Ordermaster

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “Loaded with grapeshot,” Kharl suggested.

  “She didn’t mention that.”

  “No, but it makes sense. That’s the road that Osten and Vielam would have to use to bring their armsmen back to Brysta,” Kharl pointed out.

  “It’s not a Hamorian barracks,” Erdyl said.

  Kharl shook his head. He’d never said anything to them about his suspicions. Should he? He fingered his bare chin. There was no point in hiding his thoughts now. “Ser?”

  “I’ve been thinking about all this. All those patrollers are nothing more than a small army. They all report to Captain Egen. He’s Lord West’s youngest son. He’s moved the regular lancers and armsmen-the ones that might be more loyal to Lord West or Overcaptain Osten-to the quarry fort in the south. That means they’re farther from Brysta, and his patrollers control who travels south, or who can do so quickly, anyway.”

  “That means they can’t know what’s happening in Brysta, not soon,” suggested the undercaptain, “unless this Egen wants them to know.”

  “Egen’s also the one dealing with the Hamorians.”

  “You think he’s trying to get rid of his brother and succeed his father?” asked Demyst.

  “I don’t know. He’s an evil little bastard, and he wouldn’t hesitate to do something like that if he thought he could get away with it. He’s also tightened up the laws and is having the lord justicers sentence more men to work in the quarries and, I’d guess, on that road as well.”

  “The Hamorians are backing him?” Erdyl moistened his lips.

  “The cloth for the patroller uniforms comes from Hamor. There are only Hamorian ships in the harbor. The Hamorians are supplying engineers, and they’re often in the south.” Kharl paused. “And more than half the envoys from other lands have left Brysta, for one reason or another.”

  “When is something going to happen?” asked Demyst.

  “Soon, but how soon, I don’t know. I’m hoping I can find out more from Lord West tomorrow.”

  “I’d better see about looking into hiring a night guard or two,” suggested the undercaptain. “We can afford that, can’t we?”

  “You think they’ll come after an envoy?” asked Erdyl.

  “Egen will come after anyone he thinks he can best.” Kharl snorted.

  “You know a lot about him?” Demyst frowned.

  “Enough.” More than enough, Kharl added to himself. “The guards are a good idea. I should talk to them before you hire them, though.”

  “I’d planned on that, ser. Mantar has some cousins, used to be arms- men. Thought I could talk to them first.”

  “You might have Enelya get a look at them, too.”

  Erdyl and Demyst exchanged glances.

  “She knows about some of the worst ones.” Kharl looked to Erdyl. “Did Jemelya tell you anything else we should know?”

  “She said that the roads to the east weren’t usually passable during the late-summer rains. Not with any speed, leastwise.”

  “I think she’s suggesting that when the rains finally come, so will trouble,” ventured the undercaptain.

  That made an unfortunate kind of sense to Kharl. “Anything else?”

  “I can’t think of anything. I mean, she talked a lot, about everything from the good taverns to Overcaptain Osten’s consort only giving him three daughters and Egen not having a consort, and Vielam’s consort and children dying last summer when their coach went off the road and into the river...”

  Kharl winced.

  “Ser?”

  “I’d wager that the coach accident was planned. That leaves no heirs.”

  “Planned by who?” asked Demyst. “Egen or the Hamorians?”

  “I’d say Hamor. That’s just a guess.” Kharl’s eyes rested on Erdyl once again.

  “That’s all, ser. I think. If I recall anything else, I’ll tell you.”

  Kharl stood. “After we eat, Erdyl, I’d like you to make the rounds of the envoys’ residences. Ask for the secretaries or assistants. If they’re there, ask about the date you’ve chosen for our function. What I really want to know is how many of them are still in Brysta and how many have left or are planning on leaving soon.”

  “Yes, ser.”

  “When you get back, you and I will go over what I’ll need to expect when I present my credentials tomorrow. And some good meaningless phrases.”

  Erdyl bobbed his head.

  “I’ll start on trying to find some guards, ser, this afternoon. Unless you need me,” said Demyst.

  “Not this afternoon.”

