Wellspring of Chaos

LXXXVI

Kharl was aware of a murmuring around the forecastle, even before he slowly swung out of his bunk on sevenday morning. He didn’t pay much attention until he was on his feet and dressing.

“…first says there’s warships off the harbor…black-hulled ships…”

“…lots of ’em…”

“…black…isn’t that Recluce?” asked Kawelt.

“Hamor,” said Kharl. “Recluce doesn’t send its ships in fleets, and they’re usually invisible.”

“Frig…” muttered Reisl. “Means we’re stuck here, maybe even get shelled or boarded.”

“Or worse,” added Hodal.

“Unless we get a storm. Then they’d have to stand off,” Reisl said. “There are some clouds to the east.”

“You’re dreaming,” Hodal said.

“Hoping…fellow can hope…”

“Good luck with that…”

Kharl agreed with Hodal. Hope was a frail reed against sheer power. The carpenter did not say so, but washed up as well as he could, dressed, and made his way out onto the main deck.

He looked south from there, but didn’t see anything. After several moments, he crossed the main deck and climbed the ladder to the poop, where he stood on the port side, looking south and out across the Great Western Ocean. Just on the horizon, he could make out black dots, hard to distinguish against the gray-blue of the water and the grayish sky, although there were no distinct clouds, just enough of a haze to blur the sun and the horizon. There was a light wind from the southeast, slightly more than a breeze.

“Looking to see them?” asked Furwyl, as he reached the top of the ladder and walked toward Kharl. “It’s there-full Hamorian squadron. Ten ships. Not a fleet, but enough that we’ll be staying here, leastwise in the light of day. They were closer in, earlier, but the sea’s getting rougher. Wouldn’t be surprised if we got a bit of a blow.”

“That would make it easier for us to get around them, wouldn’t it?”

“It would. That’d be if the captain were thinking of leaving.”

“Is he taking over command of Lord Ghrant’s forces?”

Furwyl laughed. “Too late for that. Lord Ghrant should have let him reorganize ’em when he suggested that years ago. Ghrant doesn’t like to upset people. Weighs things, I hear, by who’s upset. Sometimes, to do things right, you have to upset a lot of folk at first. Less people upset over time, but…” The first shrugged. “Like a ship. Lay down the law fair and firm-like to begin with, and hold to it, and you get a happy ship. You tack to every little change in the wind, never get anywhere.”

Kharl had to wonder. Hadn’t he tried that in life? And where had it gotten him? Run out of his homeland, his consort killed, his sons hating him, and his neighbor and friend assassinated. “That’s if you have the power to lay down the law. The captain didn’t, and Lord Ghrant did, but Lord Ghrant didn’t do anything.”

“Goes without saying, carpenter. Can’t do much without both ability and power. Ability can sometimes get you power, but without power, ability’s wasted, and that can lead to ruin. Power and no skill leads you to ruin. Just takes longer. That’s all.”

“You don’t think Lord Ghrant has much ability?”

“Couldn’t be saying that, now, could I?” Furwyl laughed, but there was little humor in the sound. “He could learn, if he would but listen.”

“And Ilteron?”

“He seems to listen to all, and offers pleasant words. He heeds none, and uses and discards all.” The contempt in Furwyl’s voice was in stark contrast to the more muted words about Lord Ghrant.

Kharl walked to the stern, by the port rudder post, thinking, considering what little he knew. Ilteron had to have ridden south to attack Dykaru before Ghrant had decided to retreat there. Likewise, the Hamorian ships had to have set out from Hamor even before Ghrant had left Valmurl. How did they know? Lands and lords didn’t stake ships and battles and moving lancers and troops just on guesses about where the enemy would be. They had known. But how? Spying? Wizardry? What sort of wizardry allowed them to see across vast distances and know what would happen?

He looked up and forward. Furwyl had left the poop.

Kharl made his way down to the mess. Most of the crew had eaten, but Kharl managed to scrounge enough bread, and some cheese, and a soft pearapple, as well as a mug of redberry. He sat down across from Hodal and Kawelt, who were finishing up what looked like fried and salted pork. Kharl didn’t miss not having the pork.

