Read Online The Death of Chaos by L. E. Modesitt Jr. - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: L. E. Modesitt Jr.
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“Now…do you understand your orders? And your duty?”
“Yes, ser.”
“Then I look forward to the success of your efforts. You may go.”
Dyrsse bows again. Not until he is outside the chamber does he wipe his sweating forehead.
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
“Yes, ser.”
“Then I look forward to the success of your efforts. You may go.”
Dyrsse bows again. Not until he is outside the chamber does he wipe his sweating forehead.
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
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