L. Modesitt - Ordermaster

“Send a squad right behind us!” Hagen snapped at the senior squad leader at the top of the tower stairs. “We’re headed for the north bailey gate.”

“Third squad! After the lord-chancellor! Loaders, too!”

Kharl felt as though he were more staggering than anything else as he followed Hagen down the gate-tower steps, back across the courtyard, then around the north side of the Great House. By the time they neared the bailey gate, Kharl was breathing hard, and every breath was agony against his bruised ribs.

Even from a good fifty cubits away, he could see that there was no one at the bailey gate, a gate far too small for mounted entry, and that the gate was ajar.

Then the solid oak gate flew open, and rebel armsmen in the green-and-black uniforms of Austra rushed through.

Kharl could feel chaos building. A shadowy figure appeared behind the armsmen, and a firebolt flew toward Hagen, Kharl, and the armsmen flanking the lord-chancellor.

“Fire!” snapped Hagen.

Four armsmen with crossbows halted and fired. Quarrels flew past Kharl. Most of them missed, and Kharl could see several skitter off the paving stones short of the bailey gate. One bounced away from the indistinct figure of the white wizard, who had created a shield.

At the same time, Kharl did the same.

Chaos flared outward from the bailey gate and nearly simultaneously, two quarrels struck the back side of the shield and rebounded toward Kharl and Hagen, one dropping but a few cubits from Kharl’s boots.

“Have them stop firing!” Kharl said, still holding the shield as another firebolt flared across the north courtyard.

“Reload and hold!”

Yet another blast of chaos flared against Kharl’s shields, but it was weaker than the earlier chaos-fire.

Kharl tried to reach out to see if he could harden the air around the white wizard, but the distance was either just a trace too far-or perhaps it was because the white wizard had his own shields.

A third blast of chaos flared against Kharl’s shields, still weaker than the first two.

As Kharl sensed that the white wizard was trying to recover, he dropped his own shields. “Have them fire now!”

“Resume fire!”

This time, the quarrels began to strike the handful of rebel lancers.

Another firebolt arced over the rebels toward Kharl, and he deflected it back toward the white wizard.

Chaos flared around the wizard, and one of the rebel armsmen flared into flame, screaming, if only for a moment, before pitching onto the stones.

“Back! Now!” ordered someone, and within moments, the area inside the bailey gate held only those loyal to Lord Ghrant.

“Secure the gate!” ordered Hagen. “Two of you hold it!”

The sound of hoofs on stone echoed through the still-open gate, but faded quickly as the gate closed and the riders departed northward along the back lane.

Four rebels lay on the stones of the courtyard, just inside the gate.

“ … won’t try that again …” murmured one of the crossbowmen to Kharl’s left.

Kharl had his doubts about that. The rebels might well try another sneak attack. They knew that Ghrant only had one mage. He looked at Hagen.

The older man offered a crooked smile. “Best we take what we can,” he said in a low voice.

Kharl realized that sweat was streaming down his forehead and that his ribs were aching more than they had-but not too much more. Carefully raising his right arm, he blotted the sweat away with his sleeve. He extended his order-senses, just to make sure that the attackers were continuing northward. While he could not tell if all the riders continued away from the Great House, the white wizard certainly had.

“They’re still riding north?” asked Hagen.

“The wizard is.”

“Stand by here. Don’t open that gate for anyone until either the captain or I tell you to,” Hagen ordered. “The mage and I need to check on some matters.” He nodded to Kharl. “You go first. I’ll be right behind you.” His voice lowered to barely more than a murmur. “You need to eat. You’re as pale as those dressings on your chest.”

Belatedly, Kharl realized that he did feel slightly light-headed. “I didn’t have time to eat.”

“Neither did I. Would you join me?”

“I’d be happy to.”

Before long the two were in a small dining room less than thirty cubits from Hagen’s receiving chamber. There were but two circular tables, and no one else was there-except for a serving girl.

“Two full breakfasts, with hot spiced cider,” Hagen said, even before he seated himself.

Kharl sank gratefully into the chair across the table from the lord-chancellor.

“This morning’s skirmish will hearten the personal guard,” Hagen noted. “They’ll all be saying how you were stronger than the rebel mage.”

“Order is better at defending, I think.”

“It also may buy us some time.” Hagen paused. “Why couldn’t you sense him for a time there?”

“He knew I was looking. He stopped using chaos at all. That was how I found him to begin with. He needed it to get the armsmen close to the Great House, but then he dropped all his shields and stopped using chaos. He and the smaller force slipped behind the bigger dwellings to the north, where we couldn’t see them, and circled around to come down the lane behind the houses toward the bailey gate.”

“That’s probably how they got in to take Vatoran. They had to bribe someone. I’d wager that the armsman who left the gate open is long gone.” Hagen shook his head. “None of this helps. It was very clever. Even if the attempt to get into the Great House failed, they attacked one of Lord Ghrant’s supporters right here in Valmurl, and they got inside the Great House-twice, if anyone tells about how Vatoran escaped. Word will get around that Lord Ghrant can’t even protect those close to him.”

All of it had started with Kharl showing that the chief factor had lied, and matters just kept getting worse … “What did you want to talk about?”

Hagen smiled. “Nothing. I just wanted to get you fed. I also didn’t want anyone to notice how much that cost you.”

“I’ll be better in a few days. I should have kept up practicing using magery.”

“You’ll get plenty of practice in the next few eightdays.”

Kharl had no doubts about that.

“Here comes the hot cider.”

Kharl let Hagen fill both mugs, then drank slowly. He was hungry.

Eightday dawned far more quietly than had sevenday, for which Kharl was most grateful, since his chest and ribs did not seem much improved. There was less sharp pain and more of a dull aching. Since Hagen had told him to eat in the smaller dining room, he had enjoyed a hot breakfast there.

As Kharl had finished eating, Hagen had peered in, a somber look on his face. “I thought I might find you here.”

“You look worried.”

Hagen nodded as he slid into the chair across from Kharl. “Vatoran is dead. I just got a messenger from Norgen.”

“I thought Vatoran had escaped.”

“He did. He didn’t live very long after he escaped. He was garrotted.”

“Like the serving girl,” Kharl said.

“It might have been the same person, someone whom they both trusted. Or they were with someone they trusted, and off guard.” Hagen frowned. “I don’t see why they’d help Vatoran escape, then kill him. If they were worried about what he’d told us, they’d have found out-” Hagen looked at Kharl. “Chaos-wizards have a hard time telling if someone is telling the truth, don’t they?”

Kharl considered, then recalled what he had seen in Hamor, where a wizard had destroyed an innocent man who had been telling the truth. At the time, he’d just thought it cruel, but what if Hagen happened to be right? “Some of them probably do. Maybe a lot. I don’t know for sure.”