L. Modesitt - Ordermaster

“So they sank a Nordlan ship to bury any evidence of Hamor’s treachery?”

“Not exactly. Too much of the world already knows what the emperor attempted. The sinking was another message of sorts. The first was to his own people. He won’t tolerate failure, and trying to escape to other lands is futile. The second was to the rest of the world, suggesting that interfering in Hamor’s affairs can bear a heavy price.”

Kharl understood Hagen’s words, but he had his doubts. “That seems … strange. Dishonest, rather. They interfered in Austra, and we stopped them.”

“And we paid a heavy price, did we not?”

“But a Nordlan ship?”

″Oh … the Fleuryl has been a thumb-thorn for Hamor before, and more than once. Her master barely escaped from Swartheld several years back, something about dreampowder-″

The Fleuryl? Kharl could feel his entire body chill. The Fleuryl?

Hagen fell silent for a moment, before asking, “What’s the matter, Kharl?”

The Fleuryl? Why the Fleuryl? Kharl swallowed.

Hagen waited.

“There … weren’t any survivors?”

“No. The missive made that most clear.” Once more, Hagen waited.

Finally, Kharl spoke, slowly. “My eldest, Arthal. He was a carpenter’s assistant. On the Fleuryl. ″

This time, Hagen was silent for some time before speaking. When he did, his words were deliberate, but soft. “I am sorry, Kharl. I had no idea. Rhylla told me your boy had left to go to sea, but not the ship. I didn′t know.”

“You couldn’t. I didn′t tell her. He wasn′t happy with me. Not after everything that happened.”

“I lost one of my boys. Not something like this, though.” Hagen reached out and touched Kharl’s shoulder, gently.

The mage could feel the older man′s concern. It helped-some. “I … I always worried about him … going off because he was angry. Leaving … like that. Not going to something, but from something.”

Hagen nodded. “It doesn′t matter how it happens, or why. It hurts. It always will. It just hurts less often after a while.” The lord-chancellor stood quietly, not offering, not pushing, but not leaving.

Kharl could feel a numbness inside. He didn’t want to think about it, and yet he couldn′t not. After a time, he looked up at Hagen.

“I’m sorry,” the lord-chancellor said again.

“I know. I know.” Kharl swallowed. “I think I’d just like to be alone … for a bit.″

“You’ll have supper with me,” Hagen said firmly. “At the first glass of evening.”

“Thank you.”

The lord-chancellor nodded, then stepped back.

Kharl listened as Hagen’s boots crunched through the damp white gravel, the sound getting fainter until it was gone, and the garden was still once more.

He wondered if he could have accepted Arthal’s death more easily if Arthal had died in a storm or even a brawl. But to be killed … as a result of what Kharl himself had done? Even indirectly?

And the Fleuryl ? It had been in the harbor at Valmurl not days before. Arthal had been there, and Kharl had not even known, not even suspected, so preoccupied had he been in dealing with white wizards and rebel lords. So close …

The mage looked back at the single rose, drooping, above the carpet of fallen petals. A single survivor, of sorts, of the storm that Kharl had created. Would that Arthal had been so fortunate.

Arthal … dead. Because of Kharl. Because of a petulant emperor.

Dead …

Slowly, Kharl walked back up to his chambers.

He took his time washing up and preparing for dinner, not that Hagen would care, but because it was easier than doing nothing and thinking about Arthal. He wanted to be alone, and yet he didn’t.

He still thought about his son, even as he later walked down to meet Hagen in the smaller dining room. Why the Fleuryl ? Why Arthal?

The lord-chancellor was waiting.

Hagen gestured toward the table, on which there were two goblets of red wine, then seated himself. “It’s hard, when something like this happens.”

Kharl nodded, slipping into the chair opposite the lord-chancellor. “I hadn’t thought …”

“We never do.” Hagen went on. “People say that you need to be alone. It could be that I’m mistaken, but there’s more than enough time to be alone. The nights can be long.” He lifted a goblet. “It’s a sad time, but to better times … and friendship.”

Kharl lifted his own goblet. “To better times and friendship.” He was glad for Hagen’s friendship, and for the way in which the lord-chancellor had immediately responded.

Even from the first small swallow, the wine was warming. “This is good.”

“I hope so.” Hagen smiled.

For a long moment, there was silence.

“You lost a son,” Kharl said, wanting to talk about Arthal, and yet, not wanting to.

“With some boys, Kharl,” Hagen said slowly, “it seems like a man can do nothing right. If you’re strict, then you don’t understand what they feel. If you’re not strict, they’ll go out and do foolish things. Not that we all didn′t as young fellows. We were more fortunate.”

Had Kharl been too strict? “I didn’t think that I was all that strict with Arthal. I wanted him to understand that he had to do what was expected. People don’t pay unless you do the job and do it well.” Kharl shook his head. “Charee was always saying that he was just a boy, even when he’d reached his double-eight.”

“To them, they’re always boys.” Hagen took the smallest sip of his wine. “It was my second son. Narlan. Tall and strapping. He had a smile that would melt any girl’s heart-her mother’s, too. He worked hard, and he learned quickly.” The lord-chancellor’s voice softened. “He listened to everyone but me.”

“I don’t know who Arthal listened to,” Kharl said, after a moment. “He didn′t listen to me.”

Hagen nodded for Kharl to go on.

“Everything happened so fast,” Kharl mused. “One night, I heard singing and loud voices in the alley behind the cooperage, just as I was getting ready to go up for supper. I went out. Two bravos were making free with my neighbor’s daughter, had her blouse half-ripped off. I stopped them and got her home. I didn’t think much about it, didn’t even tell Charee or the boys. A few days later, I heard moaning in another alley, found another girl. She was a blackstaffer, and she’d been taken by force, beaten badly, and left to die. I brought her back to the cooperage. Charee didn’t want me to. She said it would cause trouble. She was right, but how could I let the girl die?” Kharl stopped and looked down at the wine goblet.

“What happened then?” Hagen’s voice was gentle.

“It turned out that it was the same bravo, lord’s second son. He hiredan assassin. They set a fire in my neighbor’s shop. I went to help. The assassin killed the girl with one of my shop knives. The Watch hauled me off, and put me up for murder. There were witnesses, though. They came to the Hall of Justice and said I couldn′t have done it. One was well known to Lord West.” Kharl shrugged helplessly. “They found blood on Charee’s blouse, said she’d done it. Hanged her and flogged me. Arthal took it hard. He blamed me. He said that it was all my fault, that I should have listened to his mother. Wasn’t that long before he walked out and shipped on the Fleuryl as a carpenter’s boy. Lord West raised my tariffs so high I would have lost the cooperage. Except I killed the assassin. I didn′t even know it was him until later. He’d murdered my neighbor for speaking up for me at the Hall of Justice. I caught him coming out of the scriptorium. Had to run then, and hid till you and the Seastag ported in Brysta. You know the rest.”