“Lords .. . are not treated that way.”
“Oh? Then it is good-or acceptable-to kill mere armsmen, who have no choice and who never had much of a say in matters, but it is wrong to kill the leaders who created the problem and have already sent hundreds to their deaths?”
Hagen did not answer.
“Will the armsmen serving the rebels be more likely to be supportive of a ruler who butchers them and their mates or one who removes their leaders and demands their allegiance?” Kharl snorted. “More to the point... how long will it take to subdue this rebellion by force of arms? Can it be done?”
“Can what you propose be done?” countered Hagen.
“Who knows? But I cannot do more to slaughter large numbers of armsmen. So what do you and Lord Ghrant have to lose by letting me try?”
“We could lose you.”
“I would personally dislike that a great deal, but if I cannot be useful to you and Lord Ghrant, I do not see a great loss for either of you.” “Just... for the purpose of discussion ... how would you propose this... effort?”
Kharl laughed. “In the reverse of what is normally done, from what I have seen.”
Hagen’s brow furrowed.
“Most times, it seems to me, a mage or a wizard is used to position the enemy’s forces in such a fashion that it allows action by regular lancers and armsmen. On the causeway, I created chaos with the purpose of moving the armsmen into range of your cannon. I propose that you use your forces to decoy Hensolas or Fergyn or their wizards into positions where they are easier for me to reach.” “And ... if you fail?”
“You withdraw. Is that not done? You tell no one why the companies are where they are, not even Norgen or Casolan, when he arrives.”
“You are suggesting a novel approach, ser Kharl.”
“I’m suggesting the only approach I can think of that might work.”
“You’re suggesting assassinating lords.”
“And mages. Why not?”
“What if they return the favor?”
“I’ll have to go for the wizards first, won’t I? That would be better, anyway.”
“Perhaps we could discuss the matter of lords after your success with the wizards.”
Kharl leaned back in the chair and looked at Hagen. “You weren’t this concerned in Dykaru. What don’t I see?”
“Every action creates the need for another action,” Hagen said dryly. “If you are successful, then assassination will return as an accepted tool for gaining power. In case you have not noticed, Lord Ghrant is not terribly prepossessing. He’s barely adequate as a swordsman and less than that using his hands. He’s an easy target for the poorest assassin. Then there’s the problem of the example that you’d create. Or create once more. For the first five generations after Austra was unified, not a single ruler died in his bed or peacefully. I’m not terribly interested in returning to that kind of ... chaos.”
Kharl waited.
“I don’t have a problem with your taking on the white wizards. First, they’re nothing more than Hamorian spies and tools. Second, any conflicts between them and you will be regarded as battles between equals. Not even Ghrant’s worst detractors will gainsay your acts against the wizards, but against lords ...” Hagen shook his head. “Austra will end up in fragments again.”
Kharl had his doubts-strong doubts-but then, Hagen did know Austra and power better than Kharl-and Kharl had been the one to touch off the rebellion by his unwise use of power.
“I’ll see what I can do about the white wizards.”
Hagen nodded. “Before you do more than that... we should consider what might happen.” He stood. “Come back right after midday, and I’ll give you the best information we have on where the troops and wizards are.”
The lord-chancellor wasn’t quite saying no, and he could well be right, Kharl reflected, as he stood. “I’ll be here.”
XVIII
Darely after dawn on sixday, Kharl rode yet another borrowed mount through the damp air of the late-spring morning. This time, the mage wore the green and black of the regular Austran lancers. Given the cloudless day and the stillness of the air, the coolness would doubtless turn into a warm and slightly uncomfortable noon, and a sticky and sultry afternoon. For the moment, Kharl appreciated the cool stillness as he rode beside Undercap-tain Demyst. The soreness in his ribs had subsided enough that he was reminded of their tenderness only when he moved suddenly-or lurched in the saddle.
