Ordermaster

VIII

Kharl sat on a stool in his sitting room at the Great House, stripped to the waist, while a healer finished binding his chest. On the table was a small tray which had held the good dark bread and cheese, and a cold fowl breast. There was also an empty pitcher of ale and an empty beaker. He had eaten while he had waited for the healer. The food and ale had helped.

“How bad …?”

“You’re a mage. Can’t you tell?” asked the gray-haired Istya. “I’m a poor healer at best, and I can even feel some of it.”

“I’m a very ill-educated mage. Healing’s something I don’t know too much about.”

“You keep getting banged up like this, and you’d better learn, ser mage.”

The heavy cloth did seem to help, and Kharl thought that he could probably speed the healing some by infusing some order into the injured ribs.

“From the bruising, and chaos there, I’d say you cracked two ribs. They’re not out of place, but you get hit there again, and they could splinter, maybe go right into your lungs. Mages aren’t supposed to be fighting like lancers.”

“I was doing the best I could. I didn’t do it as well as I should.” Kharl had refrained from explaining what had happened in detail. He’d said that he’d been trying to get back to Great House, and he’d been chased by lancers and fallen and hit a boulder. Tripping over a root and his own boots was hardly noble-or smart-especially when lancers were getting slain by sabre, crossbow, and firebolts.

“Better not do it again, ser mage.” Istya straightened. “That should do it. Don’t be getting the binding wet.”

“Yes, healer.”

After Istya left, stepping out past the pair of guards now stationed outside his door, Kharl eased himself back into the chair, most carefully. Despite the long day and the darkness outside, he wasn’t ready for sleep, and he hadn’t yet talked to Hagen.

Charsal’s death bothered him. Kharl hadn’t thought that the white wizard could have gotten that close or that he’d been strong enough to throw a firebolt from a distance. Had he exposed Charsal unnecessarily by suggesting that the lancer ride slowly at first? Were firebolts that easy for chaos-wizards? Even Kenslan had said that the white wizard chasing Charsal and his half squad hadn’t been that strong.

Kharl knew life was not fair, but he wondered about how a weak white wizard could create so much damage. It seemed to be such an imbalance, but was it? So long as his strength held out, he could block anything the wizards he’d encountered could throw, and against any single white wizard he was probably stronger than one of comparable power in a one-ononesituation, but the chaos-wizard could spray destruction against scores, and Kharl could not. That was balance … of a sort.

At the sound of voices, Kharl’s head turned toward the door.

Thrap. “The lord-chancellor, ser.”

“He’s more than welcome,” Kharl called back.

The door opened, and Hagen stepped into the sitting room, closing the door behind him.

“Kharl.”

“You’ll excuse me if I don’t rise.”

“Don’t fret about it. I’m sorry I was late getting up to see you, but Lord Ghrant had some concerns.” Hagen looked at Kharl, propped up carefully in the armchair. “You have this habit of creating havoc, then getting injured.”

“I didn’t plan it that way.” Kharl started to shake his head, then stopped at the warning twinges. “I tripped over a root and fell on a half-buried boulder because I was trying to make sure I didn’t get seen by lancers who were chasing me.”

“Might I ask why they were chasing you?”

“Malcor and Kenslan are dead.”

“I thought-I hoped-it might be something like that. Lord Ghrant will be happy to learn of the deaths, especially of Malcor’s. That will help … some.”

“Some?” Kharl could sense more trouble.

“While you were gone, Vatoran escaped. Three of the guards were killed-one by a firebolt.”

Kharl wanted to sigh, but he was afraid it would hurt his bruised ribs too much. “So … while I was after the lords, their wizard came in here?”

“From what we can tell, he had a squad dressed in the uniforms of the personal guard, and they killed the guards who challenged them.”

That didn’t speak very highly of the defenses of the Great House, but Kharl let that pass. “I overheard a few words between Malcor and Kenslan. They had sent a newly arrived wizard out. Kenslan called it a fool’s errand. Malcor said that it was necessary to make sure that their plans were not revealed. Oh … and they both had been talking to Fostak. He was the one who made sure they got another wizard. You can’t do anything about him, can you?”

“If we did, the emperor would have our envoy in Cigoerne killed or imprisoned.”

Kharl did sigh. What was he supposed to do? What was anyone supposed to do?

“You can’t be everywhere, Kharl,” Hagen added. “They have more mages than we do.”

“We’re different kinds of mages. That’s the problem. They can spray chaos at a number of people. Mostly, what I can do is defend.”

“You defended Malcor and Kenslan to death?” Hagen raised his eyebrows.

“What I did is really a perverted way of using order. It works, but only against one or two people at a time, and I can’t do much else.”

“Something like what happened to Guillam?”

“In a way,” Kharl said tiredly. “So far as I know, not that I know much about it, it’s not something that very many mages have figured out.” He paused. “Is there any good news?”

“Norgen managed to ambush Vatoran’s third and fifth companies with his two companies. Between that and your disorganization of the rebels’ leadership, we may have enough time for the nearer companies under Casolan to reach Valmurl before there’s an attack on Valmurl or the Great House.” Hagen looked to Kharl, then stood. “You need some rest. This revolt is going to last longer than anyone thought, and we’ll need your skills.”

“Even with Malcor and Kenslan dead?”

“Vatoran is free, and there are lords like Fergyn and Hensolas who were looking for an excuse to overthrow Ghrant. Casolan cannot possibly reach Valmurl with all his forces until late spring, at the earliest.”

“I thought-”

“He has three companies that will be here in another two eightdays, perhaps less, but they will only allow us to defend Valmurl.”

“How did it come to this? I thought that once Ilteron was dead …”

“Fostak, Lord Joharak … they’ve been spreading rumors and golds, I’d wager, even promises to support a new ruler.”

“How could anyone believe them?”

“The ambitious believe anything that fuels their dreams, and the Hamorians will take full advantage of that.” Hagen stepped toward the door. “You need your rest. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

After Hagen departed, Kharl sat for a time in the chair, thinking. Why was it that everything he did seemed to create as many problems as it resolved-if not more?