Ordermaster

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  Adelya hurried up as Kharl and Hagen stepped onto the front porch. “Ser Kharl... ser Kharl.. .” Abruptly, she stopped and bowed. “Lord- chancellor ... I’d not be meaning ...”

  “Whatever we have will be fine,” Kharl said to Adelya. “I didn’t know that Lord Hagen was coming, and he didn’t know before yesterday. That didn’t give him time to send a messenger.”

  “Whatever you cook will be far better than we ate on board ship.”

  Adelya did not look mollified, not completely.

  “I’ll come back-with notice-for one of your finest meals,” Hagen offered with a smile. “Then you will have time to offer your best.”

  Adelya bowed again. “Your lordship is most kind.”

  “Please don’t blame Lord Kharl. He did not know I was coming.”

  Kharl could hear the words under her breath as Adelya backed away, “But he’s a mage....” He resisted replying.

  Hagen laughed softly. “You see. There is a price for being a mage, too. People come to expect the impossible.”

  “She isn’t happy that I like working with my hands.”

  “People aren’t ever happy when you don’t meet their expectations.” Hagen’s voice was matter-of-fact, almost dismissive. “How do you find Cantyl?”

  Kharl gestured toward the bay. “It’s more than I ever expected. I’m still learning about the lands, and I haven’t been through all the timberlands and the southern hills yet.”

  “If you do, you’ll have seen more of them than any of the lords who’ve held Cantyl in generations,” Hagen said dryly.

  “How can a man not know his lands?” asked Kharl.

  “That’s a good question. It’s also why at least some of them didn’t keep them.”

  “Let me show you the house and the nearer outbuildings,” offered Kharl.

  “If you would...”

  Kharl began the informal tour by showing Hagen the first-floor study with the wide window overlooking the bay, directly below the master suite, which had an even grander view, and took him through the entire two-story stone structure. By the time they had walked through the house, toured the barns, viewed the vineyards, and returned to the house, the midday meal was waiting.

  Adelya hovered in the archway as the two seated themselves.

  “This looks to be a feast, not a midday meal!” Hagen exclaimed, taking in the platters that Adelya set between them, with cutlets, fowl breasts, cheese lace potatoes, honeyed pearapples, and rye and dark bread with the honey-butter that was Adelya’s pride. There

  were two goblets, with a pitcher of Cantyl’s full red wine set on one side of the table.

  “It’s little enough, ser.”

  “It’s a great deal, Adelya,” Kharl said firmly, “and we both appreciate it. Thank you.”

  “I am hungry,” Hagen admitted as he began to serve himself, “and we won’t have anything near this good on the return voyage to Valmurl.” “How long will that take?”

  “We’ll be using both the engines and sails. If the winds hold, we might reach the harbor by midnight.”

  Kharl filled both goblets, then lifted one. “To you, for all of this ...”

  Hagen flushed as he lifted his goblet. “To you, ser Kharl... for saving Austra.”

  “And to friendship ...”

  Hagen nodded, then took a sip of the wine. “It’s a good solid wine.”

  “I like it. Glyan says that the Rhynn is better, but to me, they’re both good.” Kharl broke off a chunk of the dark bread and passed the basket to the other. “Do you know how Tarkyn, Furwyl, and Rhylla are doing?”

  “The Seastag is on its way to Land’s End on Reduce. Only want to port there in spring and summer. I heard that there was some black wool to be had there. Doesn’t come on the market often. A good weaver can make cloth for a lord from it.” At the reference to weavers, Kharl couldn’t help thinking about Jeka, wondering how she was doing with Gharan-hoping that she had been able to stay with his former neighbor. He just wished he’d been able to do more for Jeka. She’d certainly saved his life and befriended him at a time when no one else would lift a hand. Beneath the hard surface ... “Kharl?”

  “I’m sorry. I was . .. thinking. Was everyone all right when they cast off from Valmurl?”

  “Furwyl left a report for me, and everything was fine. He did say that he needed to look for another carpenter. Tarkyn was complaining that there was too much work for any one carpenter.” Hagen shook his head. “No one will ever be as good a ship’s carpenter as you were, not for Tarkyn.”

