The Magic Engineer Read online

  Praise for L. E. Modesitt, Jr.’s world of fantasy

  “Modesitt has created an exceptionally vivid secondary world, so concretely visualized as to give the impression that Modesitt himself must have dwelt there.”

  —L. Sprague de Camp

  “This is a writer who cares about his characters and his world. This is disciplined fantasy, not fluff. L. E. Modesitt, Jr. is uncompromising when it comes to the effects of magic, both on the natural world and on the human heart. There are no cheap solutions to the problems of Recluce. Because of that, it is a world worth returning to.”

  —Megan Lindholm

  “A splendid fantasy that grips from the first sentence. For once this is a book that really does cry out to be turned into a trilogy.”

  —Interzone

  To and for

  Carol Ann

  Contents

  I. Seeker

  Chapter I

  Chapter II

  Chapter III

  Chapter IV

  Chapter V

  Chapter VI

  Chapter VII

  Chapter VIII

  Chapter IX

  Chapter X

  Chapter XI

  Chapter XII

  Chapter XIII

  Chapter XIV

  Chapter XV

  Chapter XVI

  Chapter XVII

  Chapter XVIII

  Chapter XIX

  Chapter XX

  Chapter XXI

  Chapter XXII

  Chapter XXIII

  Chapter XXIV

  Chapter XXV

  Chapter XXVI

  Chapter XXVII

  Chapter XXVIII

  Chapter XXIX

  Chapter XXX

  Chapter XXXI

  Chapter XXXII

  Chapter XXXIII

  II. Smith and Healer

  Chapter XXXIV

  Chapter XXXV

  Chapter XXXVI

  Chapter XXXVII

  Chapter XXXVIII

  Chapter XXXIX

  Chapter XL

  Chapter XLI

  Chapter XLII

  Chapter XLIII

  Chapter XLIV

  Chapter XLV

  Chapter XLVI

  Chapter XLVII

  Chapter XLVIII

  Chapter XLIX

  Chapter L

  Chapter LI

  Chapter LII

  Chapter LIII

  Chapter LIV

  Chapter LV

  Chapter LVI

  Chapter LVII

  Chapter LVIII

  Chapter LIX

  Chapter LX

  Chapter LXI

  Chapter LXII

  Chapter LXIII

  Chapter LXIV

  Chapter LXV

  Chapter LXVI

  Chapter LXVII

  Chapter LXVIII

  Chapter LXIX

  Chapter LXX

  Chapter LXXI

  Chapter LXXII

  Chapter LXXIII

  Chapter LXXIV

  Chapter LXXV

  Chapter LXXVI

  Chapter LXXVII

  Chapter LXXVIII

  Chapter LXXIX

  Chapter LXXX

  Chapter LXXXI

  Chapter LXXXII

  Chapter LXXXIII

  Chapter LXXXIV

  Chapter LXXXV

  Chapter LXXXVI

  Chapter LXXXVII

  Chapter LXXXVIII

  Chapter LXXXIX

  Chapter XC

  Chapter XCI

  Chapter XCII

  Chapter XCIII

  Chapter XCIV

  Chapter XCV

  Chapter XCVI

  Chapter XCVII

  Chapter XCVIII

  Chapter XCIX

  Chapter C

  Chapter CI

  Chapter CII

  Chapter CIII

  Chapter CIV

  Chapter CV

  Chapter CVI

  Chapter CVII

  Chapter CVIII

  Chapter CIX

  III. Trader and Engineer

  Chapter CX

  Chapter CXI

  Chapter CXII

  Chapter CXIII

  Chapter CXIV

  Chapter CXV

  Chapter CXVI

  Chapter CXVII

  Chapter CXVIII

  Chapter CXIX

  Chapter CXX

  Chapter CXXI

  Chapter CXXII

  Chapter CXXIII

  Chapter CXXIV

  Chapter CXXV

  Chapter CXXVI

  Chapter CXXVII

  Chapter CXXVIII

  Chapter CXXIX

  Chapter CXXX

  Chapter CXXXI

  Chapter CXXXII

  Chapter CXXXIII

  Chapter CXXXIV

  IV. Order-Forger

  Chapter CXXXV

  Chapter CXXXVI

  Chapter CXXXVII

  Chapter CXXXVIII

  Chapter CXXXIX

  Chapter CXL

  Chapter CXLI

  Chapter CXLII

  Chapter CXLIII

  Chapter CXLIV

  Chapter CXLV

  Chapter CXLVI

  Chapter CXLVII

  Chapter CXLVIII

  Chapter CXLIX

  Chapter CL

  Chapter CLI

  Chapter CLII

  Chapter CLIII

  Chapter CLIV

  Chapter CLV

  Chapter CLVI

  Chapter CLVII

  Chapter CLVIII

  Chapter CLIX

  Chapter CLX

  Chapter CLXI

  Chapter CLXII

  Chapter CLXIII

  Chapter CLXIV

  Chapter CLXV

  Chapter CLXVI

  Chapter CLXVII

  Chapter CLXVIII

  Chapter CLXIX

  Chapter CLXX

  Chapter CLXXI

  Chapter CLXXII

  Chapter CLXXIII

  Chapter CLXXIV

  Chapter CLXXV

  Chapter CLXXVI

  Chapter CLXXVII

  Chapter CLXXVIII

