Ordermaster (63 page)

   
Kharl rubbed his forehead. For the moment, they needed to get off the road and find somewhere to spend the night. He doubted he would sleep well. He hoped he could sleep some.

LXXI

JXharl and his small group did not manage to get back to the envoy's residence in Brysta until close to dark on eightday. Kharl had avoided Peachill on the way back, not wanting to face it as a reminder that he had failed Warrl as well.

   
While they had been able to find shelter in one of the abandoned cots on sevenday night, time after time, all through eightday, they had been forced to leave the road and hide, to avoid being seen by armed road patrols, far more than they had seen on their way southward. Kharl hoped that was because of the disappearance of the one road patrol, and not because some armed action was about to begin.

   
After the evening meal, most welcome after two days of bread and cheese and dried meat, Kharl, Demyst, and Erdyl sat in the library.

"What do you think of the road?" Kharl looked at his secretary.

   
"I have never seen one so fine," Erdyl admitted. "We traveled more than twenty kays, perhaps thirty, and it must continue for at least another ten." He paused. "But, ser ... I do not see the need. There were no large towns. According to the maps, Surien is more than five hundred kays to the south."

   
Closer to six hundred, Kharl thought. "So why are the Nordlans building such a high road? Is that your question?"

   
"The Nordlans and the Hamorians," suggested Demyst. "Hamor likes good roads."

"They make it easier to control a land," added Erdyl. "They make

transport easier. If we had a good road from Norbruel to Bruel.. . Ghardyl was always saying that we could see another hundred golds a year."

   
"So Hamor is fanning the conflict between Lord West and Lord South to get Lord West to build the road?" Demyst set his goblet on the table, tilting his head slightly.

   
"They might even be paying for part of it." Kharl thought that the Hamorians were going farther than that. He would not have been surprised if they were even supporting Egen in a bid to unseat his father-and his brothers. That way, Egen would at the very least owe Hamor, and if his bid failed, Nordla would be weakened and racked with conflict. Either way, it would be far easier for the emperor to begin the conquest of all of Nordla than it would have been otherwise.

"What can you do, ser?" asked Erdyl.

That was indeed the question. What could he do?

   
"I'll have to think about that," he finally replied. "It's been a long eight-day."

  
 
Later, he sat in the study, with but the single desk lamp lit, his eyes fixed on nothing, his thoughts spinning through his skull.

   
What should he do? Envoys were just supposed to report, weren't they? To let Hagen and Ghrant know what was happening? But he had no way to send a report, and by the time he could, the West Quadrant would be a battlefield-or a fiefdom of Hamor.

   
He didn't know for certain that Egen was going to replace his father, or when that might happen. Nor did he know what the Hamorians would do ... or when. He didn't think that it would be that long. At the least, he needed to be ready, to plan what he could do.

   
Deliberately, he took out a sheet of paper and a markstick, slowly sketching out a rough map of Brysta, and the surrounding area. If Egen held the harbor and the south, then the only way to leave the city was by the east road-really the southeast road-to Eolya. The north road to Sagana turned into little more than a dirt trail after a half score of kays, and there were no roads worthy of the name to the northeast or due east. That suggested that any movement of lancers or white wizards along the ring road from the south might indicate the beginning of whatever might happen.

He leaned back, trying to recall the road.

   
After a time, he folded his crude map, uncertain that he had accomplished anything.

   
Then there was Jeka. According to Erdyl, she was still with Gharan. What should he do there? He hadn't been able to do anything for Jenevra and Charee, and they were dead. He'd tried to talk Arthal out of leaving, but his older son had been far too stubborn-like his father. He'd been too late to save Warrl, and Warrl had asked the very least of him.

   
He put his head in his hands. Why Warrl? He'd been only a child. He couldn't have hurt Egen. He was too gentle to have hurt anyone.

   
After a time, Kharl lifted his head. He had to look ahead. He couldn't

undo what was done. What could he do for Jeka? Or Gharan? Did he have

to do anything immediately?
       
>i

LXXII

As he rose from the breakfast table on oneday, Kharl turned to Erdyl. "I'll be going out. I want to take another tour along Crafters' Lane."

   
"Do you want me to come?" The secretary scrambled to his feet. "I'll only be a moment."

   
"No. Not this time. Demyst will come with me. You'd said that the assistant to the Sarronnese envoy ..."

"Jemelya."

   
"She said that she'd be happy to meet with you after I met with Envoy Luryessa. I think you should meet with her. Don't tell her about how far we went or about the fort and the quarries, but mention the gray stone road- and the new patroller barracks on the south side of Brysta-and the lancer drills. See what her reaction is."

"She's very sharp, ser."

   
"So is the envoy," Kharl replied dryly. He had the feeling that everyone was smarter than he was, and it wasn't the most cheering of thoughts.

   
"Do you want me to have Mantar ready the carriage, ser?" asked Demyst, rising from the table.

   
"Please. I'll be washing up, then in the library." Kharl forced a smile he did not feel before turning and heading up to his quarters. He had not slept all that long and certainly not that well. He'd dreamed of Warrl, a night-

mare about what had befallen his son, and he'd been trying to reach him, and had never gotten close enough.

   
He felt as though everywhere he went, unrest and chaos followed. Or was he bound to follow trouble? Was it him, or just circumstances?

He laughed softly, wryly. Did it matter?