  “Nothing is ever as good as it was,” Kharl said dryly. “Even when it wasn’t that good.”

  “You are almost as cynical as I am, ser mage.” Hagen took another sip of wine. “That’s saying a great deal.”

  Kharl feared he would need that cynicism when he reached Valmurl.

  II

  Thrap!

  “Ser Kharl? Ser Kharl?”

  Kharl struggled out of sleep. Where was he? How early was it?

  “Ser Kharl?” The feminine voice was unfamiliar.

  He squinted in the light pouring into the unfamiliar bedchamber, before everything came back. He was in the north wing of Lord Ghrant’s Great House. For just himself, he had not only a large bedchamber, but a sitting room with a desk, as well as a lavishly equipped bath chamber.

  “Ser?”

  “Coming...” Kharl pulled himself out of the triple-width bed and yanked on his traveling trousers, shambling through the sitting room to the door, aware of the old but thick carpet beneath his bare feet.

  “Your breakfast, sir.”

  Kharl concentrated, hard as it was, with his order-senses, but so far as he could tell, the young woman stood alone outside his door. He eased the lock plate back. A dark-haired young woman, barely out of girlhood, stood there holding an enormous tray.

  “If you’d let me bring it in, ser. If you would, ser.”

  Kharl watched as she eased through the doorway and set the tray on the table desk. “Thank you.”

  “My pleasure, ser.” The girl bowed and slipped away.

  After locking the door again, Kharl crossed the sitting room. He looked at the tray, taking in the slices of ham, the egg toast, fillets of some sort of fish, a basket of black bread, a pot of jam, and the twin pitchers, one of pale ale, and the other of cider, with an empty beaker. He hadn’t expected a breakfast to be delivered, but he couldn’t say he was displeased, not as late as he had arrived in Valmurl the night before.

  The winds had not been as favorable as Hagen had hoped, and the Seafox had not reached Valmurl until a good two glasses past midnight, even pushing the engines. A coach had been waiting, though, to take them to the Great House. For all that, or because of it, he had not slept that well, fretting as he had about the upcoming audience. Then, just when he had drifted off, or so it had seemed, the young woman had knocked on his door, carrying a tray with his breakfast.

  A faint smile crossed his lips. A former cooper, being served by the servants of the Lord of Austra-that was something that Charee would never have believed. The pain he felt when he thought of his dead consort was not so much grief as a deep sadness over something that had never been quite right for years-and for the fact that she had been killed because Egen had wanted to punish Kharl. Her death had led to his losing both boys. Charee’s sister Merayni had claimed the younger Warrl just before Kharl had been forced into hiding. Arthal, bitter at his mother’s death, had signed on to the Fleuryl as a carpenter’s apprentice without even telling Kharl until the morning he had left.

  Kharl could only hope that Warrl was doing well as a grower’s boy at Peachill. Once the rebel lords were subdued-if they were-then he could look into sending for Warrl. Going back to Brysta in person to get Warrl wasn’t a good idea, but if all else failed, he’d try that as well. As for Arthal... he didn’t even know where his older son was-or that Arthal would even talk to him if he could find the boy-except Arthal was a young man, an angry young man. Then, Arthal
had always been angry, and Kharl had never understood why.

  He shook his head and looked down at the breakfast tray. After a moment, he frowned. There was something about the tray. He studied it, both with his eyes and his order-senses. His eyes and nose insisted that everything was as it should be. His order-

  senses told him that there were pockets of reddish white spread through most of the food.

  He left the tray on the table and went into the bath chamber.

  In less than half a glass he was washed up and dressed. The tray and food remained untouched on the desk, and Kharl used the big brass key to lock the door behind him. He doubted that would stop whoever had poisoned the food.

  He found the staircase down to the main level without any difficulty and made his way southward, toward what he thought was the center of the Great House. He stopped in a large hexagonal hallway, off which branched four corridors.

  “Ser mage?” asked the guard in the yellow and black of Ghrant’s personal guard.

  “I’m looking for the lord-chancellor. Lord-chancellor Hagen.”

