Ordermaster

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “I suppose that could happen,” Kharl admitted. While he suspected that Luryessa was probably more trustworthy than either the Hamorians or Lord West and his retainers, he was uncomfortable dealing with such an astute woman. “I think it is best that I not speak of how Lord Ghrant was able to overcome the rebels and the Hamorians.”

  “Then we will not. I would not wish to place you in an uncomfortable position.” Another smile appeared. “Overcaptain Osten and the Hamorians may wish that. Sarronnyn does not.”

  “My secretary met with a secretary for Lord West, and he gained the impression that young Osten is greatly involved in governing the West Quadrant.”

  “In practice, Overcaptain Osten, who is the eldest of Ostcrag’s sons, rules Brysta. The youngest, Captain Egen, rules the southern lands of the West Quadrant. Vielam rules the others outside of the south and Brysta, but he defers to his brothers.”

  “I thought that Egen was the youngest.”

  “He is, but Vielam defers to him, nonetheless. That has become more true and more frequent since Klarsat departed.” The name meant nothing to Kharl. “Was he a councilor or advisor to Vielam?”

  “Of sorts. He was an order-mage. Of moderate abilities. He departed in the spring, on a merchanter from Reduce.”

  “He supported Vielam, then.”

  “Let us surmise that he disliked Vielam less than his brothers. He left after the first of the Hamorian white wizards arrived.”

  The more Kharl heard, the less he liked what he felt was happening in Brysta. “I have heard reports of brigandage. One of our merchanters told the lord-chancellor that his men were prevented from traveling south for goods for that reason.”

  Luryessa laughed. “All the would-be brigands are working in the quaries that Egen has reopened. Do not have any of your retainers walk the streets alone, particularly at night.”

  “Every man not a lord and not likely to be missed is a brigand?”

  “Or a beggar or a thief.”

  Kharl could easily believe that of Egen. “Why does he need that many?”

  “They’re building a road to the south, following the old road to Surien.”

  “For trade?”

  “That is the claim, but work on the road did not begin until Lord South refused to consort his daughter Estelya to young Egen.”

  “And the Hamorians?”

  “They are providing tools and knowledge. So they say.”

  Kharl snorted.

  “You doubt the honorable intentions of Hamor?”

  “From what I have seen, Hamor has no intentions that are honorable. Although I have been told that the Emperors of Hamor are patient, I have doubts about this emperor.”

  “His mightiness Sestar reached his majority less than two years ago. He is little older than your Lord Ghrant. As you surmise, he is not considered patient.” The Sarronnese laughed, sardonically, yet good- naturedly. “You have been to Cigoerne, then?”

  “Only to Swartheld. Have you seen Cigoerne?”

  “I have. It is most beautiful, most cultured, and terrifying in what it represents.”

  “Oh?” Kharl did not know exactly how to respond to that statement.

  “The city is pleasant and beautiful, as is all around it. But, two hundred kays to the north is Luba, where the sky is black with soot and dust and ashes, and where thousands of furnaces and steam engines roar day and night. To the west stretches the Great Highway, a white stone road that will reach all across Hamor to Atla in the east. It, too, is proud and beautiful, and few see the quarries where thousands labor endlessly.” Luryessa gave the smallest of shrugs. “Beauty built on misery and slavery?”

  “The Hamorian philosopher Aurelat wrote that most men live lives of misery, and that is indeed the human condition. Since misery has always existed, continues to exist, and always will, he posited that a ruler’s task was to harness that misery in the most productive of ways, creating structures of beauty and providing adequate food and lodging for all so that their misery could be most effectively used to improve the land and the world.”

  “That serves the lords and the emperor most effectively.”

  “Aurelat has been a favorite of the emperors, especially after he drowned in his bath a hundred years ago.”

  “I see.” “Do Lord West or his sons know that you are an order-master?”

  “I am to present my credentials on twoday. I have not said anything about my small abilities.”

