L. Modesitt - Wellspring of Chaos

The thought of company for a meal-rather than being served in one of the small dining halls with minor functionaries he did not know-did have a certain appeal to Kharl, but he had no doubt that Hagen had more than that in mind. “Senior officers?”

Hagen smiled. “I am certain they would appreciate any information you might provide about what you saw…”

“Such as the officers dining in the town the day before the final battle?” asked Kharl. “While others were fighting?”

“They might not like such, but I would be indebted to you for such candor.”

“And they are not likely to doubt a mage as much?”

“They know that you have no history with the Austran lancers,” Hagen pointed out. “Unlike me.”

Kharl thought he understood and gestured for Hagen to lead on.

The two walked back across the terrace and through a narrow bailey gate-where two of Ghrant’s personal guards stood stiffly-before reentering the north wing. Kharl followed Hagen down a wide but short side corridor, one adorned with oversized portraits of men in restrained finery. The corridor ended in two double doors, the right one open.

Hagen motioned for Kharl to precede him, and the carpenter-mage did.

Inside, five officers in the green and gray of Austra stood around one end of the large circular table already set for a meal with white linen cloth and cutlery. More portraits graced the white plaster walls above the blond wainscot paneling.

“Lord Hagen…mage,” offered a gray-haired and mustached officer with a broad forehead, pointed chin, and perfect mustache.

Hagen returned the greeting with a nod, then spoke. “I thought that it might be useful for Kharl to dine with us. He saw a side of the last battle that none of us did.” He inclined his head to the graying officer. “Kharl, this is Commander Vatoran…Majer Reseff, Majer Tralk, Majer Fuelt, and Majer Nyort.”

Kharl nodded solemnly in response, hoping he could keep the names and faces in mind throughout the dinner.

Hagen moved to a place at the table, the one that faced the doorway. “Kharl, perhaps…” He gestured to the chair across the table from him.

Kharl took the suggestion, but waited to seat himself until the other officers began to do so, and they waited until Hagen actually settled into his chair.

A long silence followed, one that pleased Hagen, Kharl felt.

“Commander Vatoran is the eastern district commander,” the lord-chancellor finally explained to Kharl as servers circled the table, asking each man whether he preferred wine, ale, or lager. “In effect, he commands all of the lancer forces east of the Shiltons. Each of the majers commands a subdistrict, usually with between ten and fifteen companies. The organization is the same for the foot, but we’ll be meeting with them later.” Hagen turned to the server waiting patiently at his shoulder. “Wine. Red. The Asolo, if you have it.”

Kharl stayed with lager. To him, wine was too close to sweet vinegar.

“You have not been a lancer, or an armsman, mage, have you?” asked Vatoran, his deep voice calm and even.

“I fear not, commander.”

“But you have been in battle?”

“Against pirates and a white wizard. This was my first battle where both sides were lancers and foot.”

Hagen made no comment, just nodded and waited.

Kharl took advantage of the moment of silence to sample the lager, a slightly edged but refreshing brew. One of the two women servers deftly slipped slices of white meat onto the gold-rimmed, pale blue china plate before Kharl, and the second added dumplings. A third followed with strips of green cetalya, then ladled a white sauce laced with black mushrooms over both meat and dumplings. Kharl cared little for the bitter cetalya and would have preferred the sauce over the vegetable as well.

“What weapons have you used? Besides your magely skills, that is?” asked one of the majers.

“I’m not one for the blade,” Kharl admitted. “Cudgel and staff.”

One of the other majers sniffed, but did not speak as the first majer asked, “How many men have you killed, mage, that is, with your weapons, not magery?”

Kharl didn’t care much for the majer’s tone, or the unspoken condescension of the other majers, but he fingered his chin before replying, thinking about Tyrbel’s assassin, about the very first white wizard and his guards, and about the pirates. “I can’t say for certain. I know about five for sure, before the battle here.”

“The mage is being modest,” Hagen interrupted. “Against the pirates alone, he took out ten men with his staff.”

Kharl reflected once more. If he counted the deaths of the men killed on the ridge by the white wizard’s efforts to stop him, then the total was doubtless several score.

“Would you agree with Lord Hagen’s assessment?” asked Vatoran, a slight smile without humor lifting the corners of his mouth.

“Lord Hagen may have seen more than I did. He had a better vantage, and he is more familiar with fighting and warfare,” Kharl said. “I was just doing the best I could.” He took a bite of the meat-boar, he thought-and a mouthful of the flavorful dark bread. Then he tried a dumpling, surprisingly delicate, with a plumlike flavor.

“The mage cleared the deck of one vessel,” Hagen explained, “but he lost two toes and cracked his ribs in a number of places.”

“What about-”

“I think we can dispense with more questions about the mage’s familiarity with weapons and fighting,” Vatoran interjected, turning back to Kharl. “Did you see much of the fighting before the day that you bested the wizards and Ilteron?”

Hagen gave the slightest of nods to Kharl.

“I had not realized that the fighting had begun,” the mage replied. “I was in the town, looking for somewhere to eat, and I went into a café. There were four lancer officers there, and they were eating and drinking, and talking about the fighting…about how close the rebels were to Dykaru-”

“…must be some mistake…”

“…sure they wore the green and black?”

“They were in the green and black,” Kharl affirmed, “and when I left, I saw a wagon filled with wounded, and the teamster was complaining that he’d lost his way and that his captain didn’t seem to know much about where the battle was or how to direct the teamster…” Kharl took a swallow of ale before continuing. “That was what I saw and heard before we got into battle the next day.”

Vatoran nodded as if to himself before continuing. “I’d be most curious, mage, as to why you risked your life for Lord Ghrant. You don’t have to speak to that, if you don’t want to, of course. It’s enough that you acted, whatever the reason.”

“I’m not sure that it is, commander,” Kharl found himself saying. “I used to think that myself. I was a cooper. No secret about that. So long as I made good barrels, didn’t matter to me why I made them. But it did.” He shrugged. “I found that out. Heard enough about Ilteron and had seen enough of Lord Hagen to realize there was a difference. Didn’t get to make a difference in Nordla, but I had a chance in Austra. That’s why.”

“But you are not Austran,” Vatoran pointed out.

“Lord Hagen’s acts had made it clear that right is right. Wrong is wrong. Doesn’t matter where. If you only protect what’s yours, and everyone does that, then wrong usually wins, and right loses. In the end, you do, too.”

Vatoran looked as though he wanted to reply to that, but, instead, the commander frowned, then asked, “How did you get into battle?”

“Lord Hagen thought that I might be of some use in making sure that Lady Hyrietta and the heirs were safe…” Kharl went on to tell about the battle, but avoided any exact details about what magery he had used, only saying, “I managed to use what I knew about order to block their firebolts and imprison them in a web of order. That killed the two wizards and Ilteron. Then I dragged Lord Ghrant off the ridge and managed to get him onto a mount. It took a long time to get him back to the harbor.”