Wellspring of Chaos (44 page)

About midmorning on threeday, a youngster in a yellow tunic with black cuffs appeared at Kharl’s door, with a neatly folded set of garments in his arms.

“Master Kharl, ser?”

“Yes?”

“These are for you, ser. For the audience with Lord Ghrant, ser. At the first glass of the afternoon, ser.”

“Thank you.” Kharl took the garments.

“I’ll be here to escort you, ser.” Then, after those words, the young man was gone.

Kharl closed the door and looked down at the garments—a silksheen silver shirt, black trousers, and a black jacket of fine and soft wool. They had clearly been tailored to his measurements and presumably were his to keep.

He shook his head. Never had he owned such finery—nor needed it.

What would happen at the audience? What did Kharl have to say to Lord Ghrant? What he could have said—such as the fact that he didn’t think much of the discipline of the Austran forces or of Ghrant’s personal guard—were not things that would have been wise to voice, and he’d already said them to the lancer officers.

He also wasn’t pleased with the idea of bowing and scraping to Ghrant, who’d have been far better off to listen to Hagen from the beginning rather than having been forced to do so by events. Then, Kharl could always hope that Ghrant would be generous, although he had his doubts about that characteristic in rulers—or their offspring.

Kharl looked at the garments once more, then shrugged and laid them on the bed. After a moment, he began to disrobe. He might as well try on the new clothes. Not surprisingly, they fit well, and he looked almost impressive when he studied his reflection in the mirror above the chest set against the inner wall of the spacious chamber that had remained his.

Neither his pondering nor his pacing yielded more answers, and after several long glasses, the youth in yellow reappeared at his door. Wordlessly, Kharl followed him along the main corridor of the southern wing, up the main staircase in the middle of the sprawling structure, then along another white-walled corridor that ended in a single golden oak door. While the door was modest, there were two burly guards in the yellow and black.

“Master Kharl, the mage, here to see Lord Ghrant,” offered the youth.

“We know, Bethem,” said the shorter guard, smiling paternally before he turned and knocked. “The mage, ser.”

After a moment, the words came back. “Show him in.”

The guard who had not spoken opened the door, and Kharl stepped inside, into a study with wide windows opening to the north and west, with but a single case filled with books. The door closed behind him, almost silently, with just the faintest click.

The blond lord sat behind a wide desk of golden oak, unadorned, without a single carving.

“Lord Ghrant.” Kharl inclined his head, politely, but not too deeply.

“Can’t have too much formality here, not with a man who destroyed my enemies, then dragged and carried me to safety.” Ghrant gestured to the straight-backed chairs before the desk.

Kharl took the one in the shade, so that he could see Ghrant more clearly, without the afternoon sun that poured into the room getting in his eyes.

“You present a problem, Master Kharl. A happy one, but one requiring a solution. I cannot offer you what I owe you, and that is Austra. Nor even a fraction of that.” A rueful smile followed the words.

Kharl waited. He wasn’t about to offer Ghrant an easy way out. Self-denying graciousness did not count for much with those in power. That he had learned.

“Lord Hagen has suggested that your service is worth a small estate, a stipend, and a minor lordship. It was worth more than that, but we have conferred and feel that, with your talents, those are more appropriate, with certain… adjustments I think you will find useful. Lord Hagen will tell you of those details at your convenience. But from this point on, you hold the lands of Cantyl, and shall formally be addressed as ‘Ser Kharl.’“ Ghrant smiled broadly. ”You will also receive your first purse from him later this afternoon.“

“You are most kind, ser.” Kharl, although wary, could sense neither malice nor deception.

“Most grateful, Ser Kharl.” Ghrant cleared his throat. “Lord Hagen will brief you on the details, but I did want to express my gratitude to you personally. My lady also conveys her thanks, as do my sons.” Ghrant smiled, an expression both warm, polished, and somehow tired, then stood.

Kharl rose as well. “I am glad I was able to be of service, and I am very glad that you remain Lord of Austra.”

“Let us hope that all my subjects come to that happy conclusion as well, ser Kharl.”

When Kharl stepped out of the study, Hagen was waiting.

“Ser Kharl.”