“You see the ships?” asked Hodal.

“They’ve moved farther offshore, the first said,” replied Kharl after swallowing a mouthful of bread and cheese. “He thinks a storm’s in the offing.”

“Told you so.”

“Captain’ll wait till it’s just right, and then we’ll be off…”

“…knows what he’s doing. That’s why no shore leave.”

Kharl had no doubts that Hagen knew what he was doing, but he was far less sure that those actions included leaving Dykaru while the future of Austra was yet in doubt.

“…should have gotten here earlier. Cook had fresh eggs…”

“…should have…” Kharl mumbled, his mouth full.

After eating, and the morning in-port muster on the main deck, Kharl made his way down to the carpenter shop. His eyes lifted to the overhead bin, and the staff, and the words of The Basis of Order came back to him…the idea that a mage could not fully master his abilities until he cast aside the staff…and the passage after that…where the words talked about how dividing power weakened it more than just in half…

“Carpenter?”

Kharl looked at the hatchway, where Dasket, a rigger he hardly knew, stood. “Yes?”

“Captain needs you, ser. Right this moment. He’s in his cabin.”

“Thank you. I’m on my way.” Kharl had thought that Hagen was ashore, but perhaps the captain had already returned.

Dasket hesitated, then turned.

Kharl followed him out and up the ladder to the main deck. From there, Kharl crossed the deck and entered the passageway he had once guarded, noting that the lamp bracket remained but the watch bell had been removed. He knocked on the door to the captain’s cabin. “Kharl, ser.”

“Come in. Close the hatch.”

“Yes, ser.” Kharl opened the door, entered, and closed it behind him.

Hagen stood beside the circular table. His eyes were reddened, and deep black circled them. “How do you feel?”

“Fine, ser.”

“I’m going to ask you something. It’s not an order, but a request, and I want you to understand that.”

Kharl nodded, waiting.

“The highlanders are about to attack the keep. They broke through the regulars early this morning. Before long, it’s likely they’ll surround the town. Lord Ghrant will make an attack shortly, I believe, in hopes of breaking them and driving them back. He has charged me with the safety of his lady and heirs. I think you could help me.”

“I’ll go,” Kharl said immediately.

“You don’t have to.”

“You didn’t have to take me aboard, ser. What’s right is right. I think I ought to bring my staff.”

“That wouldn’t hurt. We need to hurry.”

“I’ll get the staff.” Kharl understood that Hagen had spent extra time, just to meet Kharl in private, so that Kharl would not feel influenced by others watching, and it was another measure of the man that Kharl appreciated.

The carpenter hurried down to the shop, where he reclaimed both the staff and his winter jacket and gloves, before hurrying back topside. Hagen met him at the quarterdeck. For the first time, the captain wore weapons, a sabre and a long belt knife.

Kharl followed Hagen onto the pier, a pier that grew wetter with each wave that broke against it, as higher waters surged into the small harbor from off the Great Western Ocean.

At the end of the pier waited a small detachment of armsmen in black and yellow, only eight in all. There were two mounts without riders.

Kharl had never ridden a horse. He’d seen riders mount, and he managed to do so. He struggled to get the base of the staff into what looked like a lance holder. Then he glanced at Hagen. “I’m not a lancer, ser.”

“We’re not riding into battle. We’re only riding to get there. Just hang on to the saddle and the reins.”

Kharl hoped he could.

The undercaptain and another lancer led the way, two abreast, with Kharl and Hagen riding behind them. Kharl felt that he bounced more than rode as the column moved at a quick trot through the stone-paved streets of Dykaru, eerily empty under the hazy morning sky, with the horses’ hoofs being the loudest sound, echoing off the streets and white-plastered stone walls.

“We’re supposed to meet the rest of the company on the orchard lane leading to the causeway,” Hagen said to Kharl.

