L. Modesitt - Ordermaster

“What do you mean?”

“I can destroy the harbor forts. I can bring them down around Vielam. He will not escape. I cannot do that and save him for you to kill later.”

“Would that I could let them sit there and starve … slowly,” said Osten.

Kharl thought briefly of how he would just as soon wring Osten’s throat or turn the new Lord West into ashes.

“But … that will not do,” Osten admitted. “They have some cannon,and the harbor chains, and they can stop traders from porting. There will be no trade. Before long we will be paupers.”

“The people in Brysta would suffer and blame you, and some might even turn to Hamor once more,” Kharl pointed out.

“You think I do not see that?” Osten glared at Kharl. “What will you do for me in this?”

“I will do nothing for you.” Kharl held up a hand to stop the lord from reacting. “I will destroy the forts for your people. They will not defend the harbor against the warships of Hamor in these days, anyway. The Hamorian guns would pound the forts to crushed stone and gravel.”

“I like that not.”

Kharl ignored the lord’s words. “Find me a good boat and a pair who can row it well. Position your armsmen at the ends of the breakwaters, as far from the forts as they can be and still capture anyone who might try to leave.”

“That … I have already done.”

“Good. I will return here a half glass after sunset. If the boat is ready, we will take care of the forts tonight.”

“Why not now?”

“Because it will be easier and quicker tonight.” Because I’ll have less worry about their sighting cannon at me.

“So long as it is done.”

“It will be.”

A silence fell between the two men on the pier.

Osten was the one to break the silence. “For all that you have helped me, ser mage, after this matter is over, I think both our lands would be best served by another envoy.”

Kharl wasn’t surprised. “That is not my choice.” He paused. “I will return to Valmurl and convey your request to Lord Ghrant. I will leave my assistant, because Lord Ghrant does not wish to be ignorant of what may happen here in Brysta. Lord Ghrant will do as he sees fit. He may insist I return. He may appoint another envoy. He may decide to make Lord-heir Erdyl the envoy.”

“Mihalen had thought your assistant might be of lordly birth.”

“His sire is lord of Norbruel.”

Osten looked as though he might say something about that, but then merely said, “The boat and rowers will be here before sunset. I trust you will not request my presence.”

“No. It would be best if those in the forts saw nothing.”

Osten nodded. “Good day, Lord Kharl.”

His shields still ready, Kharl watched as the latest Lord West turned and walked off the pier.

Demyst moved closer to Kharl. “He is not to be trusted, not so far as one could heave his mount.”

“I don’t intend to trust him.” Kharl also had his own plans for making the best of a bad situation. “We need to get back to the residence. I’m going to need a very solid meal before this evening.” He began to walk toward the carriage.

Neither Mantar nor Alynar said anything as Kharl and Demyst approached, but both men looked relieved.

“We’re heading back.” Kharl stepped into the carriage.

“Yes, ser.”

Once Demyst closed the carriage door, Mantar turned the coach up Cargo Road.

“What did he want?” asked Jeka.

“The last rebels hold the harbor forts. Vielam’s in one of them,” Kharl said. “Vielam’s probably worse than Osten, at least as a ruler, because he’s not only cruel, but weak.” He didn’t know that, not for certain, but based on what he’d seen it seemed more likely than not. Vielam had played all sides and betrayed both his father and his eldest brother. Like everything Kharl had had to deal with in Nordla, he had no good choices. “So long as he’s alive, he’ll betray whoever he can, and the Hamorians will try to make trouble.”

Kharl turned to Demyst. “Are you willing to come with me … with your pistols?”

“Pistols against forts?”

“No. They’re for you to shoot the two rowers if they try anything.”

Jeka laughed.

“We also won′t row back to where we leave. Mantar can bring the coach down to the old wharf off the lower market.”

“Good,” declared Jeka. “Alynar and I will be with Mantar. Sharlak, too. He’s got a hunting rifle. Good shot. Even in the dark. He potted one of those patrollers that night they came against the house.”

Kharl looked at Jeka, trying not to be too obvious, taking in the brilliant green eyes, the short-cut sandy hair. She was good-looking, but it was not that which appealed to him, he realized, but that she was alive. Evenwhen she had been scrounging out a living by her wits, she had not just gone through the motions.

“You all right?” she asked.

“Thinking,” he replied.

She just nodded, as if she knew those thoughts were not for saying aloud in a coach.

Within a glass of returning to the residence, Kharl sat down to a solid early-evening meal, one that Khelaya declared-again-was not up to her standards because no one was selling good produce and meat, not at any reasonable prices, not in the upper market square, and she wasn’t about to frequent the lower one.

At sunset, Kharl and his party climbed into and onto the carriage, with Alynar inside with Kharl, Jeka, and Demyst. Sharlak, a long-barreled rifle in his hands, sat beside Mantar.

When Mantar brought the carriage to a halt at the end of the pier, Kharl could see a half squad of lancers there-again commanded by Undercaptain Huard. “Poor Huard.”

“Poor … and stupid to serve Osten,” Jeka said.

Demyst nodded, but added, “Could be he had little choice. Younger lordly sons have few.”

Jeka frowned.

“They cannot inherit. Trade is considered beneath them, and some are trained to be lords in case their elder brothers die. If the brothers survive, the younger ones are ruined for anything else. Especially honest work.” Demyst laughed.

Jeka even smiled.

Carrying a small bag of provisions, Kharl followed Demyst from the carriage, glancing to the west, where the two forts were outlined against orange-tinged clouds. He moved toward the half squad of lancers, nodding to Huard. “Undercaptain.”

“Lord Kharl. The boat and boatmen are ready for you.”

“Thank you.” Kharl kept his shields ready, but there was no sense of treachery or chaos, although Kharl couldn’t help but feel sorry for Huard.

Halfway down the pier, two older men-fishermen, Kharl suspected-were waiting with a high-sided dorylike boat, moored on the shoreward side, well out of direct sight from either fort. The craft was smaller than most dories Kharl had seen.

“You’re the mage, ser?” asked the taller of the two, a muscular man with graying hair perhaps ten years older than Kharl.

“He’s Lord Kharl. He’s a mage and the Austran envoy,” Demyst replied.

“Do you understand what we’re going to do?” asked Kharl.

“No, ser,” replied the older man, “except we’re to do what you want.”

“How did Lord West find you?”

“He sent an overcaptain to the Fishers’ Guild. Offered a gold each for the two best rowers to row a mage where he wanted to go this evening. Overcaptain said if someone didn’t volunteer, wouldn’t be a Fishers’ Guild tomorrow. Gerrik and me, we figured a gold each was better’n pissin’ off a hothead lord. Beggin’ your pardon, ser.”

“Gerrik,” Kharl asked, “is he telling the truth?”

“Yes, ser, Holyt’s right fair, excepting that we didn’t need to be threatened. Can’t take our boats out now, nohow. Cannon blew poor Jotrok right out a the water this morning.”