Ordermaster

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “People don’t wear bright colors,” offered Erdyl. “Everyone was in gray or brown or maroon.” He looked down.

  “Perhaps that is the custom here. I haven’t seen much of the world.”

  Kharl tried to recall what it had been like when he’d been younger.

  He’d had a crimson jacket once, and Charee had often worn a brilliant purple shawl. “We’ll have to look more, but... folks used to wear brighter colors.”

  “Could be because of the season?” Demyst asked, then shook his head. “Can’t be. Bright garb is for spring and summer.”

  “What will you be having us do tomorrow?” blurted Erdyl. “Besides the reply to the Sarronnese envoy, I mean.”

  Kharl smiled, sheepishly. “I’ll have to think about that this evening. We’ve really only a half day tomorrow. Sevenday afternoon is part of the end-day. Many of the shops close in the afternoon, and the Hall of Justice is closed on both sevenday and eightday.”

  “That’s not so different from Austra,” ventured Erdyl.

  “Some things aren’t,” Kharl admitted. But some things were very different, and he had the feeling that those differences had gotten worse. He needed to remind himself to be careful, and to think out what he did. He definitely did not wish to repeat his mistakes-not in Brysta.

  LIX

  Sevenday morning was quiet, and after writing a reply to Luryessa, the Sarronnese envoy, Kharl dispatched Erdyl with the missive. The fact that the envoy was a woman confirmed in Kharl’s mind that Sarronnyn, along with Southwind, was a land that still followed the Legend of ancient and vanished Westwind. The invitation, merely for afternoon refreshments, also raised the question of what the envoy wanted. Did she wish merely to learn more about Kharl and what was happening in Austra? Somehow, Kharl doubted that. The invitation had been too immediate.

  Once Erdyl had left to tender the acceptance, Kharl went looking for Undercaptain Demyst and found him inspecting the unused barracks section of the space over the stables.

  “What do you think?” Kharl asked.

  Demyst turned, slowly. “They kept the place clean. Not much wear. Even has an armory off the back hall.”

  “Ah... ser ...”

  Both Kharl and Demyst turned. Fundal stood at the end of the hallway.

  “Yes, Fundal?” said Kharl.

  “I couldn’t help but overhear what the undercaptain said, Lord Kharl. I’m gratified that he finds the barracks space here clean.” Kharl repressed a smile. “It wasn’t clean when Lord Hensolas left?”

  “No, ser. It was more like a hog pen.” The steward shook his head. “Too many armsmen.”

  At Fundal’s expression, Kharl had another thought. “Did you do the cleaning up and the painting by yourself?”

  “Mostly, ser. After they all left, things were quiet. Thought it was best to put matters to right. No sense in having someone else do it. Besides, I was worried about the coins.”

  “You did a good job. We couldn’t even tell there were so many here.”

  “Far too many,” Fundal replied. “At the end, there were almost threescore armsmen packed in here. Some of them couldn’t even speak properly. Mercenaries. I suggested to Lord Hensolas that it might be wiser to quarter some of them elsewhere, but he just put me off. ‘We’ll talk of that later, Fundal.’ Then, one twoday, they all left, and Lord Hensolas with them. He didn’t even leave any extra golds in the residence account. Drew out all the golds he could. The armsmen left some blades and a half score of rifles in a crate that they hadn’t even opened. I sold all that and put the golds in the account. Even with that being so, it barely lasted till you got here.”

  Kharl could sense that the steward was telling the truth-and that he felt strongly about the situation. “Did they leave anything else? Other weapons? Tools?”

  “Just an unopened keg of cammabark.” Fundal shook his head. “Cam- mabark, in a place where folk live. Didn’t get a bad price for it, though, but half of that went to Guarlt because I had to go through the Armorers’ Guild.”

  Cammabark? A keg of it? In quarters over a stable where it could explode and burn down both the stable and the envoy’s residence? That bothered Kharl, not because it confirmed Hensolas’s treachery, but because it was so at odds with everything he had heard about the lord’s caution. “I’m glad you took care of all that.”

