Ordermaster

XVIII

Barely after dawn on sixday, Kharl rode yet another borrowed mount through the damp air of the late-spring morning. This time, the mage wore the green and black of the regular Austran lancers. Given the cloudless day and the stillness of the air, the coolness would doubtless turn into a warm and slightly uncomfortable noon, and a sticky and sultry afternoon. For the moment, Kharl appreciated the cool stillness as he rode beside Undercaptain Demyst. The soreness in his ribs had subsided enough that he was reminded of their tenderness only when he moved suddenly-or lurched in the saddle.

The afternoon before, Kharl and three companies under the command of Majer Ghenal had moved to the northeast of the Great House, settling into the estate of one Buvert, a sympathizer of the late Lord Malcor. Buvert’s consort had fled, along with the staff and children. Once there, the three companies had begun visible preparations for an attack upon the dockyards, still held by forces commanded by Lord Fergyn. Hagen had told Majer Ghenal that the majer was not to attack under any circumstances, that the maneuver was designed to make sure that Fergyn and Hensolas did not unite their forces-not until Casolan arrived with reinforcements, at least.

Kharl and Undercaptain Demyst’s two squads were riding due east, conducting a reconnaissance in force. Those were the orders that Hagen had given the undercaptain, along with the observation that, as necessary, Kharl might undertake his own reconnaissance efforts independently at any time.

The hoofs of the two squads created a muted thunderlike sound as they struck the heavy planks set in clay that formed the hard surface of the Cross-Stream Pike.

“Are there many roads like this?” asked Kharl. He’d heard of timbered pikes, but never run across one.

“This used to be a true pike, maybe a hundred years back, and the only way to get to the part of Valmurl north of the dockworks in times of rain.” Demyst laughed. “Story is that the shamblers burned Lord Lysaran’s stables one night, and the barns an eightday later in protest of the fees. Lord Esthaven stripped Lysaran of his lands and gave him an eightday to leave Austra. Said that anyone who couldn’t control rabble didn’t deserve lands.”

“A hard lord, it sounds like. Wasn’t Esthaven the one who built the harbor causeway?”

“He was hard, but he did much for Austra. He united east and west …”

“I thought that was Isthel-”

Demyst shook his head. “Isthel was his grandsire. Isthel conquered the west, but Esthaven was the one who united Austra. He gave the new western lords the same privileges as those in the east and abolished the special tariffs laid on the west. He even set up schools in Bruel and along the west coast.”

Kharl wondered if he’d ever understand Austra. But then, he hadn’t really understood Nordla, and he’d been born and raised in Brysta.

“There! One of their scouts.”

Kharl glanced ahead, toward the southeast, following the undercaptain′s gesture. A rider in green and black, wearing the blue sash of the rebel forces, galloped southward along a narrow lane that ran between two ragged hedgerows for half a kay, before the ancient hedgerows ended at a welter of ramshackle wooden structures. A handful of people in the middle of the lane scattered just before the lancer bore down on them.

“That’s Tinkertown,” offered the undercaptain. “All the peddlers and tinkers, and the men who offer their backs for a day’s work at the dockyards-most of’em come from there.”

“And the land used to belong to Lord Lysaran?” Kharl’s tone was dry.

“So they say.” After a moment, Demyst added, “Scout’s riding hard. He’ll be turning at the crossroads there, come back onto the pike, and make for the northern corner of the dockworks.”

Reportedly, Lord Fergyn had made one of the old factor’s warehouses, one with living quarters above and behind it, into his temporary headquarters.

“You think they’ll move against us today?” asked Kharl.

“I don’t see how. That’s the only scout we’ve seen. They weren’t expecting us to move before Commander Casolan reached Valmurl.”

“We might as well keep riding and see how close we can get.”

“Not too close to their wizards, if you please, ser Kharl.”

That was exactly what Kharl wanted-or at least to discover where they were-but he couldn’t admit that. So he nodded, and said, “We don’t want to lose any men to wizardry.”

“No, ser.”

At the moment, Kharl was using no active order-magery at all. From what he had observed so far, the white mages had trouble pinpointing order-users unless the black mages were actively engaged in some sort of magery. Certainly, it was far harder for Kharl to determine the exact location of a white wizard if the wizard wasn’t using chaos. Given the distances involved, Kharl had decided that he would continue on horseback toward the dockworks. He had a bright blue sash tucked inside his tunic. Once he separated from Demyst and the two squads, he hoped that the uniform and the sash would suffice as a disguise until he got close enoughto need to use his sight shield. He’d tried the shield with the mount before leaving Buvert’s estate. The gelding hadn’t bucked or tried to throw Kharl, but he had come to a stop, and Kharl had only been able to coax him along at a slow walk. Kharl thought that, if necessary, he could dismount and lead the gelding. He’d seen horses blindfolded and led, but he didn’t want to have to walk too far. Not after his last use of magery in rebel-held territory.

