Ordermaster

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  The girl looked down, then up. She did not meet Kharl’s eyes. “The taller one, ser, that was ser Zerlin. He’s the youngest son of Lord Woren. The other man ... I have seen him, but I don’t know his name.”

  Kharl sensed the truth. “Thank you.” Unfortunately, he could have used the name she didn’t know. He stepped back and let the scullery girl collect his tray and the dishes on the table the two men had vacated.

  He’d been in the Great House less than half a day, and he was beginning to see why Hagen had never wanted to serve as lord-chancellor. He thought about attempting to use his order-abilities to shield himself from view; but that was hard work, and he’d have to move slowly. For what? Because he was worried?

  Still... he needed to be watchful.

  He passed two guards in yellow and black on the main level as he made his way toward the staircase up to his chamber. Both nodded politely, and he returned the nods.

  III

  For the residence of the Lord of Austra, the Great House was surprisingly stark and simple. The walls on the main level were of simple polished stone, as were the floors. There were occasional niches, set shoulder high, in which there were busts of figures Kharl did not recognize. The ceilings were of a white plaster, and unadorned. All the doors were of ancient golden oak, and the fixtures upon them were brass, tarnished in many cases.

  Kharl was halfway up the closed circular staircase when he thought he heard something below. He stopped and looked back over his shoulder. He couldn’t see the bottom of the staircase because of the curvature and the walls, but there was no one on the steps as far down as he could see.

  He turned and continued up the stairs, stopping at the top landing, and listening. Then he extended his order-senses. Two figures were frozen around the curve of the stairs, as if waiting for him to go on. Kharl considered. Now what? He wasn’t carrying any weapons, not that he was any good with anything except a staff or a cudgel, and even if he had been, he couldn’t very well attack someone for merely following him.

  He smiled, then turned and walked quickly through the archway at the end of the landing, turning left and heading toward the north wing.

  He swallowed. Ahead of him was a figure in the shadows of the space where the corridor ended, intersecting the narrower hallway that served the north wing. The figure was lifting something. Behind him, he could hear boots racing up the staircase.

  Kharl concentrated, first hardening the very air on each side of him into a barrier, but with a good three cubits between each barrier, then wrapping himself in darkness-and invisibility. He also flattened himself against the wall, as an added, if unnecessary, precaution.

  Clank! Something had struck the barrier. Clank! Clank!

  “Frig!” The single word was half-whispered, half-hissed, and came from the hallway, probably at the top of the staircase, but Kharl could not see, not wrapped in the darkness of invisibility, and he was having enough trouble managing the barrier and invisibility, without trying to extend his order-senses forty or sixty cubits.

  “…gone ...”

  “…friggin’ mage ... get out of here ...”

  At the sound of boots on stone, Kharl dropped the invisibility, but, Ven so’ could only catch the vaguest glimpse of two figures in dark green r gray as they darted from the hallway down the staircase. He turned back toward the north wing, but that figure had vanished as well. He could not see or sense anyone else nearby.

  With more than a little trepidation, he released the barriers, quickly. He was breathing as hard as if he had run half a kay, but that was to be expected. Using order-magery the way he had took strength and endurance.

  Kharl collected the three bent crossbow quarrels, then, with his order-senses extended, made his way to the end of the central corridor and down the narrower hallway back to his own chamber. His order-senses told him that it was empty. He unlocked it and stepped inside, sliding the lock plate into place.

  He sat down in a straight-backed chair to catch his breath and collect his thoughts.

  Should he tell Hagen?

  He decided against immediately telling the lord-chancellor. What good would that do? Hagen already knew that someone didn’t want Kharl at the Great House. Kharl didn’t want to run down to Hagen and once more convey news about which Hagen could do little. Doubtless crossbows and men in green were all too common in Valmurl and probably in the Great House. Also, he wouldn’t be surprised if someone had planned for him to do exactly that.

  Besides, Kharl needed to prepare for the audience with Guillam. He needed to think about what he might say, and, if given a chance, what questions he might need to ask.