  “That’s what a steward’s for, ser.” Fundal smiled, if faintly. “Did you ever find out where all the mercenary guards came from?”

  “Seemed like they came from everywhere. I heard one say he was from Jellico, and another was talking about being glad to leave Analeria. The others ... they could have come from anywhere.”

  “Thank you.”

  “If you’ll not be needing me ...”

  “I’ll let you know if there’s anything,” Kharl promised.

  He moved on toward the back hall. As Fundal had said, the armory had been repainted recently, and there was but the faintest sense of chaos in the space. In less than half a glass, Kharl finished going through the barracks and retainer quarters, and he and the undercaptain made their way back to the library in the main residence.

  Kharl closed the door before speaking. “What do you think about what Fundal said?”

  “He was telling the truth, wasn’t he?”

  “Yes.”

  “Cammabark? Be an idiot to keep that except in an underground and stone-walled armory, even with what it’s worth.”

  “He didn’t take it with him,” Kharl mused. “I’d wager he didn’t buy it, either.” “Why didn’t he sell it, then, the way Fundal did? Why did he leave the rifles?”

  Those were good questions, especially since Hensolas had taken out all the golds he could. Kharl could only shrug. He walked to the study window, the one nearest the rear of the dwelling, and looked out at the corner of the formal gardens. The white roses were in bloom, as were the lilies. One of the gardener’s boys was following his father, picking up the clippings that fell from the shears as the older man trimmed the boxwood hedge.

  Beyond the garden and the grounds, through the trees, Kharl could just make out a far larger dwelling. For all that he had lived in Brysta most of his life, this was a section of the city about which he knew little.

  “Ser?” asked the undercaptain.

  “We need to take a ride,” Kharl said. “A carriage ride through and around Brysta. Mantar can tell us everything he knows. We need to learn more about Brysta.” Especially the parts that Kharl had never frequented.

  “I suppose so, ser.”

  “We might not have time, later.”

  Demyst nodded.

  “If you would tell Mantar to ready the carriage, then find Erdyl.”

  “Yes, ser.” Demyst bowed, then turned.

  Kharl had his reasons for the ride. First, he did want Demyst and Erdyl to see more of the city. Second, he wanted to see what had changed. Third, he wanted to see if he could sense any more concentration of chaos. And finally, he wanted to see where the other envoys were, as well as where the lord justicers and others of power and wealth lived. As he’d realized, looking beyond the residence gardens, those were parts of Brysta he’d never known, because the wealthy buyers of his barrels had always sent their retainers to pick up the cooperage- and what cooper ever had time to walk around the city?

  LX

  The ride on sevenday had proved useful not only to Demyst and Erdyl, but, as Kharl had hoped, to himself as well. Mantar had been happy to show off his knowledge of Brysta, and to point out everything from the Quadrancy Keep-the walled hilltop keep of Lord West and his family and retainers-to the various enclaves below it on the hill, the largest of which was the Hamorian. It had also been recently enlarged. At least, several of the outbuildings and walls looked new, and felt that way to Kharl. He had not sensed a chaos-wizard there, and that had worried him, in some ways, more than if he had, although he could not have said why.

  Also, in addition to the new barracks building in the old slateyard, there
was another set of barracks and stables on the south side of Brysta, beside the road south to Surien, the same road Kharl had walked to Peachill. Patrollers guarded both.

  Kharl had the feeling that they had been followed, but not by wizardry or wizards, and supposed that was to be expected. Only a single additional merchant ship, from Suthya, had ported in the harbor, and the coastal schooner had departed. One of Lord West’s two gunships had also ported, looking old, small, and insignificant compared to the Hamorian warships Kharl had seen on the high seas and in port at Swartheld.

  Kharl had requested that Mantar take them down Crafters’ Lane, but while his old cooperage now bore the name of Mallamet, he had not seen the cooper, nor had he been able to make out the inscription on the adjoining building that had once been Tyrbel’s scriptorium. Gharan’s shutters had been closed-not at all unusual for a crafter on sevenday afternoon- so that Kharl could not tell whether Jeka still worked for the weaver. The drive itself was all he thought prudent for the present, until he had a better idea of how matters stood-but he wished he had been able to see and sense more.

