L. Modesitt - Ordermaster

He moved around the desk and stood at the window, looking out into the darkness, out at the hillside leading down to the thin black line that was the narrow pier where, little more than a season before, he had stepped off the Seastag to become ser Kharl. His eyes, with a night sight sharpened by order-magery, took in the small, nearly enclosed bay, its entrance less than a kay in width. The water was black and calm on the early-summer night, with a silverlike sheen he suspected only he-or another mage-could have seen.

For reasons he could not fully explain, Meyena’s visit had nagged at him. Yet she and her aunt had been pleasant, certainly not pushy, and the amount of redberry that they had brought had been closer to five bushels. With that, Adelya had been pleased.

“You should eat some in the morning. Plenty for juice, too. It keeps off the summer fevers,” she had told him more than once.

He had tried the juice, but it was almost too sweet for him. The appleand-redberry pie had been more to his liking.

Meyena was less than ten years older than Arthal, he had discovered.

His lips tightened. How could he ever have foreseen that his actions in saving Lord Ghrant would have led to Arthal’s death? Was that the cruelty of the Balance-or just his own terrible misfortune? If Arthal had stuck with Kharl, it wouldn’t have happened. Jeka would have said that. Kharl knew that from the way Jeka had talked about her own mother. He’d seen the love, the pain, and the devotion in that gamine face. Yet Jeka was also practical-and honest-even after the years on the streets of Brysta.

Had his efforts to place her as a weaver with Gharan worked out? That had been the best he had been able to manage, and he wished he could have done more. Without her guidance, when he’d had to flee from Egen,he doubted that he would have survived long enough to have caught the Seastag. In a way, he owed everything he had to three people-Jenevra, the dead blackstaffer, Jeka, and Hagen.

He’d done his best to repay Hagen, although he doubted he had done near enough, but there would never be a way to repay Jenevra, and he doubted that he would be headed back to Brysta anytime soon. Not with Lord Ghrant needing him, and not with Lord West and Egen still in power in Brysta.

So why did Kharl feel so restless? Because he’d righted wrongs-or tried to-for everyone but himself and those he had loved? But how much had he loved them? Or was it as the druids of Naclos had told him-that he could not decide his future without facing his past and the land where it had occurred?

He turned back to the desk, gently blowing out the lamp, before walking up to his bedchamber in the dark.

Tomorrow, he would begin work on a simple chest for young Heldya. Adelya had hinted that every young woman needed a dower chest, and while it would be more than several years before the young woman was consorted, it was something he could do.

In the dimness of the staircase, he laughed. That was a problem he could address.

Kharl stood on the narrow harbor pier in the midday sun, watching as a vessel he had not seen before-the Seahound -eased to the pier at Cantyl. With that name, and the side paddle wheels, even if he had not seen Hagen near the bow, he could have guessed that the ship belonged to the lord-chancellor’s merchant fleet. His stomach tightened as he wondered what problems Hagen’s presence signified because the lord-chancellor would not have left Valmurl for anything insignificant.

“We were expecting the Seafox and not for another eightday.” Standing at Kharl’s shoulder, Speltar brushed back his wispy reddish hair, althoughit did little to cover his bald pate. “The lord-chancellor’s there. I’d wager that they didn’t come for the timber.” The steward paused. “You think they’ll take the timber, and that they’ll stay long enough for us to get the timbers from the mill? The timber is ready to load.”

“All we can do is ask,” said Kharl. “How long will it take to get the timber up here?”

“Less than a glass, and a glass to load.”

The two watched as Bannat caught the first line and snugged it to the inshore bollard, then ran out to the end of the pier, where he caught the second. Before long, the fenders were in place against the hull, and the Seahound was tight to the pier. Hagen was the first down the gangway.

Kharl stepped forward. “Welcome to Cantyl.”

“Thank you.”

“What brings you here again?” asked Kharl, smiling.

“You, of course,” returned Hagen. “It was a short trip, but thirsty.”

“You’d like some of my red wine? Is that it?”

“I’d not turn it down.”

“Before you tell me why you’re here?”

“Kharl …” Hagen counterfeited mock surprise. “Do you think so uncharitably of me?”

“As a friend, as a captain, and as a factor … no. As lord-chancellor, I have some doubts.”

The lord-chancellor laughed. “You understand the difference too well, lord mage.”

Kharl gestured to Speltar. “We have some timbers. They were supposed to go on the Seafox on her next pass.”

Hagen tilted his head. “Let’s see. That’d be outbound from Valmurl.” He nodded. “We can take them. The Fox would port in Valmurl first anyway. We’ll save Nysat a port call. Tell Captain Haroun that I said you could load them.”

Kharl looked at Speltar. “There’s your answer.”

“Thank you, ser.” Speltar inclined his head to the lord-chancellor. “If you lords will excuse me …”

“Go.” Kharl and Hagen spoke almost simultaneously.

“We might as well walk back to the house and get that wine,” Kharl suggested. “So you can soothe your throat before you tell me what I don’t want to hear.”

Hagen grinned. “It’s the best wine anywhere I port.”

“I am glad that you think so.”

“How are you liking Cantyl?” asked Hagen, as they turned up the lane from the pier to the house.

“I’m finding a lot to do. I’ve got the cooperage working, and I’ve made some different barrels for Glyan. He wants to see if the amount of toasting changes the wine.”

“Don’t change what’s already good,” warned Hagen.

“Oh … he’s only going to try it on a few half barrels.”

“Doesn’t work, and you can turn it to vinegar, I suppose. Be a waste of what could have been good wine.”

“If he doesn’t try, how will we know if it could be better? And if it doesn’t work, then we’ll know what not to try. And …” Kharl drew out the word, “if it’s better, we can raise the price.”

Hagen chuckled. “You learned something besides ship’s carpentry on the Seastag.”

“Some,” Kharl admitted.

After the two men reached Kharl’s study, and Adelya had brought up a pitcher of the red wine, drawn from the barrel in the cellar, Kharl closed the study door. He half filled two goblets and let Hagen take his choice.

The lord-chancellor took a sip, then a healthy swallow. “Almost worth the trip for the wine.”

“Almost? Has someone else revolted? Or misled Lord Ghrant?” Kharl looked directly at Hagen. “You wouldn’t have come here if it weren’t a matter of import.”

“Nothing like that,” Hagen protested. “Not exactly, anyway.” He held up a missive. The seal had already been broken. “I received this yesterday. From Furwyl through Jeksum-he’s the master of the Seasprite. It’s about your boy.”

Kharl could feel every muscle in his body tighten.

Hagen shook his head. “No. It’s not bad news.”

“Then … what?”

“It’s no news. Furwyl apologized for not trying to send a messenger or one of his crew to Peachill, but he felt it would have been most unwise. There has been brigandage and murder of travelers on the roads outside Brysta, especially to the south, and the harbor inspectors suggested that the crew remain close to the harbor. They were most insistent, particularly about the south roads. Furwyl also noted several large Hamorian trading vessels in the harbor.”