Whetorak laughed. “All envoys are from Cigoerne. We are trained there, and we first serve as aides to other envoys, then return for more training. We are lords only so long as we serve. If we serve well and faithfully for more than twenty years, we remain lords.” “It is almost a lordly craft for you, then?”
“A lordly craft... I like that.” Whetorak waited as the serving girl set a pale crimson crystal beaker before Kharl and a goblet of the same crystal before him.
Kharl studied the lager with his order-senses, but it appeared to be lager and nothing more.
Whetorak lifted his goblet. “In thanks for your safe arrival in Brysta.”
“To your hospitality,” replied Kharl.
“Your posting to Brysta was rather sudden,” observed the Hamorian.
“We had no idea when a replacement for Lord Hensolas might arrive. A most impressive envoy. I was personally sorry that he found it necessary to oppose his lord. Doubtless I will receive full information from Cigoerne within an eightday or so. Until then . ..”
“It was sudden to me as well,” Kharl admitted. “I had hoped to get on with several projects on my lands .. .” He shrugged. “It is hard to refuse a request from the lord-chancellor.”
“Ah, yes. Lord-chancellor Hagen, an interesting figure. I understand that he was once arms-master to Lord Estloch, but that there was a falling-out. Most interesting it is that the son has turned to him.”
“Lord Hagen is quite able,” Kharl said politely.
“Ah, yes.” Whetorak laughed. “In times of trouble, rulers turn either to friends or to those of ability. Those who turn to friends usually lose all their power immediately. Those who turn to ability lose it more gradually.”
“That’s if a ruler lacks judgment.”
“Most times, if a ruler faces great troubles, he has poor judgment.”
Kharl couldn’t argue with that. He took another sip of the lager.
“There were also tales of a mage who appeared from nowhere,” Whetorak went on, after a sip of his icenyl. “And who could tell who was lying and who was not.”
“Most order-mages, even the least skilled, can do that, I understand,” Kharl replied.
“No one seemed to know much about him. Some say that the lord- chancellor discovered him and that he was made a lord.”
“Lord Ghrant has rewarded those who served him,” Kharl agreed. “He would have been remiss not to reward a mage who served him well.”
“I must confess that I have not heard of Cantyl,” Whetorak went on.
“Most have not. It is a small estate, as they go, on the coast and to the southeast of Valmurl. We produce mostly wine and timber. There are enough fields and orchards and berry patches to feed all those on the land. I’ve recently improved the sawmill and added a cooperage.”
“Those are improvements most would not make.”
“I inherited what my grandsire and sire had improved,” Kharl said, “and I would hope that I could improve what I hold for my son.” He had inherited the cooperage in Brysta, and he did want to hand on more than he had obtained, and he certainly hoped that the truthful, but misleading, statements would also mislead Whetorak. “You did not bring your consort and son here, then?”
“No. I thought it better that my son remain with relatives until I was more established here. My consort died a year ago.”
“I am sorry to hear that.”
“It is still a painful subject.”
“I imagine so.”
“Your consort?” prompted Kharl.
“She is spending some time with friends near Eolya, in the green hills there. It is much cooler there at this time of year.” “You did not go with her?”
“No. These days, an envoy’s work is never done. That you must also know, for Lord Ghrant would not have sent you in the summer were it not so.”
“He felt that Austra needed an envoy here. That is true.” Kharl forced a smile. “I had heard that Hamor was providing assistance to Lord West in building roads.” That was a guess, but Kharl felt comfortable with it.
“We do have much experience in building such roads. Already the Great Highway from Cigoerne nears the eastern port of Atla. It is the longest paved road in the world.”
“It must have taken years to build and mountains of stone.”
“Anything great takes time.” Whetorak shrugged.
“And your engineers and experts are helping Lord West?”
“Hamor can spare an engineer or two. That, we can do.”
“I have noticed Hamorian merchanters in the harbor. Have they brought tools for Lord West’s road?”