  After returning, Kharl had sampled the leather-bound books in the library, going through and opening them, reading sections at random. Several were merely compilations of folktales. One was called History of the Ancients, and Kharl read several pages. One paragraph caught his attention.

  All across Candar, there are people, usually women, who talk about the “Legend.” Yet there is no evidence to support this Legend, save for the ruins of Westwind itself, and the ruin of a black tower and a walled keep on the Roof of the World tells nothing of its inhabitants or how they lived ... They are no written histories dating from that time, except those reputed to be in the archives in Nylan, and no one not of Reduce has ever been granted access to those, if they even exist...

  So far as Kharl could tell, most of the pages before and after that paragraph were written in the same vein-claiming that years of tales passed down meant nothing. They had to mean something. They just couldn’t be dismissed, although what they meant Kharl wasn’t certain.

  The other volumes were even drier. One was a manual on tanning, and another dealt with rendering. At that, Kharl recalled Werwal, the Tenderer, who had been one of the few crafters in Brysta who had not turned against Kharl. Another was a thin volume that offered a guide to bookkeeping. There were several hundred volumes on the shelves, and Kharl did not see a one that he found interesting, or likely to be of immediate use, except perhaps the one that dealt with accounts. But he did not wish to spend more time looking through all of them, one at a time, some were so old he could not even make out the titles on their fronts or their spines.

  After his brief perusal of the volumes on the shelves, most of which were stuck to the wood on which they rested, Kharl had begun to study the residence ledgers and accounts in greater detail-much greater detail. He continued that effort on eightday. By late afternoon, he was convinced that Fundal was relatively honest. He also felt that the steward was a timid man at heart, and one fearful of changing providers or asking firmly for a better price.

  So he sent Erdyl to bring the steward to the library.

  Fundal entered, his eyes downcast.

  Young as he was, Erdyl clearly understood, because he slipped away, closing the door behind him.

  “Ser? Is there something wrong?”

  “You haven’t done anything wrong,” Kharl replied. “I have been studying the accounts.”

  “Yes, ser.” Concern and puzzlement warred on Fundal’s face.

  “There are some things that trouble me ...”

  “Ser?”

  “You’ve been buying linens from Soret, I see.”

  “Yes, Lord Kharl. We’ve always purchased from him.”

  “Do we need any more?”

  “Not soon.”

  Kharl nodded. “The weaver Gharan does better work, I’ve heard. Ask him for a price and get a sample of his work before you see Soret.”

  “But... ser ... we’ve always ...”

  “Fundal. I’ve some experience in trade. I’m sure you have heard that. If Gharan does better work or does the same work at less cost, our golds go farther.”

  Fundal swallowed.

  “Now . .. about the flour. I’d like you to consider Wassyt, the miller to the north ...” Kharl did not explain in detail, either about Wassyt or the other crafters whose names he mentioned in turn, but every name he mentioned was a good and honest provider, the best that Kharl had known. He didn’t actually tell Fundal to change providers, but he did suggest very strongly that the steward learn about each man before purchasing more from the current provider.

  “. .. we’re charged with spending Lord Ghrant’s golds wisely, and I intend that we should. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, ser.”

  “If you have any ideas that would help, I’d like to hear them.”

  “I’d have to think about that, ser.”

  Fundal was almost trembling when he left the study.

  Kharl followed, using his sight shield, and listened, with his order-boosted senses, as Fundal talked to Khelaya.

  “... practically told me who to buy provender and the like from ...”

  “That doesn’t sound like any lord I’ve known, but he’s a new lord. Maybe he came from trade.” “He might have, but how could he know all those names?”

  “You said he was an officer on one of Lord Hagen’s ships. They meet everyone. Been on one long enough, he’d know who was good, I’d wager. ‘Sides, I told you myself that Soret was cheating you. Told you to go to Chyrent, too.”