“Lord-chancellor.” Kharl inclined his head.

“We need to discuss a few more details. Lord Ghrant is often brief to the point of being cryptic.” Hagen’s smile was rueful. “Filling in those details seems to be a large part of being lord-chancellor.”

Kharl followed Hagen a good fifty cubits down the corridor to another unmarked door, which opened into a very small chamber holding but a circular table and four chairs, and a narrow, east-facing window.

Hagen did not sit down after he closed the door. “Lord Ghrant and I came to an agreement. Cantyl is set on and adjoining a headland southeast of Valmurl. The lands succeeded to Lord Estloch several years ago, but they are near none of his holdings. They consist of a small but good vineyard, some excellent timberlands, one small and fertile valley, and some most rocky hills, which provide a certain isolation. I thought you might appreciate the timberlands and possibly the isolation. There is just one rough road that eventually winds to Valmurl, but a very good, if small, natural harbor. The lands are well managed, and those who do so would like to stay. And there will be a considerable stipend for five years, and a modest one thereafter.”

Kharl nodded. He was not quite sure what to say.

Hagen produced a plain leather purse. “Your stipend is one hundred golds a year for the first five years, and fifty thereafter for the following ten. This holds an additional fifty, not counted against the stipend, for your expenses and travel to Cantyl.“

Kharl managed not to swallow. He’d never seen twenty-five golds at one time, let alone fifty, and probably never held more than ten at once ever—and the purse was only incidental.

“Lord Ghrant does not anticipate this, but would wish to reserve the right to call upon your services occasionally.”

That did make sense, unfortunately.

“You’re still not sure whether you’d want to go back to Brysta, if you could, are you?” asked Hagen. “Master and Ser Kharl.”

“No…” Kharl paused. “I’d thought about it, but I’m certainly not welcome there.” He smiled wryly. “I had thought about staying in Austra—but as a cooper. I’d never thought…”

“I hadn’t either, when you asked me for passage,” Hagen replied.

“Strange…” mused Kharl.

Hagen laughed. “You should have been a lord in Brysta, but Lord Ghrant’s powers do not extend that far.”

“Why did you press my case so far with Lord Ghrant?” Kharl asked.

“There are several reasons. First, Lord Ghrant must understand that loyalty is rewarded. I can say such, but if I do not press for it, then my words mean little. Also, you’re a powerful mage, Kharl. But you need to know more to use that power effectively. Whether you choose to stay here—and if you do, and you learn what you must—I’d not be surprised if Lord Ghrant would call on you for aid and advice, and you will serve yourself and those around you far better for having a standing well gained in battle…”

Kharl could sense the caution in Hagen, and he almost laughed. Even Hagen was worried about his power. The laughter died within him as he considered what that meant. Would he have to worry about everyone now? Whether they would use him and his powers, or try to manipulate him from afar, through others?

“I can see you understand,” Hagen said.

“I almost did not,” Kharl confessed.

“The Seastag is leaving tomorrow for Valmurl. I’ve arranged for Furwyl to make a stop at Cantyl. They’ll be expecting you.”

“Who will?”

“The estate steward. That’s Speltar. Lord Ghrant sent a messenger informing him an eightday ago.”

“Lord Ghrant… or you?” asked Kharl wryly.

“I did have something to do with it, but he had to accept my recommendation.”

“I hope it didn’t cost you too much.”

“Nothing at all. He’d much rather be indebted to you than, say, Lord Deroh.”

The name meant nothing to Kharl.

“Oh… and you’ll be traveling as a passenger. As an honored passenger in my quarters.”

“I couldn’t take…” Kharl paused. “You won’t be on board?”

“No. I’ll be with Lord Ghrant and his family… riding in triumph back across Austra.”

Kharl realized something else. By not accompanying Lord Ghrant, his role in saving the lord would be diminished. There were advantages and disadvantages to that for him, but clearly only advantages for Ghrant.

“So that he can show his banner and reassure everyone?”

“That is most necessary” Hagen affirmed. “Long and tiring as the journey will be by road.”

“The crew won’t mind me as a passenger?”