Kharl nodded, as if the words meant something, not that they did. He had no idea even what the keep looked like, except from a distance. He would have liked to try to see if he could sense the white wizards, but merely staying on the mount took most of his concentration. Still, it was faster than walking.

Before long, they reached the northern edge of the town, where the dwellings thinned, and a parklike expanse of grass and trees extended toward the ridgetop keep a kay away. Kharl could smell smoke, if faintly. The park seemed empty of armsmen, except in the distance off to the right, where a squad of riders had reined up, facing toward the white walls of the keep. The lancers wore dark blue and gray.

“We’ll circle to the west some to reach the lane,” Hagen ordered, turning his mount left onto a graveled road that fronted the park.

From the keep a series of horn blasts rang out, and there was the muted thunder of hoofs, but Kharl could see no riders. He took a moment to let his order-chaos senses feel the area before him. Almost immediately, he could feel an upwelling of white chaos more to the right, beyond the riders in blue and gray, who had already ridden northward, and out of sight. There had to be fighting in that direction, Kharl felt, although he could not say exactly how he knew, only that he did.

None of the armsmen spoke. The loudest sound was the clicking of hoofs on the pure white gravel of the lane. Kharl tried to shift his weight and came close to falling but grabbed the saddle and caught himself. He was not an instinctive rider; that was certain. In less than a tenth of a glass, the short column turned right onto a paved road that arrowed through an orchard toward the southwestern corner of the keep.

“From the right!”

Kharl turned in the saddle to see a good score of riders in the dark blue and gray riding toward them along a gravel service path in the orchard. Somehow he managed to turn the horse to face the attack, but he wasn’t about to try to charge the attackers and try to use the staff at the same time. He fumbled the staff out of the lance holder, hoping that he could stay mounted while using both hands on the staff.

Because the others rode toward the rebels, Kharl was at the rear when the enemy lancers reached them.

Several of Ilteron’s men went down, as did two of those in black and yellow, and then a lancer in blue and gray was bearing down on Kharl, his sabre coming toward Kharl in a vicious cut.

Kharl underhanded the staff, bringing it up from below the man’s guard. The heavy iron-banded end slammed into the lancer’s forearm, then into the side of his face. Kharl reeled in the saddle, but struggled back upright. The attacker lay on the ground unmoving.

Bringing the staff back into position, Kharl could only deflect the slash of the next attacker before the lancer was past him.

Another rider-Hagen-had wheeled his mount back and rode past Kharl, cutting down one of the attackers from the blind side.

The third lancer to charge Kharl saw the staff and tried to swing closer to the carpenter to block the staff short of its most effective length, but Kharl dropped the tip and angled it more from below, catching the attacker’s sabre arm while he was still a good three cubits from Kharl. There was a cracking sound, and the sabre went flying.

Then, just as suddenly as the attackers had appeared, they vanished, except for the six or so bodies that lay on the gravel of the service path.

Kharl found he was breathing heavily.

“You wield a mean staff, even mounted,” called out Hagen.

“Not…a…mounted weapon,” gasped Kharl.

“We need to get to the end of the lane.”

The six remaining lancers had regrouped. After putting the staff back in the lance holder, Kharl urged his mount up beside Hagen’s as they rode along the remaining quarter kay of the lane toward the two short stone columns where the orchard ended and a grassy expanse separated the orchard from the keep.

As they neared the stone posts, a column of riders in black and yellow rode toward them down a causeway from the keep. Kharl could see blood splashed across the tunics of those leading the oncoming column.

“Captain Hagen! Captain Hagen!” An undercaptain spurred his mount toward Kharl and the others.

“We’re here,” Hagen said quietly once the other had reined up. “The lady?”

“She and the boys-they’re waiting at the keep gates. The guards there have the causeway clear, and they’ve pushed them back. Don’t know how long they can hold.”

“Lord Ghrant?” asked Hagen.

The undercaptain shook his head. “He’s trapped on the ridge to the north of the keep. Holding them at bay. He’s trying to keep the wizards from getting close enough to fire the keep. They’d be lofting fireballs over the walls.” Kharl could sense the truth of that. He also hadn’t thought about wizards being able to destroy a stone keep.