  Kharl smiled at the cook’s tone.

  “... weren’t for the golds, almost wish we didn’t have an envoy.” Fun-dal’s voice carried resignation.

  “Like him a lot better than Hensolas. Mean-assed bastard. Barely got Sysena off to her aunt’s before he ruined her, and him havin’ that woman, too. Called her his cousin.” The cook snorted, then laughed.

  “I don’t know as I like him. Seems honest, but he looks right through you, like as he could see your heart.”

  “Can’t take blooms and fruit from the same tree, Fundal. You didn’t like Hensolas ‘cause he paid no attention and treated you like dust under his boots. You don’t like this one because he watches you and wants you to do better.”

  “Go fix supper.” The rear door to the kitchen closed firmly as the steward left.

  Kharl frowned as he eased back to the study. Fundal wasn’t stealing from the residence, but he certainly didn’t want Kharl watching him too closely.

  In the kitchen, Khelaya hummed happily as she chopped nuts.

  LXI

  Kharl glanced around the library that was his to use while he was envoy, then blotted his forehead. Although it was well before midmorning on one-day and the walls of the residence were thick, the rooms were already warm, and the day promised to be more than unpleasantly hot. Too hot to visit the harbor and the Hall of Justice? Kharl shook his head. He needed a better feel for what was happening, and he didn’t want to talk to anyone who might recognize him, certainly not just after he had arrived in Brysta. No one he knew closely was likely to be in either place.

  “Ser?” Erdyl appeared at the half-open library door. “You have another message, another invitation of some sort, I would judge.” “Do you know who it’s from?”

  “The messenger who rode up with it wore the black and crimson of Hamor,” Erdyl said, extending the envelope that was sealed with black- and-crimson wax.

  Hamor? Kharl didn’t want to deal with the Hamorians, but he supposed that, so long as he met with their envoy in a relatively public place and kept his guard up, it was as safe as anything else he had been doing- not at all safe, but unavoidable. He broke the seal and extracted the short missive written on a heavy cream-colored paper, a paper more like parchment, but paper nonetheless.

  He read the words slowly.

  Most esteemed Lord Kharl,

  On behalf of His Mightiness Sestar, Emperor o
f Hamor, and Regent of the South, I bid you welcome to Brysta and to the community of envoys gathered here to serve their rulers.

  The heat and damp of summer are scarce the best time to arrive in Nordla, and for that reason, we would like to tender an invitation for refreshments on sixday afternoon, the fourth glass past noon, here at the residence. With so many of those of interest and power in Brysta gone until the weather returns to a more temperate state, the afternoon will offer time to become acquainted ...

  As the envoy of Lord Ghrant, you represent a young ruler who has proved that he has resources and wisdom beyond his years, and I look forward greatly to meeting with you.

  The letter bore the signature of Whetorak, Lord Councilor. Kharl handed the invitation back to Erdyl. “What do you think?”

  After reading it, the secretary looked up. “Ser?”

  “He doesn’t expect me to say no,” Kharl said dryly.

  “For a social occasion, ser, it might not be-“

  “Oh, I know. Telling him I don’t want to see him isn’t wise. I learn nothing, and I just make him mad.”

  “And curious,” suggested Erdyl.

  There was another aspect to the letter. Whetorak had apologized for there being few others, if any, that he could invite. He was also suggesting that Kharl was unfortunate or unwise for arriving when he had, because so few remained in Brysta during the summer.

  That was something Kharl never thought about when he had been a cooper. Coopers didn’t retreat to the hills or to anywhere else during the heat of summer. They just kept working.

  “I suppose you should write a response to Lord Whetorak,” Kharl said. “Something like the last one, not too flowery.” “Right now, ser?”

  “Please. Use the desk.”

  While Erdyl began to write, Kharl made another attempt at perusing the books on the library shelves. The third book was entitled On Philosophy. He read the first page three times before setting the book back on the shelf. It made The Basis of Order seem simple and practical.