The Towers of the Sunset - L. E. Modesitt [117]
“To make them grow healthier. Or to determine which plants will produce the most fruit, the sturdiest grain . . . that sort of thing.”
“Oh, that. I can strengthen them. Certainly Lydya can do more. I suppose I could too. Why?”
“We’re getting additional people. People need food.”
“Creslin,” Klerris says slowly, “it’s too dry here to grow much of anything, even if the winter is mild, without cold rain or snow.”
“You’re speaking of the regular kind of plants.”
“Ah . . .” Megaera interrupts.
Creslin looks up from the table, the only steady table in Recluce, he suspects, borrowed from Hyel for the needs of the co-regency. The table and three chairs fill nearly all of the cot’s floor space.
“The plans for the . . . residence . . .” Megaera reminds the young Storm Wizard. “Unless you want to risk dying in your sleep sooner or later.”
“Oh.” Creslin looks down at the paper before him. “What’s this big room?”
“Dining hall. You’ll have to entertain,” Klerris explains.
“This?” asks Megaera.
“An extra bedroom,” Klerris admits.
Megaera’s eyes flash. “We agreed that Creslin and I will have separate bedrooms and that guests will be housed in adjoining guest houses, to be built later.”
“Then it must be a private study,” Klerris adds mildly.
“Then call it that. I’ll certainly need one,” Megaera says.
“This will take some work—”
“You’re going to have to use the troops.”
“Not until after the keep is expanded.”
“You’re right about that,” Megaera agrees while her eyes again study the rough plan on the table.
“What about clearing away the dirt and rock?” Creslin asks.
“I can do that,” Megaera notes.
Klerris nods. “Do you want to?”
“I’d better do it now, hadn’t I?” The redhead’s voice is flat, distant.
The room is silent for a time before she speaks again. “Why can Creslin use his powers to kill people and still be a Black or a Gray Wizard? I thought that all destruction was linked to chaos.” Megaera’s green eyes fix on the slight black-haired man.
“It’s not what magic is used for; it’s what kind of power is used.” Klerris’s voice slips into the well-worn grooves of a teacher who has explained repeatedly. “Order magic is involved with the ordering of things, sometimes rearranging, sometimes building. Chaos work breaks the bonds between things, destroys them, if you will, through fire or collapse.” He looks at Creslin. “How have you used your powers to kill?”
Creslin leans back in his chair, nearly unbalancing himself at the directness of the question. “I always called the winds.”
“What did you ask of them?”
“To build a storm, sometimes with hail or freezing rain.”
The Black Wizard looks at Megaera. “Do you see?”
“But that’s not fair! That means that an evil man can use order to kill and destroy.”
“Within limits . . . if he is a very strong wizard, and if he plans ahead well.”
“Would you explain that?” Creslin asks. Although he knows the answer, he wants Megaera to hear it from someone else.
Klerris shrugs. “Take Creslin. If ten armed men jump from behind that door at him, he has virtually no chance to use magic. You generally can’t call a storm that quickly, and you can’t count on being able to do it in all weather conditions . . . not easily. A White Wizard with equal strength could fry all ten of those men in an eye-blink.”
Megaera muses for a moment. “But why can’t a wizard do both White and Black magic then? You say that it’s the kind of magic, not the use to which it is put that matters.”
Klerris laughs. “It’s hard to be two things at once. For example, while you can for a while both love and hate Creslin, harboring both feelings over time will tear you apart inside. That’s why people end up either loving or hating something or someone about whom they feel strongly. The same is true of magic. Some are called to order, some to chaos, and some can choose. I’ve known of only one Gray Wizard, and she died very young. It’s theoretically possible, but I doubt that many could manage it.” He smiles sadly. “You also have to be sane to use order.