Ordermaster

XXVII

Fourday found Kharl back in the saddle before dawn, in the green-and-black uniform of an Austran armsman, riding with Undercaptain Demyst and his squad on a side road at the south edge of the Nierran Hills, not all that far from Lyras’s cottage. Kharl smiled briefly as he recalled the meeting with the older mage in the small cottage of red sandstone, with its glass windows and green-painted shutters and front door. Lyras had offered refreshments, hospitality, and almost no advice, except how to determine where Kharl’s skills might lie. While he had always suspected the reason for that, Kharl was truly beginning to understand why. Handling of order-or of chaos-had to come from understanding, and that could never be taught, only experienced.

There was barely enough space for two mounts abreast on the clay track that wound under the sandstone cliffs on the north side of the fast-moving and swirling dark waters of the rod-wide stream. The road was no more than two cubits above the spring runoff. Immediately to the south of the stream were low meadows, some of which were still partly underwater, and beyond them a long sloping expanse of firs along the north side of a narrow ridge. South beyond the ridge, Kharl knew, were the open hills that rolled down toward the northeastern part of Valmurl. Those hills held kay upon kay of orchards and berry patches.

Once again, Demyst rode alongside Kharl. The square-faced captain looked morosely ahead, into the lighter gray sky to the east. “This circles north of the main road, comes out where the stream joins the Fahsa. That’s a bit west of Ghalmat. Should be there well before the rebels.” Demyst paused. “Should be. No telling until then, though.”

“The Hamorians are still somewhere to the east of Ghalmat,” noted Kharl. “They’re not moving that fast.” He could sense the two focal points of chaos, even though they were several kays to the south and east. Both were far stronger than the white wizards he had faced before, although the lesser chaos-focus was not that much stronger than the last white wizard.But that was the lesser of the two, and he had no idea if the two might even be hiding part of their power, the way the last white wizard had, and as Kharl was attempting.

Kharl could also sense Lyras and the comparatively faint but solid black order around the older mage. Lyras was stronger than he claimed, Kharl was convinced, but still nowhere near as powerful as he needed to be-not if the older mage had to hold off the oncoming white wizards if Kharl failed. Then, Kharl himself wasn’t exactly a youth, either, he reflected.

“What about Lord Fergyn?” asked Demyst.

“I can′t tell. He doesn’t have a white wizard with him.”

“You think this’ll be as bad as the last time, ser?” asked the undercaptain.

“No,” Kharl replied. “If we’re fortunate, it will only be about twice as bad.” As soon as he’d spoken, even before the undercaptain shook his head, Kharl wished he’d been less truthful and more tactful. But why did people ask such stupid questions, then get upset when they got a truthful reply?

Truth, again. Always seemingly what people claimed they wanted, but only when it confirmed what they wished to believe. “It might not be that bad,” Kharl said quickly, “but they do have two powerful white wizards and a company of heavy Hamorian horse.” Demyst already knew that, but it wouldn′t hurt to repeat it.

“What did Lord Ghrant do to Hamor, that they’d send such against us?”

“He did nothing. Hamor wants to rule the world. The emperor thinks that, if he can unseat Lord Ghrant, he can rule through Lord Fergyn. Even if we win, it will take years to rebuild Austra, and Lord Ghrant will be in no position to move against Hamor in trade or other matters.”

“Some folks, they never seem to have enough.”

“Usually, they’re already the ones who have more than most,” Kharl replied, thinking of Egen and Lord West.

“Saw that growing up. Biggest orchards belonged to old Khosen, but he was always trying something to get more.”

“It’s like that.” Kharl nodded, trying still to gather in a sense of the white wizards without actively using or creating excess order.

The road began to angle more to the southeast, and the steep cliffs on the north, to Kharl′s left, gave way first to hillsides of red sand, scrub, and fir, then to lower hills covered by an older forest, mostly of evergreens.

