The Magic of Recluce - L. E. Modesitt [218]
“Be my guest.” I stepped back, aware that the gray wizard had the slightest hint of wariness about him. All the bowing and scraping was already getting to me, and it had barely been an eight-day since I had stumbled from the ruins of Antonin’s castle. You would have thought that I had done something great—like leveling a few mountains, or even crafting the most beautiful chest ever seen in Kyphros.
Bravado, luck, and applying whatever skill I had—that was what I had done, not quite like the effort to do a chest or table perfectly, though they were far more alike than I would have guessed when I had first apprenticed to Uncle Sardit.
The other thing I had done, almost unconsciously, was to be honest with myself. Not that I really had much choice otherwise, but that was the other difference between Antonin and me. It had taken a while, most of the ride back to Kyphrien, to figure out the answer to my question. How was I different from Antonin? Even Justen had been different from the white wizard. Could I have ever imagined Antonin working with smelly sheep? And that was the real sin—the real evil—of the white wizards. Pride. The conceit that they would impose their will on the world. Without even mentioning it, Justen had made his point with the smelly sheep of Montgren. And I hadn’t even realized that I had learned.
“May I come in?” he repeated.
“Oh, sorry. You reminded me of something.” I moved aside.
Justen stepped inside. I gestured toward the balcony.
Click.
I shut the door. We walked in silence outside into the chill, since I didn’t feel like being closed in. The granite of the guard buildings was also getting to me.
“So why does everyone have to skitter out of my way? Uncle Justen?” I added.
He nodded. “Was it that obvious?”
“Probably, but I didn’t see it until I went after Antonin. I’m still angry as hell at Talryn and Recluce. And my father.” And I was. The idea of being sent out as his penance, so to speak, grated on me. While I could understand—now—why the answers I had sought were not possible, Recluce had no excuse for the excessive secrecy.
“Talryn’s probably quaking in his sandals.” Justen’s voice was not quite tongue-in-cheek.
“I doubt that. He’s probably happy to be rid of me.” Strangely, although I was angry, I wasn’t that angry, and I was less concerned about Recluce than about Kyphros and Gallos.
“Could I ask how you—” Justen’s tone was deferential.
“Luck, bravado, stupidity—the usual ingredients of so-called heroism.”
“Lerris.”
I shrugged. “Chaos-order balance. Simple enough.”
Justen looked bewildered for the first time.
“Chaos is concentrated anarchy, if you will. Order is diffused by nature. They have to balance. Recluce has gotten stronger by letting Candar create more chaos, in effect letting…” I was the one to shake my head. “You know that. You’re the one who pointed it out to me.” I stopped as Justen shook his head slowly. “I swear you did. But after making Antonin stronger, helping him create more chaos, I didn’t have any choice.”
The gray wizard looked even more…appalled. That might have been the best word.
I tried to explain what he already must have known. “Order, except in special circumstances, can’t be concentrated. I’m not talking about reinforcing already-ordered people—or sheep—or chairs, but pure order. Chaos can. In effect, because order and chaos must balance, the higher the diffuse order in an area, the greater the potential for chaos. So my efforts to increase order in Gallos just allowed Antonin to create more chaos.” Another thought struck me. “I suppose that meant an overall decrease in order-chaos energies somewhere else, but I haven’t worked that out. Anyway, once I figured the balance and my contribution, I didn’t have much choice. I was as guilty as Antonin for the destruction.”
My guts protested. “Not as guilty,” I corrected myself, “but I helped.”
Justen shook his head, and I ignored the gesture, just wanting to finish answering the question.
“Anyway, all I did to Antonin was throw a reversed shield around us, to reflect energy