Ordermaster

XLIX

Late on fourday afternoon, Kharl stepped out of the Hall of Justice and looked across the square toward the tavern. After almost another eightday in the library, Kharl’s eyes and brain were weary. His initial impression had not changed that much. The law was a tool, as Jusof had stated; but it was a tool that, while varying between the bluntness of a cudgel and the focused deadliness of a stiletto, generally served the interests of those with property and wealth, especially the Lord of Austra. Still, like all tools, it depended on who was using it for what. That had also become clear from his readings.

He had decided that he needed a break from the fare at the Great House and arranged for Dorfal to meet him much later than usual in the square, after having asked Jusof about places to eat nearby.

“A tavern that would be appropriate for a lord? There are few of those.” Jusof had paused, mulling over the thought. “The Silver Horse is said to be the best. It is just across the square. I suppose one would not find much trouble with an establishment but a few doors from the Watch Patrollers’ headquarters.”

Kharl had repressed a laugh at that. His experiences with the Watch in Brysta had left something to be desired.

Dorfal had not been exactly pleased when Kharl had told the young armsman that he would be eating at the tavern and to meet him later, but Kharl had insisted quietly. “I don’t know enough about Valmurl, and where people eat tells something. Besides, I need to get out of the Great House more, and not only to the Hall of Justice.”

At the recollection of Dorfal’s glum agreement, Kharl smiled momentarily. Then he lengthened his stride and crossed the square. The Silver Horse stood out from the brick-fronted buildings on either side, neither of which bore signs identifying them, because its front was of dark timbers framing white plaster. The door was of time-blackened oak. Kharl opened it and stepped inside, closing it behind him.

A muscular woman in nondescript blue, with a gray apron, hurried upto Kharl, then slowed as she took in the black jacket, trousers, and tunic. “Ah … ser …”

“I’m looking for a meal and a good lager,” Kharl offered cheerfully. “I’m told you have both.”

The woman smiled. “Yes, ser. Plain fare, but good. No ale any better.” She looked over her shoulder. “Early enough we got a corner table.” She turned.

Kharl followed her, then sat in the corner chair against the wall, the one from which he could see most of the crowd. “A lager or a light ale, if you have it. What do you suggest for fare?”

“Light ale’s better, ser. Tonight, ser, the burhka’s pretty good. Hot but not too hot.”

Kharl hadn’t had burhka in seasons. “That sounds fine. Dark bread?”

“Yes, ser. Five for the fare and bread. Three for the ale. When you please, ser.” She hurried off.

She hadn’t gotten more than a few cubits away, when another serving-woman, gray-haired, stopped her. “Who’s that? Some advocate …?”

“ … think it might be Lord Ghrant’s mage … you want to ask him?”

“ … think not … don’t question mages. You keep serving him.”

Within moments, the first server returned with Kharl’s ale.

“Thank you.”

“Yes, ser.” She nodded and slipped away, glancing toward the other corner of the tavern.

Kharl’s eyes followed hers. Opposite him was a small group of men, young but fairly well dressed. After a moment, he smiled. No wonder Jusof knew about the Silver Horse. Kharl could recognize the faces of several of the student advocates, not that he knew any of their names.

One of the advocates-to-be lifted a guitar and began to strum and sing. After a moment, the others joined in.

Kharl concentrated on the words.

Several of those at the tables in the tavern laughed, heartily, but Kharl could only shake his head. Humorous as the song was, the point applied to him, and, like Lord Ghrant, it was more than clear that his running days were done, and that he needed to return to Brysta before Egen became yet another Ilteron-and before something happened to Warrl.

He paused, thinking. Just how likely was it that such a song could have been sung in Brysta about either Egen or Lord West? He doubted that the singers, wellborn students or not, could have sung such words about the ruler of the West Quadrant of Nordla-not without ending up either in gaol or suffering some other form of Egen’s displeasure. In that sense, Austra was much to be preferred to Nordla.

Yet … even without his debts to Ghrant and Hagen, Kharl knew he would have had to return to Nordla. Was it just because of Warrl? Or because he needed to see Brysta with fresh eyes? Or because he worried that he had not done enough for Sanyle and Jeka-especially Jeka?

“Your burhka, ser.” With the burhka came a small loaf of dark bread in a basket, still warm.

“Oh … thank you.” Kharl slipped the server a silver and a copper.

“Thank you, ser.” With a pleased smile, she gave the slightest of bows before leaving Kharl to his evening meal.

Across the tavern, the students were singing another song.

Kharl smiled again and began to enjoy the ale and the burhka.