Ordermaster

Envoy
LIV

Kharl had never thought he would be leading an entourage, but as he walked down the pier in the hazy early-morning sunlight of fiveday toward the Seastag, Undercaptain Demyst walked before him, Erdyl beside him, and two armsmen from Ghrant’s personal guard followed. Cevor and Alynar wore plain gray, rather than yellow and black, while Demyst wore a gray tunic and a darker gray jacket. Erdyl wore his usual dark green and gray.

Behind them came horse drawing a cart filled with baggage. Much as Kharl had tried to limit what he had brought, he still had three bags. He’d never owned so many garments in his life. His fingers strayed to his bare chin. He still wasn’t used to not having a beard.

“Hadn’t thought I’d ever be leaving Austra, ser,” Demyst said, glancing back at Kharl for a moment. “You think we’ll be in Brysta long?”

“Envoys are sent for two years, I was told, unless they get in trouble.”

“Guess we’ll be in Brysta for two years, then. Master Erdyl and I’ll have to keep you out of trouble.”

Erdyl suppressed a smile.

Kharl doubted that two years would pass, or pass uneventfully, not the way his life had been lately, but it could be a year or more. As he neared the gangway to the Seastag, Kharl glanced back over his shoulder. A heavy wagon had turned onto the pier. He frowned. There was something about the wagon …

“Lord Kharl!” boomed a voice.

Kharl turned to see Furwyl, who had been the first mate when Hagen had captained the ship, standing at the top of the gangway in the master’s jacket. “Furwyl.”

“Bring your crew on board.”

Even before Kharl had reached the gangway, three crew members were on the pier, beginning to unload the baggage cart. Kharl was first up the gangway, followed by his young secretary and Undercaptain Demyst.

“Every time I see you, you’ve come up in the world. Gives a man hope,” declared the captain.

“You’ve come up as well. You’re master of a fine ship.” Kharl turned.“This is my secretary, Erdyl, and Undercaptain Demyst, and Cevor and Alynar.”

“Pleased to meet you all. Crew’s already getting your baggage on board,” Furwyl said. “Lord Kharl, you’ll be in the master’s cabin, and the undercaptain and your secretary will share the bunks in the first passenger cabin. Your guards’ll have to share the small passenger cabin, but that’s better than the fo’c’sle.”

“I couldn’t take your cabin.”

“You don’t have a choice. That’s what the lord-chancellor ordered, and he owns the ship.” Furwyl grinned.

“I still feel strange about taking the master’s cabin,” Kharl said.

“Strange or not, that’s the way it is. Besides, I wouldn’t feel right having the Lord’s envoy to Brysta in that small cubby for passengers. You can do me a favor someday.” Furwyl was grinning broadly.

“You’ll have to come to Cantyl for that,” Kharl said.

“I’ll hold you to that, Lord Kharl. Best get yourself settled into your spaces. We’ll be off once we finish loading this last set of pallets. They just arrived. Last-moment cargo.” Furwyl gestured toward the winch and hoist gang, then toward the pier, where the heavy wagon that Kharl had noted earlier had halted.

The first pallet swung up off the heavy wagon and over the railing.

“Easy there!” called Bemyr, still the bosun. “Forward more.”

Kharl’s eyes and senses focused on the single long crate in the hoist sling-and sensed chaos-tightly bound within iron. “There’s something wrong with that crate in the sling.”

“Lord Kharl?” asked Furwyl.

“Don’t let Bemyr load that crate,” Kharl said tightly. “Swing it back onto the pier. There’s something dangerous in it.”

“Bosun! Swing that back to the pier! On the double!”

“Bring her around! Back to the pier. Don’t ask questions!” Bemyr hurried down the gangway toward the pier. “Where’s that teamster?”

“Stay here!” Kharl ordered Erdyl, before rushing back down the gangway after the bosun, but Demyst immediately turned and followed Kharl. The undercaptain had his blade out at the foot of the gangway.

As he neared the crate, Kharl could sense the chaos within it, massive but restrained. He’d never felt anything quite like it. He turned to the wagon before him, whose driver had vanished, but none of the other crates seemed to contain anything like the first one.

Bemyr approached the crate where it sat on the pier. He turned to Kharl, who had stopped halfway back along the side of the wagon. “This one, right?”

“That’s the one. Don’t touch-”

Bemyr kicked it with his heavy boot. Nothing happened. “Looks all right.”

“It’s not. There’s something in it.”

“It’s just this crate, right?” asked the bosun. “Just dump it in the water. That’ll take care of it.”

