The Towers of the Sunset - L. E. Modesitt [205]
“Sorry.”
“First, drink some more of this.”
Creslin sips from the second cup, his hands now steady enough to hold it.
“This is only theory.” Klerris pauses, coughs. “Somehow, you broke the order-chaos dichotomy. I don’t think that it has ever been done in quite that way before.”
“Order-chaos dichotomy?”
“You used a form of order to create destruction,” continues Klerris as though he has not heard Creslin’s question. “You may recall that I once pointed out to you that most Blacks found any physical destruction difficult as they grew older, even physical destruction that did not use magic. Well, you not only did the impossible, but you were slaying people with that deadly blade again when you did it.”
Only the distant sound of the surf whispers into the room.
“And?” finally prompts Creslin, the word half question, half croak.
“You have too much basic order in your bones, and your mind just shut down what it thought necessary for your preservation. Then the basic order forces recoiled against you and Megaera and shredded your remaining defenses.”
“What? You’re telling me that my thoughts aren’t my own?”
Klerris sighed. “I don’t have an answer. I can only guess.”
“How long will this blackness last?”
“I don’t know. If you were a normal order-master, you’d already be dead. It could be for the rest of your life. Then again, you might get your sight back in . . . I don’t know . . . a year, or it could be ten years. I just don’t know. I’m amazed that either one of you is still alive.”
“What about the raiders?”
“Shierra had more sense than we did. Your message was right. She just picked them off one by one until they gave up and surrendered. There are a few in the hills yet, but they’re not likely to be a problem. The Nordlans and Austrans want to ransom theirs back. Shierra and Hyel set the ransom at the maximum.” Klerris clears his throat again. “It appears as though the coinage problems, especially with what came off the grounded ships, have been more than solved. You and Megaera are rather wealthy now.”
“We are?”
“You two as regents get twenty percent. Plus that, Shierra and Hyel insisted that you be reimbursed for all the food you bought personally. After Shierra told the troops that and paid them their back pay, they wanted to vote you and Megaera thirty percent, but Shierra and Hyel insisted that you wouldn’t take it.”
“Twenty’s too much—”
“Don’t be a damned fool. You can’t afford to be poor. They’ll expect you to do the same during the next drought, shortage, or whatever.”
“Ummm . . .” Creslin’s eyes begin to droop as he slips back into sleep.
CXLI
CRESLIN’S STEPS ARE even, if slow. His senses and his ears scan the hallway and as he opens the door and steps inside Megaera’s room.
Her breathing is soft, and she lies motionless on the bed, so still that he cannot tell at first whether she is sleeping or resting quietly—not until he hears the rustle of soft cotton sheets.
“How—” he begins.
“Better.” Her voice is a whisper, and the dull aches in her arms are echoed in his.
Creslin sits down on the stool beside her, and his right hand covers her while his left brushes back the damp hair he cannot see, resting on a forehead still too warm.
“Your hand . . . feels good . . .”
He swallows, feeling the dampness on his cheeks as for a moment he reflects, weighing the blackness within himself. Then he eases what strength he can to her, wishing that he were stronger but glad to spare some of the Black order, although not as much as she and their daughter may need. He realizes his hand is gripping hers so tightly that both are wet, and he relaxes his hold.
“Don’t go.”
“I’m not going anywhere.” He squeezes her hand again, and the fingers of his left hand brush back her hair again and follow the line of her cheek. “Just holding too tight.”
He tries to picture her face—the freckles, the fire of her hair—and for an instant the image forms, and is gone.
“What new . . . happened?” she asks.
“Shierra insisted that we send an offer to the three—Fairhaven, Nordla, and Hamor—suggesting that the wisest