Ordermaster

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  He sat in the bed, in his darkness, fretting over the rebellion he had sparked and pondering what lay ahead.

  XV

  Oneday came and went, and twoday dawned warmer and clearer. While Kharl was up and out of bed, he still could not see, but he could employ his order-senses-sparingly-to get around. The need for deliberation in movement made him think about Jeka, although he could not have said why, and about Warrl. He did understand why he had thought about his younger son. His own lack of deliberation and understanding had been one of the reasons that had forced the boy into seeking shelter with Mer-ayni. He couldn’t have explained why he’d thought about Jeka, but he did.

  At the moment, there was little Kharl could do about either Jeka or Warrl, and if he didn’t find a way to be more effective in helping Lord Ghrant, he might never be in a position to help either of them. Yet, without seeing, he could not read The Basis of Order, and his reflections on what he had recalled seemed to spin him in circles.

  Finally, when he had not heard from Hagen by late morning on two- day, he decided to make his way down to the lord-chancellor’s study. He had to wait outside for close to half a glass before the lord-chancellor was free, and, using just his order-senses, he did not recognize either of the lords who left, although he caught the names-Shachar and Harunis. “I’m glad you’re up and around.” Those were the first words from

  Hagen, even before Kharl eased into the chair across the table desk from the lord-chancellor. “I still can’t see, but the headaches are gone. What are the rebels doing?”

  “Having their own problems, thankfully. According to the scouts and various rumors, Lord Hedron doesn’t trust Hensolas, and threatened to withhold supplies and support if Fergyn wasn’t given the right of summary refusal on any of Hensolas’s plans. That might gain us another few days.” “How long before the first companies of Casolan’s forces near Val- murl?”

  “I don’t know. I sent word to him. I ordered him to take a different route. I left it up to him as to what route it should be since I cannot be certain that any choice I made might not be passed to Hensolas or Fergyn.” Hagen cleared his throat. “I also got a messenger from him, and the report that he crushed a company of rebels under Azeolis. He’s very cautious, though. He didn’t pursue, because he had reports that Azeolis had five more companies.”

  “That would make sense to me,” Kharl replied. “Lord Ghrant needs those forces here more than he needs to defeat five companies away from Valmurl.” After a moment of silence, he asked, “Is that not so ... or is there something I don’t know?” He almost had said “don’t see.”

  “No. With the disunity among the rebels, Casolan’s companies may be enough to stop their attacks.” Hagen laughed ironically. “Now ... if only you could find a way to remove them from the dockworks and warehouse areas.”

  “Order doesn’t seem to work that way.” Kharl paused before adding, “Not for most mages, anyway, and the ones who can do more with it haven’t shared how they did.”

  “I’ve heard that,” replied Hagen. “One of the traders out of Reduce said that just two mages destroyed Fairven, and only one returned, and he never spoke a word about it.” Hagen shook his head. “I was younger then, and I asked why the rulers of Reduce, their council or whatever it is, hadn’t forced him to tell them. The trader gave me this funny look, and then he asked me exactly how I would propose to force that from a mage who had destroyed an empire.” Hagen’s chuckle was anything but humorous. “Take you, Kharl. Someone might be able to take you off guard and kill you, but could anyone force you to tell them how you do what you do?”

  “No.” Kharl didn’t explain that was because so much of what he did was through order-senses, and that the directions would have been meaningless to anyone without that ability.

  “That’s the problem with wizards and mages. They can only be controlled by other mages or wizards-or by their own beliefs. That bothers lords. They don’t like to deal with powers they can’t control.” “That’s why Lord Ghrant prefers to have you deal with me?”

  “Of course.” Hagen laughed, once, brusquely. “That way, if anything goes wrong, it was my fault.”

  Kharl waited to see if Hagen would say more.

  “Ghrant’s basically honest,” the lord-chancellor went on. “Weak about some things, but honest. Your presence doesn’t bother him, except that he’d rather have me give orders. Vatoran and Guillam, though, you made them uncomfortable just by being around. Do you feel that way around the white wizards?”

