Ordermaster

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  Kharl could feel every muscle in his body tighten.

  Hagen shook his head. “No. It’s not bad news.”

  “Then .. . what?”

  “It’s no news. Furwyl apologized for not trying to send a messenger or one of his crew to

  Peachill, but he felt it would have been most unwise. There has been brigandage and

  murder of travelers on the roads outside Brysta, especially to the south, and the harbor

  inspectors suggested that the crew remain close to the harbor. They were most insistent,

  particularly about the south roads. Furwyl also noted several large Hamorian trading

  vessels in the harbor.”

  “They trade everywhere you do, don’t they? Or did Furwyl think that they were there for

  other purposes? That they might be connected to the unsafe roads?”

  “He did not say, other than that the Hamorians had ported two eight- days before the

  Seastag and had not yet made preparations to set to sea when he was about to cast off.”

  “Do you think that the emperor has turned his eyes on Nordla? So soon?”

  Hagen shrugged. “I do not know. Not for certain. From your experiences in Brysta, I

  would wager that those who would support Lord West-or his sons-might be fewer than

  the lord imagines. Or perhaps the son you ran afoul of is plotting something. Or Lord

  West is trying to enlist Hamorian support for some venture or another.” He took another

  sip of the red wine. “Most prefer the Rhynn, but for me, the red is far better.”

  On that, Kharl had to agree with Hagen.

  “You’re worried about your boy, aren’t you?” asked the lord-chancellor.

  “Wouldn’t you be? He’s all I have. I’ve already lost Arthal.”

  “You must have mulled over going back to Brysta,” suggested Hagen.

  “I’ve given it some thought,” replied Kharl warily, not certain he liked the direction the

  conversation was turning. “Lord West would not like to see me back.”

  “Lord West-or his younger son?” Kharl smiled, faintly. “Egen, most likely. Lord West has probably forgotten that there was a cooper named Kharl who ever lived in Brysta.”

  “If you could go back ... what would you do there?” “I still have the feeling that things ought to be set right.” Kharl shook his head. “Before I... became a mage, I’d thought about taking the Jus-ticer’s Challenge.”

  Hagen laughed. “You wouldn’t have to now.” “I think I would. Still. Or do something about justice. Unless you are a ruler, people don’t much care for others using force or magery to get their way. Besides, unless you replace the justicers, how do you get better justice?” Hagen cocked his head. “You’re thinking about something, honored lord-chancellor.” “I am. Would you consider being Lord Ghrant’s envoy in Brysta?” “Me? Why me? What could I do? I’ve barely been a lord for half a year, if that. What if Lord West found out who I am?” “There are good answers to your questions/’ Hagen replied calmly, then paused and took another swallow from the goblet. Kharl refilled it. As he did, he realized that he’d never seen Hagen drink so much so quickly. In the past, the lord-chancellor had barely drunk a full goblet. “First,” Hagen went on, “you know more about Brysta than anyone else Lord Ghrant or I can trust. Second, Lord Ghrant has received some disturbing reports from Brysta, about Hamorian mercenaries being added to Lord West’s regular lancers, or something like that-and that they are being paid with Hamorian golds. Third, envoys traditionally cannot be held accountable for actions taken in the past. Fourth, there are reports of Brystan troops being moved southward.”

  “Toward Lord South’s lands?” “We do not know, and that’s part of the problem. There’s much we do not know.” “Lord South is old ... and he has no sons ...” ventured Kharl. “Lord West and Egen are ambitious.” “Lord South rejected an offer to consort his youngest daughter to one of Lord West’s sons, the one you encountered.”