  Also, he didn’t want to create more consternation in the Great House. That would not help him, Hagen, or Lord Ghrant. No ... it might better be handled quietly. That was also something else he had learned from experience. Bitterly.

  Kharl studied his image in the mirror of the bedchamber. His dark brown hair was cut tastefully short, his beard neatly trimmed. The silvery gray shirt and black waistcoat, and even the black trousers- bestowed by Lord Ghrant in Dykaru-were far finer than any raiment he had ever worn.

  Was Guillam so worried about Kharl that he had attempted two assassination attempts in one morning? Or was Kharl so much of a threat that more than one person wanted him dead? Was truth-or disclosure-that deadly?

  He laughed. Egen had certainly not wished certain things to become known and had killed Charee and Tyrbel to quell that information, as well as hounded Kharl out of Brysta. The Lord Justicer Reynol had seen what Egen wanted and had made sure that Charee could not reveal anything before she had been hanged.

  Why would people be any different in Austra and Valmurl?

  He took a deep breath, thinking once more about the past. He shook his head. At the moment, he could do nothing about it. He never could do anything for Charee, but he had hopes for Warrl, and Jeka ... if he could ever get back to Brysta. As for Arthal. .. what would be would be.

  As he waited, Kharl leafed through The Basis of Order, seeking a passage that might shed some light on the issues of truth and justice, even as he doubted that Lord Ghrant truly wanted justice or truth from Guillam.

  ... there is order, and there is chaos, and those who follow each will declare that either order is truth or chaos is truth. A truth that holds for all does not exist, not in the world, nor in the stars, nor on the surface of the land, nor beneath the waves of the ocean. That which is exists, but those who search for truth that applies to all seek what never was and never will be. That is because truth is an image of what is, and that image is painted in the colors of the seeker’s beliefs. Each seeks a different truth, and each claims that his is the only truth. In that the seeker is surely correct... No such thing as truth?

  Kharl frowned, then nodded slowly.

  As midday came and passed, Kharl read, and thought, and considered. He spent close to a glass just thinking about how to word questions for the chief factor. He’d been a cooper, not a justicer or a minstrel.

  Thrap!

  “Lord Kharl?” The voice was that of Charsal. “I’m to take you to see the lord-chancellor, ser.”

  Kharl used his order-senses to make sure the undercaptain was alone, hen he picked up the three bent quarrels and unlocked the door to his chamber, stepping out into the stone-walled corridor and relocking the door.

  Charsal glanced at the bent metal quarrels.

  “I thought the lord-chancellor should see these.”

  “Those are standard quarrels, ser. Why-“

  “That is why he should see them. We should go.” ‘

  “Yes, ser.” Charsal’s voice expressed puzzlement.

  The two walked silently to the central staircase, then down to the main level. There were more bodies-and more guards-in the large hall at the base of the staircase.

  When Kharl entered Hagen’s modest space, the lord-chancellor was seated behind the small table desk. He looked up from the papers before him, but did not rise, gesturing to
the chairs across the table desk from him.

  Kharl set the three quarrels on the desk. “Three men tried to kill me after breakfast this morning. They missed, but I thought you’d like to see these.” “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

  “What good would it have done? They were too far away and in too much shadow for me to recognize anyone. It would have distracted you. We already know that people want me dead.” Kharl shrugged.

  “We might have-“ Hagen broke off the words. “You’re right. They just shot at you and ran?”

  “Something like that.”

  “I knew things were bad here, but...” Hagen shook his head. “You were right about the food. There was enough vicin in your meal to kill an entire company. I’m not surprised that you are regarded as an enemy, but I was surprised that Guillam knew you were here and moved so quickly.”

  “You didn’t tell anyone when you left to fetch me?”

  “No one. I did say that I was going out on the Seafox to test the new condensers.”

  “Did you talk to the girl who brought the tray?”

