Ordermaster (81 page)

   
As those bounds dissolved in the iron-stone rock, Kharl drew back his order-probe and flung shields around himself and those just behind him, hoping that his party was all there.

The ground rumbled.

   
A firebolt flared toward Kharl, a fraction of an instant too late, exploding against his belatedly drawn shields.

   
Somewhere to the east, he could sense a handful of riders galloping southward from the Hamorian forces, trying to put part of the hill between themselves and the battle; but he would have to worry about them later, after dealing with the wizards.

Then...

   
A sound like iron being ripped apart, like the agony of a mother losing a child, knifed through Kharl.

 
  
The light of the great vortex was nothing compared to the flaring chaos-inferno that exploded skyward. As each chaos-wizard's shield

failed, the explosion lanced higher. Kharl shuddered in his saddle, hanging on with both hands as the gelding reared, screaming.

   
As the whitened redness of death flared around him, he knew, could sense, that none of those opposing him on the hill had survived.

A grim smile crossed Kharl's face, if but for a moment.

   
Slowly, so slowly, it seemed, everything faded, and the afternoon sun returned, so dim by comparison that the sunlit afternoon looked like late twilight.

   
Kharl, Demyst, Jeka, Erdyl, and Alynar remained alone on a fire-scoured rise. The air was like a furnace, and fine ash drifted everywhere.

   
Kharl forced himself to turn the gelding, although he could see nothing, except through his order-senses. His face was aflame, and he felt as though every bit of skin had been blistered away.

   
"We need to get away." His voice came from a great distance, it seemed to him, and patches of blackness appeared before his eyes, then vanished.

   
Deliberately, he rode southwest, picking a path down the hill away from the area where the scattered grass and brush still smoldered, down to where he could turn westward, then back toward Osten and his forces.

   
Before long, riders appeared, moving from the east. Kharl squinted. There had to be close to half a company, and all were wearing patroller uniforms-except for one figure in blue.

"Ser!" called Demyst.

   
The patrollers spurred their mounts toward Kharl and his small group. Several had their rifles out.

   
"Behind me!" Kharl ordered, hoping that Jeka, above all, was close enough for his shields, shields he only hoped he could hold long enough for Egen to approach more closely.

   
"Fire! Aim for the mage!" Egen's voice carried across the ten-odd rods that separated the two groups.

Crack! Crack!...

   
Kharl rocked in the saddle at the force of the patroller's volley, and he could feel his grasp on his shields slipping.

"Keep firing! He can't hold on!" snapped Egen.

   
Kharl forced himself to reach out, to stretch for a bit of iron, sensing a small amount in Egen's belt, and untwisting and releasing the order-bonds.

Crumpt!

   
More light flared across the hillside. When Kharl could see again, his eyes took in another patch of blackened ground.

   
Somehow . .. after all that had happened, Kharl just wished Egen had known, really known, who Kharl was. But life didn't always work out the way one hoped. There hadn't been a real confrontation, just a footnote to a battle, and Egen was dead. It didn't seem that Egen had paid enough for all his villainy, not near enough.

   
"Ser?" Demyst's voice broke through Kharl's reverie. "It's not that safe here, still."

"You're right." Kharl urged the gelding downhill and more to the west.

   
They had ridden less than half a kay when yet another group of riders appeared, these in Brystan blue.

   
Kharl blinked when he saw the serjeant who commanded the squads

of lancers that had accompanied him-and the half score of lancers who

remained, though the lancers hung back from the Serjeant.
           
„,

"You stayed here?" Kharl asked.
 
,,

"As would any smart man, ser mage."

Kharl could feel his own party closing up behind him.

   
"Lord Osten is now Lord West," Kharl announced, using almost his last strength. "He has the field. You can tell him that he will know where to find me."

Kharl swayed in the saddle.

   
The serjeant smiled, driving his mount toward Kharl and lifting his sabre. Kharl tried to turn, but he was sluggish, so sluggish.

   
The blunt edge and the hilt of Erdyl's sabre-thrown end over end- slammed into the Serjeant's shoulder and neck.

Then Demyst and Alynar struck, and the serjeant sagged in his saddle.

Another lancer slashed at Erdyl, who had no sabre.

   
Somehow ... Kharl managed to unlink the tiniest bit of order from something-whatever was easiest-in the lancer who had slashed Erdyl. As the chaos flared, Kharl flung up a half shield, one that directed the force across the rest of Osten's lancers.

   
Not only blackness, but strobing light-flashes flared across and before Kharl, clouding his order-senses. He could barely feel Jeka, riding closer to him.

   
"Get me out of here," he hissed to her. "Can't hang on much longer. If Osten gets to me ..."

At that moment, the deeper blackness swept over him.

LXXXVI

Jxharl woke up in a bed. He thought it might be the large bed in the residence, but, since he still could not see, and since his head throbbed so much that he could not use his order-senses, he was far from sure.

His throat was dry, and he tried to sit up.

"Easy there." The voice was Jeka's.

"Thirsty ..." The single word was an effort.

"Got some ale here."

"Can't see," he tried to explain.

Jeka guided a mug into his hands.