As he rode, Kharl took in the land around him, looking for lanes leading off the pike to the south that might curve eastward or intersect other smaller roads or lanes. He didn’t recall taking the pike when he had sought out Lyras, and that meant that there were other ways to the dockworks than the route they were taking.

He was also trying to sense where the white wizards were. He’d felt nothing immediately after leaving Buvert’s estate, but as they left Tinker-town behind and neared the outskirts of Valmurl, he could sense two separate areas of chaos-presumably the two white wizards. One was less than two kays from where he rode, closer to the dockworks. The other-and stronger-influence was somewhere to the south of Valmurl. To Kharl, that meant that the stronger white wizard was with Lord Hensolas, and the weaker with Fergyn’s forces.

Ahead of them, the pike began to descend slightly into a lower meadow area between two stone walls. The grass showed the lighter green of spring. At the crest of a gentle rise some sixty rods farther along the pike to the southeast, scarcely more than half a kay away, a low wall of greenery lay across the road.

“They’ve blocked the pike,” said Demyst. “Felled firs or something and dragged them into place.”

Kharl studied the makeshift barrier, catching sight of men behind the ragged green barrier. “They’ve got armsmen there.”

“We need to pull up. If they have cannon and rifles, we’ll be too exposed on the downslope ahead.” Demyst turned in the saddle, raising his right arm. “Squads halt! To the rear, ride!”

As they turned back the way they had come, Kharl studied the area to the south of the pike even more closely. Ahead, he saw a narrow way, wider than a path, but barely a lane, that bordered an ill-tended pearapple orchard.

“It’s time for me to head off,” Kharl said. “I need to look into this more closely. Can you have a squad stand by for me, starting in two glasses?”

“Ah … ser … where did you have in mind?”

“Nowhere close to the rebel forces. What about where the lane from Tinkertown leaves the pike?”

Demyst nodded. “That’d not be a problem, not unless they attack, and I don’t see that happening.”

“If they do, I’m on my own.”

“You say two glasses, ser?”

“Probably be closer to three,” Kharl admitted.

“We’ll be there, ser.”

With a nod to Demyst, Kharl turned his mount off the pike and onto the lane that led past the pearapple orchard. He did not hear a word from the lancers, even using his order-senses. Once he was well away from the lancers, he extracted the blue sash from his tunic and smoothed it in place across his chest. As he neared the southern end of the orchard, he saw a cot and a small barn to his right. A woman with a babe in her arms turned, then rushed back to the cot.

The door closed with a muffled thud.

Beyond the orchard were fields, recently tilled. Kharl could not see anything sprouting yet, and he had no idea what crops the smallholders might grow. The sun continued to beat down, and the black-and-greenwool uniform was far warmer than Kharl had expected. He blotted the dampness from his forehead and kept riding.

He rode south almost a kay, watching as holders and their consorts and children either fled or watched him pass stolidly With each rod he rode, the huts and cots were closer and closer together, until they stood almost as close together as in Valmurl itself, with barely space for small gardens between each dwelling. At the first wider way, one rutted with the tracks of carts and wagons, he turned eastward. Ahead, he could see the taller warehouses and the cranes of the dock area. Only a few people were out and about, and they stayed well clear of the road.

Another rider, also in uniform and with a blue sash, rode toward Kharl. As he neared the mage, the younger lancer called out to Kharl, “Careful when you get to the square. Old ironbritches’bout to bust a gut.”

“Thanks. Need to watch out to the north. There’s a road patrol farther out on the pike.”

“Thanks to you.”

With a nod, Kharl passed the lancer, letting his order-senses track the man until they were several rods apart, but the man never looked back.

The nearer Kharl rode to the docking area, the quieter and emptier thestreets became. A good three blocks short of the square to the north of the dockworks proper, Kharl turned his mount southward along a side street, one lined with modest dwellings. Most were shuttered and locked. A prudent precaution, the mage reflected.