  “Most wise. Still, it will not be that long before it is rumored that you are a mage. Lord West retains a chaos-wizard, and anything known in that keep does not remain there. Once that becomes known, those who favor greater alliance with Hamor will claim that your presence signifies an alliance between Nordla and Reduce.”

  “Reduce has never allied with anyone. It is not likely to do so now,” Kharl pointed out.

  “What is in fact has never changed the minds of those who wish to believe otherwise.”

  Kharl could not argue that. “Is it known that you are a sorceress?”

  “No, but all women envoys of the Legend-following lands are considered sorceresses. So we never affirm or deny it. What good would it do?” Luryessa’s lips quirked. “It is said that you have been studying the laws of Nordla. I would not have thought that of much use, since the lord justicers neither know them nor follow them.”

  “I had heard such,” Kharl admitted. “I am hopeful that the way in which they do not follow them might prove helpful in understanding Brysta.”

  “You have greater hopes than do I.” Abruptly, she turned, her hand on the lever of the closed study door. “Come, let us have some refreshments, and I will tell you what I know of Brysta and Ostcrag, Lord West.”

  “And about Sarronnyn. I know little of Sarronnyn,” Kharl confessed.

  “We can help with that.” Luryessa opened the door to the private study, then led him through the main library and farther down the corridor to a smaller parlorlike room. The chamber held a circular table of black lorken, inlaid with a floral border of white oak. Five chairs were set around the circular table. The only other furnishings were chest tables set against the inside walls. Wide glass windows stretched the length of the outside wall, overlooking a garden, except the garden was almost entirely of stones arranged in a pattern that Kharl thought he should recognize, but didn’t.

  Luryessa gestured toward the windows and the garden beyond. “The stone garden is a copy of one I once saw in Viela. I tried to have it laid out from my memory, but you never know. The druids are good with sand and stone, for all that they prefer the forest.” After the briefest of pauses, she added, “Please sit down. Ziela will be bringing the refreshments. I’ve taken the liberty of offering you Shyrlan. It’s a light white wine, very refreshing on hot sultry days like these. If you don’t like it, we can offer other vintages, or pale ale or lager, as well.”

  “You know more of it than I do.” Kharl smiled.

  A slender girl, wearing a blue shirt and matching blue trousers, appeared with a tray. Deftly, she set a fluted crystal goblet before Kharl and another before Luryessa, followed by a small blue porcelain plate. Then came three platters, each with different kinds of pastries, which she placed equidistant from the two envoys.

  “Thank you, Ziela,” said Luryessa.

  “Thank you,” echoed Kharl.

  They received a slight bow, and then Ziela was gone. As the serving girl slipped away, Kharl realized that he had not seen a single boy or man since he had entered the Sarronnese residence.

  Luryessa lifted her goblet. “To your success as an envoy, Lord Kharl.”

  “And to your continued success.” Kharl could detect no hint of chaos or anything untoward in the nearly clear wine, nor in the miniature cakes and pastries on the oval platters of blue-tinted porcelain. He took a small sip. While he was no expert on wines, the Shyrlan was light and cool, as Luryessa had promised, with a slight sweetness and a hint of a fragrance that was fruitlike, but not like any fruit he had ever tas
ted. “This is good.”

  “You doubted me?” Her voice was light.

  “I did not doubt you, but I am no expert on wines.”

  “You have great knowledge in other matters, I am most certain, else you would not be here.”

  “I’ve never heard of a name like Luryessa,” Kharl said, not wishing to discuss his expertise or lack of such and hoping that comments about her name were harmless enough.

  “You may never hear of it again. It’s an old name, and in the tongue of the Legend, it means ‘of Ryessa,’ or of the lineage of Ryessa.”

  Having no idea who Ryessa might be, Kharl just nodded and took a sip of the white wine.

  “Ryessa was the Tyrant of Sarronnyn and the older sister of Megaera. Megaera was a powerful white sorceress in the days of Westwind. I don’t know if you’re familiar with the founding of Reduce, but she ...” “That Megaera? You’re related to her?”

  “More to her older sister, according to family stories, but that was hundreds and hundreds of years back.” Luryessa grinned. “Seven hundred and eight, actually.”

