“He wasn’t supposed to let anyone know they were in the south.” Kharl fingered his bare chin. He was still unused to not having a beard. “Lord South, problems with brigands to the south, piracy or missing vessels, Hamorians in the south ... hmmm ...” He took another swallow of the lager. “Anyone else?”
“Far as I could tell, there’s no envoy here from Montgren or South- wind, and the Suthyan residence is closed until the first day of fall.” “What about Reduce?”
“They don’t have envoys, ser. Not anywhere. They never have had.”
“Oh.” Kharl hadn’t known that, not that it surprised him. Reduce did things its own way, and didn’t seem to care what anyone else thought.
After a moment, and another bite of the lace potatoes, which were cold, and that was definitely his fault, he looked to the undercaptain. “You’ve been listening. What do you think?”
“Doesn’t sound like most envoys and their folks want to stay in Brysta in the summer. Also sounds like the white worms from Hamor are up to something-in the south.”
“I don’t think it’s just the Hamorians,” mused Kharl. “We’ll have to listen and watch closely.” He glanced at Erdyl.
“Did you look through any of the books in the library?”
“Twoscore or so, ser.” The secretary grimaced. “Most of them are pretty bad.”
“I’d thought so. The good ones probably disappeared over the years.”
“There are two or three decent histories ...”
Kharl nodded and helped himself to more of the fowl. He needed to find out more about what was happening in the West Quadrant, but he wasn’t sure just how else to go about it.
LXIII
Twoday proved very quiet, and even hotter than oneday. Kharl spent only the morning at the Hall of Justice. Already, he was discovering the apparent truth of what both Jusof and Fasyn had said. In terms of the law itself, the proclamations, and the precedents, there was not that much difference between Austra and Nordla. Not to his partly trained eye, anyway, and that told him that the difference lay in its administration, something he’d already half concluded even before returning to Brysta.
After several glasses poring through cases and records, he had Mantar take him and Undercaptain Demyst on another brief tour of the harbor, which still held only the four Hamorian ships. By the time he returned to the residence exactly a glass after noon, to Khelaya’s satisfaction, he was soaked in sweat. After eating and taking a cool bath, he studied a history of Brysta that Erdyl had found. The words were less straightforward than many law briefs, and Kharl had to struggle, but he found much of what was in the history fascinating.
Although he had grown up in Brysta, he’d never heard or read about what had happened much before the time of his father. Then, he supposed, that was true of most crafters. He’d been among the few who could actually read and write, only because his sire had insisted-and that because he wanted Kharl to become a mastercrafter. That had not happened, because Kharl had never managed to save enough golds, but the reading ability had made all the difference, if not in the way his father could ever have imagined.
He’d worked in the harbor forts, but he’d never realized that they had been built after the burning of Brysta in the time of Elzart, the fourth Lord West, by a punitive expedition from Sarronnyn, because a Sarronnese trading ship had been sunk at the pier and the crew abused by Elzart and his men.
“Ser?” Erdyl stood in the library door.
“Yes?”
“You have a message from Lord West, ser.” Erdyl raised the envelope.
Even from halfway across the library, Kharl could see the blue ribbons and gold wax of the seal. “Let’s see when I meet with him-or if he’s putting me off.”
“I would judge that he will meet with you. It costs him nothing.” Erdyl crossed the library and tendered the missive.
Kharl took it. He wasn’t that inclined to be charitable to Lord West-or his sons-but Erdyl was probably right about that. The name on the outside was impressive: Lord Kharl of Cantyl, Envoy of Lord Ghrant, Ruler and Potentate of Nordla.
Kharl slit the envelope with his belt knife. Before opening the envelope, he paused, looking down at the knife. It felt strange, as though it were pushing away from his fingers. He looked at the blade with his order-senses. It was ordered enough, and yet.. . there was a sense of something, not quite like chaos. He sheathed the knife before extracting the short but heavy parchment, also sealed at the bottom.