They covered another kay or so before the edge of the sun, tinged white-orange by the mists hanging over both valleys and hills, rose over the old forest to the east of the narrow road. Ahead of them the narrow way curved even more southward, following the stream as it angled southeast toward a low gap between the hills to the north and east and the ridge-line to the south. Beyond the gap, according to the maps, was where the stream met the River Fahsa, roughly half a kay west of Ghalmat. Hagen had called Ghalmat a hamlet of but a few hundred people that basically served as a center for the berry patches and the orchards that covered the surrounding hills and ridges.

As they neared the gap between the ridge and hills, a lancer rode toward them, then slowed as he approached. Kharl recognized the scout by face, but not by name.

“Undercaptain … ser … there’s no one in the town. Not more’n a few, anyway. The rest were clearing out when I got there. They must have heard about the Hamorians.”

Or Hagen’s force. Or the white wizards, Kharl thought.

“Did you see any other lancers?”

“No, ser. There’s dust on the road to the east, mayhap a kay east of the town. I didn’t see any to the west or south. Wagon tracks in the roads, carts, but not more than a few mounts.”

The undercaptain looked to Kharl. “We’ll be getting there a little before the Hamorians.”

“If we do, we’ll let them pass, and we’ll do what we need to once they’ve headed toward the lord-chancellor.”

Demyst nodded, then looked at the scout. “Fall in.” He’d turned in the saddle. “Herles!”

“Yes, ser?” answered the left-hand rider of the pair of lancers riding immediately behind Kharl and the undercaptain.

“Ride forward and watch the gap ahead. Make sure that no one heads toward us. If they don′t, just wait for us.”

“Yes, ser.” Herles pulled out and past Kharl and Demyst, then eased his mount into a faster pace.

Almost another half glass went by before Kharl reined up just beyond the gap between the ridge to the west and the low hills to the east. Looking south, he studied the gentle slope running down to the river and the narrow cart bridge that arched over the Fahsa. On the far side was the crossroad that linked the north road and the northeast road out of Valmurl. Thewoodlots and orchards stretching to the south seemed to extend to the horizon, yet they were less than five kays north of the dockworks area of the harbor.

Just south of the river, and to the east, he could make out the outlines of the houses and buildings of Ghalmat-and the dust rising on the east side of the hamlet. The dust seemed to match what his order-senses told him about where the white wizards were. “They’re coming into the east side of the town.”

“Yes, ser. Lot of dust, ser.”

After several moments, Kharl pointed to a thicker patch of evergreens on a knoll to the west of the road, no more than twenty rods north of the bridge. “We’ll take cover there, and wait.”

“Take a while to cross the bridge, ser.”

“It’ll take longer for the Hamorians.”

“Ser?”

“If they discover us and come after us, they’ll have trouble getting to us quickly, and it won’t take that long for us to cross going south.”

“Yes, ser.”

Kharl urged the gelding forward, toward the heavily wooded knoll. Again, they would wait; but waiting, Kharl was learning, was often better than rushing into disaster.

A quarter glass went by, then another quarter glass, and the surge of white chaos drew nearer and nearer. At the same time, from gathering in impressions of Lyras, Kharl could sense that Hagen had stopped almost a glass earlier. He hoped that meant that Casolan’s first companies and those remaining forces of Norgen-all under Hagen’s command-had reached the hill to the west of where the northeast road and the river road intersected. There was a low outcropping of sandstone there on the east side of the hillcrest, which might give cover from chaos-fire, and the flanks and front of the hill were steep enough, and so covered by thornberries, that an easy and swift charge was not possible.

As Kharl reflected on those precautions, hoping they were sufficient, the Hamorian outriders appeared. Two posted themselves at the narrow bridge, but made no attempt to cross. The other six rode westward on the Fahsa River road. Before long, the column of lancers appeared.

From what Kharl could tell, the Hamorians had close to two companies of their lancers. Unlike the armsmen of either Austra or Nordla, whose uniforms were shaded more dramatic colors, such as green and black andblue, the Hamorians wore pale tan, with black belts and boots. Their tan caps had black visors as well. They bore sabres and long belt knives, as well as black lances in their stirrup holders.

“The squad leaders and officers have rifles,” murmured Demyst.

“Not the lancers?”

“Don’t see any.”

