Ordermaster

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  Hagen laughed. “That makes them twice as angry, because they have found they were wrong, and your actions have shown them to have been mistaken for all of Austra to see.”

  Kharl took a long and deep breath.

  “Do you see why I would rather be back on the bridge of the Seastag?” asked Hagen.

  The mage nodded. “Nothing pleases any of them, and yet they are largely responsible for what has happened.”

  “As I said, that may be true, but they do not see it that way.”

  “Do they ever?” Kharl was convinced that most lords were that way. Certainly, Lord West and his son Egen had been. It had all been Kharl’s fault that Egen had been humiliated, when Egen had been in fact assaulting and raping young women at will. But Kharl had been the one flogged, and his consort executed for a murder that had been committed by an assassin hired by Egen-not that Kharl would ever be able to prove such.

  “No,” admitted Hagen.

  “Does Lord Ghrant know about Hensolas?”

  “The circumstances of Hensolas’s death were acceptable to Lord Ghrant.”

  “Acceptable?”

  “That was the word he used,” replied the lord-chancellor, not disguising the sardonic tone of his words. “Acceptable,” Hagen glanced at the goblet on the table desk. “How is your throat?”

  “Better. So long as I don’t have to talk too much placating lords who wish everything and risk nothing. None of them would last a season as traders.” The lord-chancellor took a sip from the goblet. “Lord Ghrant wishes to know how long before you can arrange an equally suitable incident for Fergyn.”

  “I’ll need a few days to rest. I sometimes still can’t see straight.”

  “It’s a good thing you were a cooper, ser mage. Any mage less strong than you wouldn’t have survived what you’ve created.”

  “Sometimes, I almost haven’t,” Kharl admitted.

  Hagen laughed. “Get some rest and some more food. We’ll talk tomorrow. That is, unless something else happens before then.” He stood.

  Kharl smiled. He wished Hagen hadn’t added the last sentence, although he couldn’t imagine what else could happen that had not already. More of the same, perhaps, and that would be bad enough.

  XXV

  On threeday, Kharl decided against trying to see Hagen immediately after breakfast, and instead returned to his quarters to study-and to think. While the problem of the white mages was solved, for the moment, Fergyn remained in revolt and was avoiding any semblance of battle. At the same time, Kharl realized how fortunate he had been in his encounters, though he had not thought so at the time. He also understood that he could not continue to draw the order out of living things, even trees and crops, not for long and remain welcome in Austra. He needed to find a better technique for dealing with chaos-fire and white mages. Whatever technique that might require was not described in The Basis of Order. But then, very few techniques were.

  Kharl settled into the most comfortable chair in his sitting room and, once more, began to leaf through the black book that was far more worn than he would ever have believed possible when it had fallen into his hands less than a year before. He turned page after page. The light coming through the window behind him strengthened as the morning sun burned away the mists. He paused at the paragraph near the bottom of one page.

  One might also say it yet another way. Chaos is power without form, and order is the form that enables chaos to inspire the spirit of life, to allow the crafting of tools and of all manner of devices that improve the way of life of man and woman . ..

  That was true enough, Kharl reflected, but not exactly helpful. He kept reading. Some twenty pages later, he came across another few words. He had seen them before, but there was something about them that had nagged him before ... and still did.

  One danger of order-magery or chaos-magery is that the mage who handles either in mighty efforts may become what he attempts to control. For a part of that mage must accompany the order or chaos that he infuses or creates. An order-mage may become so fixated upon order that he can do nothing without a structure so rigid that he accomplishes nothing of value . ..

  Kharl skipped farther down the page.

  ... more unnoticed is the danger that order or chaos may rebound upon him who casts it forth, for there is a tie between what is cast forth and the one who casts it...

  The mage frowned. If there were such ties ... could he use order to strengthen them? Ties had to have a basis in order. That might be far easier than creating hardened air tubes.

  He laughed silently. Once he developed such a technique, it might be easier, but could he do so? How? What would happen if he did?

  Thrap. “Ser Kharl? Are you there?”

