L. Modesitt - Ordermaster

“Thank you.” Kharl glanced to Erdyl. “This has to be quick so that we can give it to the cargomaster within a few moments.

“Yes, ser.”

Kharl hurried into the passageway leading to the master’s cabin, Erdyl following.

Once his secretary was seated at the narrow desk along the inner bulkhead, Kharl began to speak, trying to organize his thoughts.

“Honored Lord-chancellor,

A crate exploded in chaos at the pier when Bemyr threw it into the water. I had felt chaos in the crate as it was being loaded. I told him not to, but my warning was perhaps too late, and he was killed by the chaos. It was the kind of chaos that comes from white wizards. It was set off by water when the bosun threw it into the harbor. I would judge that it was built to do the same thing when bilgewater or seawater seeped into the crate when we were at sea ….

As he talked, Kharl could not help but wonder why someone did not want him to arrive in Brysta-and how they had been able to act so quickly-and without a white wizard seemingly nearby. What sort of device had they used, that stored chaos in such a fashion?

Hagen had been right, again.

By midday, the Seastag was well away from Valmurl and had long since passed the low headlands marking Cantyl. Bemyr’s burial at sea had been swift and quiet, and already Reisl, whom Kharl had known when he had been ship’s carpenter under Tarkyn, had taken over as bosun.

“He’ll do a good job,” predicted Furwyl.

Kharl thought so as well, but he worried that he hadn’t been quick enough to warn Bemyr. Still, he’d never seen or sensed anything like the chaos in the crate, and there was little he could do now.

“Hagen ordered you to get me to Nordla, no matter what, didn’t he?” Kharl said quietly. He could see Erdyl stiffen with interest, although the secretary was at the starboard poop railing, several cubits away.

“That he did, Lord Kharl. Told me not to let anything stop us.” Furwyl scanned the horizon to the south before continuing. “He looks tired-like. Older, too.”

“He has to worry about all of Austra,” Kharl replied.

“Thought that was what Lord Ghrant was supposed to do.” Furwyl shook his head. “He’s too young to understand everything that can go wrong. Same thing happens when a ship’s master is too young. That’s why he needs Lord Hagen. Needs you, too.”

“He needs Hagen more,” Kharl said.

“Hope we don’t see any Hamorian warships this crossing. You think they’re the bastards got Bemyr?”

“I don’t know, but if I had to wager, that’d be where my coins went.”

“Mine, too.”

After a time, Kharl eased away, to the railing beside Erdyl. “I’m going below for a bit.”

“Do you need me, ser?”

Kharl glanced at the young man, sensing his discomfort. “No. Just stay up here in the fresh air. It helps.”

“Did you …?” Erdyl swallowed.

“It takes a while to get used to, especially when we’re running with the wind in the long swells.”

Kharl did not go to the master’s cabin, his temporary quarters, but took the ladder down to the main deck, then headed forward and down the inside ladder to the carpenter’s shop. He peered through the open hatch. Tarkyn was working on a carving, his relaxation when the carpentry tasks were light.

“Tarkyn?”

“Lords don’t belong in the carpenter’s shop.” The older man’s voice was gruff. “Ser.”

Kharl could sense that, despite his tone, Tarkyn was pleased. “They do if they were once carpenters.”

“Knew you should have been a mate, at least.” Tarkyn laid aside the carving. “Told you that. I didn’t think I’d see you as a lord and an envoy.”

“I didn’t, either,” Kharl admitted. “I didn’t ask for it.”

“Might be why you got it.” Tarkyn shook his head. “Terrible thing with Bemyr.”

“I tried to protect him, to warn him. I wasn’t fast enough.”

“Good man,” Tarkyn said. “He always did want to do things his way, though. One time, made me replace a capstan bar with spruce. Told him it wouldn’t work. It didn’t. Broke the first time they used it. Captain Hagen reamed him good.”

“How are you doing?”

“I’m getting up there. Told Furwyl to start looking for another carpenter. You hadn’t gone and saved Lord Ghrant, and it’d be you.” Tarkyn looked up at Kharl. “Best second I ever had.”

“I liked working here,” Kharl said. “I never thought it would turn out this way.”

“Better for you that it did.”

Kharl nodded thoughtfully. It might have been better for him, but it hadn’t always been better for those around him. Not at all. Charee and Arthal were dead. Warrl had lost his mother and the birthright of the cooperage that had been in the family for generations. Kharl had had to leave Sanyle and Jeka, and he could only hope that they were all right. The young undercaptain who’d been with him on the first attack against the rebels was dead, and so were half of the lancers who’d supported Lord Ghrant.

When he left the carpenter shop, Kharl made his way back up to the main deck, then into the master’s cabin. There he sank into the chair beside the built-in desk.

He needed to sort out what he’d been told and what he knew.

Lord Ghrant was worried about what was happening in Nordla. He had few people he could trust to find that out, and none who were experienced as envoys. Hensolas had been the previous envoy, and immediately after he had returned, even before Estloch could talk to Ghrant, Estloch had been murdered, and Hensolas had ended up as one of the lords rebelling against Ghrant, but only after Ilteron’s death. Had he been involved with Ilteron from the beginning? What was going on in Nordla that would cause an attack against Kharl? Or did the attack have anything to do with Nordla? Could it have been a scheme merely to kill Kharl in a way in which he could not use his abilities?

If the crate had merely exploded in the hold once the Seastag was well at sea, the explosion would not have hurt Kharl, but it would have blown out a chunk of the hull, and set the ship afire. Once the Seastag was sunk-or aflame-Kharl’s magery could not have done much against the ocean, not for long.

The mage and envoy shook his head. In some ways, the reasons did not matter. It was clear that someone, most probably the Hamorians, wanted him dead. But it would help to know for what reason.

It might, Kharl corrected his thought.

The rest of the crossing, on a route south of the Gulf of Austra, then up the west coast of Nordla, was uneventful for the entire passage-more than two eightdays.

At various times, he’d talked with both Ghart, the first mate, and Rhylla, the second, as well as Furwyl. While all three were friendly, and clearly happy for Kharl, there was a definite reserve, an understanding that while they had once been shipmates those times were past. That reserve saddened Kharl, because the officers of the Seastag had been welcoming and helpful when he’d had nowhere to go.

Kharl also had kept thinking about the chaos explosion in the harbor at Valmurl. While he could imagine a number of reasons for the attack on the Seastag, he just didn’t know enough to be sure what was behind it. He’d have to assume that no one was to be trusted until he found out differently. That was definitely the safest attitude for an envoy anywhere, but not one that Kharl liked.

In midafternoon on fourday, Kharl and Erdyl stood at the port railing on the poop deck, watching as Furwyl brought the Seastag toward the breakwaters that marked the entrance to the harbor at Brysta.