Ordermaster

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  Yet...

  He looked at the wine. That was no answer, either. He was just glad that Hagen was there.

  XXXII

  Each day brought Kharl greater recovery, and by threeday, he was only occasionally finding holes in his vision, and the sight-daggers had become infrequent, and more like momentary wasp stings. He still brooded about Arthal, wondering if there had been anything he could have done that would have persuaded his son against leaving the cooperage. Even if Arthal had waited ... for a later ship . .. anything ... Every time he recalled their parting, he came to the same conclusion that Hagen had voiced. Arthal had been so angry that nothing short of chaining the youth would have stopped him from taking the billet on the Fleuryl.

  And then, to find after his death, that his son had been within a handful of kays, and Kharl had not even known it.

  Slightly after midday, Kharl was sitting alone in the small dining room, sipping light ale from a beaker and waiting for his meal when Norgen entered and walked over to his table. “Might I join you, ser Kharl?”

  “Please do.” Kharl gestured to the seat across the table from him. He was more than glad to see the commander of Ghrant’s personal guard. Everyone else, except Hagen, had been most polite, most courteous, and most distant.

  “Thank you.” As Norgen seated himself, he absently brushed back the thin and fine hair that had once been far redder. He gestured to the serving girl. “An ale, here, when you have a moment.”

  “Yes, ser.”

  Norgen smiled at Kharl. “You’re looking better. Your face was blistered all over after the battle.”

  “An eightday’s worth of rest helps. Or almost an eightday.”

  “That can be a long time. I imagine it’s been rather quiet for you.” Nor-gen paused as the server set a beaker of ale before him. “Thank you,” he said to her.

  The server inclined her head and slipped away.

  “Not many people wish to talk to you, I’d think, and those few that do aren’t the ones you’d wish to exchange words with.”

  Kharl raised his eyebrows. “Those words come from experience.”

  Norgen laughed, a harsh sound, for all that the laugh was not that loud. “Commander . .. surely you could have prevailed without losing so many lancers? Commander, if you had been more effective, Lord Ghrant might not have had to rely so heavily on the mage ...”

  “That’s not the lord-chancellor,” Kharl said.

  “No. It’s lords like Vhint and Ferosyl. They had to supply lancers and armsmen to replace casualties in the personal guard. Like all armsmen in a battle, some didn’t survive, and now the lords are complaining-as if casualties in battle were a great surprise.”

  “I did the best I could,” Kharl said.

  “Ser Kharl... you’ll get no complaint from me. If you hadn’t prevailed, all of our forces would be ashes, and I’m not sure that the ones with Hen-solas and Fergyn wouldn’t still have been as well.”

  Both men looked up as the server returned and set platters before each, and a basket of bread between them. Dark bread, and freshly baked, Kharl noted with satisfaction. On each platter were three cutlets in brown gravy, cheese mashed potatoes, and soggy-looking beans.

  “Thank you,” Kharl said to the server, offering a smile.

  “Yes, ser.” The young woman’s eyes avoided Kharl’s, even as she half bowed and backed away.

  “The terrible mage,” murmured Kharl.

  “It’s the same folk who want you-or me-to use whatever force is necessary so that their lives can go on, undisturbed,” said Norgen cheerfully. He broke off a section of the dark bread and handed the basket to Kharl. “I’ve been in service long enough to see how fickle folk are. When there’s peace, they see no use for lancers-or mages. When there’s war, they’ll promise you anything and look the other way if what you do is too bloody for their sensibilities. But if you suggest that a campaign will be too bloody, you’re accused of cowardice or sympathizing with the enemy. Afterwards, they all say that you didn’t have to be so brutal... or something like that.”

  After taking a chunk of bread, Kharl set it on the edge of his platter. “Gratitude doesn’t last long.”

  “If you get it at all,” replied Norgen. “Most people are like small children. They want things their way, and they don’t like to be reminded of their duties, or that they should be grateful to those who have protected them. Children don’t ever appreciate their parents, not until they have children of their own. The problem with ruling-or fighting for a ruler-is that most people never get that kind of responsibility. So they never understand the choices and the costs.” He took a sip of the ale before continuing. “There are folktales that go back as long as people have told them. In them, most rulers are evil and greedy. Ever hear one that talks about evil and greedy subjects?” He laughed.