Lord Kharl of Cantyl,
His mightiness, Ostcrag, Lord of the Western Quadrant, will receive you and your credentials at the third glass of the morning on twoday, an eightday from today, in the small receiving room of the Quadrant Keep.
Except for the signature and seal, that was all. Kharl studied the signature-Osten, for his sire, Lord Ostcrag. Kharl nodded. After Erdyl’s visit to the Quadrant Keep, he wasn’t surprised, and he wouldn’t be at all surprised if Osten were there. He’d have to consider what to do if Lord West- or, more properly, he guessed, Ostcrag, Lord West-were not there. He handed the missive back to Erdyl.
Erdyl swallowed. “The brevity, that’s almost a snub ... an insult. So is the early-morning time, and the signature.”
“I’m not insulted. So long as I present my credentials to Ostcrag, it doesn’t matter to me.”
“I suppose not,” replied the secretary. “It’s not as though they’d tell anyone. It would make them look small. But they’re counting on your not saying anything.”
“Of course.” Kharl laughed. “If I say anything, then I’m the one who looks small.”
“That is true.”
“Make sure that the silver box is polished just before I leave on the morning of the audience. We should not forget the token of Lord Ghrant’s esteem.” Not when so much thought and care had gone into it.
“Yes, ser. It will be ready.”
Kharl set Lord West’s reply aside. “Do you know how close to today this history goes?”
“It was written close to thirty years ago, ser.”
“Too bad there isn’t a more current history, but I suppose writing about any ruler is dangerous while the ruler is still alive. At least one that is accurate.” Kharl’s lips twisted into a crooked smile.
“Any history written about the near past would have to curry favor.”
“Why else would it be written?” asked Kharl.
“You are a most cynical envoy, Lord Kharl.”
“Most realistic, young Erdyl. I’ve seen men considered most honorable murder innocents when they were stopped from having their way with unwilling women, and I’ve seen so-called equally honorable men look the other way.”
“That’s something I wouldn’t know, ser.”
“Have you looked that closely?” Kharl fixed his eyes on his secretary.
Erdyl looked away.
Kharl half regretted pressing the young man, but for all his upbringing it was clear that there was much he had not seen, or had chosen not to see.
Then, that was true of all young men. It had been true of Arthal, and Kharl had not been so understanding as he might have been. He moistened his lips, and paused. “There are matters we would all choose not to see,” he added more gently, after a moment, “but the cost of doing so here is far too high. Then, it’s high anywhere.”
Erdyl nodded, if hesitantly.
“Tell me about the other history, the one on Hamor,” Kharl said cheerfully.
LXIV
On threeday, which dawned cloudy, and slightly cooler, Kharl did not attempt to visit the Hall of Justice, but took a longer and slower carriage tour of Brysta, one that lasted until almost noon. The streets and lanes were not empty, but neither were they bustling, and there were few young women about, and none without escorts of some sort.
Had the word about Egen’s proclivities come to circulate through the city, or had enough people observed the actions of Lord West’s youngest that it was unspoken and common knowledge? Kharl suspected the latter
.
Likewise, he saw no beggars, and no one idling on the streets or visible in the alleys and serviceways. While there had always been few, there had been some. For a time, Kharl had been one of them. Now there were none ... or they were most well hidden.
After returning to the residence, Kharl summoned Erdyl. The secretary hurried into the study. “Ser?”
“I have another errand for you. I’d like you to stop by several of the cloth factors and weavers. There are two on Crafters’ Lane around Fifth Cross. Those are Derdan and Gharan. Then there’s Soret. Fundal can give you directions for him.” “Yes, ser.” Erdyl paused. “Am I to order something?”
“No. You’re to ask about cloth, about the special maroon color used in the patrollers’ uniforms, and anything you can find out about who wove it or where it came from.” “Ser?”
“Those uniforms are new in the last year, and there are a lot more patrollers than there used to be. If we start asking about that...”
“Yes, ser. But if I ask about the cloth and color ... and ask who could supply so much ... that sort of thing.”
