Ordermaster

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “She will be pleased that you’ve chosen to entertain, ser.”

  “And you?”

  “It is always beneficial to be on good terms with neighbors.”

  Speltar’s words, once more, were dry.

  “Are you telling me that Lord Julon was not always on the best of terms?”

  “I would not know, not for certain, ser. There are stories, but one never can tell how true they might be, and I would not be the one to pass them on.”

  Kharl laughed. “I have my answer. You are most astute, and most tactful, Speltar.”

  Speltar did grin, if but for the briefest of moments. “And you, Lord Kharl, see more than most lords.”

  To Kharl that was a frightening thought, because Speltar meant it. Kharl knew how much he missed. He’d even missed his own elevation. Part of that was because of his unfamiliarity with Austra, and part was because he hadn’t paid enough attention. “I fear for them, then.” He glanced around the cooperage, then toward the open doorway where the midmorning sun cast an oblong of light across the stone floor. “If you would write what is necessary and bring me a pen? Your writing will be far better than mine.”

  “I can do that.” Speltar nodded slightly, then stepped away.

  Kharl wanted to shake his head. He supposed he was fortunate to have few neighbors, or his lack of understanding of both lordly and Austran customs would have become much more apparent far earlier. He glanced around the cooperage. He could still get in most of a day’s work before bathing and changing into his magely finery, although he doubted it was as fine as whatever ser Arynal and his family might be wearing.

  Then, he cautioned himself, Arynal and his consort might well be people he’d like. Certainly, Kharl had liked Hagen from the beginning. He’d just have to see about Arynal.

  XL

  Two glasses before sunset, roughly, and barely after Kharl had bathed and finished dressing, young Bannat had run up to the main house to announce that ser Arynal’s coach was less than a kay away.

  Kharl hurried from his study back to the kitchen. “They’re about a kay away, Adelya.”

  “I know, Lord Kharl. Bannat told Heldya. You just greet your guests, and we will have everything in readiness, ser.”

  Kharl couldn’t help but grin. “That’s all you’ve left for me to do.”

  “That is as it should be.”

  In the corner, Heldya, barely eleven and dressed in gray trousers and tunic, nodded solemnly, not looking up from the crystal wine goblets she was polishing a last time.

  Kharl shook his head, ruefully, then left the kitchen and walked through the sitting room and past the serving table laid out with refreshments for the time before supper. From there he made his way out through the foyer and onto the wide porch, from where he could look at both the harbor and the narrow road that wound to the south of the barns before turning westward and past the mill, then crossing the stream and eventually joining the inner coast road to Valmurl.

  The dust of the coach was visible before the four-horse team itself appeared coming down the gentle slope to the millrace bridge. As the coach neared the main house, Kharl walked out the flagstone walk from the front porch, then waited as the driver pulled up where the walk ended at the lane. The coach was older, painted in light and dark gray, bearing more than a few scrapes and worn places on the bodywork. The grizzled coachman wore a faded burgundy jacket and brown trousers. His boots were scuffed.

  An older man, with black hair greased back from the temples of his thin face, opened the coach door and stepped out, pulling the mounting stool from its bracket and setting it beneath the door. Then he straightened, smoothed his burgundy velvet jacket, and looked at Kharl. “You must be Lord Kharl, from all that black. I’m Arynal.”

  “I’m Kharl. Welcome to Cantyl.”

  “I’d forgotten how long the drive was. Two solid glasses.” Arynal turned and extended a hand to a long-faced but stout woman with striking gray-and-black hair. “My consort, Jacelyna. This is Lord Kharl, my dear.”

  “You met us, yourself, Lord Kharl,” replied Jacelyna, in a thin and high voice. “How charming.”

  “Who else would meet guests?” ‘ -

  “A doorman or a retainer,” suggested Jacelyna.

  “I have very few retainers, Lady,” replied Kharl. ‘

  “Lord Kharl has had these lands for but half a year, dear,” interjected Arynal, “and he has spent most of that time serving with Lord Ghrant.” The thin-faced lord turned to the younger women who had left the coach. “My daughters Norelle and Meyena. Norelle is the elder, but only by two years.”