  “You don’t think much of people, then?” asked Kharl.

  Norgen smiled, sadly. “I’m one of them. I get as greedy and as upset as the next person when things don’t go my way. You remind yourself of that, and don’t expect people to do more at their best than you at your worst, and you’ll be pleasantly surprised in life. People are people. Those who expect goodness from everyone all the time-they’re the ones who die bitter and unhappy.”

  “Do most commanders think the way you do?”

  “The good ones do-like Casolan-not that I’m as good as he is.”

  “You both believe in doing the best you can,” observed Kharl.

  “So do you, ser mage. I’ve seen that.” After a pause, the lean commander added, “What else is there in life, other than doing your best? Youth doesn’t last. Neither does good fare or ale. Gratitude certainly doesn’t. Fame doesn’t. About all that does is the

  satisfaction of knowing you did your best.”

  “You should have been a scholar,” Kharl suggested.

  Norgen grinned sheepishly. “I was for a time. Don’t tell people. Upset my folks something awful. Couldn’t stand all the older scholars arguing about things they’d never known and couldn’t prove. Far as I know, you only get one life. Decided I’d rather live mine than study and write about the lives and acts of dead men and women. Or about the way languages or laws have changed. Or ...” The commander shrugged. “You have any children?”

  “Two daughters, one son. He’s a scholar. Thinks his father’s crazy, but he’s scared to say so. My daughters, they just shake their heads when they think I’m not looking. Kasrina understands, and that’s enough.”

  “If she understands, you’re a fortunate man,” Kharl said, after finishing a mouthful of a too-chewy cutlet. “None of mine did ... or have, not so far, anyway.”

  “I know that, too.” Norgen took another sip from the beaker. “You had to leave your family behind?” The word were not quite a question.

  “My consort died, and my eldest son ... he left. He blamed me.” Kharl swallowed. He’d wanted just to mention Arthal and let it go. He shook his head. “The Nordlan merchanter, the one that had the Hamorian envoy on it. The Hamorians . .. they sank it. He was a carpenter’s apprentice.”

  Norgen nodded slowly and gravely. “I’m sorry. I had wondered. You have been quiet and withdrawn, even for a mage with much to think about.”

  “I wouldn’t have thought they would destroy an entire ship, just to punish a failed envoy.”

  “They are without compassion. I am sorry.” Norgen lifted his beaker.

  Kharl couldn’t help noticing that the commander, for all the number of times he had sipped the ale, had drunk less than half. He swallowed and pushed away the thoughts of Arthal, for the moment, at least. “Do you think there will be any more rebellion?”

  “There’s no one left to rebel-not with enough golds and armsmen to stand against even what’s left of Lord Ghrant’s personal guard. No... things will be quiet here for a while, maybe a long while. Hamor will go make trouble somewhere else, Nordla or Candar, most likely. The lord- chancellor will keep Lord Ghrant from being too vindictive and
from tariffing too much. Lord Ghrant will try to forget that you’re around, except to summon you to the Great House now and again, just to remind the lords of your power, and on those days, we’ll get our blades and harnesses polished and parade, and the young lancers will think that they’re getting paid for doing little-and when the next trouble comes, the ones who learned the least will die, and we’ll start all over again. But, by that time, I hope, I’ll be stipended or even long gone.”

  Kharl found Norgen’s cheerful cynicism refreshing-and depressing. Perhaps what made his words even more depressing was the honesty behind them. The commander saw life as it was, not as he wished it to be- and he didn’t seem to hate those who were cruel and stupid.

  What was it that the druid had said? Not to act out of anger and hatred? Kharl wished he had listened to the druids more carefully. He half nodded, more to himself than to Norgen. “I hope you’re right.”

  “Oh ... things will go that way. Lord Ghrant’s not the brightest who ever ruled, but he’s far from the dimmest, and he’s come to understand that he’d do far worse with anyone else as lord-chancellor.”