Hagen looked to Kharl.

Kharl nodded. “He’s speaking the truth.”

“Get the lady and the boys down here as quick as you can, and with as many lancers as you can spare. We’ve already been attacked once.”

“Yes, ser.” The undercaptain turned his mount. Two riders galloped back up the causeway toward the gates, less than half a kay away.

To the right of the causeway, a squad of lancers had formed up, facing northeast, toward the chaos of battle that Kharl could sense all too clearly.

As they waited, Kharl looked down at his jacket and gray trousers, both streaked with blood, then at Hagen. “A word, Lord Hagen?”

Hagen eased his mount closer to Kharl, and the carpenter wondered how he could explain what he needed to do. Finally, he cleared his throat. “I would not see Austra become as Nordla, nor as Hamor. I would like your leave to depart for a time.”

Hagen’s eyes widened. “You don’t owe me that. You don’t owe-”

“No. This is another kind of debt. I will go, one way or another. I would like your leave.”

“You may have it. You know that if Lord Ilteron’s forces come to the harbor, we will depart?”

“I know.” Even as he said the words, Kharl had to wonder if he were being a fool, searching for an act of meaning because no matter how hard he had tried, he had been unable to find one, not one that turned out well, at least.

“There is one thing that may help you,” Hagen said quickly. “None have fought well or recently in Austra. Ilteron’s armsmen and lancers will not act quickly. If you act decisively, events will favor you.”

Kharl nodded. He had already seen that, and he was not even an armsman.

Hagen gestured, and one of the lancers, perhaps a serjeant, rode over and reined up. “The mage needs to get as close to the ridge as you can take him.”

The serjeant looked at Kharl skeptically.

Kharl ignored the skepticism. “The closer I can get, the more I may be able to do to help Lord Ghrant.”

“We’ll get you closer than you’d like,” came the grim reply. “You want to ride all the way?”

“The last part, if it’s not too far…on foot, I think.”

“You could use bushes for cover going up the ridge. You all right with that?”

“That would be better. So long as it’s not too far.”

“Thought as much. Ilteron’s lancers can’t ride you down in the bushes.” There was a pause. “What are you going to do?”

“What I can.” That was the only truthful answer Kharl had.

“Best we go.” The serjeant motioned, and another rider joined them, grim-faced, and without saying a word.

The two lancers flanked Kharl as the three rode eastward past the front of the keep and turned northward down a narrow gravel path that slowly curved back eastward around the base of the ridge. Less than half a kay onward, still near the base of a long slope, the serjeant reined up. To Kharl’s right was a mass of bushes, yet with an edge as clean as if laid out with a rule.

“This part of the ridge is mostly berry bushes. Been there since before there was a town, my grandsire said. Can’t ride a horse through it, but it’d be slow going unless you stay on the edges.”

“I’ll stay beside them.” Kharl dismounted and handed the reins to the serjeant. “I won’t be needing the horse.”

“Good luck, ser.”

From the lancer’s tone, Kharl could tell that the man thought him a dead man-or mad, or perhaps both.

“Thank you.” Kharl took the staff and started uphill. He did not look back as the two lancers rode off.

From the feeling of lessened chaos emanating from the top of the ridge, Kharl could sense that the battle was winding down. He could only hope that he was not too late, that something could be salvaged. And from what he had observed of white wizards, he had to see if he couldn’t at least stop them, and Ilteron, even if they had already slain the less-than-wise Lord Ghrant.

Kharl moved uphill more swiftly, staying beside the bushes, but not using his light shield, not yet, and not wanting to until he had to.

Within moments, he could see figures ahead-lancers in green and black and in yellow and black riding downhill, avoiding the berry bushes. Behind them came armsmen on foot. Some were pursued by lancers in blue and gray, and others stumbled, as if they had trouble walking or seeing. Some were splattered with blood, but most were not.