  Slightly stocky, buxom, with shoulder-length jet-black hair, strong features, and a long face, Norelle clearly took after her mother. Meyena was slighter in build, with long brown hair set in ringlets. All three women wore ankle-length dresses in various shades of green, a color that suited Meyena, but not her sister or her mother.

  Both sisters inclined their heads to Kharl, almost together.

  Bannat reappeared. “I’ll be taking care of the coach and driver, ser. Adelya will have some fare for him, and we’ve grain in the guest barn.”

  “Thank you.” Kharl hadn’t even thought about that, another aspect of being a lord with which he had little familiarity. He nodded to Bannat and turned to Arynal. “There are refreshments in the sitting room... before dinner.” He motioned to the three women. “Up the walk and across the porch.”

  “... always called it a portico,” murmured Norelle.

  Kharl ignored the comment and turned back to Arynal, letting the women walk in front of them.

  “I always thought mages were little fellows,” offered Arynal, his eyes measuring Kharl.

  “Some are, and some aren’t. That’s like lords. Some are large, and some aren’t,” replied Kharl.

  Lady Jacelyna giggled, a high-pitched sound that grated on Kharl’s ears. She turned her head, and said, “He has you on that, dearest.”

  The higher heels of the ladies’ boots clicked on the stone tile of the porch. Only the youngest, Meyena, turned before entering the house. She stepped aside and looked out across the harbor. “The view is quite lovely, Lord Kharl.”

  The late-afternoon sun had turned the harbor water, smooth because there was no wind, into a silvered expanse that seemed to meld into the trees on the north shore.

  “It is, and there are times when I have stood here and watched for almost a glass.” Kharl offered a polite smile, waiting for her to enter the foyer that opened onto the sitting room to the right. On the left was the study, where, out of prudence, he’d tucked the ledgers into the larger drawer on the right side of the desk.

  Adelya’s daughter Heldya was standing behind the serving table in the sitting room as the five entered. She did not speak.

  “This is most elegant, if spare,” remarked Jacelyna. “It reflects a man’s taste.”

  More than anything, Kharl reflected, the house showed the absence of anyone living in it for any length of time, but he merely nodded.

  After Heldya handed a delicate goblet filled with the amber Rhynn wine from the estate to Jacelyna, the lady took a sip, then said, “This is quite good.”

  “Thank you. Glyan is an outstanding vintner, and I’m fortunate in that. He claims that the Rhynn is as good as that anywhere.” Kharl stood back as Heldya offered goblets to Arynal and his daughters as well.

  “Arynal had said that you have been serving Lord Ghrant most of the time since you gained Cantyl,” Jacelyna continued.

  Kharl noted that the lady had only made a statement, but decided to answer the question that had not been asked.

  “I did what was necessary.”

  “Emelor-he’s Lord Vertyn’s son,” Arynal said, “and I guess that makes him lord now, or will once Lord Ghrant proclaims it-he was saying that you took on something like five white wizards.”

  Kharl thought for a moment, then nodded. “I was fortunate.”

  Arynal laughed, and his wine almost slopped out of
the crystal goblet. “Most times, white wizards turn black mages into charcoal. Been years since a black took on so many whites and won. Leastwise, that’s what Emelor said. Is that so, Lord Kharl?”

  “That’s something I wouldn’t know. There haven’t been many fights between wizards and mages in the last few years. I don’t know of any.”

  “Hmmm ...” mused the older lord. “Might be true at that. Not since the fall of Fairven, anyway.” He laughed again.

  “Still. .. it’s good to know that our Lord of Austra has a mage of power. It can’t hurt to have you here, either, not that we’ve seen brigands in more than a score of years.”

  “You came from Nordla, did you not?” asked Jacelyna, before her consort could say more.

  “Brysta,” Kharl replied. “It’s very different. Lord West is not the fairest of lords. Lord Ghrant, for all his youth, seems to me to be a far better ruler.” He really didn’t want to discuss his past, not with people he’d never met.

  “Is it true,” asked Norelle, “that you were once in ... trade?”

