L. Modesitt - Ordermaster

More chaos, this time more diffuse and less focused, splashed around Kharl. He could also feel heat from the wall behind him, and he edged forward.He knew he couldn′t retreat yet. He was close to the limit at which he could hold the hardened air barrier around Alborak, and if he loosened that barrier, the white wizard would escape. That would make any later efforts much, much harder, if not impossible.

“Find the wizard!”

“But … ser … there’s no one here!”

A grim smile crossed Kharl’s lips, one erased by the effort of holding his shields as another desperate blast of chaos flared around him.

Two more weaker blasts followed.

The sound of crackling flames began to rise, and Kharl struggled not to cough as smoke filled the staircase.

“Ser … we got to get out of here!” called the armsman at the top of the staircase.

Abruptly, the reddish white void of death washed over Kharl. He almost sagged as he released the hardened air barrier that had killed Alborak. Flames licked at him and the old and dry wood as he staggered down to the bottom of the steps and toward the front double doors.

He scrambled forward and let his sight shield drop just as he pushed open the right-hand door. “Fire! Fire! Stairs are on fire!”

The two guards standing beyond the archway just looked at him.

“Can’t you smell it? See the flames? Get a bucket brigade … or something … whole place’ll burn.″ A well of heat rushed out from behind Kharl.

The guard who had been at the top of the stairs charged out, beating out small patches of flame on his uniform. “Call the fire brigade!”

″We … we′re …″ stammered one of the guards.

“I’ll do it.” Kharl dashed past them, heading south. “Fire in headquarters! Fire in the building!”

Others took up the cry.

Once he was past the woolen factor’s, Kharl raised his sight shield for a short time, just long enough to get around the corner and closer to his mount. The gelding had remained where he tied it, doubtless only because he had only been gone for a short time and possibly because the locals feared that it had belonged to the rebels and that taking it would have led to great reprisals.

Kharl dropped the sight shield, mounted, and rode away at a fast trot, a pace he judged likely enough for a messenger or a scout. He tried not to bounce in the saddle.

As he made his way north and west, watching for rebel lancers, and for pursuit, he couldn’t help thinking about the young white wizard he’d killed. The young man hadn’t had a chance, not really. He hadn’t known what had struck him, not until it was effectively too late.

Yet what else could Kharl do? He didn’t know any method to capture a white wizard, or to hold one once captured, and he couldn’t just let the man continue to use chaos to kill Lord Ghrant’s and Hagen’s lancers and armsmen. And Kharl didn’t have any other weapons that would be effective. A staff was useless in close quarters, and, besides, neither a staff nor a cudgel could stand up against chaos-fire.

He glanced over his shoulder. A column of thick gray smoke rose from the dockworks area. Kharl could only hope that the fire did not spread beyond the one building, but how could he have predicted that Alborak’s chaos-bolts would turn the old factoring building into an inferno?

Kharl shook his head. Chaos-fire was hotter than fire in a hearth or a stove, perhaps as hot as a forge. With that much of it being flung around an old building, fire was highly likely-but that was a chance he’d had to take.

He kept riding, and looking back over his shoulder. The column of smoke had gotten larger, but not markedly so. He could only hope the damage was limited, but he kept glancing back.

In time, he returned to the Cross-Stream Pike, where he removed the blue sash and tucked it back into his tunic.

Undercaptain Demyst was waiting-with both squads-at the rendezvous point.

Kharl reined up. “Thank you.”

“Our pleasure, ser mage.” Demyst frowned slightly. “Your face is a shade red, ser Kharl.” He glanced eastward toward the column of grayish smoke that still rose over the north harbor area.

“Matters were somewhat hotter where I was,” Kharl replied, slowly easing his mount beside that of the undercaptain. “Did you see any rebel forces?”

“Not except for the ones at that barrier. We saw one messenger. He saw us and turned due south.”

“I think I saw him, too,” Kharl said. “We can head back to Buvert’s estate.”

The undercaptain nodded, then gestured. The two squads fell in behind the mage and the undercaptain.

Kharl forced himself not to look back toward the fire. He regretted so much destruction, but what else could he have done?

After he had returned to Buvert’s estate and taken care of the mount, Kharl made his way to the kitchen in the main house. His legs were shaky. His eyes blurred, and his ribs had begun to ache again. All were signs that he needed to eat. A servingwoman from the Great House, wearing Ghrant’s livery, suggested that he seat himself at the dining table to be served.

Kharl walked into the dining room, where the only other person was the lord-chancellor.

“Good afternoon, Kharl.”

“The same to you, lord-chancellor.” Kharl sank into the chair across the dining room table from Hagen. Absently, Kharl noted that the polished surface of the dark wooden table was covered with a thin golden haze of oak pollen.

“You look tired,” Hagen observed.

“You don′t,″ Kharl replied.

“It is helpful to leave the Great House occasionally. How did your reconnaissance go?”

“It was successful. Fergyn no longer has a white mage at the dockyards. I killed him. That leaves the stronger one in the south with Hensolas.” Kharl’s voice was flat. “In the fight, the mage-Alborak was his name-his chaos-fire turned the factor’s place into flames. I hope they were able to limit the fire to that one building, but there was a lot of smoke.”

The door behind Kharl opened, and the servingwoman appeared with two crystal beakers of dark ale that she set quickly before the men, then departed.

“I had reports of fire,” Hagen said. “I’ve already had my people start spreading word that it was caused by chaos-fire and that sort of thing happens when white wizards are around. With a few coppers to the street boys, they’ll pass it on to anyone who will listen.”

“Do you think that will help?” Kharl did not ask whether Lord Ghrant had decided to be easier on the street children than his sire had been. He took a long swallow of the ale.

“It will help, perhaps more than winning another skirmish with the rebels.”

“You don’t think they’ll attack?”

“No. They want us to attack.”

“Then I’d better head south and find the other white wizard. I heard his name once, but I can’t remember it.”

“You don’t sound so confident as you did when you proposed this. Do you wish to continue?” Hagen raised his eyebrows.

“I’m confident enough.” Kharl’s throat was dry, and he took another swallow of the ale before continuing. “It almost seems … I don’t know. I was going to say that it was pointless, but it’s not. If I do what I do carefully and well … I’ll probably be successful, and fewer people will die. I don’t like doing it, but I still don’t see any other way of dealing with the rebels. Or the white wizards. Or Hamor.” Kharl took a deep breath. “Do you?”

“That is often the way of ruling. What is carefully planned and distasteful is often the most effective strategy. It is effective because it is distasteful, and because it is distasteful others do not consider the possibility.”