L. Modesitt - Ordermaster

“You have any children?”

“Two daughters, one son. He’s a scholar. Thinks his father’s crazy, but he’s scared to say so. My daughters, they just shake their heads when they think I’m not looking. Kasrina understands, and that’s enough.”

“If she understands, you’re a fortunate man,” Kharl said, after finishing a mouthful of a too-chewy cutlet. “None of mine did … or have, not so far, anyway.”

“I know that, too.” Norgen took another sip from the beaker. “You had to leave your family behind?” The word were not quite a question.

“My consort died, and my eldest son … he left. He blamed me.” Kharl swallowed. He’d wanted just to mention Arthal and let it go. He shook his head. “The Nordlan merchanter, the one that had the Hamorian envoy on it. The Hamorians … they sank it. He was a carpenter’s apprentice.”

Norgen nodded slowly and gravely. “I’m sorry. I had wondered. You have been quiet and withdrawn, even for a mage with much to think about.”

“I wouldn’t have thought they would destroy an entire ship, just to punish a failed envoy.”

“They are without compassion. I am sorry.” Norgen lifted his beaker.

Kharl couldn’t help noticing that the commander, for all the number of times he had sipped the ale, had drunk less than half. He swallowed and pushed away the thoughts of Arthal, for the moment, at least. “Do you think there will be any more rebellion?”

“There’s no one left to rebel-not with enough golds and armsmen to stand against even what’s left of Lord Ghrant’s personal guard. No … things will be quiet here for a while, maybe a long while. Hamor will go make trouble somewhere else, Nordla or Candar, most likely. The lord-chancellor will keep Lord Ghrant from being too vindictive and from tariffing too much. Lord Ghrant will try to forget that you’re around, except to summon you to the Great House now and again, just to remind the lords of your power, and on those days, we’ll get our blades and harnesses polished and parade, and the young lancers will think that they’re getting paid for doing little-and when the next trouble comes, the ones who learned the least will die, and we’ll start all over again. But, by that time, I hope, I’ll be stipended or even long gone.”

Kharl found Norgen’s cheerful cynicism refreshing-and depressing. Perhaps what made his words even more depressing was the honesty behind them. The commander saw life as it was, not as he wished it to be-and he didn′t seem to hate those who were cruel and stupid.

What was it that the druid had said? Not to act out of anger and hatred? Kharl wished he had listened to the druids more carefully. He half nodded, more to himself than to Norgen. “I hope you’re right.”

“Oh … things will go that way. Lord Ghrant’s not the brightest whoever ruled, but he’s far from the dimmest, and he’s come to understand that he’d do far worse with anyone else as lord-chancellor.”

Was Norgen being too charitable to Lord Ghrant? Kharl couldn’t say. So he took another mouthful of the potatoes. Time would tell.

On fiveday afternoon, Kharl stood to the right of Hagen in the audience hall, a half pace back, watching as Lord Deroh walked toward Lord Ghrant, who remained seated in the high-backed chair. Unlike the last time, Ghrant was attired almost entirely in black, with but just enough green trim that he would not be mistaken for a mage.

The angular and dark-bearded Deroh stopped several paces short of the dais and turned his head. He stared directly at Kharl, and his face seemed to narrow. After a long moment, he spoke, in a hard and deep bass voice, “Are you going to strike me dead, mage? The way you did Guillam.”

The sardonic words seemed to fill the chamber.

Kharl looked steadily back at Deroh. He felt no guilt about what happened to the corrupt chief factor, and his eyes did not answer.

“Lord Deroh,” said Ghrant, his voice thin by comparison, “you answer to me, not to my mages.”

“Of course, your lordship.” Deroh turned and bowed deeply, then took two more steps and bowed again.

Kharl understood exactly what Deroh had done. In a way, he had to respect the lord for making that statement, and in another way, it irritated Kharl, because it implied that Kharl was just a tool of execution. The mage repressed an ironic smile as he realized that irritation had also been planted by Deroh’s question. Once more, Kharl had gotten a lesson in the halls of power.

“I am here at your request, your lordship.” Deroh inclined his head after his words.

“Your presence was commanded because of your apparent support for the late and rebellious lords. Rather than begin with questions, I give you leave to explain, as I am most certain you will, Lord Deroh.”

“My support, as you termed it, my lordship, was more apparent than real. I did not provide armsmen or lancers. Nor did I encourage any other lord to become disrespectful of your lordship or rebellious.”

Kharl watched and listened. Only the last words bore a hint of untruth, but those preceding them had felt accurate to Kharl.

Hagen glanced sideways at Kharl.

The mage leaned forward and murmured, “He tells the truth. So far.”

In turn, Hagen nodded ever so slightly to Lord Ghrant.

“Why did you grant such apparent support, Lord Deroh?”

“What choice did I have, your lordship? Malcor and Hensolas had armies at my door. Your forces were far removed from my lands. I dared not profess open loyalty, not after I saw what happened to Vertyn and Lahoryn.”

“Would you have provided such apparent support if you had not been so coerced?”

“Why would any sensible lord do otherwise?” A touch of sardonicism edged the dark and lean lord’s words.

“I do not believe you answered my question, Lord Deroh.”

“No. Matters as they had been were much to be preferred over what those rebelling promised.”

Again, Kharl could sense some equivocation, and he definitely had the impression that while Deroh probably had to have been coerced, it had not taken much pressure. Still … the lord was being fairly accurate as to how he had acted and felt.

“That is less than a ringing declaration of support for your lord.” Ghrant’s voice dripped acid.

“It is support, your lordship. I had great fondness for your sire, but I had not had the chance to come to know you.”

“I did not notice you hurrying to Valmurl to pay your respects, Lord Deroh.”

“No, your lordship. Before I could, I found Lord Malcor and Lord Hensolas on my doorstep.”

That statement rang as true as anything Deroh had said, if not more so, and Kharl whispered that to Hagen.

“Yet you did not warn me?”

“Had I risked sending a message such as that, your lordship, I risked everything. They had four white wizards, and none knew then of the power of Lord Kharl.”

“That is true. None did. A sad thing it is when the lords of a land mustweigh power over duty. We shall make sure that none of you ever face that choice again.”

Deroh paled slightly at Ghrant’s words, but did not reply.

“We will consider your statements, Lord Deroh, and reflect upon them overnight. You will remain here as our guest until I offer my judgment in the morning.”

Deroh bowed. “I await your judgment, your lordship.”

“You may retire.”

After Deroh had left the chamber, Lord Ghrant rose, without another word, and departed as well.

Kharl followed Hagen back to the lord-chancellor’s study. Neither man spoke until after Kharl had closed the door, and they were seated across the table desk from each other.

“What is your feeling about the most honorable Lord Deroh?” Hagen’s voice was dry.