Wellspring of Chaos by L. E. Modesitt Jr. Read Free Book Online Page A

he’s an assassin? Or a thief?”
    Jenevra shrugged, then winced. “He carries chaos. He could be an assassin or an armsman, or he could be an outland merchant who sails close to the wind. Or he could be a thief, or anything else. He is evil, whatever else he may be.”
    “That’s not much help.” Kharl paused. “You speak well. You speak too well for a peasant’s daughter or for someone who works at hard labor.”
    “I do? That may be because the Brethren want us prepared when we travel elsewhere.”
    “The Brethren?”
    “The Council of Recluce. They decide how we are prepared. That is, if your family can pay for the training.”
    “Yours could,” Kharl said.
    “It was difficult, but they did not wish me ill prepared.” She laughed, ironically, a hint of bitterness behind the words. “Much good it has done me—or them.”
    “You were trained with the staff?”
    “I was. Some are trained with blades, or axes, or other weapons for self-protection.”
    “Are all women trained with the staff?”
    “No. It is… what weapons are in accord with what we are.”
    “In accord?” The woman’s words were more than a little puzzling. How could a weapon be in accord with a person?
    “Every person grows—or comes to be ordered—in a certain fashion. Edged weapons make some uneasy with them. So a staff is better. It is not good to fight your weapon when you are trying to defend yourself.”
    Although her explanation was strange, the last words made sense to Kharl. He certainly could not fight his tools if he wanted to make good barrels, and he had no trouble seeing that it could apply to weapons as well. While he would have liked to talk longer, talking would not help get the barrels done, and those needed doing so that, if other business arrived, he would still have the slack barrels for harvesttime.
    Kharl nodded, then turned back to the forge. He still needed to finish shaping and riveting the hoops for the remaining oak barrels that Werwal had ordered and for the ones that Wassyt the miller would be wanting, sooner or later. If the harvest were really good, Rensan might even buy a few if Mallamet couldn’t supply them—which was certainly likely, since Mallamet was neither that good a cooper nor that productive. He was cheap, though, Kharl had to admit.
    The cooper also hoped that Jenevra felt much better in the morning. If she did not… Kharl pushed that thought away. He had worries enough.
     
     
    VIII
     
    When Kharl hurried down to the cooperage after his breakfast, he found that Jenevra had turned so that she was sitting with her back against the wall. She was dressed, and wearing her boots once more, although her face was still pale.
    “You’re going to have to move today—” Kharl began.
    “Charee told me when she brought me breakfast and my clothes. She repaired them. She’s very good with a needle.“ Jenevra smiled wanly for a moment before the expression faded. ”I’m much better. Your consort does not like my being here.“
    Kharl didn’t reply.
    “It is clear. She thinks I will hurt your business. If I stayed, I probably would. No one likes having blackstaffers around. They told us that, but I did not believe it then.”
    “In a few moments,” Kharl finally said, unable to refute her words, “we’re going to take you out to Father Jorum’s—”
    “One of the one-god priests? He will not be that pleased.”
    “They preach kindness to all—”
    “Except to those from Recluce.”
    “I have never heard him say anything against Recluce,” Kharl protested, although he seldom accompanied Charee to the end-day services.
    “What is not said—”
    Both Jenevra and Kharl looked up at the sharp cracking sound, followed by the tinkling clank of glass falling on stone. His eyes darted toward the front window of his shop, but all the leaded glass panes were in place.
    He frowned.
    A muffled low boom rumbled past him, shaking the walls. One of the shooks left on the workbench fell to