L. Modesitt - Ordermaster

His throat was dry, and he tried to sit up.

“Easy there.” The voice was Jeka′s.

″Thirsty …″ The single word was an effort.

“Got some ale here.”

“Can’t see,” he tried to explain.

Jeka guided a mug into his hands.

He drank slowly. After several small swallows, he could feel the ale easing the dryness in his throat. Some of the throbbing in his skull subsided, enough that he could tell that he was in his own chamber and that Jeka was the only one with him.

“What happened?”

“Undercaptain got me onto your horse. Held you, and we rode back. Alynar helped Erdyl.”

“How is he?”

“Khelaya thinks he’ll be all right. Arm’s pretty smashed up. Hope it doesn’t get wound chaos.”

“That takes a few days,” Kharl said. “When I’m feeling better, I think I could help there.” He took a longer swallow of the ale.

“Told you not to trust Osten. Bastard, always,” said Jeka. “Stupid, too.”

Kharl could agree with both Jeka’s judgments.

“Still think he ought to be Lord West?”

“Who else? If Vielam’s still alive, he’s worse. He’d betray anyone. The two lord justicers don′t have any guts …″ Kharl stopped and coughed. His head throbbed more. When the spasm passed he took another swallow of the ale.

“Anyone shown up,” he asked, “looking for me?”

“Not so far …”

“What time?”

“Close to midnight. Could be Osten’s still out there … grabbing coins and booty.”

“He doesn’t know what happened,” Kharl said. “The only ones close enough to see … We don′t know what happened, either.”

“That was Egen at the end, on the hillside, wasn’t it?”

“Yes. He abandoned the wizards, I think, just before …″

“Too quick for that pissprick.”

Kharl had to agree. Egen didn’t deserve a quick death, or just to die once, not after all he had done. “Best I could do.”

“Hope it hurt-a whole lot.”

“With Egen gone … and the white wizards …″ Kharl paused for another sip of the ale to forestall a second bout of coughing.

“You think Osten managed to come out on top?”

“He might not have had to fight that much,” Kharl suggested. “The regulars might have accepted him as Lord West. You think they want to die for someone who’s dead?”

“What about the other one?”

“Vielam? He might have tried to rally them around him, but that’s hard to do in the middle of a battle.” Kharl stifled a yawn.

“You need sleep,” Jeka insisted.

“So do you.”

“Won’t get it unless you do.”

He could hear a hint of humor in her words. “Thank you …”

“Nothing … did what …” Her hand touched the back of his briefly, then squeezed gently before taking the mug from his hands. “Go to sleep.”

Kharl leaned back into deeper darkness.

By twoday evening Kharl had regained his eyesight, at least most of the time, although he had moments when everything turned black. Brysta remained quiet, from what he could see and hear and from what Mantar and the other retainers had observed. The lower market square was almost as filled as usual, according to Enelya, who was more willing to ventureout, although there were no patrollers around. The upper market square was less frequented, with but half the vendors and buyers. That could have been because it was closer to the Quadrancy Keep, where many of Osten’s forces had returned.

While he recovered, Kharl spent some time considering exactly how to deal with Osten, and how he might handle matters-if he had to meet with Osten, as well as if Osten decided to avoid or ignore Kharl. He still had not heard anything from or about Werwal, but he still didn′t have retainers to spare to go inquiring, not at the moment. Nonetheless, it nagged at him.

As with everything else involving Osten, matters took longer to sort out, and Kharl heard nothing from the new Lord West until midmorning on threeday, when a pair of Osten’s personal guards escorted an undercaptain to the residence.

Kharl, Erdyl, and Demyst met with the undercaptain in the library. Kharl stood in front of the desk and did not seat himself, nor did he offer a seat to the lancer officer.

“Undercaptain Huard.” The young officer gave a perfunctory nod.

“Greetings, undercaptain.” Kharl did not smile. “You have a message from Lord Osten.”

“Lord West had noted that you did not remain long on the field.” The undercaptain’s words were delivered in a matter-of-fact tone. “And that none of the lancers who accompanied you have been since seen.”

Kharl had thought that a few might have escaped either the white wizards or his own wrath, but he couldn’t have said he was surprised that they had not.

“I thought it unnecessary to remain,” Kharl replied coldly, “since Lord West had conveyed the message that he had no further need of my services after I had defeated the white wizards and destroyed the Hamorian lancers.”

“Ser?”

“The message was both direct and personal, undercaptain, and Lord Osten is well aware of it. What do you want?”

Huard looked from Kharl to Demyst, then to Erdyl, his arm bound and in a sling. All three looked coldly at the junior officer. Huard swallowed. ″Ah … I was not aware of any such message …″ if

“It was sent, nonetheless,” snapped Erdyl. “Your lord should have been more respectful of a mage who salvaged his rule for him.”

Kharl repressed the faintest of smiles.

“Nor is it exactly respectful,” Erdyl continued, “to send a boy of an undercaptain after displaying such disrespect.”

“But … he is Lord West …”

“Lord Kharl represents Lord Ghrant, the ruler of all Austra, and a domain many times the size of the West Quadrant.” At the chill in Erdyl’s words, Huard looked almost helplessly at Demyst.

The older undercaptain remained stone-faced.

“What has happened has happened,” Kharl said evenly. “Why did Osten send you?”

“Ah … he wishes to meet with you, ser.”

“Why?”

Huard glanced around the library, then finally looked back at Kharl. “I do not know.”

Kharl could sense that was not quite the truth. “Then I would suggest that you guess,” he said dryly. “I am not interested in meeting with Osten unless I know why.”

“It … might be about the harbor forts. The remaining rebels hold them. There are no cannon remaining, and the two gunships cannot be found.”

Kharl suspected that the two small warships of the West Quadrant would never be found, not unless someone found a way to search the bottom of the Eastern Ocean. “I will meet Lord Osten-at the foot of the oceangoing piers. He is not to bring more than a squad of personal guards.”

“He had thought … the Quadrancy Keep.”

“At the foot of the piers, at the third glass past noon. I will be there.”

“Ah …”

“You heard Lord Kharl.” Erdyl’s voice was cutting. “Lord Osten requested a meeting. He has it.”

“Ah … yes, ser.”

“Oh … undercaptain,” Kharl said politely. “I would also request your presence at that meeting. If you are not there, I will not meet with Lord Osten, either.”

“Me, ser?”

“I am only thinking about your health, undercaptain,” Kharl said.

At those words, Huard paled. “Yes, ser. Thank you, ser.” He bowed.

When the captain had left, Demyst laughed softly. “Scared the piss out of him, you did. Little snot deserved it.”

Jeka opened the door and slipped into the room. She looked at Kharl.

“Bastard Osten wants something from you. What?”

“He wants me to bring down the harbor forts, I’d wager. We’re meeting at the third glass after noon on the ocean piers.”