“No! Leave it-”

Before Kharl could say anything more, Bemyr had hoisted the heavy crate, grunting as he did, and pitched it off the pier. So heavy was the crate that it splashed into the water just beside the pier, sinking so that the top edge was only a handspan above the water within moments. Bemyr stepped forward, looking down at the water, three cubits or so from the top of the pier.

Kharl could sense chaos building within the crate and threw up a shield, but Bemyr was too far from the mage-too far if Kharl had to cover Demyst and himself.

Chaos flared up from the top of the crate.

“Back!” yelled Kharl, too late, as a wave of destruction and flame roared over the bosun.

Pieces of iron slammed into the sides of the pier. The two horses screamed-if but for an instant-as flames seared them.

Bemyr’s charred figure toppled onto the edge of the pier, then dropped into the water. The horses reared, trying to escape both the pain and the wagon traces. Kharl’s senses swept over the animals, and his stomach twisted. With so much chaos … there was no way to save them.

For a moment, he just stood there. What … what could he do?

The wagon lurched as the dying horses tried to escape.

Kharl moved forward along the side of the wagon, then reached out with his order-senses. After a moment, he hardened the area under the nearer horse’s chest, around where he felt the heart was. The gelding dropped in the traces. Sweat began to stream down Kharl’s forehead as he did the same for the second horse.

Slowly, he looked up, blotting his forehead with the back of his hand.

No one seemed to have moved. Demyst stood to his right, blade in hand. Everyone on the deck of the Seastag moved so slowly, as if their feetwere anchored in near-solid molasses. The front half of the wagon smoldered, wisps of gray smoke rising from the seared wood and paint. Foglike steam rose from the puddles of water on the pier in front of the wagon.

Kharl swallowed, then turned to look back along the pier. He could not sense any chaos.

“Rhylla! Ghart!” ordered Furwyl. “Get a net. Do what you can for Bemyr.”

“He’s dead,” Kharl said, loudly enough for his voice to carry. He turned slowly back toward the ship.

Erdyl’s eyes were wide, fixed on Kharl as he walked up the gangway. So were those of Cevor and Alynar.

Kharl stopped short of Furwyl and looked at the captain. “I’m sorry. I had no idea something like this …”

“Wasn’t your fault, Lord Kharl.” Furwyl moistened his lips. “You told him to lay off. Heard you.” The captain looked at the carnage on the pier, then turned to a mate Kharl did not know. “Hysen … soon as they get Bemyr in canvas, we’ll be casting off. Quick-like. Single up and make ready.”

“Yes, ser.”

Furwyl looked back to Kharl. “Safest place for a ship in times like these is at sea.”

“How long before we cast off?” asked Kharl.

“Less’n quarter glass, if we cast off at all.”

Kharl understood that.

Undercaptain Demyst stood at the top of the gangway, his blade out. He jerked his head for the two guards to join him.

Furwyl studied Kharl. “Don’t think someone wants you going to Nordla, Lord Kharl. Best we get you there before they try something else. The lord-chancellor warned me.”

“Is there anyone who could take a message to him?”

“Cargo-master for all his ships hasn’t left with the manifest yet.”

“Good.” Kharl turned to Erdyl. “Get ready to take down what I say. We’ve only a few moments.” He could already hear the heavy steam engine beginning to turn over, and the smoke from the stacks had begun to thicken.

Without speaking, Erdyl had opened his case and taken out a portable inkpot.

“Best in the cabin,” suggested Furwyl.

“Thank you.” Kharl glanced to Erdyl. “This has to be quick so that we can give it to the cargomaster within a few moments.

“Yes, ser.”

Kharl hurried into the passageway leading to the master’s cabin, Erdyl following.

Once his secretary was seated at the narrow desk along the inner bulkhead, Kharl began to speak, trying to organize his thoughts.

“Honored Lord-chancellor,

A crate exploded in chaos at the pier when Bemyr threw it into the water. I had felt chaos in the crate as it was being loaded. I told him not to, but my warning was perhaps too late, and he was killed by the chaos. It was the kind of chaos that comes from white wizards. It was set off by water when the bosun threw it into the harbor. I would judge that it was built to do the same thing when bilgewater or seawater seeped into the crate when we were at sea ….

As he talked, Kharl could not help but wonder why someone did not want him to arrive in Brysta-and how they had been able to act so quickly-and without a white wizard seemingly nearby. What sort of device had they used, that stored chaos in such a fashion?

Hagen had been right, again.