The afternoon before, Kharl and three companies tinder the command of Majer Ghenal had moved to the northeast of the Great House, settling into the estate of one Buvert, a sympathizer of the late Lord Malcor. Buvert’s consort had fled, along with the staff and children. Once there, the three companies had begun visible preparations for an attack upon the dockyards, still held by forces commanded by Lord Fergyn. Hagen had told Majer Ghenal that the majer was not to attack under any circumstances, that the maneuver was designed to make sure that Fergyn and Hensolas did not unite their forces-not until Casolan arrived with reinforcements, at least.
Kharl and Undercaptain Demyst’s two squads were riding due east, conducting a reconnaissance in force. Those were the orders that Hagen had given the undercaptain, along with the observation that, as necessary, Kharl might undertake his own reconnaissance efforts independently at any time.
The hoofs of the two squads created a muted thunderlike sound as they struck the heavy planks set in clay that formed the hard surface of the Cross-Stream Pike.
“Are there many roads like this?” asked Kharl. He’d heard of timbered pikes, but never run across one.
“This used to be a true pike, maybe a hundred years back, and the only way to get to the part of Valmurl north of the dockworks in times of rain.” Demyst laughed. “Story is that the shamblers burned Lord Lysaran’s stables one night, and the barns an eightday later in protest of the fees. Lord Esthaven stripped Lysaran of his lands and gave him an eightday to leave Austra. Said that anyone who couldn’t control rabble didn’t deserve lands.”
“A hard lord, it sounds like. Wasn’t Esthaven the one who built the harbor causeway?”
“He was hard, but he did much for Austra. He united east and west...”
“I thought that was Isthel-“
Demyst shook his head. “Isthel was his grandsire. Isthel conquered the west, but Esthaven was the one who united Austra. He gave the new western lords the same privileges as those in the east and abolished the special tariffs laid on the west. He even set up schools in Bruel and along the west coast.”
Kharl wondered if he’d ever understand Austra. But then, he hadn’t really understood Nordla, and he’d been born and raised in Brysta.
“There! One of their scouts.”
Kharl glanced ahead, toward the southeast, following the undercap- tain’s gesture. A rider in green and black, wearing the blue sash of the rebel forces, galloped southward along a narrow lane that ran between two ragged hedgerows for half a kay, before the ancient hedgerows ended at a welter of ramshackle wooden structures. A handful of people in the middle of the lane scattered just before the lancer bore down on them.
“That’s Tinkertown,” offered the undercaptain. “All the peddlers and tinkers, and the men who offer their backs for a day’s work at the dockyards-most of ‘em come from there.”
“And the land used to belong to Lord Lysaran?” Kharl’s tone was dry.
“So they say.” After a moment, Demyst added, “Scout’s riding hard. He’ll be turning at the crossroads there, come back onto the pike, and make for the northern corner of the dockworks.”
Reportedly, Lord Fergyn had made one of the old factor’s warehouses, one with living quarters above and behind it, into his temporary headquarters.
“You think they’ll move against us today?” asked Kharl.
“I don’t see how. That’s the only scout we’ve seen. They weren’t expecting us to move before Commander Casolan reached Valmurl.”
“We might as wel
l keep riding and see how close we can get.”
“Not too close to their wizards, if you please, ser Kharl.”
That was exactly what Kharl wanted-or at least to discover where they were-but he couldn’t admit that. So he nodded, and said, “We don’t want to lose any men to wizardry.”
“No, ser.”
At the moment, Kharl was using no active order-magery at all. From what he had observed so far, the white mages had trouble pinpointing order-users unless the black mages were actively engaged in some sort of magery. Certainly, it was far harder for Kharl to determine the exact location of a white wizard if the wizard wasn’t using chaos. Given the distances involved, Kharl had decided that he would continue on horseback toward the dockworks. He had a bright blue sash tucked inside his tunic. Once he separated from Demyst and the two squads, he hoped that the uniform and the sash would suffice as a disguise until he got close enough to need to use his sight shield. He’d tried the shield with the mount before leaving Buvert’s estate. The gelding hadn’t bucked or tried to throw Kharl, but he had come to a stop, and Kharl had only been able to coax him along at a slow walk. Kharl thought that, if necessary, he could dismount and lead the gelding. He’d seen horses blindfolded and led, but he didn’t want to have to walk too far. Not after his last use of magery in rebel-held territory.