  Chapter CLXXIX

  Chapter CLXXX

  Chapter CLXXXI

  Chapter CLXXXII

  Chapter CLXXXIII

  Chapter CLXXXIV

  I.

  Seeker

  I

  The boy looks at the iron, cherry-red in the tongs.

  The wiry man—small and compact, unlike the traditional smith—holds the tongs higher as he glances toward the boy. “That’s hot enough to bind storms and wizards, boy. Strong enough to hold giants, just like Nylan bound the demons of light for Ryba…” Sweat pours from his forehead despite the breezes channeled through the smithy by the very nature of the building. “Iron…iron runs through the center of Recluce. That’s what makes Recluce a refuge of order.”

  “That story about Nylan isn’t true. The demons of light were gone by then,” states the child in a clear, but low voice. His narrow solemn face remains unsmiling. “And there aren’t any giants.”

  “So there aren’t,” agrees the smith. “If’n there were, though, iron’s the stuff to hold ’em.” He returns to his work. “And black iron—that’ll hold the worst of the White Wizards. Been true since the time of Nylan.”

  “The strongest of the White Wizards? They weren’t as strong as the founder.”

  “No,” says the smith. “But that was back then. They’re a-breedin’ new demons in Fairhaven these days. You wait and see.” He lifts the hammer. “Then the Black Brothers’ll need black steel…even if I need an order-master to help me forge it…”

  Clung…clung. The hammer falls upon the metal that the tongs have positioned on the anvil, and the ringing impact
s drown out the last of his words.

  The solemn-faced boy, his hair redder than the cooling metal, nods, frowns.

  “Dorrin, I’m done. Where are you?” A girl’s voice, strong and firm, perhaps even a shout outside the smithy, barely penetrates between the hammer blows rippling through the heat and faint mist of worked metal.

  “Good day, ser,” says the redhead politely, before dashing from the smithy into the sunlight.

  …clung…

  The smith shakes his head, but his hands are sure upon the hammer and the metal.

  II

  The red-headed youth leafs through the pages of the heavy book, his eyes flicking from line to line, from page to page, oblivious to the scrutiny from beyond the archway.

  “What are you reading?”

  “Nothing.” His thoughts burn at the evasion. “Just one of the natural philosophies,” he adds quickly.

  “It wouldn’t be the one on mechanical devices, would it?” asks the tall man.

  “Yes, father,” Dorrin responds with a sigh, waiting for the lecture.

  Instead, his father responds with a deep breath. “Put it back on the shelf. Let’s get on with your studies.”

  As he reshelves the heavy book and turns toward the tall, thin man, Dorrin asks, “Why don’t we build some of the machines in the books?”

  “Such as?” The tall man in black steps around his son and proceeds toward the covered porch beyond the library.

  Dorrin turns and follows. “What about the heated water engine?”

  “Heated water is steam.” The Black wizard shakes his head. “What would happen if chaos energy were loosed in the cold water?” The wizard sits down on the high stool with the short back.

  “It wouldn’t work. But—”

  “That’s enough, Dorrin. There are reasons why we don’t use those machines. Some can be easily disrupted by chaos. Some actually require the constant attention of a chaos wizard, and you can understand why that’s not practical here on Recluce, I trust?”

  Dorrin nods quietly, as he sits on the backless stool across from his father. He has heard the lecture before.

  “We work with nature, Dorrin, not against it. That is the basis of order, and the foundation of Recluce.” The wizard pauses. “Now, tell me what the winds are like off Land’s End.”

  Dorrin closes his eyes and concentrates for a time. Finally, he speaks. “They’re light, like a cold mist seeping from the north.”