“That’s right. Look and see if any of them have added weavers or let them go. If the cloth came from Hamor, then it might have an effect.”
“Yes, ser. You want me to start this afternoon?”
Kharl nodded. “After we eat. You’ll have to ride. Try to notice as much as you can.”
“Yes, ser.”
“Let’s go eat.”
After eating a light midday meal, Kharl checked the ledgers once more, then read sections of the History of Hamor, a thick book that began with the legends of the founders who fled the demons of Candar in search of a better life.
“Why is everyone who opposes a people a demon?” mumbled Kharl to himself. “Or is it just whoever opposes the people of the writer?”
From what he had read so far, the founders of Hamor had fled the ancient chaos-wizards of Cyador, then promptly created a land modeled on Cyador, while denying it all the while-and that was if the writers of the history happened to be accurate. Kharl had his doubts, long before he laid aside the history to get ready for his foray into refreshments with the Sarronnese envoy.
At slightly before the fourth glass of the afternoon, Mantar halted the carriage under the portico of the Sarronnese envoy’s residence as the four bells from the back bay tower finished echoing across the upper hillside.
Demyst held the carriage door as Kharl stepped out.
“We’ll be waiting with the carriage, Lord Kharl,” Demyst announced.
“Thank you.” Kharl walked toward the wide white marble steps, where a footman or some sort of attendant in a blue-and-cream uniform waited.
As he neared, he saw that the attendant was a muscular woman, not a man, wearing the twin shortswords of Southwind-or of Westwind, if one believed the Legend. She opened the door, and announced, “Lord Kharl of Cantyl, honored Envoy of Lord Ghrant of Austra.”
Kharl stepped inside the high-ceilinged and marble-walled foyer, decidedly cooler than the afternoon outside, to find a silver-haired woman awaiting him.
But a half a head shorter than Kharl, she wore long, flowing trousers of green shimmersilk, a tunic of the same fabric, and a short jacket of a darker green, also of shimmersilk. Despite the silver hair, he doubted that she was much older than he was.
“Envoy Luryessa?” Kharl bowed. He could sense chaos all around the woman, but chaos under tight control-chaos that might be called even orderly. He tried not to show any surprise at learning that the Sarronnese envoy was both a woman and a chaos-wizard or sorceress.
“Lord Kharl, I am most pleased to see you and welcome you to the residence.” Luryessa smiled. “Refreshments will be ready shortly. Before that, I would like to show you the public rooms of the residence if you would not mind.”
Kharl smiled politely. “I would appreciate that.” Even the rooms might tell him something.
She turned through the archway on the far right, walking a good thirty cubits to open double doors set under a square arch, stopping there. The chamber was an oblong a good forty cubits by twenty. The ceiling was ten cubits high, and both walls and ceiling were a creamy off-white, plain plaster finish. The only ornamentation on either walls or ceiling were the crown moldings and a wide but plain chair railing, both painted Sarronnese blue, a brighter color than the dark navy blue of Brysta. The floor was of white marble tiles, but most was covered by thick carpets with designs tending toward green. The chairs and settees were upholstered in dark green, and the wood of the tables and furnishings was all a light cherry. The mirrors-flanked by lamps in wall sconces-were framed in cherry as well. There were no paintings hung on the walls, but ornate green tapestries were suspended from the crown moldings. The hangings did not show scenes, but curved and patterned designs in green and gold.
“This is the formal drawing room, for use in the evenings before large dinners.”
Kharl nodded, since he’d never seen a chamber that seemed so cold and formal.
Luryessa continued down the corridor, also marble-tiled, with thin brass strips between the tiles, to the next set of open double doors, where she stopped, without speaking. The dining chamber was larger than the formal drawing room, with a single long table, also of cherry, and flanked with straight-backed wooden chairs, their seats upholstered in dark green. A quick count suggested to Kharl that the table could seat at least fifty people.
Luryessa smiled and continued to the cross corridor, where she turned right, coming to a stop at another open door. “This is the personal dining chamber, and it’s used most often.”