  After Erdyl and Demyst left, Kharl paced back and forth across the residence library. Everything seemed calm in Brysta, but beneath that apparent calm everything was unsettled, and likely to get more so in the days ahead. He paused and looked out the window. The sky was still clear. So far.

  Before long, Khelaya and Enelya would be serving the midday meal. Kharl wasn’t that hungry, but he supposed that he needed to eat. The way matters were going, he might have to do magery at any time.

  He tried not to think about Jeka, but the image of her eyes, and the sound of her laugh, remained with him.

  LXXIV

  Kharl stood in the library on twoday morning, waiting for Mantar to ready the carriage to take him to present his credentials to Lord West. He hoped he could remember all that Erdyl and he had gone over the evening before, especially all of the phrases and courtesies.

  On Erdyl’s advice, he wore his second-best finery, a silver-gray shirt, black jacket trimmed in green, and black trousers and boots. His eyes dropped to the silver box on the desk, shimmering from its recent polishing. The box had had been Hagen’s suggestion for a token to Lord West. A handspan in length and half that in height and width, it was ornately chased silver, with three narrow courses of stone inset as a border on the hinged top. The outer course and the inner courses were black onyx, and the middle course was lapis lazuli. In the center was a silver replica of the seal of the West Quadrant.

  “Something tasteful, but not something he can convert easily into golds,” Hagen had said. “One never gives such to another lord. It’s in poor taste and imprudent, besides.”

  Kharl had understood that well enough. He smiled at his recollection of Hagen’s dry words. He eased the gift into a plain pouch of new soft calf leather, then slipped the pouch into the elaborately carved leather case that held his credentials as envoy. He set the case on the corner of the library desk and turned toward the window, looking out at the dark clouds to the west. Were the late-summer rains finally arriving, or would the clouds blow over and leave Brysta hot and close for another eightday?

  What did he expect to find out from meeting Ostcrag, the present Lord West? Did Ostcrag know what Egen was planning? Did Osten? Did they have plans of their own? If the reception and presentation allowed any questions at all, Kharl might get a better idea about Hamor and Nordla.

  All that wouldn’t help with Jeka, though. There, he was at a loss. He’d worried about her, but he’d been stunned to feel his own reactions to her. That was something he’d never expected. He just hadn’t, and he was thinking about her when he should have been worrying about Lord West and Egen.

  Warrl-what had happened to his youngest also lay close to the surface of his thoughts, with the sadness sweeping over him when he least expected it.

  “The carriage is ready, ser,” Demyst announced, from outside the library.

  Kharl picked up the elaborately tooled leather case with his credentials. As he stepped out of the library, he saw three men awaiting him- Erdyl, Demyst, and Alynar. He raised his eyebrows.

  “You need to take a guard, ser, someone in addition to Undercaptain Demyst,” Erdyl said quickly. “So we asked Alynar to accompany you.”

  “Thank you.” Kharl glanced at the two armed men. “We’d best be going.” He turned and walked down the corridor to the front portico, then outside.

  While Kharl and Demyst entered the carriage, Alynar settled himself next to Mantar on t
he right side of the driver’s bench seat.

  The Quadrancy Keep was at the top of the hill to the northeast of the harbor, an ancient and sprawling pile of gray stone at the topmost end of the Lord’s Road. At perhaps a quarter before the hour, the carriage rolled up to the iron gates-closed and with three guards stationed outside-all regular armsmen, and not patrollers. Kharl could see a raised stone tower on the right, just behind the wall and gates, and he sensed several more armsmen there.

  “Lord Kharl, the Austran envoy,” Mantar announced.

  Kharl’s name was relayed to another armsmen on the inside of the gate, and several moments passed before the gate began to swing open. As the carriage passed the iron gates, Kharl noted the heavy oak gates behind them, held flush against the outer stone wall. An inner and higher stone wall stood another rod or so inside the outer wall. The inner gates were open, and Mantar drove the carriage into a courtyard beyond the second set of gates. There he pulled up opposite an arched entryway.

  Two more armsmen flanked the archway.

  As Kharl descended from the coach, a man stepped from the archway.