  “What about the higher winds, the ones that direct the weather?”

  Dorrin closes his eyes again.

  “You should have felt them all. You have to be able to feel the air, Dorrin, feel it at all levels, not just the low easy parts,” explains the tall man in black. He looks from the sky above the Eastern Ocean back to the red-headed youngster.

  “What good is feeling something if you can’t do anything with it?” The boy’s voice is both solemn and curious.

  “Just knowing what the air and the weather are doing is important.” Despite his tall, thin build, the man’s voice is resonant and authoritative. “I have told you before. The farmers and the sailors need to know.”

  “Yes, ser,” acknowledges the redhead. “But I can’t help the plants, and I cannot even call the slightest of breezes.”

  “I’m sure that will come, Dorrin. In time, and with more work.” The man in black sighs softly, turning his eyes from the black stone railing to the other covered porch where a shaded table set for four awaits. “Think about it.”

  “I have thought about it, father. I would rather be a smith or a woodworker. They make real things. Even a healer helps people. You can see what happens. I don’t want to spend my life watching things. I want to do things and to create things.”

  “Sometimes, watching things saves many lives. Remember the big storm last year…”

  “Father…? The legends say that Creslin could direct the storms. Why can’t—”

  “We’ve talked about that before, Dorrin. If we direct the storms, it will change the weather all over the world, and Recluce could become a desert once again. Even more people would die. When the Founders changed the world, thousands upon thousands died, and they almost died as well. Now, it would be worse. Much worse. Even if a Black as great as Creslin appeared, and that is not likely. Not with the Balance.”

  “But why?”

  “I told you why. Because there are more people. Because everything relates to everything else. And because there is more order in the world today.”

  Dorrin looks at his father’s earnest face, purses his lips, and falls silent.

  “I’m going to help your mother with dinner. Do you know where Kyl is?”

  “Down on the beach.”

  “Would you get him, please?”

  “Yes, ser.” Dorrin inclines his head and stands. As he crosses the close-grown lawn, his steps are deliberate, carrying him along the knife-edged stone walk with the precision that characterizes his speech and dress.

  After a last look at his son, the wizard turns to wend his way through the library and toward the kitchen.

  III

  “Until you can prove you are the man with the white sword—that’s how long before you could count on being the High Wizard, Jeslek.”

  “I suppose I would have to raise mountains along the Analerian highlands? Is that what you’re saying, Sterol?”

  “It wouldn’t hurt,” quips the man in white with the amulet around his neck.

  “It could be done, you know. Especially with all the increased order created over the past generations by Recluce.” The sun in Jeslek’s eyes bathes the room.

  “The day you do that, I’ll hand you the amulet.” Sterol laughs, and the sound is colder than the wind that swirls across the winter skies above Fairhaven.

  “I mean it. It’s not a question of pure force, you know. It’s a question of releasing order bounds deep within the earth.”

  “There is one condition, however.”

  “Oh?”

  “You must preserve the great road, and stand amidst your mountains as you raise them.”

  Jeslek chuckles. “Getting more cautious, I see.”

  “Merely prudent. One would not wish a High Wizard who could not control the chaos he released. That was the example of Jenred.”

  “Spare me that lecture.”

  “Of course. You young ones do not need the ancient tales and parables because they do not apply in a changing world.”

  Jeslek frowns, but bows. “By your leave?”

  “Of course, dear Jeslek. Do let me know when you plan to raise mountains.”

  “I certainly will. I would not wish you to miss anything.”

  IV

  “Damn it, Dorrin!” The smith takes the short length of metal, already bearing a blackish sheen, even while it retains a straw brown color, and uses the tongs to set it on the brick hearth beside the anvil.

  The youth flushes, the red from the forge combining with the red of chagrin climbing up from his neck. “I’m sorry, Hegl.”

  “Bein’ sorry don’t count a whole lot. Now, I got a chunk of black-ordered steel that’s useless. Don’t fit nothing, and nothing but a wizard’s hearth gets hot enough to melt that. Darkness, you dump so much order in things, Nylan himself couldn’t have forged it.” Hegl snorts. “Not much call for black steel, anyway, but you don’t order it until it’s finished. What were you thinking of?”

  “How it would look when you were done.”

  The smith shakes his head. “Go on. Let me finish. I’ll send Kadara for you when it’s time.”

  Dorrin swallows and turns, walking toward the open double doors designed to funnel the cool air through the smithy. Behind him, the smith extracts another rod of iron from the bin and lifts it toward the furnace.