  “Lord West was offended?” “We do not know, but what we have heard from other merchanters and factors suggest that the mercenaries began arriving after that.” “Why does this concern Lord Ghrant?” Kharl asked, although he had a good idea. “Lord South has never been a strong ruler, and the south is the weakest of the four lands of the Quadrant. All too easily, between the west and the south, half of Nordla could fall to Hamor. Once Hamor held half of Nordla, the rest would soon follow. Nordla’s ports are far closer to Bruel and Val-murl than Swartheld is.” Hagen took another swallow of his wine. “As envoy, you could find out more than others. Also, Kharl is not an uncommon name, and it is most unlikely that Lord West or his sons will connect an Austran lord from a small estate with a former cooper. If you shaved your beard, I doubt anyone would recognize you, save perhaps your son or a close friend.” “This will take some thinking,” Kharl stopped. “Who was the envoy?

  What happened to him?” He recalled Hagen telling him once, but he didn’t remember who it had been.

  “Lord Estloch had recalled Lord Hensolas,” Hagen said slowly. “He never told Ghrant why. He’d summoned Ghrant to talk over matters, but he was killed before they met.”

  “Do you think that Ilteron was planning to topple his sire? That Hensolas was part of the plot?” “That well might have been. Ilteron certainly resented Ghrant being named as heir,

  and many lords were not that happy under Lord Estloch.” “You were not pleased with the way he ruled,” Kharl pointed out. “No, I was not. I advised him against many things he did. He told me I did not

  understand what ruling was.” Hagen laughed, bitterness in the sound. Kharl had another thought. “I have a few golds laid by, but you had told me that being an envoy was costly.” “Lord Ghrant will send you with a purse, and with a draw on the Factors’ Exchange in Brysta.”

  Kharl looked at Hagen blankly. “On your signature, you can draw up to a thousand golds over each year, but never more than a hundred an eightday. Only for matters befitting an envoy, of course.”

  Draw or take a hundred golds an eightday? “Now ... if you wish to consider this, you would need some education, and some protection.”

  “Education? I’ll need much of that.”

  “You know more than enough about most things. But, in addition to being Lord Ghrant’s envoy, it would be good for you to be a scholar of the law. That way, you can present yourself as a scholar as well as an envoy ...” “Since I know little about either,” Kharl pointed out, “it will seem as if Lord Ghrant appointed me to repay a debt.” “That perception will be to your advantage,” Hagen said. “Also, if you do choose to undertake the Justicer’s Challenge, you will be prepared. If not, you will still be able to quote from the law as an envoy, and that is useful. Also, as a scholar, you can frequent the Hall of Justice in Brysta. Often more can be discovered there than in bedrooms or salons.”

  “I still don’t see why Lord Ghrant...” Kharl shook his head. “After all that has happened here, he feels that he needs to know what is happening in Brysta. He cannot send an envoy who might join forces with Lord

  West, or even Lord South, and he needs someone who can protect himself. You will, of course, have a secretary with you, and several lancers. I understand that Undercaptain Demyst is an excellent blade.”

  “He is not bright enough to be a captain?” Hagen shook his head. “He is more than bright enough. He will be devoted to you, and he is as honest as it is possible for an officer to be.”

  “I have not said that I wanted to be an envoy,” Kharl pointed out. “I have proposed to Lord Ghrant that you spend the next season studying with one of the justicer’s clerks in Valmurl.”

  “But...” Kharl couldn’t help but protest. “Lord Ghrant owes you everything. He didn’t pay you nearly what he owes, especially after the way you settled the rebel lords, and he would like to settle you with more. He could do that, if you acquitted yourself well as an envoy. He also needs you, because ...” Ha
gen paused. “There is no one else he can trust.”

  “No one?” “You sat through the audiences. Did you see a single man you would trust in Brysta? One who is even a lesser lord? Or a factor?” Kharl didn’t even have to think to answer that. “No. The good ones were probably the ones Malcor and Kenslan killed at the beginning.” “Vertyn would have made a good envoy, I think, and so would have Lord Lahoryn’s eldest son.” Hagen looked bleakly at Kharl. “Do you think I like asking this of you?” Kharl sat there for a moment, realizing why Hagen had drunk so much wine and why the lord-chancellor had come himself. “I do worry about you,” Hagen said. “I would not wish you to return to Brysta without being fully prepared. Law is not the same as magery. You would not leave immediately. You would be in Valmurl for a good season, and you would have quarters in the Great House.” Kharl understood. He was perceived as one reason behind Ghrant’s success. If he departed Valmurl too soon, there was the possibility of more unrest. Later, some might be relieved to see him go. What the lord- chancellor said made sense, and both Hagen’s concern and his desperation were real.