  Kharl frowned. “I can feel them. Don’t know as they make me uncomfortable.” He paused and reconsidered his words. “I don’t know as I’d be comfortable around chaos all the time.”

  “That makes sense. I’d wager they’d not be comfortable around you, either.” Hagen stood. “I need to go and see Norgen.”

  After a moment, Kharl stood, belatedly realizing that the lord- chancellor had many demands upon him, and Kharl was in no position to help with those demands-not at the moment, not until he recovered. “I’ll try to see if I can discover some other way to help.” He stepped around the chair, deliberately.

  “That would be useful.”

  Kharl appreciated the understatement. Hagen and Lord Ghrant needed something that was more than merely useful.

  After leaving the lord-chancellor, Kharl walked slowly back up the steps to the upper level, past his own quarters, and toward the north tower. He took the stone steps carefully, one at a time. Once he was out in the late-morning air, he crossed the tower to the east side.

  There, he leaned forward, his forearms on the parapet stones, with the spring sun warming him and the breeze in his face. For a time, he faced eastward, in the direction of the city and the harbor he could not see, thinking.

  What could he do? Unbinding order to release chaos was definitely a bad idea-except as the sort of last resort when he might be killed if he didn’t. A chaos-wizard could spray free chaos everywhere, and it could wound or kill. Doing the same with order would only strengthen things. It might help people who were ill. As Hagen had pointed out, order did seem to make people who were chaos-driven uncomfortable, but Kharl didn’t see that as terribly useful in a battle. From what he’d been able to do so far, his only effective use of order seemed to be to use it to kill Ghrant’s enemies through confinement, and he could only do that to one or two people at a time. Still... if he removed enough of the rebel lords .. .

  He shrugged. He couldn’t do anything until he recovered more.

  XVI

  By threeday, Kharl could see-intermittently. His vision came and went unpredictably. At least, he could not discern the reasons for its presence or absence, although he had no doubt that his ability to see was affected by some deeper interrelation between order and chaos. In time, he suspected, he would understand, and wonder why he had not seen sooner. That seemed to be his lot in life, to understand, imperfectly and late.

  As he made his way toward the small dining room for a midday meal, in one of his moments of clear vision, he noticed Commander Norgen leaving Hagen’s study.

  “Commander?”

  “Ser mage.” Norgen bowed.

  “Have you a moment to join me in eating?” asked Kharl.

  “Ah .. .” Norgen paused. “I cannot take long.”

  “You have not eaten, have you?”

  “No. Sometimes, I end up missing meals here and there.”

  “That can’t be good. I won’t take much of your time, and it won’t hurt for you to eat something.”

  “I suppose not.” The slender commander’s laugh was good-natured.

  Once they entered the larger of the small dining rooms, Norgen led the way to a corner table. Only one other table was occupied, and that by two men in dark blue, one with white hair, and the other much younger, perhaps Kharl’s age. The mage recognized neither.

  “. .. does not understand that law favors precedent and example ...”

  “... consistency over the wishes of a ruler ...” />
  Kharl kept his frown to himself, but even as he did, his sight vanished, and he had to rely on his order-senses to seat himself.

  “Advocates, magistrates, justicers,” said Norgen, “always talking about law. They think it’s the same as justice.”

  Kharl’s laugh was short and bitter.

  “Your laugh says more than my words,” added Norgen.

  “Why are they here?” asked Kharl, not wishing to discuss his past experiences with justicers, or rather, Lord Justicer Reynol of Nordla.

  “They come to brief Lord Ghrant on the cases they have already decided. Always in open audiences.” “He’s not in the Hall of Justice?”

  “No. Everyone knows that’s not good. They might decide the cases on what Lord Ghrant wants, or what they think he wants.” Norgen’s reply confused Kharl. “But... if they tell him ... ?”

  “Oh . .. there’s a procedure for that. Lord Ghrant sits behind a screen and never speaks. If he has a question, he whispers to the lord- chancellor or whoever’s attending him, and they ask it. His questions are always about the facts or the law.”

