Ordermaster

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Ordermaster Page 14

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.


  Water is chaos bound in two levels of order. Thus, an ocean or , ・a lake conveys order, as does rain, and will provide a barrier . against lesser chaos, but not against greater ...

  Like everything in the book, or so it seemed, the words twisted upon themselves. Several pages farther along, he found the words he half remembered.

  Chaos fares best upon the dry land, and least in a steady rain or snowfall... Even a fog will affect a chaos-wielder, but only those who are of the weaker sort. A steady rain is a patterned fall of ordered chaos. A raindrop is ordered, and the fall of each is unpat-terned, chaotic, yet all raindrops falling together results in a pattern ordered by chaos, and that order can weaken or destroy many of the links of power created by those who wield chaos ...

  He couldn’t exactly call up rain, or expect the white wizards to attack during a storm. There was a tentative rap on the door. “Ser Kharl?”

  “Yes?” Kharl extended his order-senses, as much for practice as anything, but also to assure himself that the figure beyond the door was not another would-be assassin. While Kharl had a sturdy oak bar on the inside of his door, added after the earlier trouble, he no longer had guards stationed outside-at his own request.

  The figure on the far side of the door was alone-and young-and replied quickly, “The lord-chancellor would like to see you, ser.” Kharl rose. “Now?”

  “At your soonest convenience, ser.”

  “I’ll be right with you.” Kharl laid aside the book, still as frustrating as enlightening, and straightened his jacket before going to the door and opening it.

  The young armsman in yellow and black was scarcely older than the boys used as messengers in the Great House and a good head shorter than Kharl. He stepped back, involuntarily, as Kharl left the quarters. “Ser ...”

  “Lead the way,” Kharl said, with a cheeriness he did not quite feel.

  “Yes, ser.” The young man turned and headed down the corridor toward the staircase.

  Kharl followed, absently noting the damp chill that permeated the hallway and wondering what else had gone wrong for Hagen to summon him in such a peremptory fashion. Was Hagen growing wary of Kharl? Or was the lord-chancellor just pressed with all he had to handle?

  Even before Kharl reached the door to the lord-chancellor’s study, one - f the two guards stationed there stepped forward and opened the door.

  After glancing at Hagen, alone in the chamber and seated behind the table desk, Kharl entered and closed the door behind him.

  “Please be seated, Kharl.” Hagen’s voice was gentle.

  “You look worried, ser.”

  “I am.” Hagen took a sip from the goblet on the table desk. “This rain . .. my throat is raw. The healer says this should help.” “What is it?”

  “Honeyed brandy with chaos knows what else in it.”

  Kharl let his senses range over both the lord-chancellor and the potion, but he could feel only the faintest hint of whiteness in the older man’s throat. The liquid in the goblet held no chaos at all. “It may be irritating, ser, but it is only a small rawness. The potion should help.”

  “You sound like Istya.” Hagen took another sip. “I was about to tell you. The rain has slowed Casolan, but his first companies will be here on threeday. The bulk of his forces should arrive by the end of this eightday.” “That’s good, isn’t it?”

  “Hensolas is already moving his forces west to intercept Casolan. In this rain, there are only two safe ways for Casolan to reach Valmurl. I worry about the white wizard. If he stays near Valmurl, either you or some of Norgen’s forces need to remain here, but if you do, and the white wizard accompanies Hensolas ...”

  “Then should I not go south so that I can move to shadow the wizard, whatever he does?”

  “If only there were two of you ...” murmured the lord-chancellor. ‘

  “Did something else happen?”

  “I just got word. One of Norgen’s squads, one he uses for scouting, disappeared. This happened while you were dealing with the one wizard. That squad was checking the dam on the Southwest Branch and the Lord’s Millrace. We’d heard that Hensolas had sent sappers to start undermining the dam. If it went, all the mills would be without power.”

  Kharl nodded, not really understanding.

  “Kharl... a quarter of what golds flow into Valmurl from trade come from the cloth woven in those mills. The mills are powered by the water- wheels on the Lord’s Millrace.” Hagen’s voice was even, but Kharl recognized the strain behind the forced patience.