  “Also,” Hagen added, “you should tell no one that you are a mage. Word and rumor will filter to Brysta, but the longer it takes, the better for you. And ... a power never mentioned is far more fearsome than one discussed openly.” Kharl was not certain about that, but Hagen had far more experience in dealing with lords and rulers and their retainers. “How long is one an envoy?”

  “Usually it is for two years.” “Two years?” asked Kharl involuntarily. Two years away from Cantyl? Then he found himself smiling involuntarily. Already, he was thinking of it as home. What did that tell him?

  “I doubt you will need to be there that long. Not nearly that long.” That meant, Kharl thought, that one way or another, he was expected to solve the problems at hand sooner than in two years. Still... that would give him time to find Warrl.. . and to help Jeka ... if he could. Kharl had worried about his younger boy, but with his own guards and abilities, he could certainly travel to Peachill directly, although it might be wise to wait an eightday or longer after his arrival before undertaking such a journey. As in the case with battles against the rebel lords, the guards would provide a certain cover for his use of his magely talents, if he even needed them.

  Then... outside of the need to recover Warrl, did he really want to return to Brysta and Nordla?

  Another thought crossed his mind, words he had not considered for a time. “You haven’t said much, Kharl,” Hagen said.

  “I was thinking. Do you remember the druids in Diehl?” Hagen’s brow wrinkled in puzzlement. “The ones who healed you? Yes.” “They told me that I could never really leave Brysta behind, not until I returned. So ... that is perhaps another reason I should become an envoy. If that is what Lord Ghrant wishes.” “I do not know that it is what he would wish in his heart, were there other choices,” Hagen said evenly, “but there are none.” He offered a faint smile as he fingered his chin. “I also don’t think I’d argue against a druid.”

  “Two druids,” Kharl said dryly.

  “That’s even worse.” Hagen took another sip of the wine before speaking. “Does that mean that you will accept Lord Ghrant’s offer?”

  Kharl nodded slowly. “It’s as much for Warrl as for Lord Ghrant.”

  “I would not have thought otherwise.”

  Kharl glanced out through the window toward the harbor and the Sea- hound. The wagon with timber had not yet reached the pier. “Do I return with you?”

  “You can.”

  “I might as well. I’ve little enough to pack, and Speltar and Dorwan will need time to load the timber.”

  “You’ll have much more. You’ll have to have a full wardrobe as an envoy.”

  Kharl hadn’t even thought of that, and he wondered how many other matters he hadn’t even considered. But... with what had happened to Warrl already, did Kharl have that much choice? And did he dare to continue to disregard the advice of the druids?

  XLV

  Threeday morning was cloudy, and a fine warm drizzle drifted from the low gray clouds that hung over Valmurl. Kharl glanced around his new quarters in the Great House, larger than the ones he had used before, still on the second level, but on the north wing, not far from the staircase to the tower. The sitting room was set in the northwest corner of the building and had windows on both sides. The evening before, Kharl had seen how that arrangement had provided a cooling breeze for both the sitting room and bedchamber.

  He had not seen Lord Ghrant, but on the short voyage back from Cantyl to Valmurl, Hagen had warned Kharl that such meetings would be infrequent.

  “He’s heard all the old stories about how his great-grandsire fell under the spell of a mage,” Hagen had said. “He’s more afraid of others believing that of him than of it actually happening. Much of the rebellion was stirred UP by tales of his weakness and indecisiveness. He doesn’t want to feed such stories.”

  Kharl could understand the young ruler’s concerns, but he also worried that Ghrant might worry too much about what his people thought and not enough about what needed to be done. Still, Kharl reflected, the rebellion had proved that a ruler could not ignore what people thought.

