Ordermaster

LXXXVIII

Erdyl had suggested that Kharl keep Osten waiting. Kharl had demurred. “It’s better if I’m there first.” For one thing, Kharl could sense any changes that might reveal any treachery Osten planned. Also, Kharl saw no point in mere pettiness.

With Alynar seated beside him on the driver’s bench, Mantar drove Kharl, Demyst, and Jeka to the piers. Jeka was still attired as a young man, wearing openly the knives she had learned to use so well in her days as astreet urchin. The carriage came to a halt at the first ocean vessels’ pier at half before the third glass.

Before getting out, Kharl turned to Jeka. “I’d prefer that you stay here with Mantar and Alynar, but if you see anything that looks like trouble, let me know.”

“I can do that.” She nodded solemnly.

Kharl caught the gleam in her eye. He hoped she didn’t see trouble, because she’d be in it if she did. He got out and looked up to Mantar. “I’d like you to wait, but more toward the slateyard-that new barracks there-a little away from where Osten will show up.”

“Yes, ser.”

As the carriage moved away, Kharl walked onto the pier a good thirty cubits, stopping next to one of the heavy bollards nearly as tall as he was.

Demyst took out one of the pistols. “Good weapon. Wasn′t quite sure we could get these, but Sestalt has his ways.”

“We ought to make him the head of guards at the residence. Start a regular guard corps. It’ll have to be small.”

“I’ve mentioned the idea to him. Besides Sharlak, he has another man who might do well.”

“That’s all we can afford,” Kharl said. “For now, anyway.″

The moments drew out.

“You think he’ll come?” Demyst finally asked.

“Osten? He wants something that no one else can provide. He’ll come.”

“He won′t be happy.”

“He never will be.” After the words left his mouth, Kharl looked down at the worn and graying timbers of the pier. Was he like Osten? Not exactly, because he’d been satisfied with being a mage, even being a cooper-the undeniable satisfaction of a task well-done. But what about happiness? Joy even?

He glanced along the seawall toward the slateyard, where the carriage waited. “What do you think of Jeka?” he asked Demyst.

“Why, ser, if I might ask?” Demyst’s voice was quiet, deferential.

Kharl wasn′t certain what to say. “I came back here for her. Not just for her, but more for her than I knew.”

“That says something, I’d wager.” Demyst half smiled. “She didn’t leave your chamber that night after the battle. Don’t ever tell her I told you.″

“She doesn’t like to let people know she cares,” Kharl said.

“Begging your pardon, Lord Kharl, ser … but neither do you, not in words. You’d walk through chaos to save a friend, but you’d find it hard to tell him he was your friend.”

Kharl started to protest, then stopped. Had he ever told anyone he’d cared, or loved them? Warrl-but only when he’d had to leave his son with Merayni. After a long silence, he said quietly, “Thank you.”

“Ser …” Demyst broke off. “Riders coming down Cargo Road, ser. Looks to be Lord Osten, or … Guess he’s probably Lord West now.”

Kharl extended his order-senses toward the short column of riders. So far as he could tell, there was no chaos, and none bore rifles. That would doubtless change in the seasons and years ahead, now that the Hamorians had discovered how to keep the powder from being set off except by more powerful mages. Still, he stood ready to throw up shields.

“I count just two squads. Think he’s got a company holding farther up the hill.”

Kharl reached out farther to the north, then smiled. “He does.”

“He’s the type. Like your little Jeka’s words for him.”

“She’s not mine,” Kharl said with an embarrassed laugh.

“She’ll never be anyone else’s, ser.”

“She won’t belong to anyone. She has to be herself.”

“So do you, ser,” the undercaptain said.

“When you want to point out something, Demyst, you get very formal.”

“You are a lord, ser.” The undercaptain’s words were delivered in a humorously sardonic tone.

Kharl would have said more, but Osten had reined up at the foot of the pier and dismounted. Kharl focused his senses on the new Lord West, and upon the squad of armsmen that followed him. Leading the squad was Undercaptain Huard. His face was set … and pale.