  This time, Kharl’s nod conveyed comprehension. “It was a diversion?”

  “Exactly. That chaos-spawned wizard flamed down almost the entire squad.” A grim smile preceded Hagen’s next words. “Lord Ghrant has suggested that anything you can do to remove the white wizards would be appreciated.”

  Kharl felt vaguely uncomfortable at first, then angry. Less than half an eightday before, he had practically had to force Hagen to accept his ideas about dealing with the wizards. Now, he felt as though he were being blamed indirectly for not having done enough soon enough. He almost spoke, then swallowed, forcing himself to take a slow deep breath. After a moment, he spoke quietly. “I would be happy to do what I can, ser, as I suggested earlier.”

  “You did.” Hagen paused and took another sip from the goblet. “I did not mention your suggestion for dealing with Hensolas and Fergyn. I did tell Lord Ghrant of your willingness to take on the white wizards. He supports that. He did ask me to suggest to you that it might be unwise to extend your talents to either lord, except in the heat of battle.”

  “Does he fear that the lords who now support him might think I would be turned against them in time?”

  “He did not say, and it was not a question that was prudent to ask. He was not in the best of humors. I would judge that he has fears along those lines.” Hagen took a deep breath.

  Kharl said nothing for a moment, understanding belatedly that, in his own way, Hagen was trying to balance what needed to be done against the temperament of a ruler who feared to act most of the time, then rushed into unwise action-as Ghrant had in Dykaru. Kharl also understood the message within the words. If Kharl could dispose of either Fergyn or Hensolas in a way associated with battle, he was not only free to do so, but such a course of action was highly desirable.

  Was that the way all successful ruling was handled? By hint and indirection, so that a ruler could deny ordering what he had wished? Or so that he had the choice of taking credit or denying responsibility? “Do you think we should leave immediately?”

  “I would judge that dawn tomorrow would be adequate. The rain may have abated by then.”

  “Dawn tomorrow,” Kharl affirmed.

  “Will one squad be enough to accompany you?” asked Hagen. “I propose assigning Undercaptain Demyst once more. He seems suited to such duty.”

  Kharl thought he understood that message as well. The undercaptain wasn’t that good in combat and needed direction. Or he had some other fault. “One squad and Undercaptain Demyst. We will deal with the wizard and keep him and Lord Hensolas from interfering with Commander Casolan’s forces.” He just hoped he wasn’t promising more than he could accomplish.

  “I can count on you, Kharl. I wish there were more about whom I could say that.” Hagen offered a wan smile. He coughed several times. “Chaos-fired throat.”

  “You’ll be better.”

  “I’m sure I will be, especially once this rain ends.” Hagen stood. “I need to get ready to discuss some matters with Commander Norgen.”

  Kharl rose. “I’ll need to prepare a few things myself.”

  Once he was outside Hagen’s study, Kharl walked deliberately toward the staircase to the upper levels and his own quarters. He was being given leave-quietly-to carry out what he had proposed. Could he do it?

  XXII

  The clouds that had brought eightday’s rain had lifted, but not vanished, by dawn on oneday, and the air was warm and damp, enough so that even without
direct sunlight Kharl was sweating in the green-and- black uniform by the time he had ridden less than a glass southward. The white wizard had left the spot where he had been, nearly due south of Valmurl, and appeared to be moving westward, generally toward the Southwest Branch, the stream that fed the Lord’s Millrace before joining the River Val.

  From the maps Kharl had studied and from what Hagen had said, the wizard could be accompanying rebel troops heading to join battle against Casolan’s forces or riding westward to destroy the millrace and dam. Kharl doubted that a Hamorian wizard would want to destroy something that produced golds-especially not as a first resort-but he had been wrong before in his judgments, often enough that he wasn’t about to discard either possibility.

  “Warm, it is, for such a cloudy day,” offered Undercaptain Demyst. The stocky and square-faced man had been blotting his forehead even more often than Kharl.

