Ordermaster

LXIX

After the midday meal on a hazy sixday, Kharl retreated to the library, waiting for Enelya. He would have liked to have waited longer to talk to her, but he needed to know more about what was happening in Brysta, and he would have felt odd trying to contact other envoys and immediately questioning them. He’d taken off his jacket and was debating whether to shed the waistcoat when there was a timid rap on the doorframe. The door was open.

“Come in, Enelya.” Kharl gestured to the chair across from the desk, then settled into his own chair.

The serving girl sat down on the edge of the straight-backed chair. Her hair was drawn back from her face. She did not look at Kharl, and for the moment, that was fine with the mage. He waited to see what she might say.

″Ser … I’d been meaning to thank you …″

“I’m just returning a favor you did for someone else,” Kharl replied, “and I’m glad that I could. Is your room all right?”

“Oh, yes, ser. Khelaya’s been teaching me cooking, too.” She still did not look at the envoy.

“Enelya … I’d like you to tell me what’s been happening in Brysta.”

“Ser?”

“The last time I was here, I saw girls and women on the streets. There were a few armsmen here and there, and a handful of Watch. Now, thereare no girls on the streets. There are no armsmen, and there are scores of patrollers.” Kharl waited.

“I … never thought’bout such, ser.”

“You were a server at the White Pony. You must have heard something. Something happened to your sister. Was that part of the reason why few women walk alone?”

“How’d you know that?”

“I heard it from a friend of mine.” That was absolutely true, if not in the way Kharl intended the woman to take it.

“Not many folk knew about Josarye.″

Kharl waited again.

″Ser … I served ′em. Sometimes, I listened. Most times I didn’t want to stay close …″

“Especially to Captain Egen?”

Enelya shuddered. “Girls at the Bardo’d hide if they heard his voice. Liked the little ones, and the young ones. Always was hurtin′ ′em. Got him excited.”

“Was he the one who had the armsmen sent south?”

“ … what Lecy said … told her the south would change everything … told her she wouldn’t want to cross him ‘fore long. ‘Just wait. You’ll see.’ That was what he said.”

That was suggestive, but it could have meant anything, or could have been Egen’s boastfulness. “Did he ever say anything, that you heard, about his brothers?”

“Never heard about the middle one. Folks said that Kolanat’s place burned’cause he was closer to Osten.”

“The factor who had the big place off Cargo Road?”

“That was him. Packed up and took a ship to Lydiar, heard tell. Late spring, I think it was.”

“Did you ever hear anything about the patrollers … why there are so many?”

Enelya’s laugh was bitter. “Even me, I know that. Tariffs. Lord West’s been pumping up the tariffs. Patrollers come see folks who don’t pay. They pay, or they go to gaol. Sometimes … heard tell, they busted into places at night.″

Kharl suppressed a frown. While Enelya was doubtless right about what the patrollers were doing, Egen didn’t need so many patrollers to collecttariffs. A year before the patrollers had worn blue and gray, almost shapeless, tunics and trousers.

Abruptly, Kharl stiffened. Now they wore uniforms. Egen was building a personally loyal army that could hold-or take-Brysta. Were he a wagering man, Kharl would have bet that all the armsmen, especially those who might have other allegiances, were in the south, being readied for the invasion of the South Quadrant. There had never been mounted patrollers before. Were they the beginning of another corps of lancers? One personally loyal to Egen? Why hadn’t he seen it sooner?

He concentrated on Enelya. “Do the patrollers ever talk or complain about drills or practices?”

She looked up, then down. “More than a few times … always talking about drills and formations, and even practicing with rifles. Folks’d think that was all they did.”

“Why don’t the girls feel safe on the streets?” Kharl pressed.

“Ser … saw where I was …”

“Captain Egen … does he …?” Kharl let the words hang.

“Not just him … some of the patrollers … and heard tell that white wizards made off with some girls, too … say they take their lives to keep them young …″

“Wizards? Like the demons of Fairven?”

“Don’t know about that, ser. Just know what the girls were sayin’. Just safer not goin’ places alone,’specially after dark.”