Kharl could sense Demyst easing back, to give the two lords space to themselves.

“Well, Lord Kharl, mage of mages, I have received your messages,” said Osten, his voice cold, “and I am here to attend you.”

“You requested the meeting, and I obliged,” Kharl replied. “I also must apologize,” he went on smoothly and politely. “I fear that Undercaptain Huard did not appreciate all that occurred. You will understand if I did not enlighten him. I would hope that he has a long and rewarding service under you.”

Osten frowned. His eyes fixed on Kharl. “Your face is blistered, ser mage.”

“Chaos can get very hot, when facing four Hamorian mages.” Kharl paused. “Undercaptain Huard did not convey the reasons for your wanting this meeting. Your youngest brother had garrisoned the harbor forts with his patrollers. He was killed in the battle south of Brysta. It appears as though the forts have not surrendered, and I would also surmise that Overcaptain Vielam is now commanding the remaining rebels and has taken refuge there.”

“You surmise much, Lord Kharl.”

“That is what envoys for rulers are supposed to do.”

Osten did not quite meet Kharl’s eyes. “It is true. The last of the rebels still hold the harbor forts. The … other rebel … is in one of them.”

“They will not surrender?”

“No. They say they’ll be killed anyway.” Osten laughed, harshly, bitterly. “Killing is too good for them. For him.”

“They-and the Hamorians-have caused much trouble,” Kharl observed politely.

“Could you not have captured the two traitors?” asked Osten. “Especially the one?”

“Egen?” asked Kharl. “He was hiding behind the white wizards. When their chaos turned on them, everything around them was blasted into ash.” That wasn’t quite the truth, but Kharl didn’t feel like explaining.

“That was too quick a death for him.”

“What would you like of me?” Kharl asked.

“I would like the harbor forts captured and the remaining traitor taken alive. He betrayed my sire, and he betrayed me.”

“Do you want personal revenge more than you want to hold Brysta?” asked Kharl.

“What do you mean?”

“I can destroy the harbor forts. I can bring them down around Vielam. He will not escape. I cannot do that and save him for you to kill later.”

“Would that I could let them sit there and starve … slowly,” said Osten.

Kharl thought briefly of how he would just as soon wring Osten’s throat or turn the new Lord West into ashes.

“But … that will not do,” Osten admitted. “They have some cannon,and the harbor chains, and they can stop traders from porting. There will be no trade. Before long we will be paupers.”

“The people in Brysta would suffer and blame you, and some might even turn to Hamor once more,” Kharl pointed out.

“You think I do not see that?” Osten glared at Kharl. “What will you do for me in this?”

“I will do nothing for you.” Kharl held up a hand to stop the lord from reacting. “I will destroy the forts for your people. They will not defend the harbor against the warships of Hamor in these days, anyway. The Hamorian guns would pound the forts to crushed stone and gravel.”

“I like that not.”

Kharl ignored the lord’s words. “Find me a good boat and a pair who can row it well. Position your armsmen at the ends of the breakwaters, as far from the forts as they can be and still capture anyone who might try to leave.”

“That … I have already done.”

“Good. I will return here a half glass after sunset. If the boat is ready, we will take care of the forts tonight.”

“Why not now?”

“Because it will be easier and quicker tonight.” Because I’ll have less worry about their sighting cannon at me.

“So long as it is done.”

“It will be.”

A silence fell between the two men on the pier.

Osten was the one to break the silence. “For all that you have helped me, ser mage, after this matter is over, I think both our lands would be best served by another envoy.”

Kharl wasn’t surprised. “That is not my choice.” He paused. “I will return to Valmurl and convey your request to Lord Ghrant. I will leave my assistant, because Lord Ghrant does not wish to be ignorant of what may happen here in Brysta. Lord Ghrant will do as he sees fit. He may insist I return. He may appoint another envoy. He may decide to make Lord-heir Erdyl the envoy.”

