L. Modesitt - Ordermaster

“You don’t have to do this, you know?”

“I know. But what I might have to do later, if I don’t, could be worse.”

“I’ll see if Charsal is willing, and then the three of us can talk about where you should go and which roads and lanes to take.”

Kharl nodded. He didn’t like the idea much. He just liked far less what he feared would happen if he didn’t act soon.

Sixday morning found Kharl wearing the yellow-and-black uniform of Ghrant’s personal guard as he rode northwest beside Charsal along a rutted clay road barely wider than a lane. Kharl was doing his best not to bounce in the saddle, but his riding experience had been most limited. Instead of a sabre, there was a cudgel in the lance holder, since Kharl had never learned either lances or blades. Behind him rode ten other lancers, a half squad.

A fine cold spring mist drifted down from low-lying clouds, leaving a thin sheen of water on the lower and more level sections of the road. The flat light gave the water-covered parts of the road a silver cast. The air was still cold and damp enough that at times the breath of the horses steamed.

What was he doing riding out again to do something that could easily get himself killed if anything at all went wrong? Kharl wondered. He’d had to risk his life just to stay alive when he had been running from Egen. Then he’d risked his life in saving Lord Ghrant to repay Hagen. Now he was risking his life, in a sense, to keep what he’d earned so that he didn’t end up back in poverty and on the run. Was life just a continuing series of situations where he had to wager himself for higher and higher stakes-just toavoid losing what he had? Was that why rulers in difficulties ended up making bad decisions?

After a time, Kharl began to notice an acrid odor in the air. Something was burning, and it didn’t smell like a hearth fire or a forge. He turned to Charsal. “How much farther do we need to ride along this road?”

“A good two kays more, maybe three. Then we’ll be taking a lane to the back side of the orchards. The scouts reported that Malcor and Kenslan have got their forces north of there. The trees have started to leaf out, but they’re mostly still winter-gray.”

“That will provide some cover?”

“Enough so they won’t see us from afar, anyway. They don’t have pickets out more than half a kay. Leastwise, they didn’t yesterday. Wouldn’t count on that, though. Kenslan’ll begin whipping’em into better discipline.”

“Vatoran didn’t do that?”

“Vatoran came up through the ranks. Learned that you got further if you didn’t piss off the officers who came from lordly families and if you always said yes to lords. Gets you promoted. Doesn’t make for good discipline.” Charsal laughed. “That’s what Commander Norgen says, anyway. But … back then, who was worrying about discipline? Hadn’t been anyone to fight in years.”

“It’s late to instill discipline after the fighting starts,” Kharl said dryly.

“Yes, ser. Commander Norgen said that Lord Estloch should have kept Lord Hagen as arms-commander, but too many of the younger sons of lords complained that he was too strict.”

So Hagen had once been arms-commander of Austra? Hagen had alluded to his past, but that was something he hadn’t mentioned.

“That’s when he went to sea, they say.” Charsal frowned, then held up a hand. “Halt.”

Kharl managed to rein up his mount, far less smoothly than did the riders behind him. He glanced northward. The narrow road sloped upward to a crest a good ten rods ahead. He thought he could make out the beginning of a hedgerow beyond on the left side of the road.

In the silence, the undercaptain listened for several moments before speaking. “Riders … headed this way.”

Kharl could not only hear the drumbeat of hoofs, but also, for the first time, could clearly sense something like a faint white fog-a white wizard.Had they been detected by sorcery? How many wizards were there supporting the rebel lords? He could hope that there was only one remaining.

“They’re still almost a kay away, from the sound. We’ll head up just short of where the road crests, so we can look over and see how many and how far away they are.”

Kharl had hoped they would have been able to get closer to the rebel forces. From what Charsal said, he was almost three kays away. Still, he’d walked three kays many a time, and more than once just to save a few coppers.

When they reined up short of the road crest, Kharl tried to make out the riders who headed down the long and gentle incline that was opposite the low hillcrest from where he watched. Against the low clouds, he found it hard to take an accurate count, but there were clearly far more armsmen headed toward them than in the small force behind him.

He looked ahead to his left, where the hedgerow began, bordering the road on the west. Behind the hedgerow was a meadow, one not terribly tidy, with winter-browned grass. Farther to the west, at the end of the meadow, was a grove of trees-or an ill-tended orchard whose leaves had yet to turn from winter-gray to green. Apples, he thought. Beyond the trees were several buildings, barely visible. Kharl looked more to the north. After a moment, he realized that what he’d first thought had been fog was smoke from the buildings that had already been burned.

“They’ve burned that place.”

“Lord Lahoryn’s country house,” said Charsal. “We’ve got other problems. Two whole squads riding toward us, and they look to be fresh.”

Kharl asked quickly, “What would happen if they rode into a wall that they couldn’t see?”

“They’d still outnumber us.”

“But that would stop them for a bit, get them confused, even if the wall vanished, wouldn’t it?”

Charsal nodded.

“Then, let’s try this. I’ll get off by that hedgerow there. You take my mount and ride just a little farther, then turn around and ride back. Not too fast at first, as if your horses are more tired than they are.”

“What if they see you, ser?”

“They won’t.” Kharl paused, trying to work out his strategy. “If they turn back, you can come and get me. If they don’t … just head back towardthe Great House. You remember that corner where the meeting house of the one-god believers is?”

“You want us to meet you there?”

“Not until close to sundown, anyway, and it might be later. That’s if they try to follow you.”

“You don’t need to do the wall-like thing, ser. We can just ride.”

“It’s better if I do. It should make them cautious in following you. That will be easier on your mounts. Also, I’m hoping that I can create the impression that I’m still with you, and that they’ll not think I’m where I am.”

“If you say so, ser.” Charsal turned in his saddle. “We’re riding forward about twenty rods. Then we’ll turn and head back … slow trot. The mage is going to work a diversion. Forward!”

Not a word or a murmur came from the lancers.

Kharl half turned in the saddle, almost falling off as he struggled to extract some of the cheese, biscuits, and dried apples from the saddlebag. Then he thrust those and the water bottle inside the yellow-trimmed black riding jacket. He had to steady himself by grabbing the gray’s mane. A rider he was not.

When Kharl and Charsal had almost reached the hedgerow, the mage eased his mount toward the undercaptain. “Slow down for a moment.”

“Ah … yes, sir.”

Kharl leaned right in the saddle and handed the gray’s reins to Charsal. “Don’t be surprised.” With that, he slipped the sight shield around himself, and, once more, was in the dark and sightless, relying on his order-senses to get him off his mount, off the road, and behind the hedgerow.