L. Modesitt: Ordermaster

“I can do that.”

At the end of the short passageway was an armsman, wearing the yellow and black of Ghrant’s personal guard.

“Lord-chancellor … how should I announce …?”

“The lord-chancellor and ser Kharl of Cantyl.”

“Ser mage.” The guard inclined his head, then turned and opened the door, stepping into the audience hall. His voice boomed out. “The lord-chancellor, Lord Hagen, and ser Kharl of Cantyl.”

As directed, Kharl followed Hagen out into the audience hall, a high-ceilinged chamber close to sixty cubits in length and half that in width. The ceiling rose to an arched height of perhaps thirty cubits. The archway through which he and Hagen had entered opened directly onto a dais that was ten cubits deep and stretched the width of the chamber, two cubits above the main floor. In the center was a simple high-backed carved chair. It was empty.

The area below the dais contained close to a hundred men, and no more than a handful of women. All stood facing the dais, but most continued to talk to each other in low voices. Only a handful even looked in Kharl or Hagen’s direction as the two walked into the hall. At first glance, Kharl recognized no one, but then, after a moment, he did see Commander Vatoran near the rear of the group on the right side.

When Hagen stopped, Kharl halted as well, positioning himself as directed.

“In a moment,” Hagen said quietly, “some of them will recognize who you are, and they will begin to study you. There was a reason I did not have you announced as a mage.”

“I only recognize Commander Vatoran.”

“They do not know your face, but some know your name, and that will spread through them. Trust me. Watch.”

Kharl watched. As Hagen predicted, more and more sets of eyesfocused on him, but in passing, as if no one wanted to be caught looking at Kharl for long. The effect was mildly unsettling, especially as Kharl could hear fragments of murmured conversations.

“ … big man for a mage …”

“ … said he was a cooper and a marine … lord-chancellor’s ships …”

“ … Hagen’s more than Ghrant’s … you ask me …”

“ … not all bad that way …”

In a sense that was right, because without Hagen’s support and kindness, Kharl would either have been starving in the back alleys of Brysta or dead.

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

The murmurs died away as Ghrant entered the hall from the other rear door-opposite the one through which Kharl and Hagen had entered. The Lord of Austra was attired in dark green, trimmed in black, and the green was the same shade as worn by the two men whose conversation Kharl had overheard, although the cloth itself looked to be of the finest velvet.

Without a word, Ghrant seated himself in the ancient high-backed chair. He nodded to the chamberlain, who had followed him and stood to the right of the chair, roughly the same distance from Ghrant as were Hagen and Kharl.

“Summon Guillam of Desfor.”

The hall remained silent for a time, without even the lowest of murmurs.

“Guillam of Desfor, chief factor of Austra,” announced one of the guards in yellow and black stationed just inside the double doors.

“Have him enter.”

Guillam stepped through the doors, which closed behind him, and into the audience chamber. He was an angular figure, with thinning gray hair and deep-set eyes. Over his trousers and jacket, he wore a sleeveless open robe of purple. Since no one else in the audience hall wore anything like it, Kharl assumed the robe was a symbol of his position as chief factor.

From the moment the chief factor stepped into the hall, Kharl could sense the whiteness of chaos that drifted around him. That whiteness felt wrong to Kharl, almost like an itching that he could not scratch.

Guillam glanced toward the mage, then away. As he headed toward the high-backed chair, and Lord Ghrant, his eyes flickered toward Kharl severaltimes Even so, the chief factor walked deliberately, without a hint of haste, to the foot of the six wide and carpeted steps that rose from the floor to the dais. There he halted.

“You had requested my presence, your lordship?” Guillam’s voice was a smooth yet resonant baritone. He bowed slightly after speaking.

“We did, chief factor.” Ghrant’s voice was thin by comparison to those of Guillam, the guard, and the chamberlain.

“At your request I am here.” Guillam emphasized the word request ever so slightly.

“I always attempt to be courteous, wherever possible,” Ghrant replied smoothly. “During the recent uprising, your early absence from Valmurl was noted. I had hoped that you might enlighten us as to the reasons for your departure … and, of course, your destination.”

“I had received word that my eldest son was most ill. It was feared that he might not live, and I repaired to my country house.”

Guillam was but six cubits from Kharl, and the falsity of his reply shivered through the mage.

“How is your son? I assume that he recovered, since we have not heard otherwise.”

“He is on the path to recovery, your lordship.”

“And you remained at your country house during the entire period of unpleasantness?”

“Of course, your lordship.”

That also was false, strongly so.

“Some have questioned your loyalty and stated that you had favored the would-be usurper. I would not wish to make a judgment on such without hearing from you.”

“Your lordship, I favored and supported your father. You are his rightful heir, and I have likewise supported you. I will continue to support you, as I have from the beginning.” Guillam bowed again.

Kharl managed to keep his face absolutely immobile in the face of the chaos and falsity that filled and lay beneath Guillam’s words, words so smoothly delivered.

“I am most pleased to hear that, chief factor.” Ghrant turned slightly in the chair. “Do you have any questions you might wish to ask the chief factor, ser Kharl?”

“Yes, your lordship.” Kharl was very glad that he had thought over carefully what Guillam might say.

Ghrant nodded at Kharl.

Kharl stepped forward a pace. “Chief factor, you are a man who knows a great deal and a great number of people in Austra. Because you do know so many, you might be most helpful. This morning, there was a poisoned tray offered to a guest at the Great House. Before she could be questioned, the server who offered it was found strangled. Did you have any knowledge of this?”

“No, ser mage. Why would I have any knowledge of something that sordid?” Contempt oozed from Guillam, along with a sense of chaos, not the chaos of magic, but the sort of chaos that Kharl was coming to associate with evil. While Guillam seemed to be looking at Kharl, his eyes avoided those of the mage. He was also lying.

“What is your relationship with a man named Fostak?” After a slight pause, Kharl added, “Or what was it?”

For the slightest moment, Guillam did not move, a moment almost imperceptible. “I have no relationship with anyone called Fostak. I never have.”

Another lie. Kharl was beginning to feel that he was making the chief factor uncomfortable, but that might have been because of the questions.

“This morning, three crossbowmen fired quarrels within the Great House. While no one was hurt, this sort of matter could be considered to reflect poorly upon Lord Ghrant, and your knowledge could be most helpful in resolving this. Have you any knowledge of this?”

“Crossbowmen in the Great House? Hardly.”

That was also a lie, if not so pronounced as the other two. Kharl could see that there was no way to get Guillam to admit his guilt, and if he could not, Lord Ghrant would not be terribly pleased with Kharl. That didn’t bother Kharl so much as the fact that Guillam was not only a liar, but someone who had ordered two murders and was and would be a traitor.