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When all five had been seated, Horas coughed, then spoke softly, so softly
that Justen found himself leaning forward to catch the words:  Let us not take
order so seriously that love and hope are lost, nor so lightly that chaos
enters our lives, but live our lives so that each day reflects harmony and joy
in living.
Horas set the casserole in front of Gunnar.  Help yourself. The dark bread
just came out of the oven, specially for the lamb, and there s the conserve,
and ajar of pickled pearapples, and don t forget the spice sauce in the
pitcher& 
After refilling his mug with warm cider, Justen waited for the brown stone
casserole to be passed around. He ladled out a large helping for his mother
and then one for Elisabet. He took and even larger portion for himself.
 It s a good thing I made plenty, Horas observed.
 You always make plenty. That s why my forge is never cool. Cirlin
laughed.  Men householders feel like they have to feed armies, even when only
the three of us are here.
Justen offered the bread to his mother, then to his sister. He inhaled
deeply as he broke off a chunk and smelled the heavy warmth of the dark loaf.
 Smells good.
 No one bakes the dark bread the way he does. Cirlin dipped a corner of
bread into the casserole and lifted it to her lips.
Justen dipped his bread into the thick sauce, letting the spicy warmth, the
mixed tang of rosemary and citril and bertil, ease down his throat.
For a time, only the sound of eating rose from the table.
 I can tell that no one was hungry.
 Not at all.
 Would you pass the casserole, Elisabet? asked Gunnar.
 You ate too fast, and you had a whole plateful.
 I was hungry. I ve been working hard. Searching out the weather takes just
as much food as smithing or engineering do.
 I suspect all good work takes energy. Cirlin lifted the casserole dish
and handed it to Gunnar.
 Thank you.
Justen broke off another chunk of the warm, dark bread and slathered it
with cherry conserve.
 Something s bothering you. Cirlin looked at her younger son.
Gunnar nodded in agreement.
 I m probably going to have to go to Sarronnyn, Justen acknowledged.
 You have to go? The smith raised her eyebrows.  I thought the Council
asked for volunteers.
 One of the master engineers has suggested that it would do me good.
 Altara? mumbled Gunnar.
 Not with your mouth full, son, suggested Horas,  even if you are a great
and mighty Weather Wizard.
 Of course. Justen sipped the last of the hot cider and reached for the
covered pot.
 I can t say as I m surprised. We ve played too loose with the Balance for
too long. Cirlin coughed and took a mouthful of cider.  You know that Dorrin
warned about that.
 He did? Elisabet sat up straight in her chair.
The smith nodded.  But it doesn t matter. He knew that people wouldn t
listen. They never do. That s why I m glad I m just a simple smith.
 Simple? Justen s eyes darted to the wall and the interlocking black-iron
circles that formed an image of the sunrise over the Eastern Ocean.
 When will you leave? asked his mother.
 That hasn t been decided.
 I still don t think it s a good idea, Gunnar said, tugging at his chin.
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 Most adventures aren t. I think Justen s saying he doesn t have much
choice, Cirlin said.
Justen chewed another mouthful of the warm, dark bread and cherry conserve,
enjoying the taste before answering.  I don t have to go. No one could make me
go, but I don t feel right about saying no. I can t quite say why.
 What do you think, Gunnar? Not in your heart, but considering your sense
of order. Cirlin held her mug in both callused hands, letting the warm vapor
drift across her face.
Gunnar frowned before answering.  I trust Justen s feelings. I don t like
his going to Sarronnyn. The whole business reeks of more than normal chaos.
 If there s much chaos at all there, that s a problem, added Horas.
Cirlin lifted her mug and drank slowly before lowering it.  It could be a
problem for everyone in Recluce.
Silence dropped across the table.
 Can you really catch the rain? asked Gunnar, turning to Elisabet.
 Yes, I can. Elisabet laughed.  But I get tired soon. There s so much
rain. I don t know how you do it.
 I don t, silly little sister. I-
 I m not silly. Elisabet looked at her father.  Is there another
surprise?
 I can t keep anything a secret, I guess, not with four Order Wizards
around this place. I had hoped you might be coming. Horas grinned at his
sons.  So I baked a couple of cherry-pear apple pies. Justen had to smile in
return, trying not to think about engineering and Sarronnyn and the chaos that
awaited him, looking at the golden-brown crust of the pie Elisabet set before
her father.
XV
Stones here and there had tumbled from the wall of the ancient causeway,
but the structure across the gap from the Roof of the World to the ridgeline
leading down toward Suthya and Sarronnyn remained sound enough that even the
heavy steps of the Iron Guard neither shook it nor displaced another stone.
With its gray uniforms, gray banners trimmed in crimson, dark-gray boots,
dark-hiked weapons in gray scabbards, the Iron Guard of Fairhaven marched
northwest down the causeway. Behind the gray assemblage waved the
crimson-trimmed white banners of the White Company, crackling in the chill
winds that whipped off the snow-covered peaks encircling the high plateau and
the rebuilt citadel once called Westwind.
Like a gray-headed white snake, the column wound lower.
In the narrow defile leading to Sarronnyn, behind heaped lines of stone and
under blue - and - cream banners, waited groups of women and a few men.
No parley flags were offered or sought as the Fairhaven forces reached the
rock-strewn narrow valley, where patches of snow and ice huddled on the north
side of each boulder.
The wind howled, and the Iron Guard marched forward.
 Archers! Fire! A wave of iron-shafted missies arced into the blue-green
sky and dropped into the long column.
 Shields up! The small iron shields of the gray-clad warriors rose. Men
fell, those in gray mostly silent, those in white screaming as the iron shafts
burned through them.
A dull rumbling echoed down the valley. A spray of boulders bounced toward
the gray figures.
Hsssttt& hssstttt& From behind the Guard, firebolts lanced up the rocky
walls. White rock dust sprayed down like rain.
Soldiers in gray, white, and blue coughed.
 Archers& 
 Shields& 
Hssstttt&
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Soldiers continued to cough and die. Some screamed- either Whites struck
with iron arrows, or Sarronnese burned with firebolts when their positions
were overrun and they were forced from behind their stone barricades.
The cold wind whipped the fine white rock dust across the valley long after
the fires died.
Two White Wizards studied the overrun Sarronnese position.
 They know how to use the stone to block the firebolts.
 It didn t help them much. The heavier man glanced at a charred body with
mere blue tatters cloaking the black obscenity that had been a woman. Only the
gray blade remained intact, almost untouched.
 Not this time. We still lost two score of the Guard and probably four
times that in the lancers and the White archers. Zerchas looked back east to
the high peaks of the Westhorns.  And we re barely into Sarronnyn.
 We can replace the lancers and archers.
 I know. That s not what bothers me.
 The Guard, isn t it? [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]