L. Modesitt - Wellspring of Chaos

“In the middle of the battle?” Vatoran’s eyebrows lifted.

“That part of the battle was pretty near over. At least, no one was fighting there right then, and no one was looking at a carpenter dragging and carrying a wounded man. They were still worried about the firebolts on the top of the ridge.” While what Kharl said was true-no one had been looking at them because they couldn’t have seen them-the evasion of truth bothered him, but he didn’t want to reveal exactly what he had done.

“And you just rode to the harbor?”

“What he says is true,” Hagen interjected in a calm voice. “We were on the Seastag, and we saw a rider come up the pier with a figure over the saddle before him. Until he dismounted, we didn’t realize that it was the mage with Lord Ghrant.”

“It took a long time,” Kharl added. “I couldn’t get there directly.” That had been absolutely true.

“I see. What did you notice about the foot and lancers in the battle that we should know?”

“Some of them-Lord Ghrant’s men who held the little stone pavilion on the south side-they were brave and well-ordered. They were holding the pavilion even against the one mage until I killed him. There were others who ran and fled from the white wizards before I got there. More of them were in green and black, but there were some in yellow and black. Lord Ilteron’s forces withdrew a number of rods when I was battling the last white wizard, but I didn’t see any of them breaking or running.” Kharl shrugged. “That’s what I saw. I wasn’t looking at the lancers and foot, though. I was trying to stop the wizards and find Lord Ghrant and Ilteron.”

“Did you see any standards or banners…”

“Did you see any other rebel livery besides the blue…”

“What about cannon…”

Kharl replied to the questions as well as he could, even if most of his answers were negative. In between questions and answers, he kept eating.

After a time, Hagen cleared his throat. Loudly.

“I think the mage has been most forthcoming. It is most clear to me, both from what I saw and from what the mage and others have reported, that we have a solid task ahead of us if we are to be successful in halting other attempts by Hamor to weaken Austra.” Hagen’s smile to the officers was polite, but far from warm as he stood and nodded to Kharl.

Kharl stood and inclined his head to the commander. “My best to you, ser, and I trust I have not disturbed you too greatly, but I could only report on what I saw and experienced. I know too little about lancers to say anything but what I saw.”

“I am certain that is so, mage.” Vatoran had risen, as had the majers, and he inclined his head in response.

Kharl followed Hagen out and down the corridor.

The lord-chancellor said nothing until they were back in a small study or library, where both walls were filled with shelves brimming with leather-bound volumes. Hagen closed the door, but made no move to seat himself at the black oak desk. “That will do.”

“I don’t think they were happy with my words,” Kharl said.

“They weren’t supposed to be. I wanted them to know that more than a few people understood that some of the lancers had not responded well. Eating in town while the fighting was going on.” Hagen snorted. “Running from battle while others fought…”

“Was that why you did not see eye to eye with Lord Ghrant before?”

“Something like that.”

“Is there anything else you’d like from me?” asked Kharl.

Hagen laughed. “Just be polite and mysterious for the next few days, until you meet with Lord Ghrant, and then we’ll talk about what you’d like to do next.”

Kharl understood that, too. He wasn’t going to get a direct answer until something else happened, probably between Hagen and Lord Ghrant.

About midmorning on threeday, a youngster in a yellow tunic with black cuffs appeared at Kharl’s door, with a neatly folded set of garments in his arms.

“Master Kharl, ser?”

“Yes?”

“These are for you, ser. For the audience with Lord Ghrant, ser. At the first glass of the afternoon, ser.”

“Thank you.” Kharl took the garments.

“I’ll be here to escort you, ser.” Then, after those words, the young man was gone.

Kharl closed the door and looked down at the garments-a silksheen silver shirt, black trousers, and a black jacket of fine and soft wool. They had clearly been tailored to his measurements and presumably were his to keep.

He shook his head. Never had he owned such finery-nor needed it.

What would happen at the audience? What did Kharl have to say to Lord Ghrant? What he could have said-such as the fact that he didn’t think much of the discipline of the Austran forces or of Ghrant’s personal guard-were not things that would have been wise to voice, and he’d already said them to the lancer officers.

He also wasn’t pleased with the idea of bowing and scraping to Ghrant, who’d have been far better off to listen to Hagen from the beginning rather than having been forced to do so by events. Then, Kharl could always hope that Ghrant would be generous, although he had his doubts about that characteristic in rulers-or their offspring.

Kharl looked at the garments once more, then shrugged and laid them on the bed. After a moment, he began to disrobe. He might as well try on the new clothes. Not surprisingly, they fit well, and he looked almost impressive when he studied his reflection in the mirror above the chest set against the inner wall of the spacious chamber that had remained his.

Neither his pondering nor his pacing yielded more answers, and after several long glasses, the youth in yellow reappeared at his door. Wordlessly, Kharl followed him along the main corridor of the southern wing, up the main staircase in the middle of the sprawling structure, then along another white-walled corridor that ended in a single golden oak door. While the door was modest, there were two burly guards in the yellow and black.

“Master Kharl, the mage, here to see Lord Ghrant,” offered the youth.

“We know, Bethem,” said the shorter guard, smiling paternally before he turned and knocked. “The mage, ser.”

After a moment, the words came back. “Show him in.”

The guard who had not spoken opened the door, and Kharl stepped inside, into a study with wide windows opening to the north and west, with but a single case filled with books. The door closed behind him, almost silently, with just the faintest click .

The blond lord sat behind a wide desk of golden oak, unadorned, without a single carving.

“Lord Ghrant.” Kharl inclined his head, politely, but not too deeply.

“Can’t have too much formality here, not with a man who destroyed my enemies, then dragged and carried me to safety.” Ghrant gestured to the straight-backed chairs before the desk.

Kharl took the one in the shade, so that he could see Ghrant more clearly, without the afternoon sun that poured into the room getting in his eyes.

“You present a problem, Master Kharl. A happy one, but one requiring a solution. I cannot offer you what I owe you, and that is Austra. Nor even a fraction of that.” A rueful smile followed the words.

Kharl waited. He wasn’t about to offer Ghrant an easy way out. Self-denying graciousness did not count for much with those in power. That he had learned.

“Lord Hagen has suggested that your service is worth a small estate, a stipend, and a minor lordship. It was worth more than that, but we have conferred and feel that, with your talents, those are more appropriate, with certain…adjustments I think you will find useful. Lord Hagen will tell you of those details at your convenience. But from this point on, you hold the lands of Cantyl, and shall formally be addressed as ‘Ser Kharl.’” Ghrant smiled broadly. “You will also receive your first purse from him later this afternoon.”