  “It’s likely to get even warmer once the clouds clear.” Kharl paused. “How much longer before we reach the River Val?” To reach the Southwest Branch and the Lord’s Millrace, Kharl and the lancers accompanying him had to cross the River Val first. Then they would turn east if they wished to reach the Southwest Branch, or westward on the south river road if it appeared that the wizard’s forces were heading out to intercept Casolan’s advance force.

  “Less than a glass, ser. Less than a glass. The scouts say that the way is clear. No rebel lancers, leastwise. Not this side of the river.”

  Kharl nodded and concentrated on riding, and in taking in the countryside west of Valmurl. For at least a score of kays to the west of where they rode, the land stretched out in a nearly flat valley that extended a good eighty kays to the south of the River Val and slightly less than forty to the north. In places, there were low hills, but none rose more than a few rods above the road. Fields, recently tilled, and meadows were everywhere, with cots set at almost regular intervals. While he could see both men and women working in more distant fields, the peasants or smallholders of those lands closest to the road were wisely remaining out of sight.

  To the northwest, when he looked back over his shoulder, Kharl could make out the distant hills, and a few snowcapped peaks behind them. He could see nothing but fields and meadows ahead of them-and a line of trees several kays to the south. The trees, he suspected, marked the River Val. While there were some woodlots on the holdings, and a few orchards, most of the land was marked out in squarish fields set aside for crops, and there were almost no hedgerows at all. Those appeared to have been created only in the north and west of Valmurl.

  “Why aren’t there any hedgerows here?” he asked the undercaptain.

  “Lord Esthaven forbid them here in the valley proper. Said that they gave holders airs. Had to kill a few before they got the idea.”

  The more Kharl heard about Esthaven, the less he liked what he heard. “What do they grow here?”

  “Maize and oats, mostly, besides gardens. Everyone has a garden. There’s wheat corn south of the river. Doesn’t do as well here on the north side. No one knows why. Around the river, where it’s wet, there’s sorghum. Best molasses in the world here, and that’s why there’s none better than Austran black bread.”

  Kharl had enjoyed the dark bread, but hadn’t connected it to the quality of molasses in Austra-although that made sense. With a faint smile at the thought, and the realization that there was much he had never questioned, he shifted his weight in the saddle. He still wasn’t that used to riding, and the saddle got hard after a while. Awkwardly, he stood in the stirrups, trying to stretch his legs and give his backside a respite. He glanced ahead, hoping that the river wasn’t that far ahead.

  “Really won’t be that far, ser,” offered Demyst.

  “I’m not a lancer,” Kharl said dryly. “Riding is harder on me than coopering all day.”

  “You’ll get used to it, ser.”

  Kharl wasn’t certain he wanted to get that used to riding. As he struggled to make himself comfortable in the saddle, he sensed something. Except that wasn’t it. He tilted his head, trying to focus on what he’d felt. Then he realized that for the past quarter glass or so, as he had ridden southward toward the river, he had lost the distant sense of the white wizard-just as if the wizard had vanished.

  “Chaos ...” he muttered under his breath. He’d been so preoccupied with his own discomfort that he hadn’t even realized when he’d lost the sense of the other wizard. He tried to gather in a sense of that chaos, but he could feel absolutely nothing.

  Had the wizard gone into a cave or something? Or behind a waterfall? That might provide a shield of some sort. Or had he created his own shield? “Ser? Something wrong?”

  “Not yet,” Kharl replied. Now he’d have to be more alert than ever, and especially after they crossed the River Val.

  Almost half a glass passed before they neared the river. During that time, they had seen no one nearby on the road, although one cart and another wagon had turned down side lanes to avoid the lancers. While Kharl had gotten a quick impression of faint traces of chaos several times, the traces had vanished so quickly that he only knew that the wizard was somewhere to the south. Were the rebels moving farther south and trying to circle behind Casolan’s forces? Or were they already west of the bridge and heading out to attack Casolan? Kharl couldn’t be certain, and that worried him.

  It was most likely that the wizard had some sort of shield and did not want Kharl to track him easily. But why now? Had he just discovered that Kharl was near?

