Wellspring of Chaos

LXXII

After a passable supper in the common room of the bunkhouse, a fair night’s sleep, and almost no comment by others in the crew about his absence, except a few jokes about coopers, the next morning Kharl was hard at work. Tarkyn had set up a lathe and a planer in a shed on the northern side of the dry dock, a shed kept passably warm inside by an ancient woodstove and surrounded outside by seasoned oak planks stacked chest high. Kharl’s task was to rough-finish the planks to the measurements Tarkyn had already made.

“I thought the shipwrights were the ones working on the Seastag,” Kharl said.

“They do the hull. Captain’s paid extra to have the whole hull checked for shipworms. Problem is…no one can afford to have every plank in the ship copper-treated. Just treat the hull and main timbers. Turns out that there were places where they ate into the interior planks. We get to craft the planking for the sections bein’ replaced.”

Kharl’s eyes went toward the timbers stacked high outside the shed. “All those?”

“Probably not, but there’s a whole section in the main hold…and another just above the bilges in the forward hold…”

Kharl had to smile. Fairness aside, there were reasons why Hagen had wanted him back.

“So you rough-finish the ones for the main hold to size, while I’m down getting the sizes for the forward ones…”

“Leaving me the hard work,” Kharl joked.

“Beats being a cooper without a copper to your name,” retorted Tarkyn with a mock-gruffness. “Should anyway…”

“That it does, most honored master carpenter.” Kharl grinned and offered a deep bow.

They both laughed. Tarkyn was still chucking when he left.

Kharl had been working in the shed for well over a glass and had a goodly sized pile of planks ready for Tarkyn when the door opened. He looked up to see Hagen closing the door and moving toward the lathe. Kharl slowed the lathe and stepped back.

“Hard at work, I see,” said the captain. “Glad to have you back.”

“Yes, ser. I’ve got some catching up to do. Have to say that I’m glad to be back, ser,” Kharl replied. “And I appreciate your kindness. I do.”

“Even with everything Tarkyn had waiting?” Hagen’s eyes twinkled for a moment.

“Even so.” Kharl paused. “Might I ask what’s happening in Valmurl with Lord Ghrant?”

Hagen’s countenance turned sober. “It’s said that his older brother Ilteron has landed an army at Bruel, and the highland barons of the west have thrown in with him.”

Bruel? Where the Hamorians could still send brimstone? Kharl decided not to ask, not yet, instead saying, “I’d heard that Ilteron was a cruel sort. Why would they support him?”

“They can accept his cruelty more than the rule of his brother. They dislike the reforms that Lord Estloch forced on them and Lord Ghrant is said to favor. Especially the right of peasants to buy their way out of indenture. They claim that they’ll lose all their lands because the peasants will all leave.”

“How will most peasants ever raise that kid of coin?” asked Kharl.

Hagen looked sharply at Kharl, then smiled wanly. “Most won’t. It doesn’t matter. The highland lords are used to being absolute rulers over their lands. The merchants and factors have more power in the north and east, and most won’t support Ilteron because they feel that his rule will ruin trade and factoring.”

“Are the east and west of Austra that different?”

“They are indeed.”

“Will the merchants and factors stand behind Lord Ghrant? I’d heard that someone on the factors’ council…”

“Guillam has left Valmurl. The others will hold for Ghrant, but it will be a hard battle because Ilteron has more than a few companies of Hamorian-trained free armsmen.”

“Free armsmen?”

“Armsmen who serve the highest bidder.”

“The Emperor of Hamor is paying them, you think?” asked Kharl. “With the brimstone going there, isn’t that likely?”

“How would one know? I would guess so, but that isn’t something that’s proof…” Hagen shrugged. “The highland barons love warfare, and they have waited for years to take revenge on the easterners and merchants.”

“If they are so warlike, how-”

“They are fewer, and they could never long hang together, and when Lord Estloch’s great-great-grandsire subdued them, he stationed armsmen all along the borders and stopped their raids. It was bloody, because the easterners lost twice as many men, but Lord Isthel kept the highlanders from getting enough food. After three years, they were starving, and he marched into the highlands and leveled all their keeps and took all their weapons. For two generations, he and his son garrisoned the west.” Hagen laughed, ruefully. “Then the garrison commanders became the lords of the highlands…”

Kharl shook his head.

“Seems like what the fathers learn, the grandchildren forget,” Hagen said. “Enough of that. I’m keeping you from your work, and we’ll need the Seastag back afloat as soon as we can.” He nodded. “Good to have you back.” Then he was gone.

Kharl turned his attention back to the planer and the next set of measurements. As always, he recalled his father’s maxim: Measure twice, cut once.

But he still fretted about landowners who seemed just like Egen. Did every land have them? What did it take to keep them from their evil? Was greater power or violence always the only answer? Then he shook his head, ruefully. Just what could a carpenter do?

Abruptly, he stopped.

Taleas had said that if he did not learn more about himself and the staff, he would end up as dead as Tyrbel. With turmoil everywhere he went, those words carried more impact.