L. Modesitt - Wellspring of Chaos

“Just a moment, ser…I’ll be right back.” Her voice died away, as did the sound of sandals on stone.

Kharl sat in his darkness. Why had he been able to see, then not see? He’d tried to concentrate on seeing the young healer…and it was as if the concentration had brought on the blindness.

Within moments, it seemed, he heard Alidya’s steps returning.

“Here, ser. I’ve got your lager.”

Kharl managed to locate the tankard-a real tankard and not a clay mug-with his order-senses and take it from Alidya’s hands. He took a slow swallow, then another, enjoying the taste of perhaps the best lager he’d ever had. Sometime after the third or fourth swallow, his sight returned, but he did not look directly at Alidya, just enjoyed the indirect light flooding around him and the distant hills to the south through the window.

“You didn’t tell me what happened afterward, after…”

Alidya smiled. “Oh, it was glorious. Lord Hagen rallied the lancers and drove back the attackers and raised Lord Ghrant’s banner. Then he sent a message to the highland lords, and, when they learned that Ilteron and the white wizards were dead, they agreed to return to their lands and recognize Lord Ghrant as supreme ruler of Austra.”

“Ah…” Kharl couldn’t believe it had been so simple. It could not have been that easy, could it?

“Well…he did have to send some captive officers back who saw Lord Ghrant so that they could say that he was alive, and he had to promise that he wouldn’t execute any of the rebel lords. They say that Lord Ghrant wasn’t happy about that.”

“That was all?”

“There was one other thing,” Alidya said. “The rebels wouldn’t agree unless Lord Ghrant named Lord Hagen as both his chancellor and arms-commander.”

Kharl couldn’t help chuckling. He would have rolled with laughter if he hadn’t known it would have hurt too much. Even the chuckling sent spasms through his ribs and muscles.

“I don’t think that’s at all funny.” Alidya’s voice turned prim.

Kharl managed to stop chuckling.

“Why did you laugh, ser?”

“I can’t explain…except…” Kharl shook his head. “Someday…someday, you’ll understand.”

A pained look crossed the young woman’s face, but she did not ask again.

“If I could have some more lager…?” Kharl asked after finishing the tankard.

“Yes, ser.”

Kharl could only drink a third of what she brought before he had to put it down. He was far more tired than he had thought, and who knew how many days he’d been abed?

Later that afternoon, a half glass after Kharl woke from dozing off, Hagen appeared.

“Lord Hagen!” Alidya bolted upright from the chair beside Kharl’s bed.

“You can go, Alidya, and close the door on the way out.”

“Ser…”

“Kharl will be fine, and if he needs you, I’ll call you.”

“Ah…yes, ser.”

Hagen waited until the door closed. “I owe you again.” His mouth twisted into a wry smile. “And you owe me, after a fashion.”

“Alidya told me about your having to be the lord-chancellor.”

“And arms-commander.”

“Lord Ghrant must not be terribly pleased,” offered Kharl.

“He’s relieved that he’s still Lord of Austra, and Lady Hyrietta has prevailed upon him to keep whatever anger he may have to himself.”

“What will you do with the Seastag ?”

“Furwyl will become captain, and the others will move up, except for Bemyr. He’ll always be a bosun.” Hagen looked at Kharl. “Lord Ghrant will be honoring you.”

“I didn’t do it for honor.”

“You’ll pardon me if I didn’t tell him that. I did say that you had seen injustice in your past and that you could not allow it to triumph in Austra if you could help it.” Hagen grinned crookedly.

For a moment, Kharl did not understand the grin. Then he smiled broadly. “That was almost evil, Lord Hagen.”

“What? To remind him that a lord’s task is to seek justice? To suggest that he owes his entire rule to a man who sought justice?” Hagen’s grin faded. “We are at least fortunate that he is one on whom that makes an impact. Though he will need frequent reminders.”

Thinking of Ilteron-and Egen-Kharl nodded.

“You will be honored. I would guess a purse, a small continuing stipend and estate, and the support of Lord Ghrant, which is not to be dismissed, even here.”

“I had not thought…” Kharl had indeed not thought of rewards…or of the possibility of remaining in Austra, and Hagen’s words said that his entire future might well be different-if he desired that future.

“You had not. I know that.” Hagen straightened. “But I thought you should know.”

After Hagen had left, Kharl looked out through the window into the brilliant gold of sunset. What did he want? Really? Could it be that his actions might bring a reward? Could that really be so after all that had happened? Or would he need to remain on the Seastag ? Thinking of Furwyl, Rhylla, Ghart, and Tarkyn, he reflected that a man could have a fate far worse-far, far worse.

A faint smile crossed his lips, and he closed his eyes.

Once Kharl was finally alert and eating, he recovered quickly, although he was left with a scar on his left temple, a jagged red mark no longer than the width of his thumb that resembled a miniature lightning bolt. His hair had been cut far shorter, probably to trim off all that had been singed and crisped. Dead skin had also flaked off over most of his face, leaving new and pinkish skin beneath.

By the end of the eightday, he was up and walking through the keep, which was not so much a keep as a large country house, around which walls had been erected at some time, certainly not a structure designed to withstand a lengthy attack or a siege.

His own garments, doubtless too rent and bloodstained to save, had been replaced before he had even recovered with far finer garb, two dark gray shirts that were almost silvery, black trousers, and a black jacket. Even his boots had been replaced with black leather boots fitted to his feet. The garments signified changes, more than he’d wanted to consider. First, the colors-that had been obvious. The black and gray were because he was a mage, but the quality…that bothered him. He could not have afforded such finery, and yet it was almost plain compared to that of those in the keep who attended Lord Ghrant, although somewhat finer than that of the servants or of Alidya.

In the late afternoon of eightday, he stood on the corner of the upper terrace, outside the walls, looking to the ridge and park to the north. The winter sky was clear, and there was no wind to dissipate the mild warmth of the sun. From close to a kay away, outside of a handful of gashes in the turf, Kharl could see no sign that a battle had been fought days before.

He still had a hard time believing that his tricks with hardening air had been so successful and that everyone seemed to think that he was a mighty mage. He had managed to learn a few things about order and chaos-but he’d be in real trouble if he ever encountered a truly accomplished white wizard. That, he understood, even if no one else seemed to.

“Ah…the mysterious mage…”

At the sound of Hagen’s voice, Kharl turned. He shrugged helplessly. “I’m ready to go.”

“Not yet,” Hagen said with a smile. “You need to stay here for a few more days. Just until threeday.”

“Why then?”

“Because that’s when Lord Ghrant has set your audience,” replied the new lord-chancellor. “It would be most unbecoming to depart before then.” Hagen grinned.

“Do I want that audience?” Kharl asked dryly.

“I would judge so, unless you want to go back to being a ship’s carpenter or a wandering mage. As for the moment, I came out here to suggest that now that you are well, you might join me and several of the lancer officers for supper.”