  The guard looked at Kharl’s face, then at his black garments-those of a mage-once more. “Ah ... yes, ser. His chamber is this way. I’d best take you.”

  Kharl studied the man with his order-senses, but the fellow seemed honest. The guard turned down a narrower corridor that stretched a good fifty cubits, but he stopped after thirty at an unmarked ironbound door. “The mage Kharl to see you, ser.”

  “Have him come in.”

  “Ser.” The guard nodded and stepped back.

  Kharl found himself inside a small chamber, no more than ten cubits square, without even a window. There was a second door, also of golden oak, at the rear of the room. Wearing a black velvet jacket trimmed in gold, with a heavy gold chain with a gold medallion at the end around his neck, Hagen stood beside the small table desk.

  “You look upset, Kharl. What is it?”

  “I had a breakfast tray delivered. I’m fairly sure it’s poisoned. I just left it in the sitting room.”

  Hagen walked to the wall and yanked on the yellow-and-black bellpull. “I’ll send Charsal up with you. He’ll bring back the tray, and we’ll feed it to the rats.”

  “The rats?”

  “Lord Estloch keeps them for just such purposes. Anything that kills a rat will certainly kill a person.”

  Kharl hadn’t thought about the possibility of an organized system for dealing with poison, but the moment that Hagen had mentioned it, he realized that he should have. Hagen fingered his chin. “I wouldn’t put it past Guillam. I can’t think of anyone else who would know-or want to-that you were coming-or what that might mean. But that doesn’t mean it was he.” “There’s something he doesn’t want discovered,” Kharl suggested. “Why else ... ?”

  Hagen laughed. “Were it only that simple. A mage reduces everyone’s influence with Lord Ghrant. Many will feel themselves threatened.” The lord-chancellor moved back toward the desk. “How did you sleep?”

  “I must have slept. I don’t recall anything.”

  “Good. It’s likely to be a long day. Lord Ghrant has confirmed that he expects Guillam at the second glass past noon.” “Early afternoon,” Kharl mused. “Does Guillam have a dwelling near here in Valmurl?”

  “Not that close. He has a country house fifteen kays west of Valmurl, and a small mansion off the Factors’ Square. That’s three kays from here-“ Hagen broke off at the knock on the chamber door. “Yes?”

  “Charsal, ser.”

  “Come in.”

  The door opened, and a trim young man, half a head shorter than Kharl, entered. He wore the yellow and black of the Ghrant’s personal guard.

  “Undercaptain... this is ser Kharl of Cantyl, the mage. He believes that a breakfast tray that was delivered to his quarters may be poisoned. If you would take one of your Serjeants ...”

  “The rats, ser?”

  “Exactly, and have him watch them closely.”

  “Ah ... after that... where can I get breakfast?” Kharl asked sheepishly.

  Charsal will take you to the kitchen. It’s probably best if the cooks fix something for you while you’re there. I’ll send a messenger to find you efore the audience. If you’d just stay somewhere in the Great House.” Hagen nodded to Charsal. “Undercaptain.”

  “Yes, ser.”

  Because Hagen was clearly preoccupied, Kharl inclined his head.

  “Until later, ser.”

  Hagen offered a wry smile in return. Charsal stepped back and opened the door, holding it for Kharl. Outside, an older armsman, with a short but grizzled beard, stood. Without a word, the Serjeant followed the undercaptain and Kharl. Kharl led the way back up the stairs. Outside the chamber, Kharl took out the heavy brass key and unlocked the door. His order-senses confirmed that the room was empty. The tray remained where he had left it and did not look as though it had been touched.

  “Is this it, ser?” asked Charsal, gesturing toward the tray.

  “That’s it.”

  Charsal nodded to the seargent. “Everything gets fed to the rats. You’re to watch them and report to me.”

  “Yes, ser.” The seargent lifted the tray and carried it out.

  “Now for the kitchen.” Charsal smiled.

  “I hope this isn’t too much of a problem.”

  “No, ser. We can’t have people being poisoned here in the Great House.”

  “I’m not sure it is poisoned, but there’s something not right about it.”