  Was Norgen being too charitable to Lord Ghrant? Kharl couldn’t say. So he took another mouthful of the potatoes. Time would tell.

  XXXIII

  On fiveday afternoon, Kharl stood to the right of Hagen in the audience hall, a half pace back, watching as Lord Deroh walked toward Lord Ghrant, who remained seated in the high-backed chair. Unlike the last time, Ghrant was attired almost entirely in black, with but just enough green trim that he would not be mistaken for a mage.

  The angular and dark-bearded Deroh stopped several paces short of the dais and turned his head. He stared directly at Kharl, and his face seemed to narrow. After a long moment, he spoke, in a hard and deep bass voice, “Are you going to strike me dead, mage? The way you did Guillam.”

  The sardonic words seemed to fill the chamber.

  Kharl looked steadily back at Deroh. He felt no guilt about what happened to the corrupt chief factor, and his eyes did not answer.

  “Lord Deroh,” said Ghrant, his voice thin by comparison, “you answer to me, not to my mages.”

  “Of course, your lordship.” Deroh turned and bowed deeply, then took two more steps and bowed again.

  Kharl understood exactly what Deroh had done. In a way, he had to respect the lord for making that statement, and in another way, it irritated Kharl, because it implied that Kharl was just a tool of execution. The mage repressed an ironic smile as he realized that irritation had also been planted by Deroh’s question. Once more, Kharl had gotten a lesson in the halls of power.

  “I am here at your request, your lordship.” Deroh inclined his head after his words.

  “Your presence was commanded because of your apparent support for the late and rebellious lords. Rather than begin with questions, I give you leave to explain, as I am most certain you will, Lord Deroh.”

  “My support, as you termed it, my lordship, was more apparent than real. I did not provide armsmen or lancers. Nor did I encourage any other lord to become disrespectful of your lordship or rebellious.”

  Kharl watched and listened. Only the last words bore a hint of untruth, but those preceding them had felt accurate to Kharl.

  Hagen glanced sideways at Kharl.

  The mage leaned forward and murmured, “He tells the truth. So far.”

  In turn, Hagen nodded ever so slightly to Lord Ghrant.

  “Why did you grant such apparent support, Lord Deroh?”

  “What choice did I have, your lordship? Malcor and Hensolas had armies at my door. Your forces were far removed from my lands. I dared not profess open loyalty, not after I saw what happened to Vertyn and Lahoryn.”

  “Would you have provided such apparent support if you had not been so coerced?”

  “Why would any sensible lord do otherwise?” A touch of sardonicism edged the dark and lean lord’s words.

  “I do not believe you answered my question, Lord Deroh.”

  “No. Matters as they had been were much to be preferred over what those rebelling promised.”

  Again, Kharl could sense some equivocation, and he definitely had the impression that while Deroh probably had to have been coerced, it had not taken much pressure. Still... the lord was being fairly accurate as to how he had acted and felt.

  “That is less than a ringing declaration of support for your lord.” Ghrant’s voice dripped acid.

  “It is support, your lordship. I had great fondness for your sire, but I had not had the chance to come to know you.”

  “I did not notice you hurrying to Valmurl to pay your respects, Lord Deroh.”

  “No, your lordship. Before I could, I found Lord Malcor and Lord Hen-solas on my doorstep.”

  That statement rang as true as anything Deroh had said, if not more so, and Kharl whispered that to Hagen. “Yet you did not warn me?”

  “Had I risked sending a message such as that, your lordship, I risked everything. They had four white wizards, and none knew then of the power of Lord Kharl.”

  “That is true. None did. A sad thing it is when the lords of a land must weigh power over duty. We shall make sure that none of you ever face that choice again.”

  Deroh paled slightly at Ghrant’s words, but did not reply.

  “We will consider your statements, Lord Deroh, and reflect upon them overnight. You will remain here as our guest until I offer my judgment in the morning.”

  Deroh bowed. “I await your judgment, your lordship.”

