L. Modesitt - Ordermaster

“I’m not threatening. We get through this, and I’ll add a gold to each of you from my own purse-once we get to the old wharf there.” Kharl gestured to the south.

“Beggin’ your pardon, ser,” said Holyt, “but it seems a mite strange for an Austran to be doing something for Lord Osten … Lord West.”

“I’m doing it for the people in Brysta, and because Lord Ghrant of Austra doesn’t want the Hamorians any closer than Hamor.”

The younger man laughed. “We don’t either.”

Kharl studied the pair. “You’ll be rowing blindly. The way we’re going you won’t be able to see a thing. I’ll give you directions. Do you understand?”

The older, slightly graying Holyt nodded. “Don’t much care, ser mage, so long’s as we get back.”

“That’s why.” He looked toward the breakwaters. From the end of the pier the northern fort would be closer. He eased down and sat on the forward thwart, not exactly comfortable, but a position from which he could direct the two rowers.

Demyst settled aft of the pair. He did not reveal the pistols.

Twilight was settling across the harbor, but they would still be visible against the shimmer of the water for a time.

“You can cast off,″ Kharl said.

“Yes, ser.”

“You’ll be able to see until we reach the end of the pier. Then, everything will go black. You won’t be able to see, but the lookouts on the fort won’t see us, either. Once we get close to the breakwater, we’ll need to be quiet. They won’t be able to see us, but they can hear us.”

“So long as you know where you’re going, ser.”

“How close can we get to the breakwater on the harbor side … without going aground?” asked Kharl.

“In this craft, ser?” Holyt smiled. “Maybe a cubit from the rocks. Oars’d hit the rocks before we’d ground.”

“Good.”

As the small dory’s prow reached the end of the pier, Kharl raised the sight shield, extending it a good five cubits behind the stern. In the dim light, he hoped that would be enough so that the ripples from the oars would not be that obvious to the forts’ lookouts.

“Bring her starboard,” Kharl said.

“Coming starboard.”

Kharl used his order-senses, trying to get a course line from the end of the pier to the northern breakwater.

“Just a touch more starboard,” he said.

After a moment, he added, “Steady as she goes.”

“You been at sea, ser?” asked Holyt.

“Merchanter subofficer,” Kharl admitted.

In a murmur Kharl was not meant to hear, Gerrik murmured to Holyt, “Maybe we got a chance.”

Kharl certainly hoped so as the dory moved across the twilight-calm waters of the harbor toward the northern breakwater.

Nearly a glass later, he could sense the stones of the breakwater and the port. “Port a quarter.”

“Coming port.”

“Hold on this line,” Kharl said quietly. Just thirty cubits ahead was the northeast corner of the harbor fort. The stone walls ran straight down into the harbor.

Less than a quarter of a glass later, the dory was little more than an oar’s length from the wall, and less than twenty cubits north of the southeast corner.

“Back down and stop here,” Kharl said.

He just sat in the prow of the dory, extending his order-senses toward and around and through the stones of the ancient fort, searching out themagazines and the linkages he might be able to make between them. As he did, a sense of profound sadness settled over him.

He could not but help recall what Jusof had first said to him about the law, that it was a tool and a necessary evil-and that, bad as it was, without it, matters were inevitably worse. That was the position in which he found himself. Bad as what he was about to do was, not doing it would lead to worse evil, and because he was but one mage, his choices-those that seemed to be effective-were limited to the use of great power applied seldom and violently.

He swallowed, and began to undo the linkages in the iron-lined walls of the largest magazine that he could reach, at the same time creating order-tubes to the other magazines nearest.

As chaos flared, the first magazine exploded.

Kharl released the sight shield and clamped a shield of hardened air around the small dory.

The early-night sky flared into red and whitish orange flashes that streaked out from the northern harbor fort. Beneath the colors of powder and cammabark exploding was the red-tinged white of released chaos.

“Friggin’ demons!” hissed one of the fishermen.

“ … poor bastards …”

Kharl just sat in the prow, holding his shields. The chaos voids of death washed over and around him. Stone fragments, chunks, pebbles, and other things he didn’t want to think about pelted the hardened air. The dory rocked back and forth, wildly for at time, then bobbed up and down within the shield. As he had half expected, his eyes saw nothing.

Finally, he released the air shield. Hot air washed across them, air laden with the smell of ashes, hot metal, and all manner of burned things.

“It’s time to start rowing again,” Kharl said. “Across toward the south fort.”

He forced himself to ignore the odors. Instead, he opened the provisions bag and slowly began to eat, interspersing food with ale from the water bottle.

Not until Holyt and Gerrik had rowed the dory halfway across the channel between the burning and sundered north fort and the southern fort did Kharl raise the sight shield once more.

As they neared the southern harbor fort, Kharl could make out voices from the battlements above. He set aside the provisions bag and tried to hear exactly what was being said on the walls above them.

“No ships out there, ser!”

“Nothing in the harbor.”

“There must be something. Forts don’t explode by themselves.”

“Chaos or fire in the powder magazines could do it.”

Kharl listened, using his senses to discern the dory’s progress. “A touch to starboard,” he whispered.

The dory eased to starboard.

“Steady.”

As the dory neared the harborside wall of the southern fort, Kharl began the process of seeking out the magazines and setting up another set of links. He pushed aside the sadness and concentrated on the task at hand.

Once more, as the order links parted, and chaos flared into the first magazine, Kharl dropped the sight shield and set the hardened air shield in place.

Currumptt!

Light and chaos once more flared across the harbor, though Kharl could only sense that brilliance, rather than see it, followed by the voids of death.

When the stone fragments and blocks finished falling onto the shield and into the dark waters of the harbor, Kharl released the air shield. His hands and arms were shaking. Point-lights flared across the blackness that was all he saw with his eyes.

“Ser?” asked Holyt.

“Back to the old wharf … just row where the undercaptain tells you …″ He could barely get the words out. He hoped he had some strength left by the time they made the old wharf because, even though he hadn’t told Osten what he planned, he didn’t trust the new Lord West any more than his sire, or than Egen.

As the dory turned eastward, toward the old wharf, Kharl looked back over his shoulder, extending his shaky order-senses. At the end of each breakwater, a pile of stone burned and smoldered, glowing red in places. From the diffuse chaos, Kharl could tell that trails of smoke spiraled upward in the still night air.

After a long moment, Kharl turned his unseeing eyes toward the shore, clasping his hands together to keep them from shaking.

Jeka was waiting at the old wharf. So was Sharlak, his long rifle held at the ready. Kharl climbed out of the dory, then fumbled with his wallet, extracting two golds. He handed them to Holyt. “I promised. Here are your golds.”