Wellspring of Chaos

XVIII

That evening, after Sanyle had left and Warrl had climbed into his bed in the corner of the main room, Kharl sat at the table, with a pen in hand, looking at the paper before him. Only two words were on the paper-“Dear Merayni.”

What could he write? That Charee had been hanged for a murder she didn’t commit? That he’d been unable to do anything about it? That because he’d prevented Egen from raping Sanyle and taken pity on a beaten blackstaffer, the lord’s son had tried to destroy Kharl, and failing that, had taken his vengeance out on Charee? Merayni would blame Kharl no matter what had happened.

Finally, he folded the paper and tucked it away. He stood and glanced to the corner, but Warrl seemed to be sleeping. With a faint smile, Kharl took the lamp and The Basis of Order into his bedchamber. There he stretched out on his stomach-on the left side of the bed, where he had always slept.

He turned his head, and for a moment, with the faintest scent of rose, he thought he could almost feel Charee. And then the sense of her presence was gone. He still had trouble, especially at night, when he lay in the bed alone, accepting that she was gone. And for what? No matter what the justicer had said, Charee had not killed anyone.

He blinked several times, then blotted his eyes.

Finally, he opened the book and forced himself to look at the words on the page. He had to think of something else. He had to. For a moment, he could not make out the print. He blotted his eyes once more, then concentrated on the book.

All physical items-unlike fire or pure chaos-must have some structure, or they would not exist…

Because all wrought iron has a grain created from the forging of its crystals, the strength of the iron lies in the alignment and length of the grain. Using order to reinforce that grain is the basis of black iron…Its strength lies in the ordering of unbruised or unstrained grains along the length of the metal…

The cooper nodded. Those words made sense. Even with his limited work in forging the hoops from iron blanks, he could see where what the book said would make sense-except for one thing. How could a mage actually infuse iron with order? What he had read so far gave no hint of how such might be done. Yet he had seen the bands on Jenevra’s staff and the warship from Recluce in the harbor. Even from a pier away, there was no doubt that it had been constructed of black iron, and that it was a deadly vessel.

Yet he had never seen more than one warship of Recluce at a time, and those most seldom. Why did Lord West fear the demon isle? Or did he? Had he used the isle as an excuse? Kharl frowned. Lord West had used the law-or his youngest son had-to increase his power over Kharl and those in Brysta and the western quadrant of Nordla. He had no need to mention Recluce.

Kharl’s eyes dropped to the book once more. What was it about Recluce? Would the book tell him more? He flipped back several pages, more toward the beginning of the first part, and reread a section that had bothered him.

The purpose of order is to support that life which can order chaos; and without chaos to be ordered, there can be no purpose to life.

The function of chaos is to destroy order. Without order, no structure can exist-no man nor woman, no plant, not even an earth upon which to walk…

He frowned. Was Egen the kind of man who was like chaos, destroying order even as he talked of maintaining it? What did maintain order in Brysta? Justicers? The armsmen under Lord West?

Those questions and thoughts were more than Kharl wanted to contemplate, and he closed the book, setting it aside as he prepared for bed. He still had more barrels to finish in the days ahead, and he needed the sleep. He just hoped he could.