“Who could say? No one tells an envoy of all the cargoes that pass through a port.”
Kharl could sense that Whetorak was definitely lying. But why? What the other envoy said made sense, but it wasn’t true. That meant Whetorak did in fact know what was being shipped into Brysta. “How long have you been here ... as envoy?”
“Just less than a year. A most pleasant place, and somewhat warmer than your Valmurl, I think. We of Hamor prefer warmth to cold.” “How have you found Lord West and his sons?”
“Ah. .. Lord West, a most charming man, and his sons are most devoted to seeing his heritage continue.”
Kharl smiled. He was quite certain that the sons wanted to continue the heritage of ruling, personally and immediately, but he couldn’t see any point in pressing that, or questioning Whetorak about it. It was more than clear that Whetorak wasn’t about to reveal anything-except by forcing Kharl to reveal even more, because asking specific questions required revealing knowledge.
“I notice you do not wear a sabre, as do so many Austran lords.”
Kharl laughed. “I bear weapons when necessary. Certainly not in company such as yours.” “Yet... what if you were attacked?”
“Brysta is most safe these days, I have been assured. My guards are also quite accomplished.” Kharl shrugged. “If necessary, I will go armed.” He glanced at Whetorak. “Don’t you worry about chaos setting off the cartridges in your pistol?”
“It is most unlikely.” Whetorak smiled. “It is no secret. The cartridges are formed of soft iron; the bullets are lead. There is more wear on the gun that way, but only the strongest of chaos-mages could set off the cartridges, and”-he shrugged again-“in such a case, those would be the least of my worries.”
Not to mention that most of the chaos-mages were under tight Hamor- ian control.
Kharl just hoped that he could keep smiling-and not reveal too much to the Hamorian-until he could leave gracefully.
LXX
The first light of sevenday had barely touched the tallest oak on the hill above the Austran envoy’s residence when Kharl swung up into the saddle of the chestnut gelding, awkwardly because he bore the long truncheon in its slightly oversized scabbard. He wasn’t used to riding that much, especially not wearing a weapon. He wore his black jacket and a gray cotton shirt, good garments, but not necessarily lordly ones. Demyst, Erdyl, and the two guards were already mounted, and all bore sabres, but a sabre would have been worse than useless for Kharl.
“Are you sure you would not rather take the carriage, Lord Kharl?” asked Fundal, standing on the end of the brick walkway from the portico.
He looked across the five mounted riders, and the sixth saddled but riderless horse.
“The carriage wouldn’t work. Not all the roads outside of Brysta are that good. We may have to ride where the carriage would not go.”
“Yes, ser.” Fundal looked at the envoy glumly. “You don’t know when you’ll be back, I suppose?”
“Sometime before twoday, when I present my credentials to Lord West. It could be late today, or tomorrow, or oneday.”
“Yes, ser.”
Kharl turned his mount and headed down the brick-paved drive toward the open iron-grilled gate. Demyst pulled his mount alongside Kharl’s. Alynar and Erdyl were directly behind Kharl and the undercap-tain, while Cevor brought up the rear, guiding the riderless
mount, which also held provisions. The loudest sound as the party rode eastward and down the hill toward South Road was that of hoofs on brick pavement.
There were few souls out and about, although Kharl could see the haze from chimneys and smell cooking oil and smoke.
“How far are we going, ser?” asked Erdyl, from where he rose behind Kharl.
“As far as we need to. No one wants to talk about roads or about what’s happening in the south.”
Erdyl was silent, as were the others. Kharl concentrated on riding and not bouncing in the saddle, although his riding was far better than it had been when he had first been required to ride at Dykaru two seasons earlier. He also kept checking the streets, and roads, and the area through which they rode for signs of chaos. He found none; but he was well aware that, even so early in the day, several uniformed patrollers had been watching them.