  Kharl looked up in irritation. “Yes?” He cast forth his order-senses without rising from the chair. A man, an armsman, stood outside his door.

  “The lord-chancellor’d be seeing you right quick.”

  “I’ll be with you in a moment.” Kharl closed The Basis of Order, set it on the side table, and slowly rose from the chair. The stiffness was worse when he hadn’t moved for a time. He made his way to the door and out into the corridor.

  As he closed the door behind him, the armsman, another he had not seen before, turned without speaking. Kharl followed him down to Hagen’s study.

  There, one of the guards spoke. “The lord-chancellor said for you to go right in, ser Kharl. The other mage is already there.”

  “Thank you.”

  The other mage? Lyras? Could there be any other in Austra? What was he doing in the Great House? From Lyras’s own words, he avoided the Great House and the Lords of Austra in any way possible. As Kharl stepped into Hagen’s study, even before he closed the door behind himself, his eyes took in Lyras first. The older mage looked even more

  gray than Kharl recalled.

  Lyras rose from the chair on one side of the table desk and bowed. “Ser Kharl.”

  “Lyras. I had not expected to find you here.” Kharl inclined his head out of respect.

  “I had not expected to be here.”

  “We have news that is less than good.” Hagen gestured to the other empty chair.

  Kharl settled into it, gingerly, and, without a word, waited for Hagen to explain.

  “While you and Undercaptain Demyst were dealing with Hensolas,” Hagen said, his eyes on Kharl, “the Hamorians landed a force at Northbay. That’s fifteen kays to the northeast of Valmurl, just east of the Nierran Hills. The harbor there is small, with just one pier, mostly for fishing craft. They’ve taken over the town for now, but they’ll likely start their march on Valmurl tomorrow or the next day. Lyras was telling me that there are two more white wizards with them.”

  Two more? How many did Hamor have that the emperor could keep sending them? Kharl glanced at Lyras.

  “One doesn’t seem that powerful. The other one-I’ve never sensed a white wizard that strong.” Lyras turned to Kharl apologetically. “Begging your pardon, ser Kharl.”

  “They also brought another company of lancers, doubtless to serve as his personal guard. I’d wager that Fergyn and his forces will move north and that they’ll join the Hamorians at Ghalmat. That’s a town about eight kays up the Fahsa River from the harbor at Valmurl. Ghalmat’s where the northeast road from Valmurl ends. The river road from there to Northbay isn’t much better than a cart path.”

  Kharl didn’t pretend to understand totally the geography, but it was clear enough that the Hamorians had picked the small harbor because it would not be easy for Ghrant to send forces there, even if he had known about the landing.

  Hagen added, “Fostak and Lord Joharak departed from Valmurl last night on a Nordlan trader.”

  “That’s ...” Kharl wasn’t sure what it was, except a sign of trouble.

  “As close to war as Hamor will go,” Hagen replied. “It’s also a sign that Lord Joharak realized that his position here was about to become untenable. He didn’t wait for a Hamorian ship.” “The emperor woul
d just have left him here if he hadn’t left on his own?”

  “There are privileges associated with being an envoy, but there are also risks.” Hagen’s smile was brief and cold.

  “The Hamorians intend to make Fergyn their puppet, you think?” asked Kharl.

  “Oh ... the emperor might even let him have some real power, so long as he serves Hamor,” replied Hagen. “Or ... he might just be trying to foment so much internal warfare and bloodshed that everyone would welcome the stability that Hamor would bring.”

  “The lords would not like that,” Lyras pointed out.

  “There won’t be any of them left,” Hagen said. “They’ll either die in the fighting or flee before Hamor takes total control of Austra.”

  Kharl said nothing. It seemed as though, with each success he had, matters just got worse.

  “What do you suggest, ser mage?” Hagen looked at Kharl.

  “That we attack,” Kharl said tiredly. “There’s little to be gained by waiting.”

  “Attack? Just like that?” An ironic tone colored Hagen’s words.

