Read Online Recluce 07 - Chaos Balance by L.E Modesitt - Free Book Online
Authors: L.E Modesitt
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spouted chaos and fireballs with every word.”
Nylan looked down at the cold, cold stones of the bridge underfoot. After a moment, he forced his eyes up and to meet Ayrlyn's. “Would you believe”-he swallowed, trying to force the words out-“that you're so honest that it scares me worse than facing those wizards did?”
Her eyes did not flicker, just waited.
“I'm not that honest. And I'm not very brave. I never wanted to be captain. You know that. How could a man who deep inside fears everything . . . how could I ever lead people? How could I ask you . . . ?”
A faint smile crossed her lips, like the glimmer of sunshine after a storm. “The way you just did ... by being honest with me ... by not trying to be the solid engineer that no one touches. I don't want a hero image. I don't want a male version of Ryba. I have fears, Nylan. Everyone does. You do. I can deal with that. I just can't deal with a man who hides from himself.”
Hides from himself... yes, you do. The engineer licked his lips, ignoring the chill ice that coated them, then sublimated away. “I have a lot... to learn.”
“So do I. Will you learn it with me?”
“If you're gentle with me ... that kind of honesty is hard,” he admitted.
“All honesty is hard. So is love.” Her eyes were brown soft, and deep, and he felt lost in them, lost in wondering what he had not seen, what must have been so obvious. His hands reached for hers as they stood on the stones of the bridge he had built, in the cold spring of Westwind.
Chaos Balance
XII
THE WHITE-ROBED wizard stood near the front of the barge, on the raised section of deck right behind the three-cubit-wide bronze cleats, each shaped like a horned ox, around which the two ropes had been wound. “Gee-ah...” The low sounds of the boat drovers whispered across the canal surface in the gray before dawn as the four oxen pulled the gilded White Lily northward from Fyrad, their hoofs clicking faintly on the worn paving stones originally laid for the ancient steam tugs that long ago pulled the barges from the city of the Winter Palace, propelled by the same chaos engines that the Second Company of White Engineers was laboring to re-create for His Mightiness's fireship under construction at Cyad.
Themphi frowned. These days, oxen were more dependable, far more dependable. As for building a replica of an ancient fireship ... he shook his head. Maintaining the steam device for the palace doors was tiring enough, yet Lephi wanted a fireship, with an ancient fire cannon, regardless of the cost and the impact on that precarious balance between order and chaos.
He glanced back at the low superstructure that held the privileged passengers, and the seven remaining guilty Mirror Lancer officers, then at the canvas awning under which the other passengers slept. One of the officers had attempted to assault the wizard. Themphi had turned the proceeds from the resale of that officer's household and concubines over to the wronged peasant girl along with a year's pay from each officer. In that, Lephi had been right. Erratic as the Emperor was, he was more often correct than not. The white wizard shook his head as he glanced westward in the general direction of Cyad.
“A peasant girl . . . and she will be the richest woman in ... what is that wretched place . . . Nystrad.” Themphi stretched and looked at the deckhouse where young Fissar still slept. The young always slept, unaware of the continual balancing acts required of their elders.
Far behind the deckhouse were the piers of Fyrad where the swift coaster had brought him from Cyad, far more swiftly than taking the North Highway.
Then his eyes dropped back to the glasslike surface of the canal.
Water bugs, almost as large as the wizard's clenched fist, skimmed across the shimmering surface, darting between the stalks of the reeds trimmed back to less than a cubit above
Nylan looked down at the cold, cold stones of the bridge underfoot. After a moment, he forced his eyes up and to meet Ayrlyn's. “Would you believe”-he swallowed, trying to force the words out-“that you're so honest that it scares me worse than facing those wizards did?”
Her eyes did not flicker, just waited.
“I'm not that honest. And I'm not very brave. I never wanted to be captain. You know that. How could a man who deep inside fears everything . . . how could I ever lead people? How could I ask you . . . ?”
A faint smile crossed her lips, like the glimmer of sunshine after a storm. “The way you just did ... by being honest with me ... by not trying to be the solid engineer that no one touches. I don't want a hero image. I don't want a male version of Ryba. I have fears, Nylan. Everyone does. You do. I can deal with that. I just can't deal with a man who hides from himself.”
Hides from himself... yes, you do. The engineer licked his lips, ignoring the chill ice that coated them, then sublimated away. “I have a lot... to learn.”
“So do I. Will you learn it with me?”
“If you're gentle with me ... that kind of honesty is hard,” he admitted.
“All honesty is hard. So is love.” Her eyes were brown soft, and deep, and he felt lost in them, lost in wondering what he had not seen, what must have been so obvious. His hands reached for hers as they stood on the stones of the bridge he had built, in the cold spring of Westwind.
Chaos Balance
XII
THE WHITE-ROBED wizard stood near the front of the barge, on the raised section of deck right behind the three-cubit-wide bronze cleats, each shaped like a horned ox, around which the two ropes had been wound. “Gee-ah...” The low sounds of the boat drovers whispered across the canal surface in the gray before dawn as the four oxen pulled the gilded White Lily northward from Fyrad, their hoofs clicking faintly on the worn paving stones originally laid for the ancient steam tugs that long ago pulled the barges from the city of the Winter Palace, propelled by the same chaos engines that the Second Company of White Engineers was laboring to re-create for His Mightiness's fireship under construction at Cyad.
Themphi frowned. These days, oxen were more dependable, far more dependable. As for building a replica of an ancient fireship ... he shook his head. Maintaining the steam device for the palace doors was tiring enough, yet Lephi wanted a fireship, with an ancient fire cannon, regardless of the cost and the impact on that precarious balance between order and chaos.
He glanced back at the low superstructure that held the privileged passengers, and the seven remaining guilty Mirror Lancer officers, then at the canvas awning under which the other passengers slept. One of the officers had attempted to assault the wizard. Themphi had turned the proceeds from the resale of that officer's household and concubines over to the wronged peasant girl along with a year's pay from each officer. In that, Lephi had been right. Erratic as the Emperor was, he was more often correct than not. The white wizard shook his head as he glanced westward in the general direction of Cyad.
“A peasant girl . . . and she will be the richest woman in ... what is that wretched place . . . Nystrad.” Themphi stretched and looked at the deckhouse where young Fissar still slept. The young always slept, unaware of the continual balancing acts required of their elders.
Far behind the deckhouse were the piers of Fyrad where the swift coaster had brought him from Cyad, far more swiftly than taking the North Highway.
Then his eyes dropped back to the glasslike surface of the canal.
Water bugs, almost as large as the wizard's clenched fist, skimmed across the shimmering surface, darting between the stalks of the reeds trimmed back to less than a cubit above
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