  Kharl offered a laugh. “That’s fair to say. I once had a cooperage in Brysta. It was the best in the city-until I rescued a young woman who’d been attacked by Lord West’s son.” He shrugged. “I had to leave Brysta, then.” Actually, he’d rescued three young women, if one counted Jeka as well as Sanyle and Jenevra. He couldn’t forget Jeka, or her fierce green eyes.

  Meyena’s eyes widened. Norelle appeared unbelieving, and while Kharl was not attracted to either young woman, he was rapidly developing a dislike for Norelle, little as she had said. “You were exiled?”

  “No. I might as well have been. My consort died, and Lord West took my cooperage. My eldest went to sea, and my younger boy went to live with his aunt. It was time for me to leave.”

  “You were an officer on one of the lord-chancellor’s ships, I understand,” Arynal said smoothly, after a sharp look at Norelle.

  “I was. After I joined the Seastag, I began to learn about being a mage.”

  “You didn’t know before?” Meyena’s voice was gentle, and not critical.

  Kharl offered her a smile. “No. I was later told by other mages that I had always had the talent, but I had not known I had it.” After a pause, he looked to Arynal. “I must confess that I know little about your lands. Could you tell me a bit?”

  Arynal finished a sip of the wine. “Good stuff.” He moistened his lips. “Well. ・・you’ve got mostly hills and timberlands here, except for the valley and the vineyards. We’re west of your hills, and it’s mostly rolling meadows. Sheep, that’s what fits our lands best. Some cattle as well.”

  “And the peach orchards,” added Jacelyna.

  “Best peaches this side of Bruel, they say, except they only grow well on the south side of the ridge in the red soil there.” The older lord took another sip of the amber wine. “Meadows run about eight kays north-south, and ten east-west. Not really, but that’s close enough ...”

  Kharl listened, asking a question or two, for almost half a glass, until Adelya slipped into place in the archway from the sitting room to the dining room. When Arynal paused, she looked to Kharl. “Lord ... at your pleasure, ser.”

  “Thank you.” Kharl inclined his head to his guests, gesturing toward the long cherry table that dominated the dining room. The ancient bronze oil lamps in the wall sconces had already been lit and supplied a golden glow to the chamber.

  Kharl took his seat at the head of the table, with Arynal to his left and Jacelyna to his right. Meyena was beside her father. Both Heldya and Adelya served. There were two main dishes. One was the honeyed and cheese-stuffed fowl breasts, and the other was flaankar-thin tubes of rar-ish beef filled with soft white cheese and parsley and covered with a white butter sauce. Then came the cheese lace potatoes, and the pickled beans-since it was too early in the year for any fresh vegetables.

  Adelya set two pitchers of wine on the table, and looked at Kharl as she did.

  “You can choose between the white and the red wine,” he said. “I like the red, myself, but many prefer the white, especially with fowl. It’s the same Rhynn as you had earlier.” He wouldn’t have known that, but for Adelya’s words to him earlier in the afternoon.

  “White is always better with fowl,” observed Norelle. “For those with delicate palates.”

  “It is a matter of taste, dear child,” replied Arynal, emphasizing the word child ever so slightly. “Tastes do differ.”

  “That is what makes the world an interesting place,” added Jacelyna.

  “I think I would prefer the red,” said Meyena.

  Kharl managed to keep a straight face as he handed the pitcher with the red in it to Arynal. “Lord Hagen is also quite fond of the red.”

  “The lord-chancellor is known to be a man of good taste.” Arynal half filled Meyena’s goblet.

  When all the goblets had been filled, Kharl lifted his glass. “It may not be exactly proper, but I’d like to drink to you all, the first of my neighbors to have shared a meal with me.”

  “Excellent idea!” Arynal lifted his goblet as well.

  For a time, conversation lagged as Kharl had several bites of both fowl and flaankar, as well as a chunk of the sweet dark bread that held juicy raisins.

  “I’ve not had flaankar this tasty in years,” Arynal said, after several mouthfuls.

  “I’m most fortunate in having Adelya.”