  “Attack,” Kharl repeated. “Most of the rebel armsmen and lancers were with Hensolas, you said. Fergyn doesn’t have that many left.”

  “We may not, either, not after attacking.”

  “Do you think these white wizards-especially the powerful one- will let me just ride up to wherever they are and attack them?”

  “Why will they meet us?”

  “Because Lyras is going to be with the attacking force,” Kharl said.

  Lyras paled. His swallow was audible in the stillness of the chamber.

  “These two wizards have never sensed me, not up close, and most whites don’t seem to be that good at locating blacks. Lyras will show some order-magery, and I’ll do what I need to do while they’re concentrating on our force.”

  “That could be dangerous,” Hagen said. “They could wipe out our entire force.”

  ”If I can’t do what I need to do, you can order a retreat. Or Casolan or Norgen can.”

  “It’s best, I think, if I’m there.” Another grim smile crossed the lord-chancellor’s lips. “One way or another.”

  Kharl understood.

  Hagen rose. “We may not need to ride out until fiveday, but you should be ready tomorrow, mages.” His eyes went to Lyras.

  “Yes, lord-chancellor.” Lyras’s voice carried resignation. He looked to Kharl. “Ser Kharl.”

  “I will see you both in the morning,” Hagen added, in dismissal.

  Kharl inclined his head, then turned and left the study. Lyras followed.

  Outside, in the corridor, the older mage turned to Kharl. After a moment, he said, “You have learned much, ser Kharl, but do you think you can face one of the most powerful mages from Hamor?”

  “I can certainly face him,” Kharl said, with a laugh. “Whether I can prevail... that is another question. If I can, it is best to end this now. If I cannot, then it is also for the best.” “For the best?”

  “We could retreat, and harass, and attack, and in a year all of Austra would be in flames, and most would be starving.” Kharl did not add that there was already too much blood on his hands, and too many deaths weighing upon him. At times, his mouth, his food, everything still tasted of ashes.

  “You are saying...”

  “I am saying that there are worse things than being conquered. I would rather not live under the emperor. I will do my best so that does not happen. What we do does not affect us alone. Already, Lord Ghrant has lost more than half his lancers and armsmen, one way or another. Hundreds of women are already widows, and thousands of children are orphans. How many will there be in a season, in a year? What sort of land will Lord Ghrant have then, if he has any at all?”

  Lyras looked away.

  XXVI

  For all of his words to Lyras, Kharl was worried. Just how would he be able to stand up to a mighty white wizard? He was wagering on his ability to make something out of a few words in The Basis of Order and out of the few abilities he had perfected.

  Unlike most black mages, he had learned little about healing, no matter how he had tried, and he could barely sense what the weather might do, let alone change it or influence it. He had no idea how to help things grow, the way Lyras and the druids did. He could not feel what was deep beneath the earth, nor in the water. All he had learned was how to sense order and chaos, to harden substances, especially air, to create shields against chaos, and to release chaos by unbinding order.

  After he and Lyras parted outside of Hagen’s chamber, Kharl had gone to the top of the north tower, but he had been unable to discover a way to put into action the words in The Basis of Order.

  Still thinking about Hagen’s revelations and his own too-proud words to Lyras, Kharl had left the tower and walked slowly through the corridors of the Great House. He crossed the rear courtyard and made his way out to the smithy, an armorer’s smithy, although the forge was shared at times by the estate smith and the farrier. If the forge happened to be hot, perhaps studying the chaos within the coals might give him some hints. Besides, he had spent enough time in his quarters, and sitting down for any length of time would just leave his leg stiff again.

  The armorer was not using the forge, but the farrier was, shaping a horseshoe. The horse to be reshod was a dun mare, one that Kharl thought might be the mount that Lady Hyrietta often rode. Since he had returned to Valmurl, he had seldom seen the dark-haired lady with the heart- shaped face, or Lord Ghrant’s two sons, even at a distance.

  The farrier glanced at Kharl, nodded, and went about his business, thrusting the tongs holding the shoe into the forge.

