Free The Order War by L. E. Modesitt Jr. Page B

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?”
    “Of course it’s the Guard. If I had my way, the White lancers would lead. They’ll be useless if we ever fight a really good Black force—like Westwind was, or like the legion of Southwind. That’s when we’ll need the Guard. Or if Recluce ever acts. But the Council seems to think that the Guard was developed to safeguard cowardly wizards. Or shirttail relatives in white coats.” Zerchas snorted. “Bah!”
    “What could we do?”
    “Bring up a couple of those young, impatient hotheads. Like Derba or—what’s the arrogant one’s name—Beltar, that’s it. Let them use themselves up.”
    “I don’t know. That…what about the chaos reserves?”
    “Why did Cerryl insist on them? So we’d have them to use. Besides, Recluce has cheated anyway. Their fleet probably uses five times the order the first fleet did—the ships are three times bigger and almost of all-black iron.”
    “Beltar doesn’t like you.”
    “I don’t like him. But he’ll come. Just flatter him. Tell him he’s indispensable. Young, self-important men always like to feel that way. He’ll come.” Zerchas stepped around another pile of charred bodies. “Send a message to Histen. He’s good at that sort of flattery.”
    “You think Histen will—He’s not overly fond of you, either.”
    “Of course he will. Beltar’s a danger to him in Fairhaven. Ever since Cerryl, you’ll notice that damned few High Wizards leave powerful Whites in Fairhaven. They say that’s because concentrating chaos is dangerous.” Zerchas laughed. “It is, and not just because of the corrosive effect on the city. It’s also dangerous to the health of the High Wizard.”
    “You’re a cynical bastard.”
    “So?” The White Wizard leaned into the wind as he walked toward the white-oak coach that flew his banner.

XVI
    Justen looked at the traveling clothes on the bed, wondering if he could get them all in his pack.
    Thrap…
    “Come on in, Gunnar.” It had to be Gunnar. Even Justen could sense the order in the figure out in the hallway.
    The sandy-haired wizard stepped into the clutter of the room. “You’re still packing at the last moment, I see.”
    “Why do it any earlier than I have to?” Justen shrugged and cleared off the desk chair. “Have a seat.” He began to fold a heavy pair of work trousers.
    Gunnar turned the chair to rest his arms across the back. “I’ve been thinking, Justen.”
    Justen folded the shirt and stuffed it into the big brown pack. “Now, where are those—”
    “I don’t like your going off to Sarronnyn. It doesn’t feel right.”
    “You want me to back out?” Justen pulled the trousers and shirt back out of the pack. The spare boots had to go in first.
    “No. I know you can’t do that. I talked to Turmin. He agreed with me. You engineers could benefit from a good Weather Wizard.”
    “You’re going with us?”
    Gunnar shook his head. “I can’t leave that quickly. I’ll come with the next group.”
    Justen folded the shirt over the toes of the boots, then refolded the trousers. “What changed your mind? You seemed to think we wouldn’t have much effect.”
    “I don’t know if we will. But you need a Weather Wizard. So I’m coming.”
    Justen folded a work shirt into the pack.
    Gunnar stood up. “You’ve got a