  “When a mage says something’s not right, best to listen.” Charsal smiled. “You were asking about breakfast, I believe.”

  “I had thought about it,” Kharl replied with a grin.

  “This way, ser.”

  The kitchen was on the lower level of the north side of the Great House, a large stonewalled room already uncomfortably warm even before mid-morning.

  “The mage here needs some breakfast,” Charsal announced. “Prepared now.”

  A round-faced woman looked up, then nodded. “Be right on it. We could have prepared a tray if we’d ‘a known.”

  Kharl kept his frown to himself, but noted the slightest nod from Charsal.

  “Anything you’d be liking, ser?” asked the cook.

  “Whatever you do best, except I’d rather not have any fish.”

  “We can do that. Egg toast, good ham, fresh bread, and cool cider? Jam, too.”

  “That would be fine,” Kharl replied.

  Both Charsal and Kharl stood against the stone wall and watched as the cooks bustled around the huge cast-iron stove. Seemingly in moments, the cook had two heaping platters, pitcher and goblet, a basket of the black bread, and a pot of jam all set on a tray. She looked around, as if for a serving maid.

  “I can take it,” Kharl said.

  “But.. . ser . ..”

  “I’m escorting the mage.” Charsal stepped forward and took the tray, then turned and led the way to the northwest corner of the kitchen, through an archway, and up a circular set of stone steps into an airy room with wide windows overlooking a stone terrace. “This is one of the dining rooms, ser. For those guests and staff here who are not being fed at various functions.”

  Two younger men were seated at a circular table in one corner, clearly finished with eating, but talking in low and intense voices. Besides Kharl and the undercaptain, they were the only ones in the room.

  Charsal set the tray on a table before the windows. “Is this all right, ser?”

  “That’s fine. Thank you, undercaptain. I can find my way back to my chambers, and there’s no need to keep you from your other duties.” Kharl paused. “You have eaten, haven’t you? There’s more than enough-“

  “I ate just a little while ago, ser, but I appreciate your kindness.” Charsal bowed. “If you would not mind ...”

  Kharl smiled. “Go.”

  After Charsal turned, Kharl settled into the breakfast. While he had thought the portions large, he was surprised to find that he left
little enough, except for half a loaf of bread. The black bread was heavy and sweetish, some of the best he recalled having, and he’d appreciated it. He still recalled all too well the days of hiding between the Tenderer’s walls in Brysta, when he and Jeka had gone days with little sustenance.

  With his hunger satisfied, using his order-senses, he tried to pick up the conversation of the two men in the corner, both wearing dark green tunics and trousers, the same color as the green of the Austran armsmen and lancers.

  “…taking a chance to stay here ... Lord Ghrant... be vindictive ...”

  “…not that bad ... worse to worry about Fostak ...”

  “…say Guillam has audience with Ghrant... what if ...”

  Kharl strained, but could not make out the words for the next several foments. He refilled his goblet with cider.

  “…wouldn’t know a mage ... saw one . .. not here in Austra . ..”

  “... wear black or white sometimes ... Lyras does ... black ... not much of a mage ...”

  “... say the new one killed Ilteron with a thunderbolt...”

  Kharl wanted to snort. He couldn’t create a spark, let alone a lightning bolt. He’d just surrounded Ilteron and his wizard with an impermeable barrier of solid air and let them suffocate. It had been the only thing he’d known how to do.

  “... fellow who’s over there wearing black ...”

  There was a strangled gulp. Kharl did not look up as the two young men hurried out of the breakfast room. A wry smile crossed his face. From the fragments of the conversation he’d overheard, he doubted that either man had been the one who had tried to poison him. On the other hand, the younger man had glanced back worriedly, and his hand had been held close to the hilt of the sabre at his side.

  Kharl got up slowly, glancing around. As he did, a serving girl, not even so old as his younger boy Warrl, dashed out from the archway at the top of the steps from the kitchen.

  Kharl held out a hand.

  “Ser?”

  “Those two men who were seated in the corner. Do you know who they are?”

  “Ser?”

  “Do you know who they are?”