  Kharl blotted his forehead. The clouds had thinned, and at times, faint hazy sunlight had oozed over the riders. The day had continued to warm, and the heavy armsman’s uniform had gotten less and less comfortable.

  Kharl took in the raised earthen causeway that led to the bridge itself, then the river that stretched away from the bridge. The River Val wound in wide, sweeping arcs, its course meandering through the river plain, its banks clearly marked by earthen levees and trees planted behind the levees. The bridge itself was an old and heavy timber structure that was supported by three stone piers evenly spaced across the riverbed. The roadway was broad enough for a large wagon or three horses abreast, and the side rails were weathered heavy timbers. The watercourse itself was perhaps ten rods wide under the bridge. The plank roadbed was worn, and in places, as he crossed, Kharl could see the swirling gray of the water below through gaps in the planking. While the bridge creaked slightly as the squad rode across the spans, he could feel no swaying or give, but he was glad to reach the causeway on the south side.

  Kharl caught the faintest sense of whiteness to the south and west, but when he tried to focus on it, the feeling was gone.

  “You be wanting us to head back toward Valmurl, ser, or out west.”

  “West,” Kharl said with a certainty he did not feel. “They’re past here and headed west.” He glanced back toward Valmurl, but the river road was empty.

  “No tracks on the road, ser. Doesn’t look as though they came this way.”

  “Not by the road,” Kharl admitted. He somehow knew that the rebel forces had not returned to Valmurl, but where could they be? The fields immediately to the south of the river road were flat and open, and the smell of turned bottomland occasionally came to Kharl on the intermittent light breeze from the west.

  Another kay or so to the west, he could see a stand of trees. As they rode closer, he realized that the trees extended nearly a kay to the south, and certainly that far west, if not even farther. “What are those trees?”

  “Red pears, ser. Don’t grow many places.”

  Kharl had heard of red pears, but never seen one. The orchard was old, and the trees seemed close together, so much so that he could not see more than a few trees into the mass of foliage, despite the thinner early-spring leaves.

  As the squad passed the eastern edge of the orchard and continued westward on the river road, the clouds thinned more, and Kharl could feel the spring sun on his back. He had to blot his forehead more frequently
, and he had lost all track of the white wizard, except for traces of white that felt almost due south, and closer. What had happened? Where was the wizard?

  Demyst coughed, then swallowed. “Back there, to the east, ser...” Demyst’s voice was almost apologetic as he pointed.

  Pouring out of the orchard less than a half kay behind them was a column of lancers-men in black and green, with the blue sashes and behind a blue banner bearing a device Kharl did not recognize, not that he was familiar with heraldry, especially Austran heraldry.

  “That’d be Lord Hensolas. That’s his banner, ser. Looks to be three companies.” Demyst swallowed. “And there’s another company to the west, maybe two. They’re riding toward us.”

  Somewhere among the eastern group was the faintest trace of chaos. Then, a blaze of white appeared among the larger force.

  Kharl wanted to hit his forehead with his palm. He’d known that the white wizard had hidden his chaos behind some sort of shield, but he’d thought that the wizard had done that to conceal his approach to Casolan’s force or to keep Kharl from tracking him. Instead ... the wizard was after him-with five companies. And Kharl and his squad were trapped, with a thick orchard that was close to impossible to ride through to the south, at least at any speed, and with the river to the north.

  “How deep is the river?” Kharl snapped.

  “Two to three rods, five in places. Current’s real strong here, ser. We’d be sitting ducks for crossbows. They got crossbows, ser.”

  Kharl understood the unspoken. Most of the lancers couldn’t swim. Even Kharl wasn’t that good a swimmer, although he might have been able to manage the river. But.. . he’d been the one to get them into the trap.

  He looked toward the orchard, and the ancient and crooked split rail fence between the trees and the road. His order-senses did not find any other chaos, except that of the single wizard, but... he frowned. There was the thinnest mist of blackness all across the orchard. Order. From the orchard itself? From the spring growth? Behind that order was something else, not quite chaos, or a different kind of chaos, or order. He wasn’t certain, and he didn’t have time to puzzle it out. “Form up right between the fence and the trees. Make it tight!”

 

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