   
He drank slowly. After several small swallows, he could feel the ale easing the dryness in his throat. Some of the throbbing in his skull subsided, enough that he could tell that he was in his own chamber and that Jeka was the only one with him.

"What happened?"

   
"Undercaptain got me onto your horse. Held you, and we rode back. Alynar helped Erdyl."

"How is he?"

   
"Khelaya thinks he'll be all right. Arm's pretty smashed up. Hope it doesn't get wound chaos."

   
"That takes a few days," Kharl said. "When I'm feeling better, I think I could help there." He took a longer swallow of the ale.

"Told you not to trust Osten. Bastard, always," said Jeka. "Stupid, too."

Kharl could agree with both Jeka's judgments.

"Still think he ought to be Lord West?"

   
"Who else? If Vielam's still alive, he's worse. He'd betray anyone. The two lord justicers don't have any guts ..." Kharl stopped and coughed. His head throbbed more. When the spasm passed he took another swallow of the ale.

"Anyone shown up," he asked, "looking for me?"

"Not so far ..."

"What time?"

   
"Close to midnight. Could be Osten's still out there ... grabbing coins and booty."

   
"He doesn't know what happened," Kharl said. "The only ones close enough to see ... We don't know what happened, either."

"That was Egen at the end, on the hillside, wasn't it?"

"Yes. He abandoned the wizards, I think, just before .. ."

"Too quick for that pissprick."

   
Kharl had to agree. Egen didn't deserve a quick death, or just to die once, not after all he had done. "Best I could do."

"Hope it hurt-a whole lot."

   
"With Egen gone ... and the white wizards..." Kharl paused for another sip of the ale to forestall a second bout of coughing.

"You think Osten managed to come out on top?"

   
"He might not have had to fight that much," Kharl suggested. "The regulars might have accepted him as Lord West. You think they want to die for someone who's dead?"

"What about the other one?"

   
"Vielam? He might have tried to rally them around him, but that's hard to do in the middle of a battle." Kharl stifled a yawn.

"You need sleep," Jeka insisted.
  
'

"So do you."

"Won't get it unless you do."

He could hear a hint of humor in her words. "Thank you ..."

   
"Nothing ... did what..." Her hand touched the back of his briefly, then squeezed gently before taking the mug from his hands. "Go to sleep."

Kharl leaned back into deeper darkness.

LXXXVII

Dy twoday evening Kharl had regained his eyesight, at least most of the time, although he had moments when everything turned black. Brysta remained quiet, from what he could see and hear and from what Mantar and the other retainers had observed. The lower market square was almost as filled as usual, according to Enelya, who was more willing to venture

out, although there were no patrollers around. The upper market square was less frequented, with but half the vendors and buyers. That could have been because it was closer to the Quadrancy Keep, where many of Osten's forces had returned.

   
While he recovered, Kharl spent some time considering exactly how to deal with Osten, and how he might handle matters-if he had to meet with Osten, as well as if Osten decided to avoid or ignore Kharl. He still had not heard anything from or about Werwal, but he still didn't have retainers to spare to go inquiring, not at the moment. Nonetheless, it nagged at him.

   
As with everything else involving Osten, matters took longer to sort out, and Kharl heard nothing from the new Lord West until midmorning on threeday, when a pair of Osten's personal guards escorted an undercap-tain to the residence.

   
Kharl, Erdyl, and Demyst met with the undercaptain in the library. Kharl stood in front of the desk and did not seat himself, nor did he offer a seat to the lancer officer.

"Undercaptain Huard." The young officer gave a perfunctory nod.

   
"Greetings, undercaptain." Kharl did not smile. "You have a message from Lord Osten."

   
"Lord West had noted that you did not remain long on the field." The undercaptain's words were delivered in a matter-of-fact tone. "And that none of the lancers who accompanied you have been since seen."

   
Kharl had thought that a few might have escaped either the white wizards or his own wrath, but he couldn't have said he was surprised that they had not.

   
"I thought it unnecessary to remain," Kharl replied coldly, "since Lord West had conveyed the message that he had no further need of my services after I had defeated the white wizards and destroyed the Hamorian lancers."

"Ser?"

   
"The message was both direct and personal, undercaptain, and Lord Osten is well aware of it. What do you want?"

   
Huard looked from Kharl to Demyst, then to Erdyl, his arm bound and in a sling. All three looked coldly at the junior officer. Huard swallowed. "Ah ... I was not aware of any such message ..."

   
"It was sent, nonetheless," snapped Erdyl. "Your lord should have been more respectful of a mage who salvaged his rule for him."

Kharl repressed the faintest of smiles.

   
"Nor is it exactly respectful," Erdyl continued, "to send a boy of an undercaptain after displaying such disrespect."

"But... he is Lord West..."

   
"Lord Kharl represents Lord Ghrant, the ruler of all Austra, and a domain many times the size of the West Quadrant." At the chill in Erdyl's words, Huard looked almost helplessly at Demyst.

The older undercaptain remained stone-faced.

   
"What has happened has happened," Kharl said evenly. "Why did Osten send you?"

"Ah ... he wishes to meet with you, ser."

"Why?"

   
Huard glanced around the library, then finally looked back at Kharl. "I do not know."