L. Modesitt - Ordermaster

“Not sure I could have felt worse …” Kharl closed his eyes as the sight-daggers jabbed into his skull even more sharply. “I feel better.”

Lyras laughed. “The more powerful a black mage is, the harder it is to say something that is not accurate. You have become very powerful, ser Kharl, and in a shorter time than perhaps any mage since the great Creslin.”

Kharl wanted to deny the other’s words, but … was there any truth in them? He finally spoke. “I would not know. I do know that it is uncomfortable not to tell … what is accurate.” He was having a hard time with the word truth and wanted to avoid using it, at least aloud.

Lyras smiled. “You have not had the time to become accustomed to the results of power.”

“That is so. Unfortunately.” While Kharl still wasn’t certain how much real power he had, there was no doubt that he had not had time to become accustomed to dealing personally and directly with those of power. He closed his eyes for a moment.

“Too much use of power, especially in dealing with chaos, often affects a mage’s sight. Creslin lost his, on and off, for much of his later life.”

“When I look at anything, there are daggers stabbing in through my eyes,” Kharl admitted.

“Hmmm … that’s one I never heard of. Then, everything about you is … a little different.”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“No … you wouldn’t,” Lyras agreed cheerfully. “That’s why I’m here.”

“Oh?”

“Lord Hagen, he said …”

Kharl waited.

“You said that you were far from the great mages of Recluce.”

“I did. I’ve been a mage something like a year, Lyras. I can do a few things passably, and one or two fairly well. The great mages of Recluce certainly can do more than that.” Kharl felt confident about that statement, and his eyes certainly didn’t pain him any more than they had.

“I hesitate to tell you this, ser Kharl, but what I have to say … there is no one else who has seen what I have and knows what it portends.”

Kharl didn′t like the words, or the caution behind them. “What are you going to tell me?”

“You are the greatest mage-or the most powerful in what you do-in two generations, and possibly among the handful of truly great order-mages.”

“Me?”

“Not since Fairven fell has a black mage faced the kind of chaos that I felt yesterday.”

Had it been only yesterday? Just yesterday? Kharl shrugged, helplessly. “I wouldn’t know. I find that hard to believe.”

“A stretch of hillside almost a kay square was fused into glass. More than six companies of lancers and two white wizards were burned to ashes. People will ride by there for generations to come and marvel. Not many mages can handle that kind of power.” Lyras gestured to the rain outside. “Out of a clear sky this torrent swept in. That happens when mighty orderand mighty chaos meet. Crops all across eastern Austra will be washed out if it continues.”

“But … I didn’t create it. The white wizards did. All I did was turn it against them.”

“All?” Lyras’s laugh was warm, rather than hard, and somehow sad. “Those were great white wizards. The greater one was, I think, perhaps even a chaos-focus. He was probably sent here to keep him out of Hamor. No ruler likes that kind of power too close.”

“I had thought about that.” Although Kharl could understand that, he wondered if he was the only one who had realized that the greater wizard had actually been a sorceress, and if he should correct Lyras. He decided against saying anything. What difference would it make whether the white had been man or woman? Power was power. The more important point was the one about rulers distrusting great wizardry too near to them. “I had hoped to return to Cantyl as soon as I can.”

“That is a good thought.” Lyras smiled again. “You need time to rest, and to consider what you have learned and how it has changed you and how it will continue to change you.” He stood. “Until later.”

“You’re going home.”

“Lord Ghrant does not need me. Nor does the lord-chancellor. They have you. I would rather spend my efforts on my berry bushes.”

“Give my best to your consort,” Kharl offered.

“Oh, I will, and we’ll send you some of the best preserves in the fall. It’s the least we can do.” With those words, and another smile, the black mage was gone.

Kharl closed his eyes and leaned back in the chair.

Thrap!

He jerked awake at the rap on the door. He’d dozed off, but from the light coming through the window, it couldn’t have been for long.

“Ser Kharl?”

“Yes?” The word came out as a croak. Kharl cleared his throat and tried again. “Yes?”

“The lord-chancellor wanted to know if you would join him for a private midday meal in his study.”

“Now?”

“He had thought so.”

“I’ll be right there.” Kharl eased himself out of the chair and to his feet. He walked slowly to the door, and the armsman who stood outside waiting.

Neither spoke on the way along the corridor and down the stone steps, although Kharl could sense the young man’s gaze falling upon him more than once.

The two guards outside the lord-chancellor’s study stiffened as Kharl approached.

“He’s expecting you, ser Kharl,” said the older one, half-opening the door.

“Thank you.” Kharl managed a smile he hoped was warm and friendly.

As Kharl stepped inside Hagen’s study, the lord-chancellor stood. “Kharl. Please join me.”

Set on each side of the table desk was a platter, and a beaker of lager by each. As Hagen seated himself, so did Kharl.

“How are you feeling?” asked Hagen.

“Passable,” Kharl admitted. “A bit tired, too. How about you? How are things going here? With Lord Ghrant?”

Hagen laughed, sardonically. “All the leading rebel lords are dead. The others have all sent messengers and messages, pledging their allegiance and claiming that they had no choice, because, like Lord Vertyn and Lord Lahoryn, they would have lost everything had they not reluctantly agreed to support the rebellion.”

“For some it was probably true.” Kharl took a swallow of the lager, enjoying it mainly just because it did not taste like ashes. “But what about lords like Azeolis?”

“He was one of the first to pledge allegiance and to offer reparations.”

“And Lord Ghrant will accept both, I take it.”

“For now, blaming the dead makes for a convenient apology and explanation.”

Kharl understood. Ghrant couldn’t afford to lay low all the dissatisfied lords in Austra, and they certainly didn’t want to end up like Fergyn or Hensolas. Kharl took a bite of the lamb cutlet in a white cheese sauce. He had to admit that the food was welcome. He also ate several of the fried lace potatoes, dipping them in the sauce as well.

Hagen ate several mouthfuls before he spoke. “What do you plan to do next?”

Kharl sipped some of the ale before replying. “I’d thought it might be best for me to return to Cantyl. Quietly. Seems to me that I’ve done enough for now.”

“That might be for the best.” A faint smile quirked the lips of the lord-chancellor.“After Lord Ghrant’s audiences with Lord Deroh and a few of the lords who tacitly supported Kenslan, Malcor, Hensolas, and Fergyn.”

“After the last audience … you want me there? Lord Ghrant does?” Kharl found that hard to believe.

“Want?” Hagen laughed. “I doubt Lord Grant wants you there, but he needs you there. He needs all of Austra to see that you stand behind him, and that you are indeed a presence. Then he will doubtless grant you some other boon and suggest that you rest and enjoy your lands.”