Kharl knew that few armies used firearms, either the kind fired by cammabark or by powder, because a chaos-mage could trigger any powder not contained within iron-and sometimes even propellant that was so contained. Yet the Hamorian officers and squad leaders had rifles. Because they were so confident that their own mages would prevail? Or for special situations?

Kharl suspected the latter. He might find out in time, and probably when he least wanted to do so. Without extending any order-energy beyond himself, he concentrated on trying to get a better impression of the two white wizards, both of whom rode roughly in the middle of the Hamorian lancers. What he could only have described as lines of unseen white flashed from the two, but those energies were directed more to the west.

“How long are we waiting?” asked the undercaptain.

“Until they’re far enough away that we can attack the bridge guards and get across before the main body could turn and get back to us.” In some ways, Kharl would have preferred to have been on the south side of the river; but there was no cover there, not nearby, and nowhere to go if they had been discovered and immediately attacked. There was no other bridge across the Fahsa, not within kays, not except the north road bridge to the west, and the river was also more than three rods wide, and the spring runoff was violent and deep-close to two rods deep in midstream.

Kharl watched.

The main body of Hamorian column, riding three abreast on the wider river road, was more than a half a kay in length. With the outriders, and the squad or so of the trailing rearguard, the Hamorians took up nearly a kay of road.

Almost a third of a glass passed before the rear guard passed the bridge. When the last of the rear guards were about fifty rods west of the bridge, the bridge guards turned their mounts and began to trot westward to rejoin the main body.

“Now?”

“Not quite yet,” Kharl said. “We’ll wait until they’re another half kaywest. They’ll still be short of the lord-chancellor.” Not that short of Hagen’s forces, he reflected, but he didn’t want to call attention to himself or the squad until he had to.

Kharl used his order-senses once more, but there were no signs of other Hamorians-or of Lord Fergyn’s lancers. Finally, once the distance between the Hamorian rear guard and bridge reached more than half a kay, Kharl turned to Demyst. “Now.”

“Forward! To the bridge.”

The Hamorians did not look back, not so far as Kharl could determine, and none of the column was detached to fight a rearguard action against the squad, even though someone must have seen them. Were the Hamorians that oblivious to Kharl? Or that confident, or did they know that Kharl-or anyone-would have to come to them? The latter, probably, Kharl surmised.

Once across the narrow bridge, a span that did in fact creak and sway with each passing rider, the squad re-formed in double files and headed after the Hamorians, who maintained a quick walk westward.

“Don’t seem to care about us, do they?” ventured the undercaptain.

“Not for now,” Kharl replied, his concentration on the column ahead and the unseen chaos-probes that flashed from the two white mages.

Another half glass passed as Kharl’s small force slowly closed the gap. Kharl could sense the growing closeness of Lyras and, presumably, Hagen’s forces. The morning sun was beating out of a clear sky, bringing a summerlike heat to the road, and sweat plastered the armsman’s tunic against his back.

“They’ve halted.”

Kharl could see that. The Hamorians waited on a flat of the road. Beyond was the intersection with the northeast road out of Valmurl, and farther to the west was the hillside on which Hagen and Lyras and their forces had taken a position. A quick glance showed riders in black and green-with blue sashes-withdrawing downhill. Kharl had to wonder how many attacks Fergyn’s forces had already made-or if they had just begun, then withdrawn at the approach of the Hamorians.

Kharl wrenched himself away from futile speculations because he could also see that the rear ranks of the Hamorians had turned, and several squads faced eastward-toward Kharl. Immediately behind them was a smaller group, which included one of the white mages.

“Ser?”

“Keep riding. We need to get closer.” Kharl could smell, seemingly for the first time, the road dust, the odor of fresh horse droppings, and the faintly acrid odor of chaos. Or was that odor only in his thoughts?

Ahead, the Hamorian lancers facing him lifted their lances but remained in place.

A bolt of chaos-fire flashed from the white wizard. Kharl waited, and at the last moment, lifted an order shield, letting the chaos splash away. The impact was enough to drive him back in the saddle. He leaned forward, trying to concentrate on finding the chaos tie that led back to the white wizard.