  Kharl stood in the doorway to the smithy, letting his senses range over the forge fire. The energy of the forge was what he would have called honest chaos, without the reddish overshades of the chaos-fire spewed forth by the white wizards. Or by what he had done in unbinding order to release chaos.

  The farrier’s hammer struck the horseshoe on the forge, and Kharl sensed the change in both order and chaos within the iron. There was a flow, an ordering, in the metal... but why? Kharl continued to follow the farrier’s actions for a time. He could sense the slight ordering in the shoes, and he could tell that the mount’s feet would be protected by more than the shoe, if only slightly. But why?

  He frowned and let his senses take in the farrier himself. There was the faintest sense of blackness about the man. In a way, Kharl decided, the farrier had a touch of the ordermage within him. Only the slightest touch, but a little. Did all the best crafters have a trace of order- talent? Kharl wouldn’t have been surprised at that, but that observation and its application would have to wait.

  As he took in the smithy, and especially what was happening with the horseshoes, he began to pick up the pattern, a faint pattern, but it was there. There were ties between the farrier and the horseshoe, and even though the farrier had added but the slightest trace of order from himself to the shoe, there was a link. Kharl tried to follow that link, but it was so delicate that even reaching out to touch it shattered the connection, and it was so faint that the farrier didn’t even seem to feel it.

  After a while longer, Kharl nodded and stepped back, thinking as he began to walk back through the warm noon sunlight toward the small dining room. The Basis of Order had been right. There was a connection or a tie. That suggested that the linkage might be used. Could it be a way back through the white wizard’s shields? How could he find out?

  He laughed, briefly. There wasn’t any way to find out, not short of trying, and failure could be costly, and probably deadly.

  He turned toward the small dining room. Whatever might happen, he needed to eat, and he needed to make sure he had plenty of provisions on the ride-or campaign-against the rebels and the Hamorians.

  XXVII

  Fourday found Kharl back in the saddle before dawn, in the green-and- black uniform of an Austran armsman, riding with Undercaptain Demyst and his squad on a side road at the south edge of
the Nierran Hills, not all that far from Lyras’s cottage. Kharl smiled briefly as he recalled the meeting with the older mage in the small cottage of red sandstone, with its glass windows and green-painted shutters and front door. Lyras had offered refreshments, hospitality, and almost no advice, except how to determine where Kharl’s skills might lie. While he had always suspected the reason for that, Kharl was truly beginning to understand why. Handling of order-or of chaos-had to come from understanding, and that could never be taught, only experienced.

  There was barely enough space for two mounts abreast on the clay track that wound under the sandstone cliffs on the north side of the fast-moving and swirling dark waters of the rod-wide stream. The road was no more than two cubits above the spring runoff. Immediately to the south of the stream were low meadows, some of which were still partly underwater, and beyond them a long sloping expanse of firs along the north side of a narrow ridge. South beyond the ridge, Kharl knew, were the open hills that rolled down toward the northeastern part of Valmurl. Those hills held kay upon kay of orchards and berry patches.

  Once again, Demyst rode alongside Kharl. The square-faced captain looked morosely ahead, into the lighter gray sky to the east. “This circles north of the main road, comes out where the stream joins the Fahsa. That’s a bit west of Ghalmat. Should be there well before the rebels.” Demyst paused. “Should be. No telling until then, though.”

  “The Hamorians are still somewhere to the east of Ghalmat,” noted Kharl. “They’re not moving that fast.” He could sense the two focal points of chaos, even though they were several kays to the south and east. Both were far stronger than the white wizards he had faced before, although the lesser chaos-focus was not that much stronger than the last white wizard.

  But that was the lesser of the two, and he had no idea if the two might even be hiding part of their power, the way the last white wizard had, and as Kharl was attempting.

  Kharl could also sense Lyras and the comparatively faint but solid black order around the older mage. Lyras was stronger than he claimed, Kharl was convinced, but still nowhere near as powerful as he needed to be-not if the older mage had to hold off the oncoming white wizards if Kharl failed. Then, Kharl himself wasn’t exactly a youth, either, he reflected.