L. Modesitt - Wellspring of Chaos

“Be hard to get in here in a blow,” Furwyl observed from behind Kharl.

“Looks hard enough in calm waters,” Kharl replied, thinking that the harbor would be comparatively easy to defend with a chain system such as the one employed in Brysta.

“Old salts say it was once a pirate haven, back when Austra was but lands warring with each other…could be just a tale.”

As the Seastag eased closer to Cantyl, Kharl turned back to study the entrance to the harbor for a moment. It easily could have been a pirate refuge. He turned to say that, but Furwyl had retreated to the pilot platform. So the former cooper and carpenter, who was now both mage and landholder, just watched as the ship turned southward toward the pier a kay away.

Before that long, he was studying the five men who stood waiting on the narrow pier, a structure whose timbers had been bleached near-white by salt and sun and time. Two were clearly line-handlers. The other three watched the ship, and Kharl had the feeling that they were waiting for him. In the stone-walled harbor yard off the foot of the pier were two heavy wagons. One held beams, the other planks, both loads waiting to be loaded onto the Seastag .

Furwyl backed down the Seastag expertly, and the ship came to a halt within cubits of the pier.

“Lines out!” came the call from Ghart.

Kharl waited until the Seastag was tied at the pier before turning to Furwyl. “Thank you, both for this voyage-and for all the ones that made this one possible.”

“Our pleasure, Master Kharl.” The captain gestured toward the pier. “It would appear that you are expected-and that we might have a cargo.”

“If you do, it would be the least I could do to repay you and everyone on board. I can’t tell you how much.” Kharl grinned.

Then he headed toward the ladder down to the main deck. Once there, he slipped back into the captain’s cabin and reclaimed his new bag, and his old pack, before hurrying back out to the quarterdeck.

Furwyl, all the mates, and Tarkyn stood there. Behind them were a number of the crew. In the front Kharl spied Reisl, Hodal, and Kawelt.

For a moment, Kharl just looked at them. He swallowed. Finally, he spoke. “Don’t know that I’m that good with words, but…any of you are welcome here, any time. Wouldn’t be here, and have this without you.”

He looked at each of the officers in turn, then at Reisl and Hodal.

Reisl grinned.

Kharl swallowed again, before he spoke. “Thank you. Thank you all.”

Furwyl cleared his throat. “Master Kharl…were it not for you, it’s likely none of us would be standing here. We’d be thanking you for our lives and our health, and, likewise, you’re always welcome here.”

Bemyr lifted his whistle and gave a long ululating signal.

With a smile, Kharl walked down the gangway. Once on the pier, he turned back to the ship and raised his arm in a salute of sorts to the Seastag . He watched for a moment, then turned to those who had been waiting for him.

A short and slight figure, balding with some wisps of reddish hair, stood forward of the two taller men. The top of his head barely reached Kharl’s shoulder, but he bowed first. “Lord Kharl?”

“I’m Kharl…” Kharl eased the patent from the top of the leather bag. “Here’s Lord Ghrant’s patent to me…”

“Speltar, ser…I’m the steward of Cantyl.” He took the patent almost apologetically, reading it carefully before bowing and handing it back.

Kharl slipped the parchment carefully back into his bag.

“This is Dorwan, the forester, and Glyan, the vintner,” Speltar said, nodding first to a burly black-haired man close to Kharl’s age, then to a gray-bearded and angular man with deep brown eyes.

Kharl studied each man in turn. “I’m happy to meet you all. I’ll be needing your advice and skills very much. The only thing I know anything at all about is woods.”

“Aye, ser,” offered Dorwan. “That was what the message from Lord Hagen said.”

“Are the timbers there cargo for the Seastag ?”

“That they are,” said Speltar. “When Dorwan heard that the Seastag was putting in here, a real heavy cargo vessel, we got together some timbers we could send to Nussar in Valmurl on consignment. That way, you’d have some more golds. We figured…well…they’d come in useful-like.”

“Since mages aren’t known for having full wallets?” asked Kharl, laughingly.

“That’d be true, ser.” Dorwan grinned at Kharl.

Kharl could not sense either calculation or chaos in any of the three, only a certain wariness in the vintner. He turned and gestured to Furwyl, asking the master to join them on the pier.

After a moment, Furwyl walked down the gangway.

“Captain Furwyl is now master of the Seastag, ” Kharl said, “since Lord Hagen is occupied as lord-chancellor.” He turned to Furwyl. “It appears that you were correct, captain, and that the timbers are a consignment cargo for you to take to Valmurl.”

Furwyl nodded to Kharl, then to Speltar. “We would be pleased.”

“Got the invoices, and the golds right here, captain,” offered Speltar, who looked to Kharl, “if that would be fine by you, ser?”

Kharl nodded, stepping back slightly.

Once Furwyl had the invoices and the shipping fees, and had returned to the Seastag, Speltar turned to Dorwan.

Dorwan inclined his head slightly. “If you’d not mind, ser Kharl, I’ll be supervising the loading.”

“Go ahead. If you’d join us when you can…”

“Yes, ser. Be a while.”

Kharl hitched the old pack into place on his shoulder.

Speltar led the way off the pier to the graveled lane that led from the pier westward and up a gentle slope covered with winter-brown grass to a series of buildings on a low hill overlooking the harbor. The path looked to be only about half a kay long.

The three had walked less than ten rods, when Speltar spoke again. “Ser…begging your pardon…but…would you be bringing a consort?”

“No.” After a moment, Kharl added, “My consort died about a year ago, and my sons have left the house. For the moment, I’m the only one.” Kharl wondered if, with his newfound wealth, he might be able to track the boys down, perhaps even send for Arthal, or send someone to bring him back.

“I’m sorry, ser…we didn’t know…”

“There was no reason that you would,” Kharl replied politely. “And I appreciate your concern.”

As they neared the hilltop, Kharl studied the structures. The main house was modest, at least for a landholder’s dwelling, a two-story red sandstone structure only slightly larger than Kharl’s cooperage had been, if one excluded the wide, roofed porch that wrapped around the entire house. The roof was of gray tiles, a patchwork of older and newer darker gray that showed replacements over the years. The shutters were dark gray, standing out against the red stone of the walls.

To the south, slightly downhill, were two buildings that looked like barns. Much farther to the north was a stream and a mill of some sort. Kharl glanced to Speltar. “Is that a sawmill?”

“Yes, ser. Lord Estloch had it built years back. That way, we can offer planks and timbers and charge more than we could just selling felled timber.”

“The timberlands, the vineyards…how far do they go?”

“Not that far, ser Kharl…no more than four kays to the northwest and five to the southwest, four if you could ride due south, but you can’t, not over those crags.”

Kharl turned to the vintner, Glyan. “I know less about vineyards and wine than possibly anything in my life. You’ll have to teach me everything you think I should know.”