“Not at all. They know you saved us all from having to leave Austra, and they’re more than ready to leave Dykaru and to get back to Valmurl.” Hagen smiled. “I’m famished. Are you ready to join me in a quiet meal? With no discussion about rulers and their duties?”

Kharl was.

As Kharl walked down the last few rods of the pier toward the waiting Seastag, the light breeze swirled the odor of burning coal around him, confirming that the ship was indeed making ready to cast off. He stopped just short of the gangway and looked westward, out over the white walls of Dykaru, and the orangish brown tile roofs, brilliant in the direct morning sunlight, then turned back toward the ship.

Ghart was grinning as Kharl walked up the gangway, carrying the new leather bag—black, of course—that contained equally new garments.

“Do anything to get out of the fo’c‘s’le, wouldn’t you?” offered the new first mate.

“I tried.” Kharl couldn’t help grinning in return. “Even to keeping you from a bigger cabin.”

“Only for a few days. Then you’ll go off as lord of leisure.”

“Not a lord. Just a minor landholder, with some rocky hills and a vineyard, I’m told. And a few trees. Maybe enough to set up a cooperage.”

Ghart shook his head. “Cooper, carpenter, warrior, mage… and now you’re going to be a lord.”

“No… just a minor landholder,” Kharl protested.

Ghart began to laugh. Finally, he stopped and looked at Kharl. “Being a landholder’s worse than magery. Mages understand magery. No one understands what landholders do.” There was the hint of a twinkle in the first mate’s eyes.

Kharl could understand Ghart’s amusement—and appreciated the fact that Ghart was amused, rather than resentful or jealous. “Maybe I’ll learn enough to know why no one does…”

“You might at that.” Ghart’s head turned.

Kharl glanced to his left, his eyes taking in the figure crossing the main deck to the quarterdeck—Furwyl, now wearing a blue master’s jacket. “Master Kharl…”

“Captain.”

“Aye, and we’ve all gone up a little in the world, you more than us, I’d wager.” Furwyl’s smile was also warm and welcoming. “Though I’d not be saying that Lord Hagen is enjoying his fortune so much as us.”

Kharl chuckled at Furwyl’s observation. “The highland lords respect his abilities, perhaps more than do others.”

“Lord Ghrant will have to listen to him now,” Furwyl replied. “He’ll soon be wishing that he had earlier, if he’s not already.”

“Lord Ghrant is already listening,” Kharl replied.

Ghart smiled knowingly.

“Now that you’re aboard, Master Kharl…” suggested Furwyl.

“I’m more than ready, captain.”

Furwyl stepped back. “Single up!”

The bosun’s whistle shrilled, and Bemyr’s voice boomed out. “Single up. Make it lively!”

“Best I stow my gear,” Kharl said. “What I have.”

“Ah… Master Kharl,” Ghart said. “You’ll not be minding that we took the liberty of putting your other things in the captain’s cabin as well.”

“Hardly. Thank you.” The carpenter-mage shook his head. “Seems strange to go from the fo’c‘s’le aft.”

“Happens to us all, ser. You’ll get used to it.” Ghart smiled. “Remember when I had the smallest cubby on the Seasprite.”

Left unsaid was the knowledge that very few seamen made the transition out of the forecastle.

Kharl nodded and made his way past the deck crew. Seeing Reisl and Hodal there, he smiled at the two. “It’s good to see you.”

“Good to see you, Master Kharl,” replied Reisl. “Wasn’t sure we would when you fell off that horse.” The deckhand grinned.

“I wasn’t either,” Kharl admitted. “I don’t do well with horses. You could tell that.” Belatedly realizing that he’d distracted the deck crew, he added, “Best let you get back to listening to Bemyr.”

“Aye…”

As Kharl stepped away, toward the hatchway leading to the captain’s quarters, he could hear the voices behind him.

“… always said… something strange…”

“Strange or not, saved our asses more ‘n once…” replied Reisl.

“… never shirked any duty…” added Hodal.

Kharl wished he could thank the two for their words, but that would just have embarrassed them.

After stowing his bag in the captain’s cabin—and he somehow felt guilty, no matter what Hagen and Furwyl said—Kharl made his way out and up to the poop deck. There he stationed himself at the port railing, watching quietly as Furwyl guided the Seastag away from the pier and into the narrow channel leading to the Great Western Ocean.

