L. Modesitt - Ordermaster

Kharl nodded. “How long have you been in Valmurl?”

“Just three eightdays, ser. Once Commander Casolan sent word that it was safe, Father put me on the Seafox . He’s known Lord Hagen since they were young, and the lord-chancellor had sent back a letter asking Father if I’d be willing to serve Lord Ghrant.”

“I’m scarcely Lord Ghrant,” Kharl pointed out.

“You are one of the most loyal lords serving him, it is said.”

Kharl still found it jarring to be called a lord, and he wasn’t quite certainwhat to say to Erdyl’s statement. He pondered for a moment before answering. “I came to serve Lord Ghrant because Ha-Lord Hagen served him, and Lord Hagen is the most worthy man I have met.” He stopped as the server set a pale lager before him and a goblet before Erdyl.

“Did you really turn a mountain into glass?” Erdyl asked.

“Not exactly,” Kharl replied. “Order doesn’t work like that. A white wizard tried to use chaos to burn up all our forces, and I turned the chaos back on the wizard. Part of a hill behind the wizards turned into glass.”

The young man nodded slowly. “I didn’t see how a black mage would do that, but everyone kept saying that you had.”

Kharl took a sip of his ale before saying more. “I’ve been told that I’m not exactly like other order-mages. I seem to be a little better with shields, but I don’t seem to have much talent for healing or things like that.” He felt that he was being truthful in what he said.

“Shields? Like an old-style lancer?”

“No. A way of stopping chaos-fire and, sometimes, things like crossbow bolts. That’s if I know they’re coming.” Kharl took another sip of lager. “Have you ever been in Nordla, or anyplace else besides Norbruel or Bruel or Valmurl?”

“I went to Vizyn once with Clandal.” Erdyl shrugged. “It was even colder than Norbruel, and that was in the summer.”

“Nordla can be a dangerous place,” Kharl said. “Lord West and his sons have killed many who made the mistake of talking about them in public. The less we speak about ourselves and about them, the better.”

“The lord-chancellor said that I was only to say that you were the lord of Cantyl and that you had once been a merchant officer.”

“That’s right.” Kharl nodded. “You should say only that your sire is the lord of Norbruel.” He could sense a quiet solidness about the young man, and he had the feeling that Hagen had picked well. “We should let others talk.”

Erdyl laughed. “Father is always saying that. He said you couldn’t hook the smallest gilly in the brook if it kept its mouth shut.”

Kharl found that he was enjoying talking to young Erdyl, and regretted that, after he ate, he would have to go back to the Hall of Justice to work on the brief suggested by Jusof. He supposed he would learn from that, but he was not looking forward to that learning. Writing anything was a chore, and a laborious one at that.

Kharl walked down the main floor corridor of the Great House toward the lord-chancellor’s chamber, for the private midday meal to which he had been invited by a messenger. Had his brief for Jusof and the lord-justicer been so bad that Hagen had reconsidered sending him to Brysta as an envoy? Kharl frowned. He knew what he had written had been simple, but all he could write about the law and the case was simple.

As he neared the chamber, the guard on the left opened the door. “He’s expecting you, Lord Kharl.”

Hagen rose from behind the table desk as Kharl entered the chamber. The mage turned to close the door, but the armsman had already shut it.

“Greetings, Kharl.” Hagen smiled. “I’m glad you could join me.” He gestured to the place set across from him. Only a goblet and a beaker were on the polished wood surface, and Hagen’s goblet held red wine, the beaker for Kharl a lager.

“I appreciate it. Not too many wish to eat with me, except for Casolan and Norgen.”

“That’s not surprising,” Hagen replied, seating himself once more. “You have the power to punish, but not reward. People generally risk the chance of hearing bad news from me because they feel I can also reward them-or provide information or some sort of advantage.”

Kharl settled into the chair, studying Hagen.

The lord-chancellor looked tired, with blackish circles under his eyes. His face was thinner, and one eye twitched. “You’ve met several times with Erdyl now.”

“We’ve talked over meals,” Kharl replied. “I’ve told him what to expect in Brysta, a little about how it’s laid out … that sort of thing.”

“Good.” Hagen paused. “You’ve now been studying under Jusof for almost four eightdays. How have you found it?”

Kharl’s lips twisted into a wry smile. “I have found that I write poorly. The more I learn about the law, the less I like it. Yet the less I like it, the more I understand how necessary it is for a land.”

“You already understand more than some advocates.” Hagen paused to take a sip from his goblet.

Kharl doubted that, but did not say so.

“Be that as it may, I’ve talked with Lord Justicer Priost and with Jusof. Jusof feels that within the next eightday, it is likely that you will have learned as much as is necessary for an envoy to know. He and the lord justicer are also willing to provide you with a letter of introduction to the lord justicers of Brysta. It will state that you have been a most diligent scholar of the law in Valmurl, and that they hope that their peers in Nordla will extend you every courtesy in allowing you to pursue your studies there, as your other duties permit.”

Kharl took a sip of the lager. “You need me to go to Brysta soon, I take it. Are things bad there?”

“Not yet, but they will be, I fear. We had received word that Lord West had fallen ill. That happens. Then we later heard indirectly from a Sarronnese trader that Lord West was poisoned, but will recover.” Hagen paused. “When there is an attempt such as this, there is most likely to be another one. From what you have said, I would wager that young Egen has enlisted some Hamorian assistance in the matter of his sire’s illness. We do not know this, but as you have seen here, there is a certain pattern to the way the emperor and his minions work. As you can, we need you to discover what is really happening and how deeply Hamor is involved.”

“You said you had spies …” ventured Kharl.

“We did. That is another reason for concern. Two are dead, and one has vanished. That is why we must rely on indirect reports. That also concerns Lord Ghrant.”

“The Hamorians seem to be moving quickly after their defeat here.”

“The emperor does not admit defeats. He suffers but temporary setbacks. That is what his late envoy Joharak once told me. I would also imagine that they would like to make such an effort before Lord Ghrant can rebuild Austra.”

“Lord Ghrant has no designs on Nordla, does he?”

“Of course not.” Hagen snorted. “Because the Hamorians have such designs, though, they imagine everyone else has the same motivations.” He paused at the knock on the door.

“Your dinner, sers,” came the voice of one of the guards.

“Come on in.”

One of the serving girls from the kitchen stepped into the chamber carrying a tray. She inclined her head. “Lord-chancellor, Lord Kharl.”

The platters both contained ascalyn-veal thinly sliced, marinated in a mint sauce, braised quickly, and served with a browned butter sauce and fried pearapples. A large basket of bread came with the meal. Kharl had only tasted ascalyn once, and that had been at the consort feast of Charee’s cousin Vertya.

Once the server had left, Hagen raised his goblet. “To better days.”