Kharl could sense that Enelya had told him what she could, at least what she could unless he revealed far more than he felt he should. “Do you think you’ll like it here? That you’ll want to stay, at least for a time?”

“Oh, yes, ser … please …″

The abrupt pleading note in her voice tore at Kharl. “You can certainly stay, so long as Khelaya and Fundal are satisfied with your work.”

“Thank you, ser. Thank you.”

After Enelya left, Kharl stood, then stretched. Slowly, he paced back and forth across the library. He had the feeling that, except for the meeting with Lord Whetorak, he had learned all he was likely to in Brysta for the next few days. He also felt that he was running out of time. On the enddays, he and his small entourage would take a ride southward, to Peachill. With luck, he could find out more about the new south road, and also reclaim Warrl. He’d waited long enough, and there was little enough he could do in Brysta in the next few days.

He walked to the desk, looking down at the listing of cases that Erdyl had copied. For the coming two eightdays, there were over one hundred cases on the dockets for the two lord justicers. From what he recalled, Lord Justicer Priost seldom heard more than fifteen cases an eightday, if that, and never more than twenty. His eyes dropped to the sheets again.

Werwal’s case was set for fourday of the next eightday-before Lord Justicer Reynol. That was just two days after Kharl was to present his credentials to Lord West. The docket only showed that the renderer was charged with both a minority and a majority against the Lord of the West Quadrant. Kharl would attend the trial. What more he did would depend on what he saw. He might be able to do something for Werwal.

What was certain was that Egen was positioning himself to follow his sire. Then, Kharl reflected, Osten probably was as well, and the Hamorians were doubtless planning to take advantage of the coming conflict, perhaps even encouraging both sides in one way or another. He took a deep breath, then blotted his forehead.

At a quarter before the fourth glass of the afternoon, after having washed up once again, Kharl stepped out of the residence, down the ancient brick walk, and into the carriage. Demyst followed.

“Can’t say I like you going into the Hamorian residence,” the undercaptain said, settling himself onto the bench seat facing Kharl, but more to Kharl’s left, to allow each some legroom.

“It shouldn’t be as bad as a battle. At least, I hope it won’t be.” That would most likely come later.

The Hamorian residence sat on the upper slopes of the hill less than a quarter kay below the ancient walls of the Quadrancy Keep, just off the Lord’s Road that angled downhill to join Cargo Road in the middle of west Brysta. The grilled iron gates to the grounds were swung back, but two Hamorian armsmen stood under an open-walled but roofed guardhouse. They wore the same tan uniforms as the lancers Kharl had fought in Austra.

Mantar slowed the carriage but did not fully stop. “Lord Kharl, the Austran envoy.”

“Up to the lower portico.” The shorter armsmen gestured.

The drive rose on a gentle incline, but leveled out some hundred cubits farther eastward, at the edge of an expanse of grass. The residence was fully three times the size of the Austran envoy’s, and the walls were of creamy marble, with a roof of split gray slate. The entire lower level was surrounded by a covered porch, easily twenty cubits deep. The driveextended to a courtyard on the north side of the dwelling, where the porch joined a covered portico with long mounting-block steps. Beyond was a large courtyard, clearly designed to hold a score or more of waiting carriages. Beyond that were outbuildings, one of which looked like a barracks large enough to hold more than a company of armsmen. Yet it felt empty to Kharl’s order-senses.

Mantar eased the carriage to a halt.

“Good fortune, ser,” murmured Demyst, before opening the door and exiting, to hold the door for Kharl. “We’ll be waiting here.”

“Thank you.”

Rather than a footman or a steward, there was another Hamorian armsman, but this one wore a uniform of black and crimson. Possibly a dress uniform, thought Kharl, who felt very plain in his black and silver, trimmed with the dark green of Austra.

“Lord Kharl, Lord Whetorak awaits you in the fountain court,” said the armsman. “If you would follow me, ser?”