“Ser …?”

“Keep riding,” Kharl snapped. “Unless you want to be ashes.”

“Yes, ser.” Demyst raised his voice, “Follow ser Kharl. Keep riding!”

Hssst! Another chaos-bolt, every bit as powerful as the first, slammed against Kharl′s shields. His readiness kept him in the saddle, but even as he sensed what he was looking for, he had to wonder how many more firebolts he could deflect-and he was only facing the lesser wizard.

A trumpet sounded, somewhere, and the Hamorian rear guard charged.

“Keep riding! Same pace!” Kharl ordered. The closer to the wizards, the better, because, while they could incinerate at any distance, or at least at a far greater distance than could he, what he could do had to be done at close range.

“Keep riding! Same pace!” echoed Demyst. “Blades at the ready! At the ready!”

Kharl waited, knowing what was about to happen.

The Hamorians thundered toward the Austran squad, still moving forward at a fast walk. Then, when the lancers in tan were but fifty cubits from Kharl-or less-an enormous firebolt arced in over them.

Kharl smiled grimly, and hardened the air before him, into the slippery tube shape that turned and focused the chaos back on the charging Hamorians.

Whhhssst!

The chaos-fire flared across the close-packed Hamorians, so quickly that there were not even screams as men and mounts turned to burned meat and charcoal, then ashes and blackened forms. The reddish white emptiness of a score or more of deaths shivered through Kharl, and he swallowed, trying to regain his concentration.

“ … demon-spawn!”

“Friggin’ sowshit!”

“Quiet! Keep riding!” snapped Demyst.

Within moments, the squad was through and past the ashes and blackened remnants of the fallen Hamorians.

For all his success so far, Kharl knew his strengths and resources were limited.

Another trumpet sounded, and Kharl glanced beyond the Hamorian forces at the hill where Hagen and Lyras held out-so far. He could sense an enormous gathering of power-of mighty raw chaos. Then, a firebolt, more like wave of fire, washed over the front of the hillside. When the fire subsided, the hillside was black and gray-bare except for a few tree trunks at each side. The thornberry patches that would have slowed lancers had vanished into powdery ash.

Kharl found himself momentarily awed at the power and the amount of chaos released, far more than he had seen from other white wizards.

But the remaining Hamorian lancers did not charge. They remained on the flat to the east of the slope, their lines dressed.

Fergyn’s lancers rode northward, and re-formed.

Kharl could see all too well what was about to happen. Both Austran forces would fight-and tear each other down-until either Fergyn was repulsed and defeated or until the lord-chancellor was. Either way, the Hamorian casualties would be far less.

What could Kharl do?

Hssst!

Kharl barely managed to get just an order shield up. Stupid! He needed to concentrate on one wizard at a time. He and his squad were less than thirty rods from the lesser wizard and his personal guard. He forced his eyes and his senses on the nearer wizard, trying to find the line of chaos that had to be there.

Hssst!

This time, Kharl managed to deflect the chaos-bolt back toward the white wizard, forcing the white to use his shields against his own chaos-fire. Two Hamorian lancers and their mounts, out to the side of the white wizard, went down in flames. One of the mounts screamed-an agonizing cry that went on and on.

Kharl ignored it, concentrating on the wizard, feeling, using all his order-senses, as the other drew upon chaos, seemingly from deep withinthe earth, formed it, and hurled it toward Kharl, now less than ten rods from the white wizard.

Kharl caught the chaos-tie between that ball of chaos and the wizard who had cast it, but lost the tie before he could fully sense it, when he had to throw up another order shield. If only he had a moment more, but the closer he got the less time he had, and yet, from a distance, he could do nothing.

Ahead, he could sense another huge wave of chaos bursting across the hillside-and this time, the redness of Austran deaths flashed across him. He could also sense more Hamorian lancers turning, raising lances, but Kharl forced his concentration back to the nearer wizard, watching the man in white. As Kharl rode ever nearer, this time, he caught the tie and link, but, again, he was too slow, and had to release that link-barely in time-to throw up another order shield. He was drenched in sweat and breathing heavily, and he had not even lifted a cudgel or a staff-or anything.

