L. Modesitt - Ordermaster

“So that the heirs will leave Austra? Isn’t he afraid that they’ll plunder their estates to raise golds?”

“There are guards at all the rebel estates. If the heirs slip away … so long as the estates remain intact …” Hagen shrugged. “Most of the value is in the lands and the livestock and equipment.”

“He’d prefer that they leave, rather than being exiled?”

“They will be exiled, and if they try to remain, they face a lifetime in gaol.”

Kharl found that he had little sympathy for the rebel lords, or for their heirs. They had all held great wealth and lands, and the heirs had enjoyed that wealth as well. Lord Ghrant, while not the most prepossessing of men, had certainly not acted cruelly or wantonly, not from what anyone had said. Nor had Kharl found chaos or evil within the young ruler. He did worry that Ghrant was not so strong as a ruler should be; but after having suffered under the cruel strength of Lord West and his son Egen in Brysta, Kharl was willing to deal with a ruler who did not rely solely on the iron fist or the whip.

At that thought, his lips curled slightly. He had provided that sort of force, if only against the rebels and the Hamorians. Force had its necessary place, but it was a question of balance. He almost laughed. For a man who had never thought about balance, he had come to consider its place in everything in recent eightdays.

“You find the exile amusing?” asked Hagen.

“No, ser. I was thinking about force, and how it must be balanced. I was also wondering why men with so much wealth and such great lands would revolt against a ruler who had done nothing to them.”

“He seemed to show weakness. Weakness-or the appearance of weakness-is an invitation to some. That is why Azeolis’s audience will be the last.”

Kharl sensed the darkness behind Hagen’s words. “He’ll be made an example, then.”

“Yes. It will be ugly-and unhappily necessary.” After a pause, the lord-chancellor asked, “How do you like the duck?”

“Very much. I’ve never had it before, not like this.”

“I persuaded the cooks to try an old family recipe.”

“It’s good.” The mage could tell that Hagen was not pleased with the idea of making Azeolis into an example, and yet that the lord-chancellor was convinced that it was necessary. Or was it that Hagen was disturbed that such an example was required?

He hesitated to ask the next question, knowing the answer already. Still … “You haven’t any word from the Seastag?”

“No. We won’t unless they port in Lydiar at the same time as the Seasprite . You worry about the boy, I know, but …”

Kharl nodded. Warrl should be safe with his aunt and uncle, but Kharl would have felt much better to have his son at Cantyl. Yet there was no way he could travel to Nordla, not at the moment.

He glanced down at the remaining portion of the duck on the green-bordered white bone china. Finally, he took another sip of the lager, then slowly cut a thin slice of the duck.

On sixday, Kharl stood in the audience hall beside Hagen, half a pace back, as he looked out at the group gathered together on the right side of the audience hall. Stationed around them were a squad of armsmen in the yellow and black of the personal guard. Roughly half of those standing in custody were women of all ages; the remainder were children. They were the heirs, consorts, and offspring of the rebel lords, standing and waiting for the judgments to come. Less than a half score were men, and they were all young, not much older than Arthal would have been. At the thought of Arthal, a wave of sadness swept across Kharl.

“His Lordship, Ghrant of Dykaru, Lord of Austra and Scion of the North.”

In silence, Ghrant entered the hall from the rear door across from the one through which Kharl had followed Hagen. Once more, the Lord of Austra was attired in black, trimmed in dark green. He took his seat in the ancient high-backed chair on the dais without a word, then nodded to the chamberlain, who stood to his right.

“Summon the traitor Azeolis,” announced the chamberlain.

The hall remained hushed, even after the doors opened, and two burly armsmen in the yellow and black of Ghrant’s personal guard marched in a stocky figure dressed in nearly shapeless gray trousers and undertunic. Azeolis’s hands were manacled behind him. A wide and thick band of cloth was tied across his lower face, effectively gagging him.

Before the doors closed, Kharl caught a glimpse of a full squad of the personal guard stationed outside the audience hall.

“Azeolis, former lord and traitor,” announced the chamberlain once the captive had reached a spot a cubit or so short of the foot of the dais.

Azeolis looked directly at Ghrant.

The young ruler stood and began to speak, his own eyes fixed, not on Azeolis, but on the group to the right and behind Azeolis. “Azeolis-you who were once a lord, privileged and exalted above others-you were not satisfied with wealth and power. You lacked the courage to be loyal and the wisdom to ignore the vain promises of others. Have you anything to say for yourself?”

Kharl noted that Hagen nodded, as if to himself.

Ghrant motioned to the armsmen.

The taller deftly unknotted the heavy gag.

Azeolis cleared his throat, but did not speak.

In turn, Ghrant waited.

Silence weighed upon the entire chamber before Azeolis finally spoke. “I was loyal-once. Before a weakling became Lord of Austra.” The still-stocky man did not bother to disguise the contempt in his voice. “Even now, you do not rule. Your power lies in the judgment of a merchant with a title and a mage from another land.”

“That may well be,” Ghrant replied. “It shows that I have better judgment about who serves me well than you did. I have chosen loyalty and talent over privilege and position.”

Kharl caught several looks of surprise on the faces of those in the audience hall.

For a moment, even Azeolis was silent. That did not last. “You admit you have debased your heritage-”

“Silence him.” Ghrant’s voice was not hard, but almost tired, the voice of a man who recognized that Azeolis would not hear what was said.

“Yes … silence me.” Azeolis got no further before one of warders wrapped a heavy gag across his mouth and lower face.

“I silence you because you have already spoken,” Ghrant went on calmly. “You spoke when you joined a revolt that began with the despicable murder of my sire. You spoke when you supported the pretender who wanted to usurp this seat so that he could rule with fire and fear. You spoke when you joined with those who murdered loyal lords and their families. You spoke when you tried to ambush loyal lancers. It issaid that actions speak louder than words. Your actions have indeed spoken for you. And for those actions you will pay. You cannot live long enough to suffer as did all those for whom you caused suffering, but you will suffer. You will be flogged like the common criminal you have become. Then you will have all the limbs in your body broken, and then you will be beheaded. Even that is too merciful for someone who has betrayed his heritage and his family. Your estates will be divided. Half will return to the Great House, and half will be broken into holdings. Many of those lands will be distributed to those who worked them, for they should not suffer for your treachery. All the heirs of your body and all those consorted to them and all issue are hereby banned from Austra. Their lives or their freedom, or both, are forfeit should they be found within Austra at the end of the next eightday.” Ghrant gestured. “Take him away. Let his sentence begin within the glass, and let it be carried out before sunset.”