  That seemed better than what happened in Nordla, but Kharl still suspected that in some cases, Lord Ghrant might well be able to get his views across.

  “Sers?”

  Kharl turned toward the server’s voice.

  “We just have a boar stew today,” announced the serving girl.

  “I’ll have that with ale,” said Norgen.

  “The same,” added Kharl. “The pale ale.” He liked the lager better most times, but occasionally had ale.

  After she had left, Norgen cleared his throat.

  “I’m sorry,” Kharl said. “At times, I’m still having trouble seeing. It comes and goes.”

  “Did you hit your head? That sometimes .. .”

  “No. What I did on the causeway released too much chaos. I’m pretty much an ordermage. Handling too much chaos affects how I see for a while.”

  “I wondered why we hadn’t seen much of you lately.”

  “Sers ...” The server set the two ales on the table. “I’ll be back with the stew.”

  “Thank you,” Kharl said. He had to use his order-senses to locate the mug. He took a swallow, enjoying the coolness.

  “You had something in mind, ser mage?” asked Norgen gently.

  “I did. I don’t know how to be subtle. How do the armsmen and lancers feel about this rebellion?”

  As Kharl took another swallow of the ale, enjoying it, he could see once more. He blinked.

  “You know, ser mage, that is a dangerous question?” Norgen lifted his eyebrows, white and bushy, in contrast to his thin and faded-and wispy- strawberry blond hair.

  “Dangerous? I’m just a cooper and a beginning mage. Why would wanting to know how troops feel be dangerous?”

  Norgen smiled. “My father always told me to watch the man who began with words like that. Just a beginning mage? Just a cooper? Hagen said you were one of the best, and Lyras says you’re far more than a beginning mage.”

  Kharl laughed. “He also told you to avoid telling people what they don’t want to hear.”

  “Sometimes.” Norgen took a sip of his ale, then tilted his head slightly. “You would understand. The lord-chancellor might. Lord Ghrant would not.” He offered a faint smile and took another sip of ale.

  Kharl thought he understood. “The armsmen don’t see why all this is necessary. In the end, whoever rules, their situation will be the same. They might stand a better chance of getting paid by Lord Ghrant, but they also might think they stand a greater chance of getting killed. Is that it?”

  “Close enough. Most armsmen serve because they’ve little choice in life. True of many of the officers, too. Lands go to the eldest, and that leaves being a guard officer or going into trade. Sons of lords have this worry about trade. It’s ... unbecoming. Me ... never saw how honestly making or selling something of use to others was unbecoming. But I’m better with a mount and blade than with figures or crafting.” Norgen broke off as the serving girl, painfully thin, returned with two large bowls and a basket heaped with dark bread still warm from the ovens.

  As Kharl watched her approach, he saw that the two justicers, or magistrates or whatever they had been, had left the small dining room. “Here you are, sers. Would you like more ale?”

  Kharl realized his mug was almost empty. He hadn’t been aware of drinking so much, good as the ale had tasted. “Yes, please.”

  “I’ve enough, thank you,” added Norgen.

  Once she departed, Kharl cleared his throat. “You were saying about officers ...”

  “I was.” Norgen waited again.

  “All but the most senior feel like their armsmen? That rebellion is meaningless to them, and they’d prefer to survive it with the fewest casualties?” “Many feel that way, or so it’s said. Why are you so interested in that, ser mage?”

  “I’m trying to think of a way to end the rebellion that won’t blind me for life and won’t kill thousands of armsmen and their officers.”

  “You do that, and you’d have many happy troops. Happier officers.” Norgen snorted. “That’d be true magery.” He took a mouthful of stew. After eating for a time, he added, “Not bad. Glad you dragged me in here.”

  Kharl was, too. The stew, if slightly too peppery, was hot and filling, and he could use the nourishment. He also had a feeling, or part of one ... about what he could do ... if he could just figure out how to present it to Hagen. “It seemed the thing to do. I don’t know much about armsmen and lancers. I know more about trade and barrels, and even sailing.”