Kharl nodded. As he followed the man, he extended his order-senses once more, but he could discern no strong impression of chaos, although there were faint traces of whiteness that suggested that chaos had been present at some time in the past.

The fountain court was exactly that, a walled courtyard set behind and below the covered porch at the rear of the residence. The walls were also marble, but barely visible behind the greenery. The residence shielded the courtyard from the late-afternoon sun, and a good half score of fountains played, spraying water skyward and cooling the shaded space.

“There, Lord Kharl.” The armsman stepped aside at the top of the steps off the porch.

“Thank you.” Even before he was halfway down the steps to the marble tiles of the courtyard floor, Kharl was appreciating the coolness.

Lord Whetorak had been standing before the central fountain, a sculpture depicting a man on horseback. Although he was not quite so tall as Kharl, the envoy conveyed both height and angularity as he turned. His hair was a golden brown, his eyes black. He did not wear a sabre or a belt knife, but a covered holster that had to have held some sort of small pistol. Kharl could sense that the weapon held several iron-jacketed cartridges.

Whetorak stepped forward, inclining his head slightly and smiling with his mouth alone. “Lord Kharl.”

“Lord Whetorak.” Kharl smiled. “I can see why you prefer this courtyard. Especially on days like today.”

“It is most pleasant. But you have had a warm journey, I am most certain. Let me offer you something to drink. What would you like? We have a wide selection of various wines, and lager, ale, or even icenyl.”

“I must confess that I know little of icenyl.”

“Few do, save those in a small town in the north of Suthya, north even of Cape Devalonia, but it is an icewine of a particular freshness and pungency, and most refreshing in times of heat such as these.” Whetorak smiled politely. “You would prefer?”

“I’ll stick with lager, even in this heat.”

“The choice of a wise and cautious man.”

“Cautious,” Kharl conceded. “I’m not yet old enough to be wise.”

“The good lager and icenyl.” Whetorak glanced at a serving girl who had appeared from somewhere.

Kharl had to admit that the girl was beautiful, and the filmy shirt and skirt she wore left very little to the imagination. He forced his eyes back to the other envoy. Whetorak moved gracefully toward the sole table in the courtyard, one set with just two chairs. Each chair had a thick black cushion.

“You must tell me of your trip from Valmurl,” said the Hamorian as he seated himself. “You did come from Valmurl, and not your own lands, did you not?”

“My lands are not that far away, but I came from Valmurl. Are you from Cigoerne?”

Whetorak laughed. “All envoys are from Cigoerne. We are trained there, and we first serve as aides to other envoys, then return for more training. We are lords only so long as we serve. If we serve well and faithfully for more than twenty years, we remain lords.”

“It is almost a lordly craft for you, then?”

“A lordly craft … I like that.” Whetorak waited as the serving girl set a pale crimson crystal beaker before Kharl and a goblet of the same crystal before him.

Kharl studied the lager with his order-senses, but it appeared to be lager and nothing more.

Whetorak lifted his goblet. “In thanks for your safe arrival in Brysta.”

“To your hospitality,” replied Kharl.

“Your posting to Brysta was rather sudden,” observed the Hamorian.

“We had no idea when a replacement for Lord Hensolas might arrive. A most impressive envoy. I was personally sorry that he found it necessary to oppose his lord. Doubtless I will receive full information from Cigoerne within an eightday or so. Until then …″

“It was sudden to me as well,” Kharl admitted. “I had hoped to get on with several projects on my lands …” He shrugged. “It is hard to refuse a request from the lord-chancellor.”

“Ah, yes. Lord-chancellor Hagen, an interesting figure. I understand that he was once arms-master to Lord Estloch, but that there was a falling-out. Most interesting it is that the son has turned to him.”

“Lord Hagen is quite able,” Kharl said politely.

“Ah, yes.” Whetorak laughed. “In times of trouble, rulers turn either to friends or to those of ability. Those who turn to friends usually lose all their power immediately. Those who turn to ability lose it more gradually.”

“That’s if a ruler lacks judgment.”

“Most times, if a ruler faces great troubles, he has poor judgment.”