  “I’m Mihalen, Lord Kharl, secretary to Ostcrag, Lord West.” The slender dark-haired man bore a sabre and looked as though he could use it. His eyes measured Kharl. “You look like you were once a marshal.”

  “I’ve seen a few battles,” Kharl replied, with a slight laugh, “but not as a marshal.”

  Mihalen’s smile was faint. “This way to the small receiving chamber, ser.” He turned and walked through the archway leading into the keep building. Beyond the entry was a small foyer, then a wide but dimly lit corridor. Mihalen kept walking.

  Kharl followed.

  Close to a hundred cubits down the stone-walled hallway, the secretary turned and stopped at a doorway. There he tugged at a bellpull. After a moment, he spoke. “Lord Kharl, the Austran Envoy, to present his credentials.”

  “Show him in, Mihalen.”

  The secretary opened the door and gestured for Kharl to enter.

  The envoy and mage extended his order-senses .. . and paused for the briefest of moments. Somewhere beyond the door was a white wizard. Ready to raise shields or harden air, Kharl stepped through the open door into a chamber no more than twenty cubits by ten. The walls were of dark wood, and without painting or ornamentation, and the ceiling above was of plaster once white, but yellowed through age. The two high windows were open, but no breeze issued from either.

  Four men were on the low dais at the far side of the chamber. Lord West, wearing a dress tunic of Brystan blue and gray trousers, but looking grayer and more frail than the one time Kharl had seen him before, was seated in a carved ebony chair. At his shoulder stood a younger man, close to Kharl’s age, with deep-set black eyes and blond hair cut carelessly short. His dress tunic was burgundy. Stationed at each end of the dais was an armsman, both in burgundy and blue.

  Kharl took several steps forward before bowing. “Kharl of Cantyl, here to present my credentials as envoy of Lord Ghrant of Austra to the West Quadrancy, and its Lord.”

  “And to his son, Lord-to-be, Osten,” replied Ostcrag. His voice was hoarse.

  “Step forward, Lord Kharl,” suggested the younger man, “so that we can see you face-to-face.”

  Kharl did so, stopping less than two cubits from the dais. “My credentials.” He took out the proclamation and sealed letter and extended them.

  Osten stepped forward. He broke the seal and read the letter, then the proclamation, quickly and seemingly almost casually, before handing them to his sire. “They seem to be in order.”

  Ostcrag took more time in reading through the documents. He kept the letter and handed the proclamation back to Kharl. “Welcome to Brysta, Lord Kharl. We honor you as envoy of Lord Ghrant.”

  “Thank you.” Kharl inclined his head, then straightened. “In addition to my credentials, I bring a small token of Lord Ghrant’s esteem and respect.” Ignoring the probes by the white wizard for the moment, he extracted the pouch from his case and extended it.

  Osten took the pouch as well, easing out the silver box, which he lowered for his sire to see.

  “The Lords of Austra have always bestowed such small and exquisitely tasteful gifts,” Ostcrag replied.

  “That is because the taste of the Lords of the West Quadrant are well known,” Kharl said, hoping he didn’t have to deal with too many more implied slights, but grateful for the time Erdyl had spent going over some of the possibilities.

  Kharl could sense that the white wizard remained behind the hanging at the back of the dais. The wizard was not one as strong as those he had faced in Austra, but one with enough strength to throw firebolts and possibly detect untruths. Yet Kharl could say little about it, without revealing his own abilities. Then, he considered, he could not conceal them.

  He looked directly at Osten. “You could invite your wizard to join us. I’m sure he would be more comfortable here than behind the arras.”

  “There were rumors,” suggested Ostcrag. “You seem to be affirming them.”

  “I have some order-ability,” Kharl admitted. “Enough to sense a white wizard, anyway. That takes little enough.”

  “I am certain that Borlent feels more comfortable where he is,” suggested Osten.

  Kharl merely nodded. “We all have our places and preferences.” Another phrase from Erdyl.

  “Lord Ghrant has survived some difficult challenges in recent times. He must feel most confident-or most adventuresome-to send a mage of any sort to Brysta as an envoy.” Ostcrag’s smile did not extend beyond his lips.

