L. Modesitt - Ordermaster

“He’s more than welcome,” Kharl called back.

The door opened, and Hagen stepped into the sitting room, closing the door behind him.

“Kharl.”

“You’ll excuse me if I don’t rise.”

“Don’t fret about it. I’m sorry I was late getting up to see you, but Lord Ghrant had some concerns.” Hagen looked at Kharl, propped up carefully in the armchair. “You have this habit of creating havoc, then getting injured.”

“I didn’t plan it that way.” Kharl started to shake his head, then stopped at the warning twinges. “I tripped over a root and fell on a half-buried boulder because I was trying to make sure I didn’t get seen by lancers who were chasing me.”

“Might I ask why they were chasing you?”

“Malcor and Kenslan are dead.”

“I thought-I hoped-it might be something like that. Lord Ghrant will be happy to learn of the deaths, especially of Malcor’s. That will help … some.”

“Some?” Kharl could sense more trouble.

“While you were gone, Vatoran escaped. Three of the guards were killed-one by a firebolt.”

Kharl wanted to sigh, but he was afraid it would hurt his bruised ribs too much. “So … while I was after the lords, their wizard came in here?”

“From what we can tell, he had a squad dressed in the uniforms of the personal guard, and they killed the guards who challenged them.”

That didn’t speak very highly of the defenses of the Great House, but Kharl let that pass. “I overheard a few words between Malcor and Kenslan. They had sent a newly arrived wizard out. Kenslan called it a fool’s errand. Malcor said that it was necessary to make sure that their plans were not revealed. Oh … and they both had been talking to Fostak. He was the one who made sure they got another wizard. You can’t do anything about him, can you?”

“If we did, the emperor would have our envoy in Cigoerne killed or imprisoned.”

Kharl did sigh. What was he supposed to do? What was anyone supposed to do?

“You can’t be everywhere, Kharl,” Hagen added. “They have more mages than we do.”

“We’re different kinds of mages. That’s the problem. They can spray chaos at a number of people. Mostly, what I can do is defend.”

“You defended Malcor and Kenslan to death?” Hagen raised his eyebrows.

“What I did is really a perverted way of using order. It works, but only against one or two people at a time, and I can’t do much else.”

“Something like what happened to Guillam?”

“In a way,” Kharl said tiredly. “So far as I know, not that I know much about it, it’s not something that very many mages have figured out.” He paused. “Is there any good news?”

“Norgen managed to ambush Vatoran’s third and fifth companies with his two companies. Between that and your disorganization of the rebels’ leadership, we may have enough time for the nearer companies under Casolan to reach Valmurl before there’s an attack on Valmurl or the Great House.” Hagen looked to Kharl, then stood. “You need some rest. This revolt is going to last longer than anyone thought, and we’ll need your skills.”

“Even with Malcor and Kenslan dead?”

“Vatoran is free, and there are lords like Fergyn and Hensolas who were looking for an excuse to overthrow Ghrant. Casolan cannot possibly reach Valmurl with all his forces until late spring, at the earliest.”

“I thought-”

“He has three companies that will be here in another two eightdays, perhaps less, but they will only allow us to defend Valmurl.”

“How did it come to this? I thought that once Ilteron was dead …”

“Fostak, Lord Joharak … they’ve been spreading rumors and golds, I’d wager, even promises to support a new ruler.”

“How could anyone believe them?”

“The ambitious believe anything that fuels their dreams, and the Hamorians will take full advantage of that.” Hagen stepped toward the door. “You need your rest. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

After Hagen departed, Kharl sat for a time in the chair, thinking. Why was it that everything he did seemed to create as many problems as it resolved-if not more?

On sevenday morning, Kharl woke in the grayness before dawn. His entire chest was one dull aching mass, but that was not what had wakened him. He could sense chaos … somewhere beyond the Great House … and it seemed to be getting nearer.

Much as he tried to hurry, dressing was a chore. Bending enough to get on his boots was near agony, and getting on his tunic was almost as bad. He didn’t bother with much in the way of washing up, not when he knew time was short, and not after what had happened to Charsal and the armsmen guarding Vatoran.

As Kharl made his way stiffly to the outer door of his quarters, he could have used the black staff he’d destroyed in fighting Ilteron and one of the Hamorian white wizards-but just for support. He felt old and tired-and all because of one moment of carelessness.

“Ser?” The guards stiffened as Kharl stepped out.

“I’m headed up to the north tower. Could one of you find the lord-chancellor and tell him that there’s a white wizard headed this way?”

“Ah …”

The two exchanged glances. Then the taller and dark-haired sentry nodded. “Will you be wanting to meet with him?”

“Just tell him that there’s a white wizard and that I’ll be in the north tower. On top.”

“Yes, ser.”

Kharl turned and headed toward the stone stairs that would take him to the third level. Then he’d have to take another passageway to reach the circular steps that led to the top of the tower. Behind him, he could hear the low murmurs, words he could not have made without his order-senses.

“ … mages … strange …”

“ … leastwise, ours goes out and fights …”

Kharl wasn’t so sure that what he’d done merited being called fighting, but he was glad they thought of him as one of theirs. He moved deliberately, but it took him twice as long, if not longer, to climb to the top of thetower as it would have normally, and he had to stop twice. Breathing was harder with his chest bound and sore.

His breath steamed as he stepped through the narrow doorway and walked to the eastern side of the tower. From there, standing behind battlements that were more decorative than functional, on the open top of the north tower, Kharl had a sweeping view of both the grounds of the Great House and of Valmurl. Walls a third of a kay on a side surrounded the Great House, with the main eastern gates in the front on the avenue. There was also a delivery gate on the avenue, but near the south end of the wall, and a small bailey gate in the middle of the north wall. Lawns and gardens extended immediately behind the main structure, with outbuildings farther to the rear against the north and south walls.

The Great House stood on a rise more than a kay west of the center of Valmurl, and nearly two kays from the harbor. From his viewpoint, Kharl could just barely make out the dry docks to the north of the harbor where the Seastag had been repaired and refitted more than a season earlier. He could also discern Traders’ Square and the Guard Barracks to the south, barracks now empty because Kenslan had earlier marched the armsmen west, then north.

The eastern horizon lightened as Kharl made his survey. Then the top edge of the white disc that was the sun flared above the dark waters of the harbor and the western ocean beyond. Overhead, the sky was mostly clear, with only a hint of hazy clouds over the hills to the west of Valmurl, hills still dotted with snow near their crests.

Kharl walked around the parapets, slowly, letting his order-senses extend beyond the low gray stone walls around the Great House. To the north, beyond where the avenue that passed in front of the Great House turned into the winding road that eventually led to the Nierran Hills, Kharl could sense a concentration of chaos. He could see nothing.