Kharl couldn’t argue with that. He took another sip of the lager.

“There were also tales of a mage who appeared from nowhere,” Whetorak went on, after a sip of his icenyl. “And who could tell who was lying and who was not.”

“Most order-mages, even the least skilled, can do that, I understand,” Kharl replied.

“No one seemed to know much about him. Some say that the lord-chancellor discovered him and that he was made a lord.”

“Lord Ghrant has rewarded those who served him,” Kharl agreed. “He would have been remiss not to reward a mage who served him well.”

“I must confess that I have not heard of Cantyl,” Whetorak went on.

“Most have not. It is a small estate, as they go, on the coast and to the southeast of Valmurl. We produce mostly wine and timber. There are enough fields and orchards and berry patches to feed all those on the land. I’ve recently improved the sawmill and added a cooperage.”

“Those are improvements most would not make.”

“I inherited what my grandsire and sire had improved,” Kharl said, “and I would hope that I could improve what I hold for my son.” He had inherited the cooperage in Brysta, and he did want to hand on more than he had obtained, and he certainly hoped that the truthful, but misleading, statements would also mislead Whetorak.

“You did not bring your consort and son here, then?”

“No. I thought it better that my son remain with relatives until I was more established here. My consort died a year ago.”

“I am sorry to hear that.”

“It is still a painful subject.”

“I imagine so.”

“Your consort?” prompted Kharl.

“She is spending some time with friends near Eolya, in the green hills there. It is much cooler there at this time of year.”

“You did not go with her?”

“No. These days, an envoy’s work is never done. That you must also know, for Lord Ghrant would not have sent you in the summer were it not so.”

“He felt that Austra needed an envoy here. That is true.” Kharl forced a smile. “I had heard that Hamor was providing assistance to Lord West in building roads.” That was a guess, but Kharl felt comfortable with it.

“We do have much experience in building such roads. Already the Great Highway from Cigoerne nears the eastern port of Atla. It is the longest paved road in the world.”

“It must have taken years to build and mountains of stone.”

“Anything great takes time.” Whetorak shrugged.

“And your engineers and experts are helping Lord West?”

“Hamor can spare an engineer or two. That, we can do.”

“I have noticed Hamorian merchanters in the harbor. Have they brought tools for Lord West’s road?”

“Who could say? No one tells an envoy of all the cargoes that pass through a port.″

Kharl could sense that Whetorak was definitely lying. But why? What the other envoy said made sense, but it wasn’t true. That meant Whetorak did in fact know what was being shipped into Brysta.

“How long have you been here … as envoy?”

“Just less than a year. A most pleasant place, and somewhat warmer than your Valmurl, I think. We of Hamor prefer warmth to cold.”

“How have you found Lord West and his sons?”

“Ah … Lord West, a most charming man, and his sons are most devoted to seeing his heritage continue.”

Kharl smiled. He was quite certain that the sons wanted to continue the heritage of ruling, personally and immediately, but he couldn’t see any point in pressing that, or questioning Whetorak about it. It was more thanclear that Whetorak wasn′t about to reveal anything-except by forcing Kharl to reveal even more, because asking specific questions required revealing knowledge.

“I notice you do not wear a sabre, as do so many Austran lords.”

Kharl laughed. “I bear weapons when necessary. Certainly not in company such as yours.”

“Yet … what if you were attacked?”

“Brysta is most safe these days, I have been assured. My guards are also quite accomplished.” Kharl shrugged. “If necessary, I will go armed.” He glanced at Whetorak. “Don’t you worry about chaos setting off the cartridges in your pistol?”

“It is most unlikely.” Whetorak smiled. “It is no secret. The cartridges are formed of soft iron; the bullets are lead. There is more wear on the gun that way, but only the strongest of chaos-mages could set off the cartridges, and”-he shrugged again-“in such a case, those would be the least of my worries.“

Not to mention that most of the chaos-mages were under tight Hamorian control.

Kharl just hoped that he could keep smiling-and not reveal too much to the Hamorian-until he could leave gracefully.