  “Times have indeed been difficult in Austra, but Lord Ghrant is most fortunate in having Lord Hagen as his lord-chancellor. Matters have improved greatly. Lord Ghrant is most interested in strengthening Austra within itself. He has little interest in adventures.”

  “Not even in Nordla?” Ostcrag raised his eyebrows as if in disbelief.

  “Lord Ghrant would hope that matters remain as they have with the four quadrants of Nordla. He would certainly not wish to support any change here.” Kharl managed to keep his expression pleasant, even as he could sense a swirling of chaos from the hidden white wizard. He stood ready with his shields, but the momentary spike of chaos behind the hanging subsided.

  “Things always change,” observed Osten, his voice languid, at odds with his almost rigid posture.

  “That is true,” Kharl admitted. “Lord West succeeds Lord West, and so long as the succession is proper, that is change as it should be.”

  “Yet.. . small as you claim your talent for order-magery may be, Lord Kharl,” Osten said, “does not your presence suggest... a certain ... proclivity ... an indication that Austra might favor the policies of Reduce.”

  “I don’t think so.” Kharl paused for just a moment. “Hamor uses white wizards, but I would not claim that such use has ever meant that the emperor is inclined to follow the views of Fairven.”

  Ostcrag laughed harshly. “One would hope not. In either case.” “How are you finding Brysta?” asked Osten quickly. “Or have you been here before?”

  Behind him, Lord Ostcrag nodded.

  “I’ve seen Brysta from the deck of a merchanter before,” Kharl replied. That was certainly true, if definitely not the whole truth. “And I’ve traveled the streets.” He paused. “I could be mistaken, but I’ve seen no beggars at all on the streets since I’ve been here this time.”

  “I’m glad that you have not.” Osten’s voice was hearty. “My brother has taken it upon himself to ensure that no such riffraff bother honest people.”

  “I’ve also seen more Watch patrollers. They are most alert.”

  “The Watch was reorganized last winter. That was after several malefactors escaped ...” Osten shrugged. “My younger brother was not pleased and took it upon himself to overhaul the entire Watch. We have had far fewer thefts and disorder since.”

  Kharl turned to face Ostcrag directly. “Your sons are most diligent.”

  �
�That they are, and a boon to the West Quadrant.”

  “Still...” mused Kharl, drawing out the expression, “all cities, save Brysta, seem to have beggars. How have you managed this miraculous feat?”

  “By putting them to work,” replied Osten, before his sire could say a word. “They earn an honest wage in the quarries and upon the new south road.” “The new south road? Where does it go? To Surien?”

  “Not yet,” answered Ostcrag. “Were Lord South to finish his portion, within a few years we would have a metaled road between Brysta and Surien. Not the poor clay track that is now a mere excuse for a road. Then we would have greater trade and prosperity.”

  “Just like the Great Highway the Hamorians are building between Cigoerne and Atla,” added Osten.

  “That would certainly improve trade, I would think,” said Kharl. “Exactly,” replied Osten. “Have you such highways in Austra?”

  “None of that length. Only a few shorter ones near Valmurl,” Kharl admitted, before getting to his own questions. “The Hamorian envoy told me that you were using Hamorian engineers for road-building, but I had no idea that you were planning to build such a large highway. Is that why there are so many Hamorian merchanters in the harbor?”

  “There are no more than usual,” replied Ostcrag.

  The older lord was telling what he believed was the truth, and that stopped Kharl for a moment.

  “I understand that you are also a scholar of the law, Lord Kharl,” offered Osten. “Is that why you’ve been spending so much time in the Hall of Justice? Or is it familiar to you for other reasons?”

  Kharl offered a laugh. “I have studied the law, as the chief clerks will tell you, but an envoy’s task is also to better understand the land. What happens in the Hall of Justice reveals much.”

  “What has it revealed to you in the very short time that you’ve been here?” asked Osten, his words pointed.

  “You like Brysta to be a very orderly city. You do not permit beggars and thieves. You would rather sentence a careless man to hard labor than risk letting a thief go free.”