L. Modesitt - Ordermaster

Kharl didn’t even have to think to answer that. “No. The good ones were probably the ones Malcor and Kenslan killed at the beginning.”

“Vertyn would have made a good envoy, I think, and so would have Lord Lahoryn’s eldest son.” Hagen looked bleakly at Kharl. “Do you think I like asking this of you?”

Kharl sat there for a moment, realizing why Hagen had drunk so much wine and why the lord-chancellor had come himself.

“I do worry about you,” Hagen said. “I would not wish you to return to Brysta without being fully prepared. Law is not the same as magery. You would not leave immediately. You would be in Valmurl for a good season, and you would have quarters in the Great House.”

Kharl understood. He was perceived as one reason behind Ghrant’s success. If he departed Valmurl too soon, there was the possibility of more unrest. Later, some might be relieved to see him go. What the lord-chancellor said made sense, and both Hagen’s concern and his desperation were real.

“Also,” Hagen added, “you should tell no one that you are a mage. Word and rumor will filter to Brysta, but the longer it takes, the better foryou. And … a power never mentioned is far more fearsome than one discussed openly.”

Kharl was not certain about that, but Hagen had far more experience in dealing with lords and rulers and their retainers. “How long is one an envoy?”

“Usually it is for two years.”

“Two years?” asked Kharl involuntarily. Two years away from Cantyl? Then he found himself smiling involuntarily. Already, he was thinking of it as home. What did that tell him?

“I doubt you will need to be there that long. Not nearly that long.”

That meant, Kharl thought, that one way or another, he was expected to solve the problems at hand sooner than in two years. Still … that would give him time to find Warrl … and to help Jeka … if he could. Kharl had worried about his younger boy, but with his own guards and abilities, he could certainly travel to Peachill directly, although it might be wise to wait an eightday or longer after his arrival before undertaking such a journey. As in the case with battles against the rebel lords, the guards would provide a certain cover for his use of his magely talents, if he even needed them.

Then … outside of the need to recover Warrl, did he really want to return to Brysta and Nordla?

Another thought crossed his mind, words he had not considered for a time.

“You haven’t said much, Kharl,” Hagen said.

“I was thinking. Do you remember the druids in Diehl?”

Hagen’s brow wrinkled in puzzlement. “The ones who healed you? Yes.”

“They told me that I could never really leave Brysta behind, not until I returned. So … that is perhaps another reason I should become an envoy. If that is what Lord Ghrant wishes.”

“I do not know that it is what he would wish in his heart, were there other choices,” Hagen said evenly, “but there are none.” He offered a faint smile as he fingered his chin. “I also don’t think I’d argue against a druid.”

“Two druids,” Kharl said dryly.

“That’s even worse.” Hagen took another sip of the wine before speaking. “Does that mean that you will accept Lord Ghrant’s offer?”

Kharl nodded slowly. “It’s as much for Warrl as for Lord Ghrant.”

“I would not have thought otherwise.”

Kharl glanced out through the window toward the harbor and the Seahound . The wagon with timber had not yet reached the pier. “Do I return with you?”

“You can.”

“I might as well. I’ve little enough to pack, and Speltar and Dorwan will need time to load the timber.”

“You’ll have much more. You’ll have to have a full wardrobe as an envoy.”

Kharl hadn’t even thought of that, and he wondered how many other matters he hadn’t even considered. But … with what had happened to Warrl already, did Kharl have that much choice? And did he dare to continue to disregard the advice of the druids?

Threeday morning was cloudy, and a fine warm drizzle drifted from the low gray clouds that hung over Valmurl. Kharl glanced around his new quarters in the Great House, larger than the ones he had used before, still on the second level, but on the north wing, not far from the staircase to the tower. The sitting room was set in the northwest corner of the building and had windows on both sides. The evening before, Kharl had seen how that arrangement had provided a cooling breeze for both the sitting room and bedchamber.

He had not seen Lord Ghrant, but on the short voyage back from Cantyl to Valmurl, Hagen had warned Kharl that such meetings would be infrequent.

“He’s heard all the old stories about how his great-grandsire fell under the spell of a mage,” Hagen had said. “He’s more afraid of others believing that of him than of it actually happening. Much of the rebellion was stirred up by tales of his weakness and indecisiveness. He doesn’t want to feed such stories.”

Kharl could understand the young ruler’s concerns, but he also worried that Ghrant might worry too much about what his people thought and not enough about what needed to be done. Still, Kharl reflected, the rebellion had proved that a ruler could not ignore what people thought.

The mage and lord stepped up to the tall mirror in its stand beside the single chest in the bedchamber. He took in his own reflection-broad shoulders, squarish chin, dark hair thinning in front, dark green eyes …

He paused. Had his eyes always been that dark? He didn’t think so, but he hadn’t really looked at himself in the mirror that much.

After several moments, he turned from the mirror, with its faded gilt frame, and walked into the sitting room. There, he looked out through the window, down at the lawns and fountains. With the misty drizzle falling he could not see westward much beyond the stables and barracks, and the long sloping lawn that extended from the terraces.

Well beyond the fine warm rain, across the breadth of the land, and across the Gulf of Austra, lay Nordia-and Brysta. In some ways, his life in Brysta felt as though it had happened to someone else-and long ago. Until he thought about Arthal … and Warrl … and even Jeka. Yet, even if he’d had no sons, he needed to go back, if only to see the city once more. Would it look different after all he had been through?

Why did he now feel so impelled to return to Brysta? Had Charee still lived, she would have settled into Cantyl, and she would have called him a fool for ever going close to Lord West again. Maybe he was a fool to agree to be an envoy. But there was Hagen … who would far rather have been upon the Seastag, than standing behind Ghrant, advising and maneuvering, and risking displeasure day after day. And the image of Tyrbel remained in Kharl’s mind. The scrivener had in effect given his life for Kharl when no one would have been the wiser if he had not. Kharl would not even have blamed the scrivener had the older man not chosen to speak up. But Tyrbel had, and he had been murdered by Egen’s assassin. It didn’t matter that Kharl had killed the assassin. Tyrbel was dead.

He half turned from the window, his eyes falling to The Basis of Order. There wasn’t anything in the book about envoys, nor about serving a ruler, not directly, anyway.

On fourday, he was to present himself to the lord justicer’s chief clerk in Valmurl to begin his hurried study of law. He had to wonder whether it would be of that much use. But then, Hagen felt so, and the lord-chancellorhad seen far more of the world-and those who controlled it-than had Kharl.

Kharl looked back out through the window. The rain was beginning to fall more heavily.