The smaller chamber held a table that seated close to twenty, but the western-facing windows, the hearth on the south wall, as well as the mauve-and-blue hangings and the cherry-paneled walls, gave it a warmer feeling.
Next came the library, which was almost the size of the main floor of Kharl’s house at Cantyl, with oak shelves covering most of the walls. Here, Luryessa stepped inside.
“Some of these volumes date back several centuries.”
“So do some in our residence,” Kharl said. “I doubt anyone has read most of them in all that time.”
The Sarronnese laughed. “There are several thousand here. I’ve read perhaps two or three hundred, mostly the histories, and some of the essays. Jemelya has read another hundred or so.”
Kharl recalled the assistant’s name, but did not comment.
Luryessa gestured toward a door set in the middle of the south wall, between the wall cases. “Would you like to see my private study, Lord Kharl?”
Kharl understood. The message was not an invitation to dalliance. “I would be honored, Envoy Luryessa.”
After they entered, Luryessa closed the heavy door behind her and turned. “Lord Kharl... or should I call you mage?”
“Envoy Luryessa ... one could also call you sorceress.”
The muscular silver-haired woman nodded. “One could. It would not be accurate in many fashions. Shall we fence, or be direct? We are private here, and all of my retainers in the residence at the moment are trustworthy.”
Kharl shrugged helplessly. “I cannot fence. My weapons are staff and cudgel, and both are most direct.”
“Are you at liberty to tell me why Lord Ghrant sent a powerful mage as his envoy? Has he so many that he can spare one of your strength more than a thousand kays from Valmurl?” “I cannot look into Lord Ghrant’s mind, Envoy Luryessa-“
“Just Luryessa in private, please.”
“I know that he is greatly concerned about the intentions of the Emperor of Hamor. All I have seen in the harbor are Hamorian vessels, and there are no other merchanters. That concerns me.”
“It would concern all with any intelligence. Your secretary was most polite with Jemelya, but you would not have sent him so soon after your arrival had you not been concerned about matters here in Brysta.”
“You are most observant.”
She smiled. “Has Lord Ghrant so many mages?”
> Kharl smiled, politely. “Does the Tyrant?”
“No. Sorcery and magery are frowned upon in Sarron. I am seldom welcomed home, but find myself honored in my positions as envoy to other lands ... so long as I do not return home too often or for too long.”
Kharl could sense the absolute truth of Luryessa’s words ... and the hidden sadness behind them.
“And what of you?” she asked.
He paused, then said carefully, “Lord Ghrant is wary of mages, but one other of longer service to the Lords of Austra remains in Valmurl.” That was certainly true.
“You are most cautious, yet truthful in what you have said.” A smile containing a hint of impishness, incongruous in the stately envoy, crossed her lips. “You have not said much, though.”
“I have never been an envoy before. I must feel my way with care. Great care.”
“Envoys must always be careful. They send us where there are neither fleets nor lancers to support us.”
“And some lands have few of either.”
Luryessa nodded, then said, “Magery is an acceptable substitute. Great magery was used to defeat the Hamorians in Austra, although Lord Whetorak has claimed that there were no Hamorians in Austra, except for a handful of mercenaries.”
“That may be, but those mercenaries wore Hamorian uniforms,” Kharl said. “Did the emperor also send chaos-wizards?”
“I cannot say who sent all of them. Not for certain. Some did arrive on Hamorian ships, and they were chaos-wizards who supported the rebel lords.”
“Our envoy reported that Lord Ghrant had a powerful order-master.
No one knows much about what he did or how, except that there are claims that he turned a mountain into solid glass, and when all was over, there were no rebels left living, and no chaos-wizards.”
Kharl shrugged. “I can say that he did not turn a mountain into glass.”
“I thought not. That is something of chaos. Still... a powerful order-master might be able to deflect such forces, and that deflection might turn part of a mountain into glass.”
Ordermaster Page 35