“Mihalen had thought your assistant might be of lordly birth.”

“His sire is lord of Norbruel.”

Osten looked as though he might say something about that, but then merely said, “The boat and rowers will be here before sunset. I trust you will not request my presence.”

“No. It would be best if those in the forts saw nothing.”

Osten nodded. “Good day, Lord Kharl.”

His shields still ready, Kharl watched as the latest Lord West turned and walked off the pier.

Demyst moved closer to Kharl. “He is not to be trusted, not so far as one could heave his mount.”

“I don’t intend to trust him.” Kharl also had his own plans for making the best of a bad situation. “We need to get back to the residence. I’m going to need a very solid meal before this evening.” He began to walk toward the carriage.

Neither Mantar nor Alynar said anything as Kharl and Demyst approached, but both men looked relieved.

“We’re heading back.” Kharl stepped into the carriage.

“Yes, ser.”

Once Demyst closed the carriage door, Mantar turned the coach up Cargo Road.

“What did he want?” asked Jeka.

“The last rebels hold the harbor forts. Vielam’s in one of them,” Kharl said. “Vielam’s probably worse than Osten, at least as a ruler, because he’s not only cruel, but weak.” He didn’t know that, not for certain, but based on what he’d seen it seemed more likely than not. Vielam had played all sides and betrayed both his father and his eldest brother. Like everything Kharl had had to deal with in Nordla, he had no good choices. “So long as he’s alive, he’ll betray whoever he can, and the Hamorians will try to make trouble.”

Kharl turned to Demyst. “Are you willing to come with me … with your pistols?”

“Pistols against forts?”

“No. They’re for you to shoot the two rowers if they try anything.”

Jeka laughed.

“We also won′t row back to where we leave. Mantar can bring the coach down to the old wharf off the lower market.”

“Good,” declared Jeka. “Alynar and I will be with Mantar. Sharlak, too. He’s got a hunting rifle. Good shot. Even in the dark. He potted one of those patrollers that night they came against the house.”

Kharl looked at Jeka, trying not to be too obvious, taking in the brilliant green eyes, the short-cut sandy hair. She was good-looking, but it was not that which appealed to him, he realized, but that she was alive. Evenwhen she had been scrounging out a living by her wits, she had not just gone through the motions.

“You all right?” she asked.

“Thinking,” he replied.

She just nodded, as if she knew those thoughts were not for saying aloud in a coach.

Within a glass of returning to the residence, Kharl sat down to a solid early-evening meal, one that Khelaya declared-again-was not up to her standards because no one was selling good produce and meat, not at any reasonable prices, not in the upper market square, and she wasn’t about to frequent the lower one.

At sunset, Kharl and his party climbed into and onto the carriage, with Alynar inside with Kharl, Jeka, and Demyst. Sharlak, a long-barreled rifle in his hands, sat beside Mantar.

When Mantar brought the carriage to a halt at the end of the pier, Kharl could see a half squad of lancers there-again commanded by Undercaptain Huard. “Poor Huard.”

“Poor … and stupid to serve Osten,” Jeka said.

Demyst nodded, but added, “Could be he had little choice. Younger lordly sons have few.”

Jeka frowned.

“They cannot inherit. Trade is considered beneath them, and some are trained to be lords in case their elder brothers die. If the brothers survive, the younger ones are ruined for anything else. Especially honest work.” Demyst laughed.

Jeka even smiled.

Carrying a small bag of provisions, Kharl followed Demyst from the carriage, glancing to the west, where the two forts were outlined against orange-tinged clouds. He moved toward the half squad of lancers, nodding to Huard. “Undercaptain.”

“Lord Kharl. The boat and boatmen are ready for you.”

“Thank you.” Kharl kept his shields ready, but there was no sense of treachery or chaos, although Kharl couldn’t help but feel sorry for Huard.

Halfway down the pier, two older men-fishermen, Kharl suspected-were waiting with a high-sided dorylike boat, moored on the shoreward side, well out of direct sight from either fort. The craft was smaller than most dories Kharl had seen.

