Read The Order War for Free Online Page B

Firbek’s and twisted. The marine tottered, then stumbled and pitched forward.
    “I’m so sorry, Firbek.” Justen grinned. “I need to be going, but perhaps we could have another round at some other time. Just for fun, of course.” He turned and extended the wand to Altara, who frowned. “My thanks for the loan, Master Engineer.”
    “My pleasure, Justen.” Altara’s words were low as she accepted the practice wand. “But you still have to be in the hall tomorrow. We’re going to start work on the new heat-exchangers that Gunnar and Blyss designed.”
    Justen forced a smile. Gunnar even showed up in the armory, for all that he never deigned to lift a blade or a staff. “I’ll be there.”
    He turned, but Firbek had vanished.
    “That was…interesting, but Estil’s probably expecting me by now.” Warin handed Justen the battered red-oak staff.
    “I’ll walk back with you.”
    Outside, the clouds had moved in from the Gulf, and a light, drizzling rain seeped over Nylan. Justen stopped on the stones halfway to the road and wiped his dripping forehead on his sleeve.
    “That was dangerous, Justen.” Warin looked back at the armory. “He is Counselor Ryltar’s cousin.”
    “What can he do?” Justen shrugged. “It was just a friendly match. He said so himself.”
    “Do you ever take anything in life seriously?”
    “Not much. After all, we’re not exactly going to get out of it alive.” Justen bounced the staff off the road stones and caught it. “Might as well try to enjoy things along the way.”
    “You have a warped sense of enjoyment.” Warin paused. “Estil’s probably waiting. I’ll see you tomorrow. And I’ll lay a staff on you yet.”
    “Only if you catch me watching a pretty girl.”
    “I’ll make sure one walks in.”
    “Who?”
    “I could have Estil stop by.”
    “That’s not fair.”
    “So?” Warin half-waved and began to trot uphill toward the line of houses along the ridgeline south of the black stone wall that marked the edge of Nylan.
    Justen twirled the staff, then turned downhill.

X
    Jagged-edged, red-sandstone upthrusts formed a circular amphitheater between the gray stone hills to the north and west and the rolling dunes to the south. A narrow strip of browned grass wound eastward from the red sandstone, gradually widening and greening as it neared the great forests.
    Within the small, natural-appearing theatre were three women. The three rested upon knee-high stones, smoothed either by nature or by hand into shapes comfortable for sitting. The silver-haired woman in the center rocked slightly, eyes closed. The red granules within the square formed by the five-cubit-long sandstone border stones shifted, slowly rearranging themselves.
    In time, the map appeared, the granules faithfully depicting in miniature the very peaks of the Westhorns themselves. A white line arrowed through the peaks, the whiteness tinged with the dull ugliness of dried blood.
    Slowly, white-sparkled granules of sand dotted the tiny peaks and valleys, growing and spreading westward until the entire map glimmered an ugly white.
    After a time, the mapmaker in the center released a deep breath and the depiction lost its sharpness as the sands slumped into their natural state. But the whiteness remained.

XI
    Justen adjusted the lamp wick. Although gas lamps were coming into vogue, the quarters of the Brotherhood still used oil, generally from the carnot nut.
    A rapping sounded on his door.
    “Yes?”
    “It’s your big brother.”
    “Come on in.”
    Gunnar eased into the room, carrying a pitcher. “I can tell you’re getting ready for a big night. I’ve got some redberry here.”
    “I thought you and Turmin were headed back to Land’s End.”
    “That’s tomorrow now. Counselor Ryltar asked Turmin to his house for dinner. He wanted to get Turmin’s opinions on the mess in Sarronnyn.” Gunnar set the pitcher on the lamp table. “You have any mugs?”
    “Over on the second shelf.”