Read Online The Order War by L. E. Modesitt Jr. - Free Book Online
Authors: L. E. Modesitt Jr.
Ads: Link
I’m not a master engineer with access to the most venerable records.”
“Sorry. Well, take my word for it. The new Hyel will displace nearly three times what the original Black Hammer did.”
“I don’t see Chaos Wizards sprouting all over Candar,” observed Justen.
“No…just an Iron Guard with twice the strength of our marines, plus the Whites, both of them overrunning Sarronnyn, and our beloved Council suggesting that volunteers to help the beleaguered Sarronnese would be in order.” Altarashrugged. “I’d be pleased if you’d think about it.” She smiled politely, though not warmly, as she headed toward Warin and his milling machine.
Justen took a deep breath. Did he really have a choice…if he wanted to stay an engineer? He trudged after Clerve to get a drink of water himself, and to reclaim his apprentice.
XIV
Severa handed over the leather post bag to a young man Justen did not know, apparently old Havvy’s replacement as the local post agent. Justen slipped down from the damp leather of the post wagon’s seat and stood beside the wagon, trying to use his limited order-senses to remove the moisture from the seat of his trousers. Finally, he shook the rain off his oiled waterproof and lifted his pack out of the wagon bed behind the second seat.
Gunnar was dry—somehow, rain never landed on Weather Wizards, even though none of them ever talked about it. At least Gunnar’s pack had a sprinkling of water on the canvas. Gunnar brushed away the droplets before swinging the pack onto his back.
“Thank you.” Justen handed two coppers to Severa.
“My pleasure, young magisters.” The wagon-mistress’s face crinkled into a smile. “I hope you will enjoy your holiday, and give your mother my greetings.”
Justen nodded.
“Perhaps someday you’ll be as good a smith as she is.” Severa’s smile faded into mere politeness as Gunnar extended his coppers.
“Thank you,” Gunnar said, and inclined his head.
“Just don’t take yourself too seriously, Gunnar. You may be the finest Storm Wizard since Creslin, but a good smith’s of more use to most than either an engineer or a wizard.”
“Yes, Severa.”
The woman grinned. “Don’t mind me, boys. Been riding wagons too long. Off with you!” She watched as the postyouth placed another leather post bag with the half-dozen already in the wagon bed.
Gunnar waved, turned, and started walking.
Justen paused, taking in the town for a moment. Not much changed in Wandernaught. Severa had stopped at the post house, next to The Broken Wheel, a two-story stone-and-timber structure, and the only inn. Old Hernon had died right after Justen had gone to Nylan, and Justen didn’t know the couple who ran the inn now, but the facade and sign were the same—even down to the cracked spokes on the broken wagon wheel.
A young woman and a child stood under the small awning outside the coppersmith’s, waiting for the gentle rain to stop, and two men wrestled barrels from a wagon into Basta’s Dry and Leather Goods.
Justen shifted his pack, stretched his legs, and began to walk on the rain-slicked but level paving stones—west, past the inn, past Seldit’s copper shop. He didn’t catch up with Gunnar until they were out of town and abreast of Shrezsan’s, the house—with its attached barn—sitting next to the stream where the family had woven wool and linen for generations.
Actually, Justen recalled with a smile, Shrezsan had been one of the few girls who had liked him better than she did Gunnar—even if she finally had married Yousal, in the Temple no less.
On the south side of the road rose the gentle, rolling hills that held the groves: cherry, apple, and pearapple. The rain had not quite stripped the flowers from the branches, which still held thin green leaves.
Gunnar slowed and crossed the road, putting a leg up on the low stone wall separating the grass on the road’s shoulder from the orchard grounds.
Justen waited, brushing water from
“Sorry. Well, take my word for it. The new Hyel will displace nearly three times what the original Black Hammer did.”
“I don’t see Chaos Wizards sprouting all over Candar,” observed Justen.
“No…just an Iron Guard with twice the strength of our marines, plus the Whites, both of them overrunning Sarronnyn, and our beloved Council suggesting that volunteers to help the beleaguered Sarronnese would be in order.” Altarashrugged. “I’d be pleased if you’d think about it.” She smiled politely, though not warmly, as she headed toward Warin and his milling machine.
Justen took a deep breath. Did he really have a choice…if he wanted to stay an engineer? He trudged after Clerve to get a drink of water himself, and to reclaim his apprentice.
XIV
Severa handed over the leather post bag to a young man Justen did not know, apparently old Havvy’s replacement as the local post agent. Justen slipped down from the damp leather of the post wagon’s seat and stood beside the wagon, trying to use his limited order-senses to remove the moisture from the seat of his trousers. Finally, he shook the rain off his oiled waterproof and lifted his pack out of the wagon bed behind the second seat.
Gunnar was dry—somehow, rain never landed on Weather Wizards, even though none of them ever talked about it. At least Gunnar’s pack had a sprinkling of water on the canvas. Gunnar brushed away the droplets before swinging the pack onto his back.
“Thank you.” Justen handed two coppers to Severa.
“My pleasure, young magisters.” The wagon-mistress’s face crinkled into a smile. “I hope you will enjoy your holiday, and give your mother my greetings.”
Justen nodded.
“Perhaps someday you’ll be as good a smith as she is.” Severa’s smile faded into mere politeness as Gunnar extended his coppers.
“Thank you,” Gunnar said, and inclined his head.
“Just don’t take yourself too seriously, Gunnar. You may be the finest Storm Wizard since Creslin, but a good smith’s of more use to most than either an engineer or a wizard.”
“Yes, Severa.”
The woman grinned. “Don’t mind me, boys. Been riding wagons too long. Off with you!” She watched as the postyouth placed another leather post bag with the half-dozen already in the wagon bed.
Gunnar waved, turned, and started walking.
Justen paused, taking in the town for a moment. Not much changed in Wandernaught. Severa had stopped at the post house, next to The Broken Wheel, a two-story stone-and-timber structure, and the only inn. Old Hernon had died right after Justen had gone to Nylan, and Justen didn’t know the couple who ran the inn now, but the facade and sign were the same—even down to the cracked spokes on the broken wagon wheel.
A young woman and a child stood under the small awning outside the coppersmith’s, waiting for the gentle rain to stop, and two men wrestled barrels from a wagon into Basta’s Dry and Leather Goods.
Justen shifted his pack, stretched his legs, and began to walk on the rain-slicked but level paving stones—west, past the inn, past Seldit’s copper shop. He didn’t catch up with Gunnar until they were out of town and abreast of Shrezsan’s, the house—with its attached barn—sitting next to the stream where the family had woven wool and linen for generations.
Actually, Justen recalled with a smile, Shrezsan had been one of the few girls who had liked him better than she did Gunnar—even if she finally had married Yousal, in the Temple no less.
On the south side of the road rose the gentle, rolling hills that held the groves: cherry, apple, and pearapple. The rain had not quite stripped the flowers from the branches, which still held thin green leaves.
Gunnar slowed and crossed the road, putting a leg up on the low stone wall separating the grass on the road’s shoulder from the orchard grounds.
Justen waited, brushing water from
Similar Books