  “You may retire.”

  After Deroh had left the chamber, Lord Ghrant rose, without another word, and departed as well.

  Kharl followed Hagen back to the lord-chancellor’s study. Neither man spoke until after Kharl had closed the door, and they were seated across the table desk from each other.

  “What is your feeling about the most honorable Lord Deroh?” Hagen’s voice was dry.

  “He cares little for Lord Ghrant, but he cared far less for Malcor and Hensolas. He was loyal, I would judge, only so long as it suited him.”

  “That could be said of many lords over the history of Austra, indeed, of any land.” Hagen leaned back in his chair, just slightly, but his eyes never left Kharl. “What would you do?”

  Kharl didn’t want to answer directly. “All of those who joined the revolt are guilty to some degree. That includes those like Deroh who provided golds. He’s less guilty, by far. I’m not a justicer or a ruler, but if you punish them all, what reason is there for anyone to support Lord Ghrant? Yet, if he ignores their guilt, he might appear either weak or stupid. Also, if he pardons them, some might say that shows weakness.”

  “After what you did to the white wizards and the four lords who spearheaded the revolt, some form of mercy might not be considered as weak as it might otherwise.”

  “Then he should pardon them, but require some golds to repay him for all the costs of the rebellion.” Kharl offered a crooked smile. “After all, if they were willing to part with golds to those they did not support willingly, they should certainly be willing to help rebuild Austra and support the rightful ruler.”

  Hagen laughed. “For a former cooper, ser Kharl.. .”

  “How will Lord Ghrant deal with Deroh, do you think?” Kharl paused. “Or should I ask what you will suggest as punishment?”

  Hagen shrugged. “As you have said, most of them are guilty. I would suggest that Lord Ghrant find him guilty, technically, but pardon his actions because of the necessity facing him.” “What of the others he will see?”

  “Much the same. I would hope that he finds them all guilty, then pardons all of them, save Azeolis.”

  “What of Azeolis? The last I heard, he was harassing Casolan.”

  “Casolan, once he heard of your victory, turned and crushed Azeolis’s forces. He captured Azeolis and brought him to the Great House, trussed like a fowl.” “I thought Azeolis had pledged to Lord Ghrant?”

  “He did so in haste as Casola
n was bearing down upon him.” Hagen laughed. “It is easy to do so when you fear worse.” “Does he have heirs?”

  “He has two sons living, and a daughter. His consort died three years ago. I imagine Lord Ghrant will be merciful and allow them exile. The lands ... Lord Ghrant will grant as he sees fit.” “Perhaps to Norgen or Casolan? Or split them between the two?”

  “That might be too generous. The lands are extensive.” Hagen frowned. “He should keep some for a time. His coffers are near empty. Perhaps an eighth part each to his faithful commanders.”

  “What if he suggested that he was holding that part only for a time? Perhaps appoint an honest custodian, but one not beholden to him. He could still take the golds until he bestowed the lands, and by giving some to Casolan and Norgen ... ?”

  “That might be best.” Hagen nodded. “Lord Ghrant will reward you, as well.”

  “I have enough land, with Cantyl,” Kharl replied.

  “The forest to the south of Cantyl is now Lord Ghrant’s. It was Ilteron’s, and so seldom mentioned that I was not even aware that it had come to Lord Ghrant, and”Hagen grinned momentarily-“I understand that there are a few squares where there are white oaks. Not enough for commercial timbering, but enough for a cooper. There is also a cherry orchard, which has been neglected.”

  “I leave that in your hands, ser. I have been well rewarded.”

  “A modest additional reward, and the gratitude of Lord Ghrant. That is not too much for the mage who saved a land for its ruler.” Hagen’s tone was firm. “A ruler must always be seen to be fair.” He rose. “I am to meet Lord Ghrant. We will talk later.”

  After leaving Hagen, Kharl walked slowly toward the steps to the north tower. He needed time to think, in a place where he didn’t feel walls all around him.

  His steps were slow as he climbed to the top of the tower, then crossed to the eastern side, from where he could see all of Valmurl.