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

this…you’ll see…you’ll see…” Fuston gave me a last glare before turning and waddling away.
    “…not a bad answer for a young wizard…”
    “…not that good…”
    “…he’s right about Fuston. He’s too well fed to chase his young wife around the bed…forget about thieves…”
    We continued riding along the stone-paved street that would lead to the east road.
    “That wasn’t a bad sermon,” said Yelena. “Do they teach you that in wizard’s school?”
    “There isn’t a wizard’s school. My father and Justen were always telling me to think before I spoke. People like that merchant don’t give you any time to think.” My fingers touched the smooth wood of the staff, and the wood offered some comfort, although I was careful not to put any more order into the staff. You can divide your soul that way. That’s really what happens to some wizards, and they don’t even know it. I know. It happened to me, but I managed to get it back, mainly because Justen insisted that I reread The Basis of Order .
    “I don’t believe in theft.” I coughed. I wasn’t used to talking that much. Woodworking without an apprentice is quiet work. “But I don’t believe that whipping or killing people desperate enough to steal food in the daylight is likely to do much good.”
    “No.” Weldein glanced toward the eastern gates less than two hundred cubits ahead.
    Jylla and Freyda nodded.
    I gave Gairloch another pat and looked back toward the autarch’s residence, although I couldn’t see it, and then at the road stretching ahead.

VIII
    The tall sandy-haired man with the heavy forearms walked along the pier toward the ship in the end berth. The light wind brought the smell of cooking from the waterfront of Nylan to the pier, mixing the oil with the scents of seaweed and fish. The steel-hulled vessel with the nameplate Shrezsan flew the flag of Hamor from a jackstaff above the stern. As he noted the nameplate, a faint smile crossed his lips.
    Wisps of steam seeped from the twin funnels. No paddle-wheels protruded from the smooth lines of the hull, but the tips of the two big screws were visible just beneath the surface of the gray water in the harbor of Nylan. The tall man stood by a bollard not quite half his height and closed his eyes, concentrating on the ship. After he had stood silently for a time, a steam-powered tractor puffed by, then slowed.
    “Is that you, Magister Gunnar?”
    Gunnar opened his eyes and turned to the dark-haired woman in black coveralls. He inclined his head.
    “Caron. From Sigil. I took your order ethics class at the Temple in Wandernaught.”
    “I’m sorry, I did not recognize you.” He gestured toward the ship. “I’d heard about the new Hamorian steamers, and I wanted to see one.”
    “She’s a beauty. Fast, too.”
    “ Shrezsan— that’s not a Hamorian name. I wonder…”
    Caron laughed. “The ship belongs to Leithrrse. He came from Enstronn, but he couldn’t finish dangergeld. He’s a prosperous merchant in Hamor, sometimes even acts as an envoy for the Emperor—not here, of course.”
    “No…I suppose not.” Gunnar paused. “The steel seems almost as tough as black iron, and the propellers are smooth-finished.”
    Caron nodded. “They’ve built some warships that are even faster, according to the mate, lots of them, with more on the way. He looked over his shoulder when he told me.”
    “If they can do this, I’d not be surprised if they’re going to arm them with cannon.”
    Caron looked down the pier and back. “They have. Hundreds maybe. That’s what one of the sailors was saying in the White Stag.”
    Gunnar pulled at his chin. “Take a lot of iron.”
    “Hamor’s got a lot.”
    “I suppose.” Gunnar looked beyond the ship, out toward the Gulf and Candar.
    A steam whistle blew, and Caron flashed a brief smile. “That’s for me. They need to load this up. It was good seeing you, Magister Gunnar.”
    “Good to see you, Caron.” Gunnar took