  “At times, I wish I did.” “You didn’t want to be a lancer?”

  “It was the best choice open to me. My father was a cabinetmaker. After I’d ruined too many pieces, he suggested that I might be better as a Tenderer’s apprentice, because no one cared what anything looked like once it got to the renderer. If I didn’t like that, he said, then being an arms-man or lancer would be a good second choice.” Norgen took another mouthful of stew.

  “He must have had quite a tongue.”

  “He did. He was always too quick for me. So was my brother. Figured it was better for me to listen to orders and have a blade do the talking.” “Are you from Valmurl?”

  “No. I grew up in Nasloch. About a hundred kays south of Bruel, along the west coast. My brother’s still there, still making cabinets.” “Do you ever go back?”

  “No. My consort’s from Valmurl. Her family thinks what I do is honorable. Mine doesn’t.”

  Kharl nodded.

  “That nod says more than words.” Norgen stood. “I need to be getting back.” A faint smile appeared on his narrow face. “Anything you can do will be better than what’s going to happen otherwise. Good day, ser mage.”

  Kharl sat for a time at the circular table, sipping the last of his ale.

  XVII

  Early on fourday, after his breakfast, Kharl walked to the study Hagen used and

  waited outside in the corridor for the lord-chancellor, who was expected soon. A quarter glass passed without Hagen’s appearance, but Kharl continued to wait. After a time, one of the guards-an older man-spoke. “They say the rebels have some

  wizards.” “They do. From what I know, they still have two left.” “Ah ... are they pretty good, ser?”

  Kharl caught the unspoken question behind the one asked. “They’re white wizards. Black and white are different. White is better for attacking. Black is usually better at defending.” “You think that’s why they haven’t attacked the Great House? Except that one time?”

  “It might be. I wouldn’t wish to guess,” Kharl said with a laugh. “That’s something

  the lord-chancellor and Commander Norgen would know better than I would.” The guard closed his mouth as Hagen turned the corner at the end of the corridor. Kharl waited until the lord-chancellor was within a few cubits. “Good morning, ser.” “Good morning, ser mage. I take it that you’re better?” “So it would
seem. I would like a few moments if you can spare them.” “For you, I can always spare a few moments. This morning, those moments may have

  to be fewer, unfortunately.” Hagen opened the study door, leaving it open for Kharl. The mage closed it after he followed Hagen into the chamber.

  “I am glad to see that you are recovered.” Hagen settled into chair behind the table

  desk. “So am I.” “What did you have in mind? You’re not one for idle talk,” Hagen observed. “Who are the best leaders left among the rebel lords?” “Hensolas is probably better at tactics and strategy, but Fergyn is better at inspiring

  officers and troops.”

  “Do you have pictures or likenesses of them?” “Ser Kharl...” Hagen’s voice was even, almost flat. “I’ve thought about this, lord-chancellor. I’ve thought about it a great deal. I am not

  that great a help against large forces.” Kharl offered a wry chuckle. “In fact, I’ve proved to be as great a danger to myself as to them. But there is another way... If the wizards and the rebel leaders cannot survive, neither can the revolt.”

  “What you’re suggesting is a great risk for Lord Ghrant, and a greater risk for you.”

  Kharl snorted. “Anything else is a greater risk. I know what I can do, and I know what I cannot. When Ilteron was threatening Lord Ghrant, you told me that if he did not win quickly, then he would lose support throughout Austra. Is not that the situation Lord Ghrant now faces?”

  “It’s possible,” Hagen conceded.

  “If this revolt is put down without the lives of many more armsmen being taken, whom will that benefit?”

  “You are sounding more like an advocate than a mage,” replied Hagen, his voice containing a testy edge. “Yet you are suggesting government by murder.”

  Kharl forced a laugh. “You murdered a hundred armsmen with cannon on the causeway. I have murdered a score or more through order-magery. What is the difference between one death and another?”