  The mage and lord stepped up to the tall mirror in its stand beside the single chest in the bedchamber. He took in his own reflection-broad shoulders, squarish chin, dark hair thinning in front, dark green eyes ... He paused. Had his eyes always been that dark? He didn’t think so, but he hadn’t really looked at himself in the mirror that much. After several moments, he turned from the mirror, with its faded gilt frame, and walked into the sitting room. There, he looked out through the window, down at the lawns and fountains. With the misty drizzle falling he could not see westward much beyond the stables and barracks, and the long sloping lawn that extended from the terraces. Well beyond the fine warm rain, across the breadth of the land, and across the Gulf of Austra, lay Nordla-and Brysta. In some ways, his life in Brysta felt as though it had happened to someone else-and long ago. Until he thought about Arthal. .. and Warrl.. . and even Jeka. Yet, even if he’d had no sons, he needed to go back, if only to see the city once more. Would it look different after all he had been through? Why did he now feel so impelled to return to Brysta? Had Charee still lived, she would have settled into Cantyl, and she would have called him a fool for ever going close to Lord West again. Maybe he was a fool to agree to be an envoy. But there was Hagen . .. who would far rather have been upon the Seastag, than standing behind Ghrant, advising and maneuvering, and risking displeasure day after day. And the image of Tyrbel remained in Kharl’s mind. The scrivener had in effect given his life for Kharl when no one would have been the wiser if he had not. Kharl would not even have blamed the scrivener had the older man not chosen to speak up. But Tyrbel had, and he had been murdered by Egen’s assassin. It didn’t matter that Kharl had killed the assassin. Tyrbel was dead. He half turned from the window, his eyes falling to The Basis of Order. There wasn’t anything in the book about envoys, nor about serving a ruler, not directly, anyway.

  On fourday, he was to present himself to the lord justicer’s chief clerk in Valmurl to begin his hurried study of law. He had to wonder whether it would be of that much use. But then, Hagen felt so, and the lord-chancellor had seen far more of the world-and those who controlled it-than had Kharl.

  Kharl looked back out through the window. The rain was beginning to fall more heavily.

  XLVI

  Kharl rode down Casters Way, a street whose shops offered no reason for the name. Riding beside him was Dorfal, again assigned to accompany Kharl.

  “Quiet this morning, ser. Always is this time of day.”

  “Most are at work or doing chores, I’d imagine.” Kharl could sense more than a few eyes on him, although they had to have been trained on him from behind window hangings or shutters, for he saw no one actually looking at him. He did not sense any large amounts of chaos, but Valmurl, like any city, was filled with small pockets of chaos
-and order.

  He did catch, through his order-sense boosted hearing, a few words and phrases here and there.

  “... that’s him ... all in black ...”

  “... mages everywhere wear the black .. .”

  “. .. big fellow .. . more like an armsman ...”

  “... good at that, too ... some say ...”

  “... Lord Ghrant... fortunate ...”

  “... we’re the lucky ones ... lords still be fighting .. .”

  Kharl couldn’t keep a faint smile from his lips. Whoever the speaker had been, he had been right. Through luck, some limited skill, and arrogance-both his and that of the white mages-he’d stopped the white wizards. If he had not, he had few doubts that the fighting would still be continuing, if only because that would have best suited Hamor.

  “The square’s just ahead, ser, past the silversmith’s on the left.”

  Kharl nodded. He hadn’t wanted an escort, but Norgen and Hagen had insisted. The Hall of Justice was too far from the Great House to walk, and there were no stables nearby. So Dorfal was escorting Kharl.

  As the two turned at the silversmith’s, the morning sunlight glinted off the puddles remaining in the lower sections of the stone-paved square that fronted the hall of Justice. The gray stone structure was longer and narrower than the Hall in Brysta. Its double doors were of dark oak rather than light, and there were no guards posted either outside or immediately inside.