Read The Magic Engineer Online
Authors: L. E. Modesitt Jr.
Tags: #Literature & Fiction, #United States, #Science Fiction & Fantasy, #Fantasy, #Epic
The Magic Engineer
“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
Seeker
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 impacts 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.
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.