  “A good cook is a gem. That’s always been true.”

  “Pardon me, Lord Kharl, but I’ve not seen anyone else here, and there is the rumor ...” ventured Jacelyna.

  “I am a widower, that’s true.” Kharl did not elaborate, especially since he had indicated that earlier. Had Jacelyna missed that, or was she making sure that he was single?

  “Be a shame if you had no sons to hold the lands,” murmured Arynal.

  “It would be, but I’m hoping my ... younger son will be joining me before the end of the year.”

  “Oh . .. where is he?”

  Once more, Kharl ignored the fact that he’d already mentioned that fact. “He’s in Nordla, with his aunt and uncle. They have an orchard, mostly peaches, but some pearapples.” “You don’t have that much in the way of fruit here, do you?”

  “Besides the berry patches, there’s a small cherry orchard in the western lands, and a handful of fruit trees on the south slopes here- apple, pearapple, and a quince. Maybe two quinces,” he added.

  “Quinces make good jelly,” offered Meyena.

  Kharl laughed gently. “From what I’ve tasted, Adelya can make anything taste good.”

  “What are your plans for the summer, Lord Kharl?” asked Arynal.

  “We’ll be improving the sawmill here, and making some other changes. I’ll be seeing if the white oaks on the new lands are suitable for barrels for the vineyard, and we may need some better roads in places.” “You don’t plan to return to Valmurl... Lord Ghrant?”

  “If Lord Ghrant needs me, I will certainly attend him, but he and the lord-chancellor have seasons’ worth of work before them, I think, in repairing the damage caused by the rebellion. For now, it is better that I remain here at Cantyl. I have done what was necessary. For now, at least.”

  “Some had thought, after the defeat of the Hamorian wizards ...”

  Kharl laughed. “Hamor sent five wizards. The emperor has scores, and hundreds of iron-hulled warships with mighty guns. Austra can defend itself.” He hoped it could. “But waging war elsewhere would be foolhardy.”

  The older lord nodded. “So you plan to be here for a time.”

  “I do. There’s much to do here.”

  “There always is. The sheep ... you know that we have the best white wool in the east. Some say that it is as good a white as Reduce produces black...”

  From that point on, the conversation turned to the lands, the weather, how Lord Julon had wasted his inheritance on horses and women.

  Kharl managed to smile his way through the rest of dinner, and the sw
eets afterward, then see his guests to their coach.

  Once the coach’s side-lamps vanished from sight, Kharl walked back up to the porch. He looked at the pin-lights that were the stars, then at the darkness of the harbor. Arynal’s motives-or those of his consort- were clear enough. Kharl was a lord and a widower. They had two consortable daughters.

  He shook his head. Norelle was the better-looking, and he doubted if he could have stayed in the same room alone with her for a glass without wanting to strangle her. The younger one was sweeter, but he knew he would feel nothing for her . .. except perhaps pity.

  If he had to consort, he would have taken Sanyle or Jeka-young as they were-over either of Arynal’s daughters, but that wasn’t the question. He just hoped that Hagen’s men could get a message to Warrl.

  After a time, he walked back into the house, sliding the door bolt into place behind him. It was quiet, and all the lamps had been wicked out, except a carry-lamp in the study. He lifted it and headed for the stairs up to his chambers.

  XLI

  By the end of another two eightdays, Kharl had the cooperage working the way he wanted, in most fashions, although he needed a better hollowing knife, and he was short on charcoal for the toasting and the forge. He’d ordered coal, because he didn’t want to turn his few hardwood trees into charcoal, but coal came by ship from Colton, a good hundred kays north of Valmurl, and he had no idea when it might arrive.

  He had already turned out a score of white oak barrels, as well as several of red oak and spruce. The red oak and spruce were for slack cooperage around Cantyl.

  Glyan, the estate vintner, was looking over the white oak barrels, turning them so that the morning light from the open door illuminated the insides of the staves. “Good barrel, ser. I’d not be saying that because you made it, either.”

  Kharl could tell that Glyan mean it. The barrels were good, not his very best, but that would come, once he got back into better form.