The carpenter tried to sense the chaos ahead, but there were two pillars of unseen white, one not all that far away, but uphill and to his right, out among the more open grassy stretches where there were but few trees. The other-and stronger focus-was close to the top of the ridge, if not at the very top.

Kharl drew back into the bushes as mounts thundered down in his direction.

“Someone’s in the bushes! Could be an archer!”

Kharl dropped to his knees and willed the light to flow around him as the rebel lancers neared.

“Gone now…swore he was right there…”

A laugh followed. “They’re all running, like scared coneys.”

“…won’t matter…not in the end…”

“…make sure we get to the end…”

Kharl barely waited until the lancers were past before he dropped the light shield and scrambled uphill. The rush of men fleeing and those pursuing seemed to dissipate, and he began to hurry across the hill.

Less than ten rods away, he could see a band of armsmen in yellow and black, using a stone pavilion as a makeshift redoubt and shield against a white wizard and a company of rebel lancers. There were bodies in blue and gray strewn before the amber stone structure, as well as many in yellow and black; but this group of armsmen loyal to Lord Ghrant had neither broken nor run, and the attackers had pulled back.

Kharl could see that no one was even looking in his direction as he crossed the slope.

Hsssstt! A reddish white firebolt arced from the wizard and flew between two stone pillars. Flame flared, and one of the defenders staggered forward, screaming, his entire body a mass of fire.

Kharl gathered the light shield around himself, forcing himself to keep moving, not to think, but to get closer to the wizard. Even from within the darkness of his light shield, he could easily sense the white energy of the wizard as yet one more firebolt flared into the stone pavilion. Another set of screams echoed across the morning.

Kharl winced but kept walking, until he was less than a rod behind the rear of the rebels.

“…turn ’em to torches!”

“…southern weaklings…”

Kharl was still a good fifty cubits from the swirling of chaos and whiteness. He could only hope that his idea would work. It should…but one never knew.

He took a slow and deep breath, then visualized the air around the wizard, then reached out and twisted all the order-and-chaos hooks, so that the air touching the wizard’s body turned solid.

There was not even a sound, except the wizard pitched forward, frozen as though he had been turned into stone.

“What happened!”

“Must be another mage!”

“Where?”

Despite the other’s immobility, Kharl could sense the gathering bolt of chaos, and he forced himself to wait until the last moment-even as the reddish white fireball was flaring toward him-before hardening a shield of air between him and the chaos-bolt.

Still, heat and fire flamed past him, so close and so hot he could feel the ends of his hair and beard crisp and smell the burning hair.

The second fireball was weaker. That was good, because Kharl doubted he could hold the shields for too long.

He could sense the chaos folding in upon itself, and he let go of the shield before him, but not the one imprisoning the white wizard.

The entrapped wizard continued to struggle, but the last firebolt was but a tiny eruption of flame. Then, there was a reddish emptiness, and Kharl could feel the absoluteness of death, releasing the confinement that had destroyed the wizard.

The carpenter turned back uphill and moved back across the hillside, still light-shielded.

Once he was a good ten rods away from the forces battling over the pavilion and again moving uphill beside the bushes, he released the light shield, blinking as light flooded his sight. For several moments, he had trouble seeing and was glad that the grassy slope offered relatively even footing.

Behind him, he could hear the clash of metal and the grunting of armsmen as the rebels and the loyalists renewed the conflict over the pavilion. He would have to leave that battle to the armsmen, at least for the moment, because he needed to find the second chaos-wizard.

The bushes ended, suddenly. Before Kharl the grassy slope leveled out. Ahead, a low white marble wall, less than two cubits high, and less than five rods away, encircled another larger stone pavilion. Behind or within the wall was the pillar of white chaos-and a far larger gathering of armed men, many of whom were looking downhill.

“Someone’s coming!”

Kharl quickly donned his light shield.

“He’s gone!”

