Cyador's Heirs by L. E. Modesitt Jr

Author:L. E. Modesitt, Jr.
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Tom Doherty Associates

XLV

Just after sunrise on sevenday the Lancers ride out from the travelers’ hostel of Apfhel, on a journey that will last past sunset, according to Yulyn.

As he rides beside the wayguide, Lerial cannot help wonder about the discrepancy between Casseon’s prohibition of chaos use among his people but his likely deployment of it against his enemies or those against whom he has a grudge.

All that raises another, and far more personal question. What can he do—if anything—should he encounter a magus or a white wizard using chaos-fire? He understands that some of those in the past of Cyador who were not full Magi’i, like Lorn, have faced chaos-fire and triumphed. Strong ordermasters are supposed to have been able to create order shields against chaos. Lerial is well aware that he is nowhere close to being either a magus or a full ordermage. Yet … is there anything he can do? There must be something.

Even as he surveys the forest through which they ride, a forest that seems to change little, with its mixture of evergreens and broad-leafed trees, most of whose leaves are winter-grayed, his thoughts keep coming back to the question of what sort of defenses he can develop. After riding a glass and a half, from what he can tell, since it is hard to chart the progress of the sun between the intermittent clouds and the tall trees that leave the road in shadow most of the time, they ride through a hamlet. In the entire ride from Apfhel to the unnamed hamlet, they have passed but a handful of small wagons, two other riders, both in brown, and several young men walking the road, carrying either scythes or mattocks.

Once they enter the hamlet, from what Lerial can tell, there are close to a hundred dwellings, similar, if not nearly identical, to those he has seen in Apfhel. He does not see a Kaordist temple, but perhaps it is farther from the main road than is the one in Apfhel. With the thinning of the trees come rays of sunlight, for which Lerial finds he is grateful, yet before long they are back in the shadows of the main road.

“Are all the roads in Verdheln this shadowed?” he finally asks Yulyn.

“I know of none that are not … except where they pass through the great meadows.”

“Where are the great meadows?”

“Where they always have been,” replies Yulyn with a broad grin. “We will pass through one close to sunset. There are not many in Verdheln, and most are to the west and more to the south.”

“You don’t clear meadows?”

“If the Verd wants a meadow, there is one. Who are we to change that?”

“But you thin the trees for your towns.”

“As little as possible.”

“Why is that?”

“Because, where there is forest, there should remain forest.”

“Why do you think that is the way it should be?”

“The forest was here before us. It will be here long after we are gone. Who are we to change that?”

Once more, Lerial’s questions have brought him to a place where the answers to further questions will reveal nothing new.

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