  “I couldn’t.” Hagen’s face clouded. “The guards found her body in the outer garden. She was garrotted. The cooks thought the tray was for the armsmaster of the Great House, but he spent the night outside Valmurl, with his brother. They swear that no one had touched it when they gave it to her to deliver.”

  A dead serving girl and two attempts on his life-scarcely a promising beginning to his first day in Lord Ghrant’s Great House. “Does the name Fostak mean anything to you?”

  “Where did you hear that?” Hagen’s eyebrows furrowed.

  “I overheard it in a conversation, from a young man named Zerlin. I had the feeling I wasn’t supposed to hear it.”

  “Fostak is the private secretary of Lord Joharak. Joharak is the Hamor-ian envoy to Austra. There have been rumors that Fostak is a duelist, as well as the one who funneled golds to Ilteron to encourage him to take up arms against Ghrant.” “He is still in Valmurl?”

  “Of course. Would you wish to upset the Emperor of Hamor, with all his iron-hulled warships? Without a shred of proof?” Hagen’s tone was gently ironic.

  There hadn’t been any real proof against Kharl when he’d been unjustly accused of murdering Jenevra, but that hadn’t stopped Egen and Lord West. But then, Kharl reminded himself, there were different standards when rulers and power were involved.

  “The other reason I wanted to talk to you was to brief you on what will happen shortly. As we discussed earlier, Lord Ghrant will be seeing Chief Factor Guillam in a formal audience. That means that no one else can speak unless addressed first by Lord Ghrant. Even if he looks at you, that does not give you permission to speak. He may ask you if you have any questions for Guillam. That means that he expects you to have a question or two, three at the most. When you speak to Guillam, or offer more than a word or two, you step forward slightly. If Lord Ghrant wishes you to continue with questions, he will let you know by saying something like, ‘Please continue, ser Kharl.’ You should ask several more questions, then look at Lord Ghrant and either suggest that you have a few more questions or say that you have nothing further to ask the chief factor. Oh, and during an audience, Lord Ghrant is addressed as ‘your lordship.’”

  Kharl nodded. “Do you know what Lord Ghrant wants to know?”

  Hagen laughed. “He wants proof that Guillam was a traitor and will be loyal.”

  “And if he will not be loyal?”

  ‘Some way to show Guillam’s treachery to all present.” “He does not wish much.”

  Rulers never do. Neither do lords-chancellor.” Hagen stood and straightened the gold-trimmed, black velvet jacket. “We should go. Lord Ghrant expects us to be in the audience chamber a quarter glass before he appears.”

  Rather than take the front door, Hagen stepped to the rear door, opening it. Kharl followed the lord-chancellor down the narrow, oak- paneled corridor.

  “This is a private entrance to the audience chamber. When we reach the dais, you stand to my left and about a half pace back, if you would.”

  “I can do that.”

  At the end of the short passageway was an armsman, wearing the yellow and black of Ghrant’s personal guard. “Lord-chancellor . .. how should I announce .. . ?”

  “The lord-chancellor and ser Kharl of Cantyl.”

  “Ser mage.” The guard inclined his head, then turned and opened the door, stepping into the audience hall. His voice boomed out. “The lord- chancellor, Lord Hagen, and ser Kharl of Cantyl.”

  As directed, Kharl followed Hagen out into the audience hall, a high-ceilinged chamber close to sixty cubits in length and half that in width. The ceiling rose to an arched height of perhaps thirty cubits. The archway through which he and Hagen had entered opened directly onto a dais that was ten cubits deep and stretched the width of the chamber, two cubits above the main floor. In the center was a simple high-backed carved chair. It was empty.

  The area below the dais contained close to a hundred men, and no more than a handful of women. All stood facing the dais, but most continued to talk to each other in low voices. Only a handful even looked in Kharl or Hagen’s direction as the two walked into the hall. At first glance, Kharl recognized no one, but then, after a moment, he did see Commander Vatoran near the rear of the group on the right side.

  When Hagen stopped, Kharl halted as well, positioning himself as directed.

  “In a moment,” Hagen said quietly, “some of them will recognize who you are, and they will begin to study you. There was a reason I did not have you announced as a mage.”