As they passed the last dwellings of Brysta on the southeast side of the city and began to ride through the small plots that were neither true holdings nor just gardens, the ground grew somewhat more hilly to the east of the road, low hills that were more like rocky meadows, dotted with wood-lots and irregular fields. Then the road swung due south-or mostly so in its winding path-to avoid a long ridge that rose a good fifty cubits above the road and angled to the southeast.
A half kay farther south, the packed-clay track turned back southeast, following the curve of a hill below the rocky ridge. At the end of the low hill the ground to the east of the hill flattened, and Kharl saw more clearly the barracks he had seen from the carriage earlier and heard about-four new plank-sided buildings-and two long stables. On the flat between the base of the ridge and the stables, Kharl could see at least two companies of
mounted patrollers drilling.
“Those are lancer drills,” said Demyst quietly.
“I thought they might be. I saw some mounted patrollers the other day-first time I’ve seen them in Brysta.” Kharl had half expected it, but it was still a surprise.
Just past the barracks, the south road was joined by another, narrower road from the east that cut through a low spot in the ridge farther east of the barracks and stables and ran due west on the south side of the patroller buildings, ending where it met the south road.
As they continued south on the main road that would eventually lead to Surien-if hundreds of kays farther to the southeast-the holdings and cots became far less frequent, and the road itself was often bordered by hedgerows and holder fields. Yet they encountered almost no one, except an occasional cart.
Then, less than two kays south of the barracks, the road abruptly changed from packed clay into a gray stone highway. The paving stones were large, two cubits by one, and the road was a good rod wide, with gravel and pebble shoulders.
“This looks new,” Kharl said. It was new, at least since the time a year before when he had walked southward to Peachill to see Warrl.
“It’s cut off sharp as with a knife. Right here. Doesn’t run all the way into Brysta. That doesn’t make sense,” replied Erdyl.
“They’re probably still building it,” Kharl offered.
“There’s no sign of ‘em doing any more, but maybe they don’t want folks to know about it yet,” suggested Demyst.
Kharl stood in the stirrups of the chestnut gelding, looking ahead, but the pavement stretched out at least three kays ahead before disappearing over a low rise, cutting through the wide curves of the old road like a crossbow quarrel, in places running through meadows and fields. “We’ll see how far it goes.” He eased his mount forward.
On the west side of the road was a stone wall that ended abruptly near the shoulder of the new road, which cut through an irregular corner of what had been a pasture. The stone wall had not been rebuilt along the shoulder, something Kharl certainly would have done to keep in grazing livestock.
He glanced at the cot immediately ahead and to his right. Despite the cool of the early morning, the shutters were closed when they should have been open. So was the door to the small barn to the south of the cot. He could sense no one in the buildings or nearby. Had they protested the loss of their land to the road?
Kharl shook his head, imagining what Egen would have done to anyone who protested. He was just glad that Dowsyl’s orchards were well back from the old main road, and he hoped that they were also well back from the new road.
For the next two kays, they were the sole travelers on the gray stone high road. Perhaps half a glass passed before Kharl saw riders coming from the south, wearing the traditional blue-and-burgundy uniforms and moving in formation. “Looks like lancers, ser,” said Demyst. “What do you want us to do?”
“Let’s stop here and wait for them. I’d like to see what they have in mind.” Kharl didn’t have any illusions. The only question in his mind was exactly what sort of trouble the lancers posed. He reined up, then turned in the saddle. “Close up. As close as you can get.”
“Ser?” asked Erdyl.
“You heard him,” hissed Demyst.
The others moved in.
Kharl watched carefully as the lancers rode toward them, double file, in good order. The half squad of lancers reined up less than two rods away. All the riders carried not only sabres, but rifles in saddle cases-Hamorian rifles from their order-feel, Kharl sensed. Their undercaptain reined up to one side.
Kharl eased the chestnut forward.
“Hold it right there, fellow!” snapped the undercaptain.
“I didn’t want you to have to yell.” Kharl reined up slowly, so that he was almost a rod closer to the officer.