He forged his attention into a narrow line, ignoring the oncoming Hamorian lancers, waiting. As the white wizard drew upon the chaos of the earth deep beneath, Kharl seized the linkage and created an order shield within the channel, throwing the chaos back upon the white wizard, within the wizard’s own shields.

Whhhsst!

Kharl flung up his own shields, around him and the squad, as an expanding blast of chaos radiating from where the lesser white wizard had stood.

The impact of that force against his shields jerked him back in the saddle, braced as he was. The reddish white voids of scores of deaths washed across Kharl, and tears streamed down his face from the pain and the brightness of that explosion.

Kharl shook his head, blotted the dampness from his eyes with the rough fabric of his uniformed sleeve. Everything around him was faint, washed out, but he immediately began to look for the other white wizard, both with eyes and order-senses. The lancers who had been charging Kharl were gone, seared into ashes or less, and perhaps half the Hamorian forces had already died. That didn’t matter, not so long as a single white wizard remained.

Kharl could feel another massive wave of chaos rising, and it was not directed at the hillside, where Hagen and his forces held out, crouched andhiding behind the sandstone ridge-those that had survived thus far. It was directed toward Kharl and no other.

Find the link … don’t think of shields … Find the link, Kharl kept telling himself. Let the chaos flow back along that link … and return to me. Let it flow. He kept concentrating on the wizard facing him.

For a long moment, he could see-as if they were less than a rod apart-the smooth-skinned wizard with the angular face, and the deep black eyes that had seen more than Kharl ever wanted to see.

Then … that vision was gone, and reddish-tinged white chaos fountained from beneath the ground, rising skyward in a plume, unseen except by the two mages and the white wizard. The earth trembled, then rocked beneath the gelding’s hoofs. Somewhere, another mount screamed.

Kharl kept concentrating, reaching for the link between wizard and chaos, between power and the depths from which it came beneath the earth. He had eyes and senses only for that link, even as he rode forward, ever closer to the figure that glowed eerily in more chaos than Kharl could ever have imagined, could ever have wanted to imagine.

Time seemed frozen, with chaos towering over him, ready to fall and crush him.

Kharl struck, twisting through that undefended back linkage, opening it and letting all the chaos that had been gathered from the depths rush to and through the white wizard.

As the whiteness of that chaos burned more brightly than the sun for that instant, Kharl threw up an order shield, one that held all the strength and will that remained in him, one to block out the fires that seemed hotter than any forge, any boiler, any sun.

NO!!!!

Kharl shuddered under the assault of will and chaos, under a wave of heat that stopped somewhere short of him, but still burned. The very earth groaned, twisted, and heaved. Sheets of flame flared skyward from the ground.

As fire flared everywhere, as Kharl could feel himself toppling in the saddle, and someone grabbing for him, he also realized something else. The greater white wizard had been a woman. How he knew that … he did not know, but the thought flashed through his mind, just before the blackness slammed across him.

Somewhere in that hot blackness, ashes and death sifted down across him, and distant voices he could not make out called out in languages hecould not understand. Then, there was a silence, and he could feel that he was on his back.

“Eyes moving …”

The first thing Kharl felt was water, warmish water, across his forehead and face, as he lay on his back on a hard surface-the road, he thought.

“Ser Kharl?”

He opened his eyes, but the light seared them, and he closed them immediately. He tried to speak, but all that came out was a growl, followed by a paroxysm of coughing. After a moment, he coughed out matter, perhaps fine ashes. Then, as the coughing subsided, he managed to sit up, assisted by someone he could not see.

Slowly, he tried to open his eyes again, slitting them and squinting against the light. The all-too-familiar daggers stabbed into his skull.

“Ser … best you drink some water.”

Kharl didn’t argue, either about the water or about eating the bread and cheese that a lancer handed him in small morsels. Everything tasted like ashes-again-but he put the food in his mouth and chewed, methodically. He swallowed the water in between mouthfuls. Finally, he slowly rose to his feet on legs that felt as weak as water.

“You think you should be standing, ser?” asked Undercaptain Demyst from his mount.