  “I only recognize Commander Vatoran.”

  “They do not know your face, but some know your name, and that will spread through them. Trust me. Watch.”

  Kharl watched. As Hagen predicted, more and more sets of eyes focused on him, but in passing, as if no one wanted to be caught looking at jCharl for long. The effect was mildly unsettling, especially as Kharl could hear fragments of murmured conversations.

  “... big man for a mage ...”

  “... said he was a cooper and a marine ... lord-chancellor’s ships ...”

  “... Hagen’s more than Ghrant’s ... you ask me ...”

  “... not all bad that way ...”

  In a sense that was right, because without Hagen’s support and kindness, Kharl would either have been starving in the back alleys of Brysta or dead.

  “His Lordship, Ghrant of Dykaru, Lord of Austra and Scion of the North.”

  The murmurs died away as Ghrant entered the hall from the other rear door-opposite the one through which Kharl and Hagen had entered. The Lord of Austra was attired in dark green, trimmed in black, and the green was the same shade as worn by the two men whose conversation Kharl had overheard, although the cloth itself looked to be of the finest velvet.

  Without a word, Ghrant seated himself in the ancient high-backed chair. He nodded to the chamberlain, who had followed him and stood to the right of the chair, roughly the same distance from Ghrant as were Hagen and Kharl.

  “Summon Guillam of Desfor.”

  The hall remained silent for a time, without even the lowest of murmurs.

  “Guillam of Desfor, chief factor of Austra,” announced one of the guards in yellow and black stationed just inside the double doors.

  “Have him enter.”

  Guillam stepped through the doors, which closed behind him, and into the audience chamber. He was an angular figure, with thinning gray hair and deep-set eyes. Over his trousers and jacket, he wore a sleeveless open robe of purple. Since no one else in the audience hall wore anything like it, Kharl assumed the robe was a symbol of his position as chief factor.

  From the moment the chief factor stepped into the hall, Kharl could sense the whiteness of chaos that drifted around him. That whiteness felt wrong to Kharl, almost like an itching that he could not scratch.

  Guillam glanced toward the mage, then away. As he headed toward the ^gh-backed chair, and Lord Ghra
nt, his eyes flickered toward Kharl several times Even so, the chief factor walked deliberately, without a hint of haste, to the foot of the six wide and carpeted steps that rose from the floor to the dais. There he halted.

  “You had requested my presence, your lordship?” Guillam’s voice was a smooth yet resonant baritone. He bowed slightly after speaking.

  “We did, chief factor.” Ghrant’s voice was thin by comparison to those of Guillam, the guard, and the chamberlain.

  “At your request I am here.” Guillam emphasized the word request ever so slightly.

  “I always attempt to be courteous, wherever possible,” Ghrant replied smoothly. “During the recent uprising, your early absence from Valmurl was noted. I had hoped that you might enlighten us as to the reasons for your departure .. . and, of course, your destination.”

  “I had received word that my eldest son was most ill. It was feared that he might not live, and I repaired to my country house.”

  Guillam was but six cubits from Kharl, and the falsity of his reply shivered through the mage.

  “How is your son? I assume that he recovered, since we have not heard otherwise.”

  “He is on the path to recovery, your lordship.”

  “And you remained at your country house during the entire period of unpleasantness?”

  “Of course, your lordship.”

  That also was false, strongly so.

  “Some have questioned your loyalty and stated that you had favored the would-be usurper. I would not wish to make a judgment on such without hearing from you.”

  “Your lordship, I favored and supported your father. You are his rightful heir, and I have likewise supported you. I will continue to support you, as I have from the beginning.” Guillam bowed again.

  Kharl managed to keep his face absolutely immobile in the face of the chaos and falsity that filled and lay beneath Guillam’s words, words so smoothly delivered.

  “I am most pleased to hear that, chief factor.” Ghrant turned slightly in the chair. “Do you have any questions you might wish to ask the chief factor, ser Kharl?”