L. Modesitt - Ordermaster

“Unless the Hamorian fleet shows up in the harbor,” Kharl said dryly, “with more white wizards.”

“I’ve been thinking; ser. Those patrollers had rifles-the ones in the south. They were shooting well, more like trained lancers. Have we ever seen patrollers with rifles anywhere?”

Kharl felt that he should have seen that. “You think that they off-loaded their troops somewhere, then left, and that the lancers were wearing patroller uniforms so that folks wouldn’t think that Hamor was playing too big a part?″

Demyst, his mouth full of lace potatoes, nodded.

“You’re right. He had more patrollers there than we ever saw on the streets, and they could use those rifles. They were trained, better than I’ve seen except with the Hamorian lancers,” mused Kharl.

“That’s because they were Hamorian lancers, I’d wager,” said Demyst.

“It was all planned from the beginning, then,” Erdyl said. “The cloth came from Hamor …”

All the pieces fit. Kharl just wished he’d seen them earlier. But it was another case where his lack of experience showed-all too clearly.

“If that’s so,” said the undercaptain slowly, “they can’t land any more lancers soon.”

“We don’t know how many more white wizards there are,” Kharl said. “There were three in the south before, and that doesn’t count the one that killed Ostcrag. He’s probably with Egen. I count four of them with the rebel forces.” At least.

“Handled three of’em yesterday,” Jeka pointed out. “Didn’t have any lancers with you, either.”

“I’ve never faced four at once,” Kharl said. “Two or three, and I almost didn’t make it. We can’t trust Osten much, either, especially if we win.”

Erdyl frowned, momentarily, then nodded.

“Can’t trust none of them,” observed Jeka. “Never could.”

“No. That’s the problem.”

“Not if you do away with them all.”

“That’s a bigger problem. There are no heirs, and there’s no one else who’s sufficiently well known to take over without blood in the streets. Who will take over the West Quadrant? Lord East? Lord North? The Emperor of Hamor?”

“You’re a mage,” Jeka pointed out.

“That’s a problem, too. People don’t like mages as rulers, not since Fairven. I’ve seen how folks here in Brysta feel about blackstaffers and order-mages-and they’re considered the good mages.”

“A good mage is a trusted advisor and a feared ruler,” Erdyl said.

“Hated,” Kharl suggested, recalling Charee’s repugnance at Jenevra-and Jenevra had been little more than a girl.

“You mean … you’d put Osten up as Lord West?” asked Jeka. “Really would?”

“Does anyone have a better idea? We don’t want Egen or Vielam, and we don’t want the Emperor of Hamor or one of his tools.”

Jeka looked away.

Kharl couldn’t blame her. Once he would have felt the same way. But he’d seen the other side. When Egen had turned against him, most of the people he had known and trusted had refused to stand up for what was right. Only Tyrbel and Gharan had. And Jeka, especially Jeka. Wassyt the miller and Werwal had done what they could without making it public. Everyone else had gone along.

He frowned. That wouldn’t have happened in places like Reduce or Southwind. He’d seen that. Even in Austra, there were men of power-like Hagen-who had risked everything to do what they thought was right. Why was Nordla-or the West Quadrant-different?

He wasn’t sure he had an answer.

He also worried about Werwal, since he hadn’t seen or heard from the renderer; but he couldn’t be in all places, and he didn′t have enough retainers to send them through a city where anything could happen at any time.

Lost in those thoughts, he said little for the remainder of the meal. No sooner had he stood than Jeka slipped away the moment his eyes left her.

After dinner, Kharl walked into the kitchen to talk to Fundal and Khelaya, because he had worried about provisions for the residence. “Do we have enough for the next eightday or so?”

“That’d be tight for full meals, ser,” Khelaya had answered, “but there’s plenty to fill stomachs.”

“You can pay more if you can find what we need.” After what he’d told Fundal earlier, Kharl thought he needed to say something about prices.

“Good to know,” Fundal replied.

When Kharl returned to the dining area, he saw no one. Erdyl and Demyst were sitting on the front portico, but Jeka wasn’t there.

He’d known he’d upset her, but he’d wanted to explain in private why he didn’t have any good choices in the matter of whom he supported. Yet he didn’t want to chase her all over the residence.

He shouldn’t have to do that, should he?

Besides, unfortunately, he needed to figure out how to deal with the white wizards. If he could work out a better shielding for his innate order, so that they could not sense where he was, he might be able to surprise at least one of them. Musing about that, he walked toward the library.

Although Kharl had stayed up until late in the evening, working on and refining a shield to hide the concentration of order around him, he was up early, still worrying about Jeka. When he came down for breakfast, she was not anywhere on the first floor of the residence. Enelya was in the kitchen, helping Khelaya with the egg toast.

“Have you seen Jeka this morning?”

“No, ser. Didn’t see her none last night after supper, either.”

“Thank you.” Kharl turned and walked up the back stairs to the third floor. He could sense that she was in her room.

He knocked.

“Go away.”

“I wanted to talk to you last night.”

“Don’t want to talk.”

Kharl stood there. What exactly was he going to do? He didn′t want to hammer down the door. That wouldn’t help. “I’m not going away until you let me in.”

“Can’t bust in here with horses.”

“I don’t want to break in. I want to talk to you.”

Jeka said nothing.

“Do you think I’d want to do anything to hurt you? Do you think I like what’s happened?”

There was still no answer.

“Do you want patrollers and lancers and mages tearing up all of Brysta-and then Sagana, and wherever else they’ll go?”

Jeka opened the door and stepped back. “Just talk.”

Kharl stepped inside, slowly. The room was neat-spotless. He almost said so, but realized that wouldn’t be good at all.

Jeka seated herself cross-legged on the bed. She was wearing faded gray trousers and an equally faded blue shirt. She was barefoot.

Kharl pulled the side stool out and straddled it, facing her.

“You didn’t say you were going to …″ Jeka shook her head.

“It’s not good,” Kharl admitted. “Everything else is worse.”

“That’s what you say.” Her green eyes flashed.

“I’ve made mistakes,” Kharl admitted. “You know that. Do you think I like making Osten the next Lord West?”

“Another mistake.”

“It might be. But … bad as he might be, the choices are worse. You see how folks feel. Did anyone stand up for you in Sagana when the tariff farmer turned out your mother and tried to get you sold to a pleasure house? Did anyone want to buy my barrels after Egen put out the word on me? I was the only one who even stopped to see if Jenevra was hurt-″

″Jenevra?″

“That was the blackstaffer girl that Egen raped, then had killed while I was fighting the fire.”

“Oh.” Jeka’s brows knit together for a moment.

This time Kharl was the one to be silent, much as he wanted to say more.

“Shouldn’t be that way.” Jeka sighed.