“You’re the mage, ser?” asked the taller of the two, a muscular man with graying hair perhaps ten years older than Kharl.

“He’s Lord Kharl. He’s a mage and the Austran envoy,” Demyst replied.

“Do you understand what we’re going to do?” asked Kharl.

“No, ser,” replied the older man, “except we’re to do what you want.”

“How did Lord West find you?”

“He sent an overcaptain to the Fishers’ Guild. Offered a gold each for the two best rowers to row a mage where he wanted to go this evening. Overcaptain said if someone didn’t volunteer, wouldn’t be a Fishers’ Guild tomorrow. Gerrik and me, we figured a gold each was better’n pissin’ off a hothead lord. Beggin’ your pardon, ser.”

“Gerrik,” Kharl asked, “is he telling the truth?”

“Yes, ser, Holyt’s right fair, excepting that we didn’t need to be threatened. Can’t take our boats out now, nohow. Cannon blew poor Jotrok right out a the water this morning.”

“I’m not threatening. We get through this, and I’ll add a gold to each of you from my own purse-once we get to the old wharf there.” Kharl gestured to the south.

“Beggin’ your pardon, ser,” said Holyt, “but it seems a mite strange for an Austran to be doing something for Lord Osten … Lord West.”

“I’m doing it for the people in Brysta, and because Lord Ghrant of Austra doesn’t want the Hamorians any closer than Hamor.”

The younger man laughed. “We don’t either.”

Kharl studied the pair. “You’ll be rowing blindly. The way we’re going you won’t be able to see a thing. I’ll give you directions. Do you understand?”

The older, slightly graying Holyt nodded. “Don’t much care, ser mage, so long’s as we get back.”

“That’s why.” He looked toward the breakwaters. From the end of the pier the northern fort would be closer. He eased down and sat on the forward thwart, not exactly comfortable, but a position from which he could direct the two rowers.

Demyst settled aft of the pair. He did not reveal the pistols.

Twilight was settling across the harbor, but they would still be visible against the shimmer of the water for a time.

“You can cast off,″ Kharl said.

“Yes, ser.”

“You’ll be able to see until we reach the end of the pier. Then, everything will go black. You won’t be able to see, but the lookouts on the fort won’t see us, either. Once we get close to the breakwater, we’ll need to be quiet. They won’t be able to see us, but they can hear us.”

“So long as you know where you’re going, ser.”

“How close can we get to the breakwater on the harbor side … without going aground?” asked Kharl.

“In this craft, ser?” Holyt smiled. “Maybe a cubit from the rocks. Oars’d hit the rocks before we’d ground.”

“Good.”

As the small dory’s prow reached the end of the pier, Kharl raised the sight shield, extending it a good five cubits behind the stern. In the dim light, he hoped that would be enough so that the ripples from the oars would not be that obvious to the forts’ lookouts.

“Bring her starboard,” Kharl said.

“Coming starboard.”

Kharl used his order-senses, trying to get a course line from the end of the pier to the northern breakwater.

“Just a touch more starboard,” he said.

After a moment, he added, “Steady as she goes.”

“You been at sea, ser?” asked Holyt.

“Merchanter subofficer,” Kharl admitted.

In a murmur Kharl was not meant to hear, Gerrik murmured to Holyt, “Maybe we got a chance.”

Kharl certainly hoped so as the dory moved across the twilight-calm waters of the harbor toward the northern breakwater.

Nearly a glass later, he could sense the stones of the breakwater and the port. “Port a quarter.”

“Coming port.”

“Hold on this line,” Kharl said quietly. Just thirty cubits ahead was the northeast corner of the harbor fort. The stone walls ran straight down into the harbor.

Less than a quarter of a glass later, the dory was little more than an oar’s length from the wall, and less than twenty cubits north of the southeast corner.

“Back down and stop here,” Kharl said.

