted, some thin porridge. Eating one-handed, Nylan suffered through the yellow-green bitter root-and-leaf tea, taking quick sips and keeping the mug out of reach of Dyliess’s curious fingers. The bread was dark and cold, but hearty and chewy.

“Gaaaa…da…oooo…” His daughter’s hands grasped for his bread.

“Grabby, isn’t she, ser?” said Hryessa from farther down the table.

“They all are at this age, from what I can tell,” Nylan answered. “They want to grab the world and explore.”

“Don’t we all?” mumbled Huldran, finishing a wedge of cheese and some bread.

Nylan reached out and redirected Dyliess’s wandering hand, in time to keep her from grasping the spout of the teapot. “Exploration gets dangerous.”

“True enough even when you get older.” Saryn frowned, then added after a moment of silence, “Ryba said you were working on more blades.”

“We’ve been working on blades on and off all winter. Don’t you have enough yet?”

“For now. She insists we’ll have over fourscore guards by fall, maybe more, that we’ll have to convert half the fifth level into a barracks room or something.” Saryn turned her head as if Ryba were to appear, and the short, dark brown hair seemed almost black in the great room lit by only the four armaglass windows.

“Or start adding to the tower,” Nylan said.

“You said it would hold over a hundred.”

“It will,” the smith answered, his eyes still seeking Ayrlyn. He hadn’t seen Istril, either. “How many years will it take to build the addition if each stone has to be chipped out of the canyon with a sledge and chisel?” Somehow, Nylan wasn’t thrilled about adding to Westwind, but he wasn’t about to voice that lack of enthusiasm.

“Oh…”

“Exactly.” Nylan fed Dyliess a morsel of bread, although she’d already eaten. Dyliess promptly gummed it and deposited starchy brown drool on Nylan’s hand.

“I was wondering,” ventured the dark-haired former ship’s pilot. “Is there any way you could forge more bows? I mean, you started on the first blades with the laser, but you managed to forge the others.”

“There’s cormclit left,” Nylan acknowledged, “but it’s a directional heatshield composite. I had the demon’s own time cutting it with a laser. It just fragments into strands when I’ve tried to cut it with a chisel, and bench shears just jam or chew it into shreds. Then there are the alloys. I can’t even soften the lightweight, high-temp ones, and those were what I used for those bows.” He shook his head. “I’ve tried, but…”

He frowned. Had that flash of flame-red been Ayrlyn headed down to the kitchen?

“I thought I’d ask. We’ve only got sixteen of those killer bows.” Saryn coughed. All too many guards coughed through the winter, probably from too much mouth breathing outside in the chill of the Roof of the World. “We only lost one in the battle.”

“You threatened to dismember any guard who lost one, even if she were dying,” said Huldran. “I remember that.”

“I was right,” Saryn said. “They’re twice as good as anything the locals have, and they’re not replaceable.”

“There’s still too much up here that’s not replaceable,” Nylan offered. “We need a better low-tech base.”

“Like your sawmill?” Saryn grinned. “What comes after that?”

“I thought about a flour mill, but we’re too high to grow grain-”

“He never stops thinking, does he?” The number two of the Westwind guards finished her tea with a gulp.