L. Modesitt - Ordermaster

“For minor things, like theft?”

“If the theft is less than ten golds.”

That wasn’t such a small amount, Kharl reflected.

“And you have to supply services or armsmen to the Lord of Austra.” Speltar’s smile turned wry. “At times, in the past, the Lord of Austra has elevated lords to the upper level only to require armsmen that the lord could not support.”

Kharl could see someone like Lord West doing that.

“In your case, that would not be a problem, I would judge,” Speltar added.

“Not any more of a problem than it already is.” Kharl gestured toward the missive. “I suppose I should read the letter.”

The steward extended it.

Kharl took it and broke the seal, carefully. He didn’t want purple wax on his new flag floor. The note within was short, if written in an elegant hand that was not Arynal’s, since the signature differed from the text.

Lord Kharl,

With the deepest respect, and begging your indulgence, I would like to call upon you late this afternoon to pay my respects to you.

I have not wished to impose upon you, but as your nearest neighbor thought that I should present myself and offer what information you might find useful.

Kharl looked up. “Does he expect supper?”

“That, or afternoon refreshments, would be in order.”

“Am I expected to invite his family?”

“His consort would be acceptable.” Speltar smiled.

“What you are telling me is that I should invite everyone. How many?”

“He has two consortable daughters, and a son who has already been consorted.”

Kharl took a deep breath. “Can Adelya handle that?”

“She would be upset, ser, if you thought otherwise.”

“Would you write a response that says that I would be happy to have them all for supper this evening? And tell Adelya to prepare as she sees fit.” Kharl shook his head. He could sense Speltar’s concealed laughter at the resignation in Kharl’s voice.

“She will be pleased that you’ve chosen to entertain, ser.”

“And you?”

“It is always beneficial to be on good terms with neighbors.”

Speltar’s words, once more, were dry.

“Are you telling me that Lord Julon was not always on the best of terms?”

“I would not know, not for certain, ser. There are stories, but one never can tell how true they might be, and I would not be the one to pass them on.”

Kharl laughed. “I have my answer. You are most astute, and most tactful, Speltar.”

Speltar did grin, if but for the briefest of moments. “And you, Lord Kharl, see more than most lords.”

To Kharl that was a frightening thought, because Speltar meant it. Kharl knew how much he missed. He’d even missed his own elevation. Part of that was because of his unfamiliarity with Austra, and part was because he hadn’t paid enough attention. “I fear for them, then.” He glanced around the cooperage, then toward the open doorway where the midmorning sun cast an oblong of light across the stone floor. “If you would write what is necessary and bring me a pen? Your writing will be far better than mine.”

“I can do that.” Speltar nodded slightly, then stepped away.

Kharl wanted to shake his head. He supposed he was fortunate to have few neighbors, or his lack of understanding of both lordly and Austran customs would have become much more apparent far earlier. He glanced around the cooperage. He could still get in most of a day’s work before bathing and changing into his magely finery, although he doubted it was as fine as whatever ser Arynal and his family might be wearing.

Then, he cautioned himself, Arynal and his consort might well be people he’d like. Certainly, Kharl had liked Hagen from the beginning. He’d just have to see about Arynal.

Two glasses before sunset, roughly, and barely after Kharl had bathed and finished dressing, young Bannat had run up to the main house to announce that ser Arynal’s coach was less than a kay away.

Kharl hurried from his study back to the kitchen. “They’re about a kay away, Adelya.”

“I know, Lord Kharl. Bannat told Heldya. You just greet your guests, and we will have everything in readiness, ser.”

Kharl couldn’t help but grin. “That’s all you’ve left for me to do.”

“That is as it should be.”

In the corner, Heldya, barely eleven and dressed in gray trousers and tunic, nodded solemnly, not looking up from the crystal wine goblets she was polishing a last time.

Kharl shook his head, ruefully, then left the kitchen and walked through the sitting room and past the serving table laid out with refreshments for the time before supper. From there he made his way out through the foyer and onto the wide porch, from where he could look at both the harbor and the narrow road that wound to the south of the barns before turning westward and past the mill, then crossing the stream and eventually joining the inner coast road to Valmurl.

The dust of the coach was visible before the four-horse team itself appeared coming down the gentle slope to the millrace bridge. As the coach neared the main house, Kharl walked out the flagstone walk fromthe front porch, then waited as the driver pulled up where the walk ended at the lane. The coach was older, painted in light and dark gray, bearing more than a few scrapes and worn places on the bodywork. The grizzled coachman wore a faded burgundy jacket and brown trousers. His boots were scuffed.

An older man, with black hair greased back from the temples of his thin face, opened the coach door and stepped out, pulling the mounting stool from its bracket and setting it beneath the door. Then he straightened, smoothed his burgundy velvet jacket, and looked at Kharl. “You must be Lord Kharl, from all that black. I’m Arynal.”

“I’m Kharl. Welcome to Cantyl.”

“I’d forgotten how long the drive was. Two solid glasses.” Arynal turned and extended a hand to a long-faced but stout woman with striking gray-and-black hair. “My consort, Jacelyna. This is Lord Kharl, my dear.”

“You met us, yourself, Lord Kharl,” replied Jacelyna, in a thin and high voice. “How charming.”

“Who else would meet guests?”

“A doorman or a retainer,” suggested Jacelyna.

“I have very few retainers, Lady,” replied Kharl.

“Lord Kharl has had these lands for but half a year, dear,” interjected Arynal, “and he has spent most of that time serving with Lord Ghrant.” The thin-faced lord turned to the younger women who had left the coach. “My daughters Norelle and Meyena. Norelle is the elder, but only by two years.”

Slightly stocky, buxom, with shoulder-length jet-black hair, strong features, and a long face, Norelle clearly took after her mother. Meyena was slighter in build, with long brown hair set in ringlets. All three women wore ankle-length dresses in various shades of green, a color that suited Meyena, but not her sister or her mother.

Both sisters inclined their heads to Kharl, almost together.

Bannat reappeared. “I’ll be taking care of the coach and driver, ser. Adelya will have some fare for him, and we’ve grain in the guest barn.”

“Thank you.” Kharl hadn’t even thought about that, another aspect of being a lord with which he had little familiarity. He nodded to Bannat and turned to Arynal. “There are refreshments in the sitting room … before dinner.” He motioned to the three women. “Up the walk and across the porch.”

“ … always called it a portico,” murmured Norelle.

Kharl ignored the comment and turned back to Arynal, letting the women walk in front of them.

“I always thought mages were little fellows,” offered Arynal, his eyes measuring Kharl.