As he rode he used his order-senses to gather in impressions of chaos. A well of whiteness was centered almost due east of where he rode, and at the next corner, he turned his mount back eastward, toward the square and the northern end of the harbor-the part holding the shipworks and dry docks and the majority of the factors’ warehouses. That was where he and the crew of the Seastag had refitted the ship some two seasons before. Had it only been two seasons?

He could see lancers in green and black, with the blue sashes, riding back and forth, as if on a post set across the southern side of the square. Glancing ahead, Kharl looked for a place to tie his mount. He settled on a hitching rail outside a felter’s shop because the shop was shuttered and seemed empty. There he dismounted and began to walk toward the square.

He was now somewhat west and south of the center of the whitish fount of chaos, which he felt was less than a block to the north of where he was. At the corner of the square, where one of the other lancers glanced in his direction, Kharl turned and nodded northward, half-shrugging.

A wry expression crossed the sentry’s face. “Good luck.”

“Need it,” Kharl replied, and kept walking, past a row of three shops, a wool factor’s, a leather factor’s, and a small brassworks.

Ahead of him to his left was a three-story building-its bricks painted a faded light green. The sign hung over the large double doors read OSSAFAL AND SONS, FACTORS, and the letters were a faded dark green. Two armsmen stood before the doors.

Kharl did not wish to use any active order-skills until he was far closer to the white wizard. Before reaching the southern end of the building, as he passed the brassworks, Kharl turned left and down the narrow lane between the brassworks and larger factor’s structure. The loading dock to the brassworks was closed, and there was no doorway on the south side of the green-brick building-the structure within which was one of the white wizards.

At the end of the side lane on the north side was an enclosed yard, with a gate. The lock on the gate had already been broken. Kharl paused, letting his order-senses receive a feeling for the rear yard. It was empty,except for three mounts tethered to a beam protruding from a sagging dock that had not been used in years. The former loading dock door had been boarded shut, leaving just a smaller door to one side.

The steps up to the smaller door creaked as Kharl took them. He did not sense anyone just inside the building. Still, he opened the door and paused before stepping inside. Beyond the door was an oblong room half-filled with pallets on which bales had been roped, amphorae, crates, and a number of boxes clearly wrenched open. Scuff marks in the dust on the scarred wooded floors showed where pallets had been recently moved.

An armsman straightened up from where he’d been rummaging through one of the boxes. He frowned.

“Message for the wizard,” Kharl offered, ready to clamp shields around the other at the slightest sign of alarm.

“His mightiness the white wizard, the almighty Alborak?”

“Guess he’s the one.”

“Take the stairs in front.” There was a pause. “Why’d you come in back?”

“They said I could tie my mount out back,” Kharl explained, hoping the other did not check immediately.

“Figures.”

Kharl walked toward the only door he saw, still holding himself ready to use the shields if he needed to. Nothing happened, and he stepped into another corridor, even more dimly lit. The staircase was to his left.

While there were no guards on the lower level, a single armsman stood at the top of the steps. He had not seen Kharl, or not looked in the mage’s direction.

Kharl formed a sight shield, hoping that Alborak would not notice, and began to climb the steps, quietly, slowly, one at a time. As he climbed, he could hear voices from above him. He tried to listen as he moved.

“ … you didn’t even know he was there?”

“He was only a cooper,” said a second voice, hard and conveying arrogance. “How can he possibly know that much about order, let alone chaos?”

“I’m but an undercaptain, ser wizard,” came the reply, “but CaptainFegaro said that there was chaos-fire everywhere on that causeway, and he’s seen most everything in his years.”

Kharl moved up several more steps. He had the feeling that he would be able to get close enough to the white wizard without going all the way to the top of the ancient stairs.

“It had to be cannon fire, like in the harbor. Order-mages cannot handle chaos.”

“He said it was chaos.”

Kharl took two more steps.

“He’s not a wizard or a mage. How would he know?”

“Ser … you’d have to ask him.”

“There’s something strange-″

Kharl hardened the air around the young wizard before he could say more.

Hssst! White fire appeared from nowhere, as if it had formed in the air less than three cubits from Kharl, and flashed downward toward him.

His shields barely deflected the chaos-bolt, and he took a hard step sideways on the staircase.

“Chaos-fire!” called the guard.

“There’s a mage somewhere! Look for him!” called the undercaptain.

Another blast of chaos flared toward Kharl, if slightly weaker than the first.

Kharl struggled to maintain his barrier around the white wizard and to maintain the sight shield. He could sense the sentry moving to the top of the stairs, less than two cubits from where Kharl stood, and looking down.

“There’s no one here, ser! Just chaos-fire everywhere!”