“…vanished…”

“…just turned and ran, that’s all…”

“…don’t know…might have wizards, too…”

“…woulda seen ’em earlier…”

Kharl began to angle to his right, to where he could sense that there were fewer armed men, and slightly away from the chaos-focus. But he kept moving uphill and toward the remaining white wizard-and, he hoped, Ilteron and perhaps even Lord Ghrant.

“There’s an order-mage coming…look for where things seem blurry!” called out a voice.

Kharl tried not to hurry, to keep his steps and pace even, as he used his senses to make his sightless way toward the stone structure that rose in the center of the paved area enclosed by the wall and crowned the southern end of the ridge.

“Go find him! The mage! He’s got to be close.”

“You find him…”

“How?”

For their confusion, Kharl was most grateful. He tried to keep his breathing even and as quiet as possible as he neared the stone wall and the men who stood behind it. He could sense an opening farther to his left, and he eased in that direction.

The white wizard who stood less than ten rods away was the stronger of the two with Ilteron. That Kharl could feel. But…did he need to attack the other wizard? What he really needed was to destroy Ilteron. His only problem was that he didn’t know which of the armed men happened to be the rebel lord, and there were close to a hundred figures on the ridgetop.

Then…if Ghrant were dead, and Kharl killed Ilteron, and not the white wizard, the rebel lords would be able to continue the war. So Kharl had to deal with the white wizard-if he could.

“I know you are here, cowardly black.” The voice boomed across the ridge, and Kharl could sense the chaos that amplified it. “Lyras, skulking in the back hills once more will get you nothing.”

Kharl said nothing, moving along the stone wall, until he sensed a gap in the armsmen, one a good three cubits wide. He stepped up on the stone wall-and felt the reason for the gap-a fountain or pool behind it.

While he disliked using his tricks even to get to the white wizard, he hardened the water and carefully made his way to the far side of the pool, where he released the order-ties. Then he stood in his darkness, trying to gather himself together.

The stone pavilion was but another fifteen cubits before him, and he could sense both the white wizard and two other figures within the stone-roofed and columned structure before him.

“You have learned, Lyras…but you have not learned enough.”

Kharl thought. The white wizard could sense his presence in general terms, but not with any great accuracy, or fireballs likely would have been sent his way. Kharl eased forward, trying to figure out which man was which of those under the dome. There were three, and one lay on the stone floor, still alive, but dazed. That had to be Ghrant. But which of the other two was which?

“You said…there were no black mages in Austra.”

The surprisingly high voice came from the taller figure-Ilteron.

“It matters not. Black cannot stand against white, not in war.”

Could Kharl just harden the air around Ilteron’s face and head? If he made it tight enough, it ought to suffocate the lord, and it wouldn’t take as much strength.

Remembering Hagen’s words about speed, he twisted the order-and-chaos hooks together.

Ilteron staggered, his hands clawing at his face.

Kharl needed more strength. He could feel that the staff he held had strength, order, within it. Abruptly, the words of The Basis of Order made sense, and he wondered why he had not understood before. He…he had been the one to put that order there, as a tool. Perhaps Jenevra had as well, but the order in the staff was limited to what a staff could do.

He concentrated…not so much on breaking the staff, or even casting it aside, as reuniting the order that was his in the staff with that within himself.

A flow of darkness surged through him.

Crack…Without even his willing it, the staff had broken, and the iron bands that had bound it were no longer black iron, but gray.

The lower fragment hit the stones by his feet with a dull thunk, and without thinking Kharl dropped the useless other half.

“There!” Hssst!

A massive firebolt flared toward Kharl before he could try to harden the air around the wizard. Still trying to hold the hardened air tight around the dying Ilteron, Kharl flung up weaker, barely hardened air shields.

The firebolt flared around and past him, again burning his skin. But the worst of the fire flared into the rebel armsmen, and more than a half score flamed like torches. Kharl smiled coldly and stepped to the side, releasing the air shields.

“You missed!” he exclaimed.

Hsstt! Another firebolt slammed toward Kharl, and again he raised the deflecting shields.

More rebel armsmen flamed and died.