  Kharl took another sip of the wine, then followed Luryessa’s example and lifted one of the white-glazed pastries onto his small plate.

  “Sarronnyn went into a period of great decline after Megaera’s departure,” Luryessa went on. “It was gradual, so gradual that few noticed until just before the great cataclysm. Then the Iron Guard of Fairven and the white wizards began to build the last of their great highways. That was the one through the Westhorns so that they could bring Sarronnyn and all the west of Candar under their rule.”

  “But that didn’t last long,” Kharl pointed out, recalling what Tarkyn had once told him. “Only for a few years.”

  “Less than that, actually, but that was only because Fairven and most of the wizards were destroyed, not because of any strength of Sarronnyn.” “No one knows who did that, do they?”

  The faintest smile crossed Luryessa’s lips. “It is a fair guess that a renegade black wizard and engineer from Reduce did so. There were ... artifacts . . . left, and they were of black iron. There were also bodies, but to this day, no one knows more than that.”

  “I’m sorry. I was asking about your name.”

  “The name of the Tyrant who let Sarron fall was expunged, never to be used again, according to her heir. So was the name Ryessa.”

  “Why Ryessa? She didn’t have anything to do with the fall of Sarronnyn. She was long dead.”

  “The thought was that her handling of Megaera created Reduce and made the rise of Fairven possible. My grandmother disagreed. I was named for Ryessa as a protest. Now . .. names that suggest that lineage are frowned upon.”

  “Just frowned upon?”

  “In Sarronnyn, that is as good as an outright prohibition.”

  That said much to Kharl. “So you still have a Tyrant?”

  “Absolutely. And we still follow the Legend.”

  “How long have you been the envoy here?”

  “Six years.”

  “Isn’t that long for an envoy?”

  “It is, but.. . everyone feels more comfortable with me being here. That includes me.”

  “What can you tell me about Brysta that you think I should know?” Kharl took a bite from the pastry. The inside held a pearapple-almond filling. He managed not to lick his lips.

  “It seems clear enough that the Hamorians are behind the road- building and the new patroller barracks. They seem to meet mostly with Captain Egen...”

  That made great sense to Kharl, knowing what he did of Egen.

  “They’ve also been overcharging for the goods they bring to Brysta, and refusing to buy Brystan wares unless they can get them at prices that beggar the sellers.”

  “But. . . people won’t buy then, and they won’t sell.”

  “Oh .. . where will the smiths and factors get iron stock? Or copper? Why do you think Egen has his men patrolling the roads to the south, and why there are some white

  wizards with his forces? Or why Vielam’s road patrols to the north and east are levying

  road tariffs on all merchant traffic?”

  “It’s that bad?”

  “No. It’s worse. More than a half score merchanters have vanished in the past two seasons, all of them nearing or bound for Brysta or Sagana. They were all from smaller lands, places like Suthya and Spidlar.”

  “I’ve heard little of that, and neither has the lord-chancellor.”

  “He and Lord Ghrant doubtless suspect something. Otherwise, why would you be here?” Luryessa smiled once more, knowingly.

  Kharl could not argue with either the logic or the smile, and he had no doubts that everything she had told him was true. He could only worry about what she had not said-or did not know.

  “While there are details I may have glossed over, Lord Kharl, that is what we face here in Brysta.”

  There were more than a few details missing, but they wouldn’t change the overall view, Kharl suspected as he took another sip of wine. “Could you tell me about the other envoys?”

  “I could, but I’d rather not share that information until after you have met them. Then, you can invite me for refreshments, and we can compare what we have seen.”

  Once more, Kharl could detect no evasions, and none of the chaos that generally signified lying or dishonesty. That was more disturbing than a lie would have been. “Then, if you will not share that information with me now, perhaps you could tell me about Sarronnyn, and about how people conduct their lives under the Legend ... and how you came to be an envoy.”

  “You do not ask for much. Histories have been written about Sarronnyn.”

  “But I have not read them.” Kharl smiled. “I have not seen any in Aus-tra, either.”

