Ordermaster

XIX

After he had returned to Buvert’s estate and taken care of the mount, Kharl made his way to the kitchen in the main house. His legs were shaky. His eyes blurred, and his ribs had begun to ache again. All were signs that he needed to eat. A servingwoman from the Great House, wearing Ghrant’s livery, suggested that he seat himself at the dining table to be served.

Kharl walked into the dining room, where the only other person was the lord-chancellor.

“Good afternoon, Kharl.”

“The same to you, lord-chancellor.” Kharl sank into the chair across the dining room table from Hagen. Absently, Kharl noted that the polished surface of the dark wooden table was covered with a thin golden haze of oak pollen.

“You look tired,” Hagen observed.

“You don′t,″ Kharl replied.

“It is helpful to leave the Great House occasionally. How did your reconnaissance go?”

“It was successful. Fergyn no longer has a white mage at the dockyards. I killed him. That leaves the stronger one in the south with Hensolas.” Kharl’s voice was flat. “In the fight, the mage-Alborak was his name-his chaos-fire turned the factor’s place into flames. I hope they were able to limit the fire to that one building, but there was a lot of smoke.”

The door behind Kharl opened, and the servingwoman appeared with two crystal beakers of dark ale that she set quickly before the men, then departed.

“I had reports of fire,” Hagen said. “I’ve already had my people start spreading word that it was caused by chaos-fire and that sort of thing happens when white wizards are around. With a few coppers to the street boys, they’ll pass it on to anyone who will listen.”

“Do you think that will help?” Kharl did not ask whether Lord Ghrant had decided to be easier on the street children than his sire had been. He took a long swallow of the ale.

“It will help, perhaps more than winning another skirmish with the rebels.”

“You don’t think they’ll attack?”

“No. They want us to attack.”

“Then I’d better head south and find the other white wizard. I heard his name once, but I can’t remember it.”

“You don’t sound so confident as you did when you proposed this. Do you wish to continue?” Hagen raised his eyebrows.

“I’m confident enough.” Kharl’s throat was dry, and he took another swallow of the ale before continuing. “It almost seems … I don’t know. I was going to say that it was pointless, but it’s not. If I do what I do carefully and well … I’ll probably be successful, and fewer people will die. I don’t like doing it, but I still don’t see any other way of dealing with the rebels. Or the white wizards. Or Hamor.” Kharl took a deep breath. “Do you?”

“That is often the way of ruling. What is carefully planned and distasteful is often the most effective strategy. It is effective because it is distasteful, and because it is distasteful others do not consider the possibility.”

“It doesn′t make sense.” Kharl held the beaker, but let it rest on the wide wooden coaster. “Everyone seems to think that battles are glorious-″

“No. A handful of popinjays think so. The wise commanders see them as necessary, and the experienced troops accept them, but as a last resort. Only the minstrels and poets who have not seen the blood and the broken bodies glorify battle. There is little glorious about battle.” Hagen snorted. “The only virtue a battle has is when it puts an end to more battles that otherwise might have to be fought.”

“After all this … if they lose their wizards and their leadership, you think the rebel lords will just surrender … or flee?”

“They’re unlikely to surrender. They might flee.”

“Have you told Lord Ghrant? About our plans?”

“There’s no need to do so, not until the wizards are no longer a problem.”

“You’re still worried about my using magery on Hensolas and Fergyn?”

“I can hope that they will see the writing in the flames they have created.”

“If they don’t?”

“We’ll face that problem when the time comes.”

Kharl could sense that Hagen was disturbed, but that he was not deceiving Kharl. The lord-chancellor was worried. Gravely worried, but it did not seem as though he were worried about what Kharl had done. “You don’t care for the white wizards, do you?”

“The ones used by Hamor? No. The fewer of them, the better for the rest of the world.”

Although the Hagen’s voice was level, Kharl could sense the anger-or cold hatred-behind the words.

“But you worry that Fergyn and Hensolas won’t flee? That they’ll keep fighting?”

“After what happened with Guillam and Malcor and Kenslan … wouldn’t you be worried?” countered Hagen.

“I would.” Kharl had to admit that he could see Hagen’s concerns. But if removing the white wizards and the two lords leading the rebels did not suffice to break the revolt, what would it take? Turning half of Austra into ashes and graves?

“When one deals with passion, ser mage,” Hagen said heavily, “reason is blinded. Care, thoughtfulness, and compassion are forgotten, and the sole thirst is that for blood.”

Kharl looked down at the half-empty crystal beaker.

“I would not see reason blinded by anger,” Hagen went on, “or compassion inundated under a flood of hatred. Yet I fear that already the finer traits have been swept away, and that what you propose may well be necessary-and only the first step. But … first deal with the other white wizard, and then we will see.”

“Then we will see …” Those words echoed in Kharl’s ears long after he had eaten and left the dining room to walk alone through the gardens at the rear of the estate. To the east, the smoke from the dockyards area had subsided, but a haze lay over Valmurl, and the sun shone with a tinge of red in its rays.