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

another look at the Shrezsan , then stepped back next to the bollard and closed his eyes once more.
    The steam whistle tooted twice more, and a pair of gulls swooped down and across the stem of the steamer.
    A wake left the next pier, a pier guarded and apparently empty, for all that the ripples signified a departing ship.
    Gunnar’s eyes opened and followed the unseen ship for a time. Finally, he shook his head and walked back toward the shops at the foot of the pier.

IX
    We headed southeast from Kyphrien on a packed clay road wide enough for three horses or a wagon and one horse, riding through the hills of red clay covered with fine sand, patches of grass, and desert olive groves, meticulously tended, their leaves gray in the early winter light. Between the groves were villages, so small they had no kaystones, no squares, just white-plastered houses with red tile roofs and handfuls of children scattered in odd places—on stone walls or tending sheep or driving oxen with long wands.
    By mid-morning, the high gray clouds began to break, but the wind remained light, although it had changed direction, coming from the north, and seemed more chill than in Kyphrien.
    Riding past the olive trees, I wondered how many of the groves belonged to Hensil, the trader who had commissioned the chair set. Somehow, I liked Antona better than Hensil, although I couldn’t say I liked her occupation better. They both catered to human appetites, but I have never liked the idea of any trade in human beings. Then again, just because he was richer, was Hensil any better than Fuston, who had wanted me to punish a starving boy? Food traders withheld food for those who had more coins, and traders in women effectively withheld sex for those who had more coins. Except—I shook my head—women could think, and olives presumably didn’t.
    “You look worried, Order-master,” commented Yelena.
    “Comparing olives and women,” I mumbled.
    Jylla and Freyda grinned at each other.
    Weldein brushed back his longish blond hair and said softly, “You have to think about that?”
    Even I had to smile.
    The olive groves diminished to scattered stands, and eventually gave way to sparser hillsides covered with low and gnarled cedars. The villages grew less frequent, as did travelers. We stopped to water the horses around midday at a narrow stream running between two hills. To our right, downstream, a small flock of sheep had churned the grass around a damp area into a long streak of brown on brown.
    “Good thing they’re downstream,” offered Yelena.
    About to scoop up a mouthful of water, I stopped, deciding a little orderspelling on the water wouldn’t hurt. Yelena drank from her canteen. So did Weldein, but I wanted to save the redberry in mine. So I orderspelled some water. I could almost feel the grit and some chaos spill out.
    “How can you drink that?” asked Jylla. “Won’t you get the flux?”
    “Very carefully,” I told her. “I wouldn’t drink it if you don’t have to.”
    “But you are.”
    “I orderspelled it.”
    Freyda and Jylla looked at each other and shook their heads. After that, I stood beside Gairloch and took out the cheese and hard biscuits.
    “Would you like some?” I offered a small wedge of the white cheese to each of them. Even the Finest aren’t exactly that well off.
    “Thank you,” said Weldein and Yelena.
    Freyda and Jylla nodded thanks.
    “How long will it take to get to Lythga?” According to Krystal, the trip was four days hard riding to Jikoya, and then another two to Lythga and that part of the Lower Easthorns.
    “A little over six days,” answered Yelena after swallowing half the wedge of cheese in a single bite. “The way you’re going to Hydlen is almost an eight-day longer.”
    “I really don’t want to ride up the direct route to Arastia. That’s like announcing my arrival with a large trumpet and saying, ‘Hello, Gerlis, here I am.’ It’s not that healthy.”
    Yelena frowned. “You