  “That is less than surprising.” Luryessa took a sip of her Shyrlan before continuing. “Sarron is the capital of Sarronnyn, and it is both an old city and a new one. It was founded by the last of the original angels to leave Westwind. That was nearly thirteen hundred years ago. Once it was a craft and trade center, through which flowed all the trade north of the Stone Hills and west of the mountains. In time, the rulers of Lornth decided that Sarron was too powerful and independent. They attacked. They were right. The women warriors of Sarron destroyed the forces of Lornth. From those battles came Sarronnyn...”

  Kharl listened intently.

  LXV

  Threeday night, after refreshments with Luryessa that had lasted until past sunset,

  Kharl had returned to his envoy’s residence-and to the library, where Erdyl was waiting. “What did you find out from the weavers?” asked Kharl. “The cloth didn’t come from Brysta. It was made on steam looms in Hamor. That was

  what Derdan told me. He said that none of the weavers here in Nordla can make cloth that cheaply. The Hamorian cloth isn’t as good-that’s what he says-and it’s all cotton that wears out sooner.”

  “It’s probably more comfortable in summer,” mused Kharl, “but they’ll freeze in a hard winter. Egen wouldn’t care about that.”

  “That’s what the factor said, not about Captain Egen, but about the cotton. He said that he’d tried to suggest summer and winter uniforms, but the patrollers said those would have to wait.” “What about the other weavers?”

  “That fellow Gharan-he’s got some quality cloth there. It’s a small place, just him and his consort and one other girl. She looks young, sort of sandy hair. First pretty young woman I’ve seen in Brysta. Good smile.”

  Kharl stiffened inside, but managed to reply, keeping his tone wry, “I’m sure there are others.” Even as he spoke, he had to wonder at his reaction. Was it just that he didn’t want young Erdyl thinking of Jeka as just another pretty young thing? She’d saved his life, and she deserved more than being a fleeting pleasure to a young lordling.

  “I haven’t seen any others, ser.” “I’m sure you will,” Kharl replied. “What did Gharan say about the cloth?”

  “He said it was decent cotton, but not much m
ore, and that the patrollers would wish for warm wool come the turn of winter. He wanted to know if we were thinking of trying to ship cloth here. I told him that I didn’t know of anything like that. I also said that we didn’t grow cotton or much flax in Austra. Then he wanted to know if we’d like to buy anything.”

  “Did you see anything that caught your eye? Besides the girl?” Kharl wished he hadn’t said the last words, but they’d burst out by themselves.

  “He has some wools, lambs’ wool, very soft, and some striking weaves, ser.” “We should visit, then, if we have some time.” Kharl nodded. “What about Soret?”

  Erdyl frowned. “There was something about him. I didn’t like him. He didn’t look at me, not straight. He kept asking why I wanted to know all this. I hope you didn’t mind, ser, but I told him that envoys tell their secretaries what to do, and we don’t ask too many questions, not if we want to keep being secretaries. I did tell him that you’d once been in trade and liked to know what was being traded where. That seemed to settle him some. He didn’t say much, except that the cloth was Hamorian cotton and not up to the standard of good Nordlan linen.” “Is there anything else I should know?”

  Erdyl’s brows narrowed in concentration, and he cocked his head slightly, almost squinting, before he finally spoke. “There is one thing. Der-dan ... he said something about having trouble meeting prices when harbor tariffs had been lowered on cotton. It was almost under his breath, but when I asked him, he just shook his head.” “Did it look like any of them had added or lost weavers?”

  “I never saw Derdan’s back room, but I didn’t see new looms or empty looms with either Gharan or Soret...”

  After another quarter glass, Kharl stood and led the way to the dining room.

  There, he didn’t say much at supper, his thoughts partly on the cotton from Hamor. Given how many patroUers he’d seen already, there must have been hundreds, if not thousands of yards of the cloth, and all of a uniform dye. If none of the three weavers were complaining too much about lost business, then Kharl judged that not much cloth besides that had been shipped from Hamor ... but that was a guess.