He just sat in the prow of the dory, extending his order-senses toward and around and through the stones of the ancient fort, searching out themagazines and the linkages he might be able to make between them. As he did, a sense of profound sadness settled over him.

He could not but help recall what Jusof had first said to him about the law, that it was a tool and a necessary evil-and that, bad as it was, without it, matters were inevitably worse. That was the position in which he found himself. Bad as what he was about to do was, not doing it would lead to worse evil, and because he was but one mage, his choices-those that seemed to be effective-were limited to the use of great power applied seldom and violently.

He swallowed, and began to undo the linkages in the iron-lined walls of the largest magazine that he could reach, at the same time creating order-tubes to the other magazines nearest.

As chaos flared, the first magazine exploded.

Kharl released the sight shield and clamped a shield of hardened air around the small dory.

The early-night sky flared into red and whitish orange flashes that streaked out from the northern harbor fort. Beneath the colors of powder and cammabark exploding was the red-tinged white of released chaos.

“Friggin’ demons!” hissed one of the fishermen.

“ … poor bastards …”

Kharl just sat in the prow, holding his shields. The chaos voids of death washed over and around him. Stone fragments, chunks, pebbles, and other things he didn’t want to think about pelted the hardened air. The dory rocked back and forth, wildly for at time, then bobbed up and down within the shield. As he had half expected, his eyes saw nothing.

Finally, he released the air shield. Hot air washed across them, air laden with the smell of ashes, hot metal, and all manner of burned things.

“It’s time to start rowing again,” Kharl said. “Across toward the south fort.”

He forced himself to ignore the odors. Instead, he opened the provisions bag and slowly began to eat, interspersing food with ale from the water bottle.

Not until Holyt and Gerrik had rowed the dory halfway across the channel between the burning and sundered north fort and the southern fort did Kharl raise the sight shield once more.

As they neared the southern harbor fort, Kharl could make out voices from the battlements above. He set aside the provisions bag and tried to hear exactly what was being said on the walls above them.

“No ships out there, ser!”

“Nothing in the harbor.”

“There must be something. Forts don’t explode by themselves.”

“Chaos or fire in the powder magazines could do it.”

Kharl listened, using his senses to discern the dory’s progress. “A touch to starboard,” he whispered.

The dory eased to starboard.

“Steady.”

As the dory neared the harborside wall of the southern fort, Kharl began the process of seeking out the magazines and setting up another set of links. He pushed aside the sadness and concentrated on the task at hand.

Once more, as the order links parted, and chaos flared into the first magazine, Kharl dropped the sight shield and set the hardened air shield in place.

Currumptt!

Light and chaos once more flared across the harbor, though Kharl could only sense that brilliance, rather than see it, followed by the voids of death.

When the stone fragments and blocks finished falling onto the shield and into the dark waters of the harbor, Kharl released the air shield. His hands and arms were shaking. Point-lights flared across the blackness that was all he saw with his eyes.

“Ser?” asked Holyt.

“Back to the old wharf … just row where the undercaptain tells you …″ He could barely get the words out. He hoped he had some strength left by the time they made the old wharf because, even though he hadn’t told Osten what he planned, he didn’t trust the new Lord West any more than his sire, or than Egen.

As the dory turned eastward, toward the old wharf, Kharl looked back over his shoulder, extending his shaky order-senses. At the end of each breakwater, a pile of stone burned and smoldered, glowing red in places. From the diffuse chaos, Kharl could tell that trails of smoke spiraled upward in the still night air.

After a long moment, Kharl turned his unseeing eyes toward the shore, clasping his hands together to keep them from shaking.

Jeka was waiting at the old wharf. So was Sharlak, his long rifle held at the ready. Kharl climbed out of the dory, then fumbled with his wallet, extracting two golds. He handed them to Holyt. “I promised. Here are your golds.”

Holyt bowed his head. “Thank you, ser.” He looked up with a crooked smile. “We just might not want to try to collect from Lord West.”

Kharl walked slowly to the carriage, without turning back. He could still sense the death and the ruins across the harbor behind him.