As he rode, Kharl took in the land around him, looking for lanes leading off the pike to the south that might curve eastward or intersect other smaller roads or lanes. He didn’t recall taking the pike when he had sought out Lyras, and that meant that there were other ways to the dockworks than the route they were taking.
He was also trying to sense where the white wizards were. He’d felt nothing immediately after leaving Buvert’s estate, but as they left Tinker-town behind and neared the outskirts of Valmurl, he could sense two separate areas of chaos-presumably the two white wizards. One was less than two kays from where he rode, closer to the dockworks. The other-and stronger-influence was somewhere to the south of Valmurl. To Kharl, that meant that the stronger white wizard was with Lord Hensolas, and the weaker with Fergyn’s forces.
Ahead of them, the pike began to descend slightly into a lower meadow area between two stone walls. The grass showed the lighter green of spring. At the crest of a gentle rise some sixty rods farther along the pike to the southeast, scarcely more than half a kay away, a low wall of greenery lay across the road.
“They’ve blocked the pike,” said Demyst. “Felled firs or something and dragged them into place.”
Kharl studied the makeshift barrier, catching sight of men behind the ragged green barrier. “They’ve got armsmen there.”
“We need to pull up. If they have cannon and rifles, we’ll be too exposed on the downslope ahead.” Demyst turned in the saddle, raising his right arm. “Squads halt! To the rear, ride!”
As they turned back the way they had come, Kharl studied the area to the south of the pike even more closely. Ahead, he saw a narrow way, wider than a path, but barely a lane, that bordered an ill-tended pearapple orchard.
“It’s time for me to head off,” Kharl said. “I need to look into this more closely. Can you have a squad stand by for me, starting in two glasses?” “Ah ... ser ... where did you have in mind?”
“Nowhere close to the rebel forces. What about where the lane from Tinkertown leaves the pike?”
Demyst nodded. “That’d not be a problem, not unless they attack, and I don’t see that happening.”
“If they do, I’m on my own.”
“You say two glasses, ser?”
“Probably be closer to three,” Kharl admitted.
“We’ll be there, ser.”
With a nod to Demyst, Kharl turned his mount off the pike and onto the lane that led past the pearapple orchard. He did not hear a word from the lancers, even using his order-senses. Once he was well away from the lancers, he extracted the blue sash from his tunic and smoothed it in place across his chest. As he neared the southern end of the orchard, he saw a cot and a small barn to his right. A woman with a babe in her arms turned, then rushed back to the cot.
The door closed with a muffled thud.
Beyond the orchard were fields, recently tilled. Kharl could not see anything sprouting yet, and he had no idea what crops the smallholders might grow. The sun continued to beat down, and the black-and-green-wool uniform was far warmer than Kharl had expected. He blotted the dampness from his forehead and kept riding.
He rode south almost a kay, watching as holders and their consorts and children either fled or watched him pass stolidly. With each rod he rode, the huts and cots were closer and closer together, until they stood almost as close together as in Valmurl itself, with barely space for small gardens between each dwelling. At the first wider way, one rutted with the tracks of carts and wagons, he turned eastward. Ahead, he could see the taller warehouses and the cranes of the dock area. Only a few people were out and about, and they stayed well clear of the road.
Another rider, also in uniform and with a blue sash, rode toward Kharl. As he neared the mage, the younger lancer called out to Kharl, “Careful when you get to the square. Old ironbritches ‘bout to bust a gut.”
“Thanks. Need to watch out to the north. There’s a road patrol farther out on the pike.”
“Thanks to you.”
With a nod, Kharl passed the lancer, letting his order-senses track the man until they were several rods apart, but the man never looked back.