“No. I probably ought to get mounted and let the horse do the standing.”

A lancer laughed, quietly, but the laugh died away as Demyst turned his head and glared to his right.

Kharl closed his eyes for a moment. That helped relieve the pain and the glare, although he knew that the sun wasn’t that bright.

“Just a moment, ser,” said another voice. “Janos is bringing your mount.″

″Thank you.″

Kharl stood there, waiting, his eyes still closed, with the odors of ashes and death swirling around him. There was no sense of chaos. He still could not quite take in what had happened, or the stillness around him.

“The lord-chancellor’s on his way down, ser. Had to go around the back side of the hill, a long way. That’s what Stevras said. Sent him as a messenger.”

“I’d better get mounted.” Kharl slit his eyes again. The pain daggers were still there, but he tried not to wince as he turned and took two steps toward the gelding. Mounting was easier than seeing what he was doing.

Once in the saddle, he had to cough again, and, for a moment, he thought he might not be able to hold down what he had eaten, but he closed his eyes, and the coughing subsided. As he sat in the saddle, waiting for Hagen, he realized that he could sense no chaos. None. That was good, he supposed.

After a time, he slit his eyes again to look around him, first uphill to the southwest, then along the road to the south. Everywhere he saw gray-ashes, smoke and ashes, and with the faint breeze came even more strongly the stench of burned flesh, both of men and mounts. The entire front of the hill beyond the northeast road and the flat below were smoldering charnel heaps, and the gray of ashes as fine as dust had settled over everything.

Farther west, the top of the hill shimmered in the afternoon sunlight, shimmered like a mirror, a glassy surface of red and black, a surface created by the chaos blasts of the dead white wizard-or should she have been termed a sorceress?

Kharl had heard of the Legend, and the tales of Megaera, but … those had always just been stories. Who could have believed that such a mighty sorceress had existed in his own time? Or that she had been sent to Austra?

Slowly, he eased the mount along the road toward the ragged column coming from the west along the river road.

When he caught sight of Kharl, the lord-chancellor motioned for the other lancers to halt, then rode alone toward Kharl.

“I’ll meet the lord-chancellor alone,” Kharl said to Demyst.

“Lancers halt! The mage and the lord-chancellor will meet alone.”

Kharl forced himself to take another swallow from the water bottle. The water still tasted like liquid ashes, but he swallowed with a gulp, then put it back in the looped holder above his knee.

Hagen reined up, letting Kharl come the last few rods to him. The mage eased the gelding to a halt a rod or so from the lord-chancellor.

“Ser Kharl … What … what did …?” Hagen could not finish the question.

“What was necessary.” Kharl’s voice was flat. “Both the white wizards are dead. From their own chaos.” He closed his eyes. Talking intensified the sight-daggers jabbing into his skull.

“That last … it seared everything below the hillcrest-except your squad. We lost a third of ours then. It’s all glass-a hillside of glass.”

“And ashes.” Kharl paused. “We lost more than that. We lost all of the lancers in Lord Fergyn’s forces.”

“I see … why few would wish a war with either Hamor or Recluse.”

Kharl offered a weary smile, except the expression was more grimace than smile. “No. That is clear. I am certainly not as great a mage as those of Reduce, and the white wizard could not have been the greatest in Hamor.″

“No. The emperor would not send his greatest,” Hagen agreed.

“Will this end the rebellion?” asked Kharl.

“I would judge so.” Hagen glanced to his right, out across the grayness and devastation. “One can never tell, but all those who led it or were in the councils of the rebels are dead. The lancers and armsmen who followed them are dead.”

Kharl just nodded. Then, a wave of weakness and dizziness swept over him, and he lowered his head until his forehead was almost resting against the gelding’s mane.

“Kharl … are you all right?”

“Be … a while … before … I get my strength … back.” Even those few words seemed to exhaust him, and he sat in the saddle, his eyes closed, trying just to hang on. After several moments, the worst of the dizziness passed, and he gradually straightened.

“Are you sure?” asked Hagen.

“I’ll … be riding … slowly.″ Kharl managed a faint smile.