The Magic Engineer by L. E. Modesitt Jr. Read Free Book Online Page A

not going to Candar. It’s dangerous there.”
    The white-haired woman smiles, and her eyes twinkle. “You’re not going today, but you will go—along with a few others, like your friend Kadara.”
    “Why is Kadara going?”
    “For the same reason you are.”
    “Because we don’t understand what a wonderful place we live in?”
    “Not exactly. Because you don’t understand why it is a wonderful place.”
    “But I do.”
    “Then why do you use every free minute to sketch machines or build models of things that do not fit into our world?”
    “But they could. The ones I think about are the ones you could use with order. I mean, you could forge them with black steel—”
    “Dorrin…listen to what you’re saying. You’re admitting that there is no place for them. Who could build these machines? What smith could handle that much black iron? And who could use them?”
    “You could,” Dorrin states.
    “But why? Our fields are more bountiful than any in the world. Our healers keep us healthy and happy. Our stone and timber homes are solid and warm and proof against all elements. Our crafts are becoming known as the finest on the Eastern Ocean. And chaos is excluded.”
    “But things could be so much better.”
    “Better in what way? Would your machines make people happier or healthier? Would they make the crops stronger? The trees straighter or taller? Or would they require ripping open themountains for more iron? Or digging through fertile fields for the coal that lies beneath?”
    “But it doesn’t have to be that way.”
    “Listen to your own words, Dorrin. Each time that I have said something, you have said ‘but.’ Doesn’t that say that you believe my words, but feel that the machines are worth more than the pain they will create?”
    Dorrin cannot dispute her, yet something is missing, something he cannot exactly name or place. “It isn’t that way at all, but I cannot tell you why.”
    Lortren shrugs. “You may be right. Darkness knows that you’ve taught me a thing or two. But—and it’s my turn to admit things—you cannot object to what is. You must find the understanding within you not just to build your machines, but to ensure that they improve our way of life. You will never gain that understanding here on Recluce.”
    Dorrin looks helplessly at the desk in the corner of the study, with the row of texts. The faintest of breezes bearing the tang of the Eastern Ocean cools the dampness on his forehead.
    “Now…off to the practice hall. You need to start on your weapons training.”
    Dorrin’s steps are slow as he leaves, Lortren’s eyes hard upon his back. Even more deliberate are his steps into the room to which Lortren’s words have directed him.
    “You’re Dorrin?” asks the guard. She stands next to a small table and chair, and her dark eyes pin Dorrin to a spot just inside the dark oak door.
    The redhead nods, his eyes going past her to the racks of weapons that line the space, which is less than twenty cubits square.
    “Well…the first thing is to wander around and pick a weapon that feels right.” The guard offers a lopsided smile that may conceal humor.
    “I’m not particularly fond of weapons.”
    “If you’re serious about traveling in Candar, you’re going to have to learn something about how to defend yourself,” says the thin woman in black. She gestures toward a rack of weapons on the armory wall. “We can give you some basic training in any of those.”
    Dorrin steps toward the arrayed bows, blades, and other assorted tools to deliver force upon other individuals.
    “Try a blade first.”
    Dorrin takes another step. He recognizes the shortsword that many of the Brotherhood prefer, especially the women, perhaps because of the traditions established from their Westwind heritage. Or perhaps because the blade works.
    His left hand grasps a plain hilt, and he lifts the blade. Somehow, the coldness of the metal, the feel of the edge—whatever the reason, the