Free The Death of Chaos by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

struck me long before we got onto the avenue. The babble was the same as always.
    “…Mytara, if I’ve told you once about eggs…”
    “…finest bronze in Candar…”
    “You’d think that she’d appreciate a solid provider, but, no, she’s got to insist on a dandy, one with a pretty face. What will she do when she’s got three offspring, and needs money for a serving girl? Does she think of that…”
    “…and you could have walked the lake and not dampened your boots…”
    “Let Hyrella tell your fortune! A mere copper. Will you grudge a mere copper to learn your fate?”
    “…best pies in Kyphros…”
    “Thief! Thief! Get the little scamp!”
    My eyes darted to the thin figure who pounded down the cobblestone road, scuttled between two women, and darted into a narrow alleyway leading down toward the river.
    The heavyset merchant puffed to a stop and glared at Yelena. “You serve the autarch, and you let him get away! Why didn’t you stop him?”
    Yelena reined up, and so did I. Several passersby turned.
    “Well, why didn’t you stop him?” The man’s heavy waxed mustaches waved as he panted out his question.
    “I would have had to ride over people,” answered Yelena.
    “That’s no answer. You let a thief get away! I intend to let the autarch know of this…disgraceful…”
    “…there goes Fuston again…”
    “…too fat to chase anyone and too crooked for anyone to help him…”
    Fuston turned. “I heard that. Liars! Liars!”
    “…too fat…”
    “…too full of himself, he is…”
    Yelena struggled to keep a straight face, as Fuston rolled his bulk back to face me. “You! Tell those guards to chase the thief.”
    “Me?” I shook my head. “He’s gone. What did he steal?”
    “He took some olives, right from the barrel. Scooped them up and ran off.” The fat man waddled toward me.
    “…kid could have used the olives more than Fuston…”
    “You’re that famous order-master! Why don’t you make sure there’s order here in Kyphrien?” Fuston’s acrid breath hit me harder than his words as he leaned forward, his face less than two cubits from me. Why was it that people like Fuston recognized me and some of the Finest didn’t? Probably because Fuston watched parades like the one Kasee gave on my return to Kyphros, and the soldiers were working or on picket duty—or something.
    “I presume he was hungry,” I said evenly, letting Gairloch back away.
    “So he was hungry! He stole my olives, and what are you going to do about it?” Fuston stepped forward to close the distance between us again.
    Yelena fingered her blade, and Freyda and Jylla watched with impassive faces.
    “Let me understand this,” I temporized. “This young thief was so hungry that he took some olives out of the barrel right in front of your eyes?”
    “Of course. How else would I have seen him?”
    “Does not that tell you something? He is either terribly arrogant, terribly stupid, or terribly hungry. If he is arrogant or stupid, he will try something like that again, and, before long, someone will catch him.” I cleared my throat. “Unhappily, if he is that hungry, he will steal again also, and he will be caught.” I tried to think through what I should say as the merchant jabbed a fat finger at me.
    “You won’t do anything? A fine wizard you are!”
    I caught his eyes. “You are wealthy. You are well fed, and you have the means to protect yourself. You are angry because a boy made a fool out of you, and you want to blame someone else. This thief is long gone. I am not a white wizard who sniffs after blood. Nor am I a white wizard who burns people into cinders. What do you want?”
    “I want justice!”
    I grinned. “But you have justice. A hungry boy has been fed, and you have warned everyone about a thief. Is that not justice? Or would you call it justice if a white wizard threw a firebolt and turned that hungry thief into ashes?”
    “Bah…the autarch will hear about