“There’s a mage somewhere! There has to be!”

“I don′t see no one, ser!”

A third blast of chaos-fire rocked Kharl, one hurled with a desperation that Kharl could feel, but his defenses held.

“Has to be somewhere!”

Leaning in darkness against the side of the staircase, Kharl kept his shields in place. He could smell something burning farther down the staircase.

“The stairs are catching fire, ser!” called the guard.

More chaos, this time more diffuse and less focused, splashed around Kharl. He could also feel heat from the wall behind him, and he edged forward.He knew he couldn′t retreat yet. He was close to the limit at which he could hold the hardened air barrier around Alborak, and if he loosened that barrier, the white wizard would escape. That would make any later efforts much, much harder, if not impossible.

“Find the wizard!”

“But … ser … there’s no one here!”

A grim smile crossed Kharl’s lips, one erased by the effort of holding his shields as another desperate blast of chaos flared around him.

Two more weaker blasts followed.

The sound of crackling flames began to rise, and Kharl struggled not to cough as smoke filled the staircase.

“Ser … we got to get out of here!” called the armsman at the top of the staircase.

Abruptly, the reddish white void of death washed over Kharl. He almost sagged as he released the hardened air barrier that had killed Alborak. Flames licked at him and the old and dry wood as he staggered down to the bottom of the steps and toward the front double doors.

He scrambled forward and let his sight shield drop just as he pushed open the right-hand door. “Fire! Fire! Stairs are on fire!”

The two guards standing beyond the archway just looked at him.

“Can’t you smell it? See the flames? Get a bucket brigade … or something … whole place’ll burn.″ A well of heat rushed out from behind Kharl.

The guard who had been at the top of the stairs charged out, beating out small patches of flame on his uniform. “Call the fire brigade!”

″We … we′re …″ stammered one of the guards.

“I’ll do it.” Kharl dashed past them, heading south. “Fire in headquarters! Fire in the building!”

Others took up the cry.

Once he was past the woolen factor’s, Kharl raised his sight shield for a short time, just long enough to get around the corner and closer to his mount. The gelding had remained where he tied it, doubtless only because he had only been gone for a short time and possibly because the locals feared that it had belonged to the rebels and that taking it would have led to great reprisals.

Kharl dropped the sight shield, mounted, and rode away at a fast trot, a pace he judged likely enough for a messenger or a scout. He tried not to bounce in the saddle.

As he made his way north and west, watching for rebel lancers, and for pursuit, he couldn’t help thinking about the young white wizard he’d killed. The young man hadn’t had a chance, not really. He hadn’t known what had struck him, not until it was effectively too late.

Yet what else could Kharl do? He didn’t know any method to capture a white wizard, or to hold one once captured, and he couldn’t just let the man continue to use chaos to kill Lord Ghrant’s and Hagen’s lancers and armsmen. And Kharl didn’t have any other weapons that would be effective. A staff was useless in close quarters, and, besides, neither a staff nor a cudgel could stand up against chaos-fire.

He glanced over his shoulder. A column of thick gray smoke rose from the dockworks area. Kharl could only hope that the fire did not spread beyond the one building, but how could he have predicted that Alborak’s chaos-bolts would turn the old factoring building into an inferno?

Kharl shook his head. Chaos-fire was hotter than fire in a hearth or a stove, perhaps as hot as a forge. With that much of it being flung around an old building, fire was highly likely-but that was a chance he’d had to take.

He kept riding, and looking back over his shoulder. The column of smoke had gotten larger, but not markedly so. He could only hope the damage was limited, but he kept glancing back.

In time, he returned to the Cross-Stream Pike, where he removed the blue sash and tucked it back into his tunic.

Undercaptain Demyst was waiting-with both squads-at the rendezvous point.

Kharl reined up. “Thank you.”

“Our pleasure, ser mage.” Demyst frowned slightly. “Your face is a shade red, ser Kharl.” He glanced eastward toward the column of grayish smoke that still rose over the north harbor area.

“Matters were somewhat hotter where I was,” Kharl replied, slowly easing his mount beside that of the undercaptain. “Did you see any rebel forces?”

“Not except for the ones at that barrier. We saw one messenger. He saw us and turned due south.”

“I think I saw him, too,” Kharl said. “We can head back to Buvert’s estate.”

The undercaptain nodded, then gestured. The two squads fell in behind the mage and the undercaptain.

Kharl forced himself not to look back toward the fire. He regretted so much destruction, but what else could he have done?