The nearer Kharl rode to the docking area, the quieter and emptier the streets became. A good three blocks short of the square to the north of the dockworks proper, Kharl turned his mount southward along a side street, one lined with modest dwellings. Most were shuttered and locked. A prudent precaution, the mage reflected.
As he rode he used his order-senses to gather in impressions of chaos. A well of whiteness was centered almost due east of where he rode, and at the next corner, he turned his mount back eastward, toward the square and the northern end of the harbor-the part holding the shipworks and dry docks and the majority of the factors’ warehouses. That was where he and the crew of the Seastag had refitted the ship some two seasons before. Had it only been two seasons?
He could see lancers in green and black, with the blue sashes, riding back and forth, as if on a post set across the southern side of the square. Glancing ahead, Kharl looked for a place to tie his mount. He settled on a hitching rail outside a felter’s shop because the shop was shuttered and seemed empty. There he dismounted and began to walk toward the square.
He was now somewhat west and south of the center of the whitish fount of chaos, which he felt was less than a block to the north of where he was. At the corner of the square, where one of the other lancers glanced in his direction, Kharl turned and nodded northward, half-shrugging.
A wry expression crossed the sentry’s face. “Good luck.”
“Need it,” Kharl replied, and kept walking, past a row of three shops, a wool factor’s, a leather factor’s, and a small brassworks.
Ahead of him to his left was a three-story building-its bricks painted a faded light green. The sign hung over the large double doors read OSSAFAL AND SONS, FACTORS, and the letters were a faded dark green. Two armsmen stood before the doors.
Kharl did not wish to use any active order-skills until he was far closer to the white wizard. Before reaching the southern end of the building, as he passed the brassworks, Kharl turned left and down the narrow lane between the brassworks and larger factor’s structure. The loading dock to the brassworks was closed, and there was no doorway on the south side of the green-brick building-the structure within which was one of the white wizards.
At the end of the side lane on the north side was an enclosed yard, with a gate. The lock on the gate had already been broken. Kharl paused, letting his order-senses receive a feeling for the rear yard. It was empty, except for three mounts tethered to a beam protruding from a sagging dock that had not been used in years. The former load
ing dock door had been boarded shut, leaving just a smaller door to one side.
The steps up to the smaller door creaked as Kharl took them. He did not sense anyone just inside the building. Still, he opened the door and paused before stepping inside. Beyond the door was an oblong room half- filled with pallets on which bales had been roped, amphorae, crates, and a number of boxes clearly wrenched open. Scuff marks in the dust on the scarred wooded floors showed where pallets had been recently moved.
An armsman straightened up from where he’d been rummaging through one of the boxes. He frowned.
“Message for the wizard,” Kharl offered, ready to clamp shields around the other at the slightest sign of alarm.
“His mightiness the white wizard, the almighty Alborak?”
“Guess he’s the one.”
“Take the stairs in front.” There was a pause. “Why’d you come in back?”
“They said I could tie my mount out back,” Kharl explained, hoping the other did not check immediately.
“Figures.”
Kharl walked toward the only door he saw, still holding himself ready to use the shields if he needed to. Nothing happened, and he stepped into another corridor, even more dimly lit. The staircase was to his left.
While there were no guards on the lower level, a single armsman stood at the top of the steps. He had not seen Kharl, or not looked in the mage’s direction.
Kharl formed a sight shield, hoping that Alborak would not notice, and began to climb the steps, quietly, slowly, one at a time. As he climbed, he could hear voices from above him. He tried to listen as he moved.
“... you didn’t even know he was there?”
“He was only a cooper,” said a second voice, hard and conveying arrogance. “How can he possibly know that much about order, let alone chaos?”
“I’m but an undercaptain, ser wizard,” came the reply, “but Captain Fegaro said that there was chaos-fire everywhere on that causeway, and he’s seen most everything in his years.”
Kharl moved up several more steps. He had the feeling that he would be able to get close enough to the white wizard without going all the way to the top of the ancient stairs.
Ordermaster Page 12