The Death of Chaos by L. E. Modesitt Jr. Page B

first came to Kyphros. I had…cast a spell over some of my possessions…so that I would look like a less tempting target for bandits. When I took something out of a spelled saddlebag, one of the outliers—his name was Shervan—said I had an invisible sack.” I shrugged. “I tried to explain, but he was telling everyone about my miraculous sack.”
    Ustrello laughed. “I have not met Shervan, but I have met his story. All the outliers tell it. I am almost sorry to learn the truth.”
    “There is certainly more that the wizard is not telling, or he would not be a wizard.” The leader’s consort winked at me.
    “Alas…the truth is sometimes discouraging.”
    “Yes…but you have not eaten, and we would not let anyone, especially a famous wizard, go away hungry.” She picked up the huge serving dish and thrust it at me. From the smell it was some form of curried goat stew.
    “Thank you.” Curried, peppered goat or not, I was hungry and took a helping almost as big as those of the outliers.
    Yelena handed me a long basket, and I broke off a suitably impressive chunk of dark moist bread that was still steaming.
    “And the olives, they are also special.” Tasyel pressed a small bucket of olives on me.
    As I took a handful, absently, I wondered about the little thief that Fuston had wanted me to catch and punish. “They look special.” I dipped the bread in the goat—it was even hotter than Rissa’s burkha. My forehead broke out in sweat, and I noticed that Yelena had taken a small bite, and a much smaller serving than I had. Her eyes twinkled.
    “We’re famous for our goat!” Ustrello almost had to yell over the voices from around us. “Nowhere in Candar is it as hot! Tasyel makes the very best.”
    Tasyel beamed, and I swallowed, reaching for whatever was in the pitcher in front of Yelena. Bread without the goat and the fruity fermented teekla helped. I only felt as though I had swallowed half a chaos wizard’s fireball.
    “You like it?”
    “I’ve never tasted anything like it anywhere.”
    Ustrello beamed in turn. Yelena covered her mouth. I ate some more of the bread before I took a much smaller second mouthful of the goat. My forehead still beaded in sweat.
    “The wizard, he eats pretty good, better than you fancy soldiers.” Ustrello jabbed at Yelena.
    “He’s a wizard. I’m not,” countered Yelena, chewing another mouthful of the good bread—without spiced goat. “He’s used to dealing with fire.”
    I was also hungry. I hadn’t eaten that much for breakfast, not as early as I’d gotten up to see Krystal off, and not that much cheese and biscuits at midday. So I kept eating, but had to take another large chunk of the bread.
    “He ate it all.” Tasyel gestured for the casserole dish and dumped it back in front of me.
    I took a second, smaller serving—and more bread.
    “After all, he is a wizard.” Yelena rolled her eyes.
    “Where are you going?” Ustrello asked.
    In between mouthfuls, I answered, “To do some wizardly things.”
    “That is what one would expect from a wizard,” affirmed Tasyel. “Wizards must do those things which the rest of us cannot, and that is why they are wizards.”
    It made sense in a way. Ustrello nodded at her wisdom, and I kept a straight face, glad to keep what I was really up to not too obvious.
    “What do wizards do when they are not being wizards?” asked Ustrello when I had finished the second, smaller helping.
    “Different things. I am a woodworker.”
    “Do you carve things?”
    “I make furniture, mostly, chairs, tables, desks, wardrobes…”
    “Amazing, he is a wizard who does useful things, too.”
    I tried not to choke, and nodded, then took a sip of the pungent teekla.
    Eventually, I struggled out of the cheerful chaos and wandered through the twilight back to my narrow quarters, wondering how Krystal was doing.
    I got a candle from my pack and, yawning, used my striker to bring it into flame. I began to flip through The Basis of