Kharl darted farther to his right. “You don’t aim very well!”

With the third splash of flame, there was a cry, “Back! They’ll flame us all!”

Kharl moved again. “Over here!”

Hssst! While the firebolt followed his voice, none of the armsmen were about to get close enough to attack, not when the odds were that they’d get burned to cinders.

Kharl could feel his breathing getting labored and his knees becoming weak.

Hssst!

Behind and around him, the armsmen backed away and began to run, slowly at first, then more quickly.

Kharl eased sideways and forward. Weak as he felt, he had to harden the air around the white wizard-and quickly.

“Your invisibility won’t save you. You can’t hide forever.”

The carpenter reached out and hardened the air around the wizard, but just around his head and neck.

Hssst! The firebolt flared directly at Kharl, perhaps because the wizard could follow the order-link.

Kharl threw up his hardened air shields, then sat down. His legs were rubbery.

Hssst! Another firebolt flared around him, the heat even greater.

Then a third and a fourth bolt followed, and Kharl huddled behind his shields.

The fifth bolt was weaker, and the sixth died before reaching Kharl.

The carpenter released his own air shields, and just sat on the stone, shivering and holding the shields around Ilteron and the white wizard until both were dead. His face burned, and his entire body throbbed by the time he let go of the force holding the hardened air around the two.

But the job was far from done.

After releasing the sight shield, Kharl glanced around warily. There was no one alive within the circular stone wall, but charred bodies lay everywhere, and the stench of burned flesh roiled his guts.

He was surprised that more enemy armsmen were not returning to attack, and yet it made sense. He doubted if any of the armsmen had ever seen a battle between mages, and after a few score of the rebels had been incinerated, the rest hadn’t wanted to remain close. Slowly, he crawled the last twenty cubits to the stone pavilion, partly because he didn’t want armsmen beyond the wall to see him, and partly because he wasn’t sure his legs had yet regained enough strength to hold him.

When he reached the pavilion, he looked around. The white wizard was a slight figure, smaller even than Ghrant. Ilteron had been even taller and broader than Kharl. The slightly built Ghrant was alive. How alive was another question.

The carpenter-mage reached out and grabbed the lord’s leather harness, then began to drag the smaller man across the stones and around the fallen bodies toward the gap in the stone wall-and not the one where the pond was-nearest the side of the hill with the berry bushes. At the edge of the wall, keeping himself low, Kharl glanced around.

Armsmen and lancers were beginning to edge back up the hillside.

“…real quiet up there…”

“…you want to go, you go…”

“…anything take out a white wizard…don’t want to be the one to get in its way…”

Kharl just hoped that would keep them away for a moment.

He girded himself and cast the light shield. He needed to get at least a few hundred cubits downhill before releasing it. He made over a hundred cubits before he did. Thankfully, there was no one nearby when he could see again.

Then he continued, once more, to drag the unconscious lord down the hill. He had to stop every few cubits, and then rest, before dragging Ghrant farther.

Halfway down the hill, Kharl found a mount tied to a tree. Whose it was didn’t matter.

He barely had the strength to lever the unconscious lord over the narrow space in front of the saddle, then untie and mount the horse himself. With the horse’s first steps, Kharl struggled to hang on to the lord with one hand and the saddle and the reins with the other as he tried not to lurch from side to side.

The ride back to the port, with his selective use of the sight shield, felt as though it must have taken glasses. At times, he knew armsmen were near, and he somehow shielded the two of them and the horse, then rode on, slowly. At other times, even without the sight shield, he could not see, but he kept riding.

The sun was low in the western sky even before he reached the harbor avenue. To Kharl, it had all been a blur after leaving the stone pavilion.

Then he was on the pier and riding toward the Seastag. The lines were singled up, and smoke was pouring from the stacks, but…the gangway was down-if with four armsman at its foot.

They had sabres at the ready.

“It’s Kharl! He’s got Lord Ghrant!”

The armsmen still did not move.

Kharl staggered off the mount, and before he could say anything, blackness rushed over him.