“You’re not supposed to be here,” announced the undercaptain. “The south road is closed.” “There were no signs or barriers,” Kharl replied politely. “Might I ask why?”
“That’s ser, to you, fellow, and no, you can’t ask why.”
“No one in Brysta said that the road south was closed,” Kharl said, his eyes and senses on the ten lancers, all of whom had their hands on their rifles, clearly waiting for a command. He’d wondered about riding south, but, since no one had been able to tell him anything, he’d felt that waiting would not be wise. Now he was seeing why. He almost smiled at the thought. He’d never liked waiting.
“Well, it is, and the question is whether you fellows will hand over your golds and head back peaceably, or whether you end up in the quarries.”
“I thought the justicers or Lord West decided that,” Kharl said, even as he extended an order-probe to the rifle the undercaptain was pulling from its case. He began to untwist the order-locks in the iron. “The lancers decide here, and I’ve decided-“
Kharl untwisted the last of the order-ties, then flung up a shield around his group.
Crrummmpttt! The blinding white glare and heat of chaos flared over the undercaptain and the ten suddenly hapless lancers.
Despite the shield, Kharl felt as though he had been thrust inside a furnace, then shaken. He just grabbed the rim of the saddle with his free hand and braced himself, trying to stay in the saddle as the chestnut jerked sideways. He managed to hold both his mount and the order shield until the tumult and chaos had dispersed.
Even so, a good tenth of a glass passed before Kharl’s eyes stopped watering, and he could see clearly. Except for an irregular patch of darkened gray stone in the center of the new road, and a number of fine cracks in the paving stones, there was no sign of the eleven lancers, except ashes as fine as mist drifting in the light breeze.
“Light-demons ... burned ‘em to less ‘n ash ...”
“Mean bastards ... woulda shot us dead on the spot...”
Kharl had no doubts of that, or that the undercaptain had been ordered to act just that way.
“Now what?” asked Demyst.
“We keep riding. We still don’t know why they don’t want anyone here.” And Kharl wanted to get to Warrl before things got worse-if they hadn’t already.
“... no sign of ‘em .. . nothing but a blackened patch on the road ...” murmured Erdyl.
>
Neither guard answered his comments.
Kharl eased the chestnut forward at an easy walk. He had to keep blotting his forehead. They covered another two kays before he began to cool off. When he began to feel light-headed, he took out some cheese and bread from the provisions in his saddlebag, an awkward task for him because he still wasn’t that good a rider. He ate slowly and drank almost half the water in his bottle.
The light-headedness departed, and as they continued southward, Kharl used his order-senses to study the road and the holdings. Occasionally, there were traces of chaos-wizardry, seemingly in places where stony outcrops or rises had been removed or lowered, but most of the road had been built without wizardry. Along the way, there was only a scattering of empty dwellings, and those were where the road had been built across the land belonging to that cottage or hut-at least from what Kharl could tell.
Still, no one anywhere close to the highway ventured out as they passed. Twice, a more distant peasant holder scurried into his hut when he saw the five riders.
The second time, Demyst cleared his throat. “Doesn’t look like they like riders, ser.”
“After the way those lancers tried to kill us, I’m sure that they don’t.”
“Don’t see why they were acting like brigands ...”
“So that anyone who escaped would add to the stories about brigands dressed as lancers.” Kharl wondered exactly what Egen was hiding.
Another glass passed. They saw no one else on the new highway, and the gray stone pavement still stretched before them, arrowing southward. They continued riding, and Kharl kept looking, trying to sense the lancers he knew had to be somewhere ahead. Yet he sensed nothing but the remnants of older chaos.
Just before midmorning, on the east side of the road, Kharl saw the burned remnants of a cot that looked familiar. He thought it might have been the one where he had persuaded the elderly woman who lived there to feed him.
“The well here should be good,” he said to the others, riding though the open side gate.
Demyst glanced at Kharl.
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