Ordermaster

XIV

Kharl’s head was splitting when he woke. He opened his eyes, but the room remained black. He turned his head, but that didn’t help. He tried to reach out with his order-senses, but a line of fire slammed through his skull, and his head dropped back onto the pillow. Another wave of darkness swallowed him.

When he drifted back awake later, he still could not see, but the headache was only a dull throbbing. He did not try to use his order-senses.

“Ser?”

The voice was female, slightly throaty-and unfamiliar.

“Yes?” His voice was croaking and hoarse.

“I have some ale … Istya said you should drink as much as you can.”

“You’ll have to put the mug in my hands. I can’t see right now.”

There was a momentary silence, followed by a clink and a scraping sound.

“Ah … ser.”

“Oh …” Kharl raised both hands.

The unseen woman guided the mug to his right hand.

Kharl grasped the heavy mug with both hands before slowly moving it to his lips, tilting it slowly until he could feel the ale. He took a small swallow at first, then a larger one.

“What time is it? What day?”

“Midafternoon, ser. On eightday.”

Eightday. He’d been sleeping or unconscious for two days. “What’s happened? The rebels …?”

“The lord-chancellor … he said to tell you not to worry. He’s been stopping by.”

Kharl belatedly remembered his manners. “I’m sorry. I can’t see you. Could you tell me who you are?”

“Yes, ser. I’m Renella. I’m an apprentice to Istya. Anew apprentice, ser.”

“You’ve been most kind, Renella.” Kharl took another swallow of ale. Outside of the headache, which had begun to fade with the ale, and his lack of vision, he didn’t feel that poorly, although his left hand was also sore. But what had he done that had left him unable to see? Had it come from being surrounded by all the chaos he had released? Or was there a problem for an order-mage to handle chaos-even indirectly?

“I haven’t done much, ser. I’ve just been watching you.”

“Thank you.” A scuffing followed, with a slight breeze wafting over Kharl. “Lord-chancellor … he’s awake, ser.” After the briefest of pauses, she added, “If you need anything, ser Kharl, I’ll be back shortly.”

Kharl heard Hagen’s boots on the polished stone of the floor and the shoes of the departing apprentice.

“You look all right,” offered Hagen.

“I can’t see,” Kharl said. “Other than that …”

“Did you get hit in the head?”

“It has to do with magery, I think. I couldn’t see for a day or two after the battle in Dykaru, either.”

“Are you sure you didn’t hit your head?”

“I’m sure.” Kharl tried to keep the irritation out of his voice. “Too much chaos is what causes the problem.”

“You’re an order-mage.”

“What I did, remember … it released chaos.”

“You had said …” ventured Hagen.

“I said I could do it. I hadn’t realized what would happen. Most of this is still new to me.”

Hagen said nothing, and Kharl wished that he could see the lord-chancellor’s face. “What happened at the harbor?” he finally asked.

“We got off two complete volleys from all the cannon,” Hagen said dryly. “They stopped and marched back down the causeway. They lost around a hundred armsmen.”

“You don’t sound that happy.”

“I’m not. It was a feint. Hensolas had sent half his armsmen north to join the troops Fergyn already had. That was so that Fergyn could leave enough in place to threaten the Great House and still take the dockyards and warehouses.”

“But not the harbor?”

“They got the supplies from the warehouses, and they have enough armsmen that they can take the harbor anytime.” Hagen laughed, bitterly. “They’ve put you out of action for at least a while. It only cost them a hundred men, and those armsmen really were Lord Ghrant’s armsmen.”

“You think they’re waiting for help from Hamor?”

“I’d not be surprised.”

“What else?”

“They want us to attack them and be the ones that destroy the warehouses and dockworks?”

“So Lord Ghrant is the one who is hurting people?”

There was silence, although Kharl had the feeling that Hagen had nodded.

This time, Kharl waited, taking a sip of the ale from the mug that he still held.

“Casolan’s been delayed. Forces under Lord Azeolis have been harassing him, and that has slowed his progress toward Valmurl.”

“Azeolis?” Kharl had never heard the name.

“He’s a distant cousin of Malcor. His holdings are in the high hills to the south of the mountains that border Vizyn.”

“That’s a long way north. How did he get far enough south to attack Casolan unless …”

“Unless he’d been ordered to do so from the beginning? He couldn’t have.”

The more Kharl heard, the less he liked what was happening, and the bad news seemed unending.

“So there are more lords involved than you thought, and they’ve planned this out in more detail?”

“It would seem so.” Hagen’s voice was flat.

Kharl took another long swallow of ale, almost finishing the mug. “What do you think they’ll do next?”

“If they’ve planned this carefully … then they must have something worked out to wipe out Casolan’s forces.”

“Can you change his marching route?”

“I’d thought of that. They’ll think that he’ll take the shortest route. If he takes another way, that will at least give them pause.” Hagen’s sigh was soft, but audible. “All I can do is give them pause.”

Kharl took a last swallow and finished the ale.

“How soon …?”

“I don’t know,” the mage admitted. “It could be tomorrow; it could be an eightday.” He had to think out what he was doing with his order-skills far better than he had before-and that was if he got his sight back-before the rebellion took over all of Austra.

“I’ll talk to you later,” offered Hagen. “I hope you’re up and can see before long.”

So did Kharl. He also hoped that he could offer Hagen and Ghrant much more aid than he had so far-and that he could find a way to remedy the damage he had inadvertently caused.

He sat in the bed, in his darkness, fretting over the rebellion he had sparked and pondering what lay ahead.