Astern of the ship, the white walls and tiled roofs of Dykaru dwindled slowly under the cool and clear greenish blue sky. Ahead, there were but the slightest of whitecaps on the low and rolling swells of the endless gray-blue waters.

Only when the Seastag was well clear of the harbor did Kharl approach the captain, standing beside the steering platform and slightly forward of the helm. The engineman stood to starboard and aft of the wheel.

“How long a trip, this time?”

“We’re low on coal, but we’ve got favoring winds,” Furwyl replied. “I’d guess four, maybe five days to Cantyl.”

Five days… five days before he set foot on lands that were his. That… that still seemed more like a dream. But he would see. He certainly would. In the meantime, he watched the sea and the shrinking outline of the coast.

Once the Seastag was well clear of the coast, Kharl climbed down the ladder and crossed the main deck, making his way to the carpenter shop.

Tarkyn looked up from his stool and the scrimshaw he had been carving. “Wondered if you’d get down to see an old carpenter.” Tarkyn’s voice was gruff as usual. “Or if you’d forgot where you started.”

“Don’t think I’ll ever forget that,” Kharl replied.

“What happened to the staff? You still have it somewhere?”

“No. Got broken in the fight with the wizards.”

“Must have been a real fight. Didn’t think anything could break it.”

“Wizardry and magery did.” After a moment, Kharl added, “Fighting wizardry did.”

“Wasn’t sure you’d make it. You more like fell off that horse when you brought Lord Ghrant back.”

“I wasn’t either. Felt like I’d been run over by a herd of lancers’ mounts. That was when I woke up days later. Wouldn’t let me do much for more than an eightday.”

“You get more than parchment from Lord Ghrant?”

“They tell me I’ve got some land—rocks, trees, and a vineyard—and some coins. Took what they offered. Probably stupid not to have asked for more.”

“Probably,” Tarkyn agreed amiably. “Coin’s never been something that meant the most to you, though.” He studied Kharl, a twinkle in his eyes. “Still… pretty fancy cloth you’re wearing.”

Kharl laughed. “It’s plain compared to what the lords and their servants wear. Feels good though. They gave it to me when they found out I had an audience with Lord Ghrant.”

“Wagered something like that. What are you going to do now? Don’t think you’re going to come back to carpentering now that you’re a landed lord.”

“Not a lord, but I did get some land.” Kharl shook his head. “Still trying to figure out what to do next, whether I ought to try to get back to Brysta.”

“You don’t forget, do you?”

For a moment, Kharl was taken aback by the question. “No… I’d guess not.” But he wasn’t sure what he wasn’t forgetting, not exactly. Or rather, he didn’t want to say that he wasn’t forgetting the injustice he’d experienced and seen in too many forms. Charee hadn’t cared for his feelings that way. Sanyle had understood, but most surprisingly to Kharl, Jeka had. He wondered how she was doing, but he could only hope that Gha-ran had managed to keep her on in his shop. He still felt guilty about leaving her, but at the time, he hadn’t been sure what else he could have done.

“Don’t like to forgive those folks who do evil, either.”

Kharl couldn’t deny that, either.

“Understand that,” Tarkyn went on. “Don’t let revenge get in the way of doing what needs to be done.”

“Try not to.” Kharl paused, then added, “Thank you. For teaching me when I didn’t know enough. For making sure I did learn.”

“Be a piss-poor carpenter if I didn’t.”

“You’ve always been a good one.”

“What I wanted. Nothing more.” Tarkyn laughed. “Mostly, anyway.”

“Isn’t it that way always?”

They both laughed.

In time, when Kharl made his way back topside, Tarkyn’s words echoed through his thoughts—Don’t let revenge get in the way of doing what needs to be done. Don’t let revenge get in the way… deep inside, was he after revenge—targeted against Egen and Justicer Reynol? Or against all those in power in Brysta?

Could he not just accept his good fortune in Austra, where he had become recognized and been rewarded?

He looked to port, out at the long coastline lying on the horizon. He had wanted to have his own place in Austra.