   
He washed quickly, then donned a lighter black jacket, also trimmed in Austran green, to go with the silver shirt. He made his way down to the library. Enelya was in the front hall, dusting the pair of portraits on the inside wall.

"Good morning, Enelya."

"Good mornin', Lord Kharl." Her eyes did not meet his.

"How are you feeling?"

   
"I've been sleeping. Wasn't doing much of that for more 'n few eight-days. Khelaya's teaching me to cook the better stuff, too."

"Good." He paused. "That's if you like it."

"Can't be a tavern server forever, specially not here."

   
Kharl smiled and stepped into the library. It was clear she didn't associate him with the ragged beggar who had bribed food from her almost a year earlier. Would Jeka or Gharan recognize him? There was only one way to find out.

   
Less than a quarter glass later, he and Demyst were seated in the carriage, riding through another warm and cloudless morning that promised to become a sweltering day.

   
"Are we looking for something special like, ser?" asked the undercap-tain.

   
"In a way... I want to talk to the weaver-Gharan. He might have some cloth I'd like to buy and ship to Cantyl. I'll have to see. He's had some before that I liked." Kharl had liked some of what Gharan had woven, but he'd never been able to afford much, and some of it Charee had not liked at all. So, for one reason or another, he'd bought little from his former neighbor, and that had nagged at him as well.

   
As Mantar brought the carriage to a halt outside Gharan's shop, Kharl swallowed. Was he doing the right thing? How would he know? He'd waited far too long with Warrl. He shook his head. It wouldn't have mattered. Yet, no matter how much he told himself that, he still felt that he had caused Warrl's death. He wasn't certain, and probably wouldn't be, ever, what else he could have done-except confess to a murder he hadn't com-

mitted. If he had just let himself be hanged .. . then his consort and children might still be alive.

   
.. . and Ghrant and his consort and children would be dead, and Hamor would hold all of Ausrra . ..

   
"Ser . .. we're here." Demyst's voice was apologetic as he opened the carriage door and stepped out, holding the door for Kharl.

   
"I'm sorry. I was just thinking ..." Forcing a smile, Kharl eased his frame through the narrow doorway. The faintest breath of wind swirled around him, then died away. "I'd like you to remain here and guard the carriage and the doorway, if you would."

"Are you sure that's wise?"

   
"I'm not certain that anything is wise anymore." Kharl studied the entrance to the weaver's shop. The door was half-open to catch what vagrant morning breezes there might be.

   
He squared his shoulders and stepped into the shop, past the racks just inside that showed four separate wool patterns. One was a variation on what was considered the "Brystan" design, a plaid of burgundy and blue, with faint lines of black. Beyond the display racks was the open main room that held the looms. There were three, one more than when he had left Brysta.

Gharan hurried away from his loom. "Ser? How might we help you?"

"It's me, Gharan. Kharl. The cooper."

The weaver's mouth opened. Then he closed it, and shook his head.

   
"My secretary was here last threeday. He asked you about the cotton cloth used for the patrollers' uniforms."

"He said ... he said that he worked for the Austran envoy .. ."

   
Kharl grinned. "He does. He works for me. A lot's happened in the last year." He tried to look beyond Gharan without being too obvious, but neither Amy la nor Jeka had looked up from their looms.

"It'd be true then . .. that... that you're a lord? An Austran lord? Ser?"

   
"It is." Kharl's lips curled. "I took a position as a subofficer-after a while-on an Austran ship-the Seastag. Her captain was a lord, and he ended up as the lord-chancellor of Austra."

"A real lord ..." Gharan shook his head. "Hard to believe."

   
"It's true. But I'm the same Kharl who gave you the silvers to try Jeka as a weaver, and you're the same man who warned me to flee before Egen got his patrollers after me."

"Egen . .. he'll never forget," Gharan said.

   
"He won't expect to see me as the Austran envoy, or without a beard. You're the only one who knows."

The weaver looked down for a moment. "And you're telling me?"

   
"I owe you-and Jeka-too much to deceive you. Besides, I always wanted to buy some of your wool, but I never could afford it before." Kharl smiled. "You had a pattern of dark and light green. I always wanted a set of blankets out of that."

   
"The green grid pattern." Gharan laughed. "Charee .. ." His face stiffened. "I'm sorry ... I didn't mean."

   
"I know you didn't. She never liked it. I'd also like you to design a pattern for me, for my lands."

"Lands, too?"

"Some. Will you do it?"

"Why did you come back? If Egen finds out..."

   
"He's not likely to." Kharl wasn't so sure about that, but there was no point in telling Gharan that. "If he does, he does. I came back to get Warrl.. . and to see about some other things."

"How are your boys?"

   
Kharl shook his head. "Arthal was killed when a Hamorian warship sank the Fleuryl. Egen, some way or another, killed Warrl... and Charee's sister and her family. That's another reason why I'm here."

"Kharl... Lord Kharl... I'm sorry."

"Kharl... just Kharl."

"You're an envoy? Really?"

Kharl nodded. "How is Jeka?"

"Do you want her to know?"

"She saved my life. She can keep a secret."

   
Gharan grinned. "You'd best tell her yourself." He turned. "Jeka... please to come here."

   
From behind the second loom appeared a gaminelike face, but the face was framed by longer hair, and set above blue trousers and shirt. She walked toward the two men briskly. Her steps slowed as her eyes took in Kharl.