Wellspring of Chaos (41 page)

Kharl was aware of a murmuring around the forecastle, even before he slowly swung out of his bunk on sevenday morning. He didn’t pay much attention until he was on his feet and dressing.

“… first says there’s warships off the harbor… black-hulled ships…”

“… lots of ‘em…”

“… black… isn’t that Recluce?” asked Kawelt.

“Hamor,” said Kharl. “Recluce doesn’t send its ships in fleets, and they’re usually invisible.”

“Frig…” muttered Reisl. “Means we’re stuck here, maybe even get shelled or boarded.”

“Or worse,” added Hodal.

“Unless we get a storm. Then they’d have to stand off,” Reisl said. “There are some clouds to the east.”

“You’re dreaming,” Hodal said.

“Hoping… fellow can hope…”

“Good luck with that…”

Kharl agreed with Hodal. Hope was a frail reed against sheer power. The carpenter did not say so, but washed up as well as he could, dressed, and made his way out onto the main deck.

He looked south from there, but didn’t see anything. After several moments, he crossed the main deck and climbed the ladder to the poop, where he stood on the port side, looking south and out across the Great Western Ocean. Just on the horizon, he could make out black dots, hard to distinguish against the gray-blue of the water and the grayish sky, although there were no distinct clouds, just enough of a haze to blur the sun and the horizon. There was a light wind from the southeast, slightly more than a breeze.

“Looking to see them?” asked Furwyl, as he reached the top of the ladder and walked toward Kharl. “It’s there—full Hamorian squadron. Ten ships. Not a fleet, but enough that we’ll be staying here, leastwise in the light of day. They were closer in, earlier, but the sea’s getting rougher. Wouldn’t be surprised if we got a bit of a blow.“

“That would make it easier for us to get around them, wouldn’t it?”

“It would. That’d be if the captain were thinking of leaving.”

“Is he taking over command of Lord Ghrant’s forces?”

Furwyl laughed. “Too late for that. Lord Ghrant should have let him reorganize ‘em when he suggested that years ago. Ghrant doesn’t like to upset people. Weighs things, I hear, by who’s upset. Sometimes, to do things right, you have to upset a lot of folk at first. Less people upset over time, but…” The first shrugged. “Like a ship. Lay down the law fair and firm-like to begin with, and hold to it, and you get a happy ship. You tack to every little change in the wind, never get anywhere.”

Kharl had to wonder. Hadn’t he tried that in life? And where had it gotten him? Run out of his homeland, his consort killed, his sons hating him, and his neighbor and friend assassinated. “That’s if you have the power to lay down the law. The captain didn’t, and Lord Ghrant did, but Lord Ghrant didn’t do anything.”

“Goes without saying, carpenter. Can’t do much without both ability and power. Ability can sometimes get you power, but without power, ability’s wasted, and that can lead to ruin. Power and no skill leads you to ruin. Just takes longer. That’s all.”

“You don’t think Lord Ghrant has much ability?”

“Couldn’t be saying that, now, could I?” Furwyl laughed, but there was little humor in the sound. “He could learn, if he would but listen.”

“And Ilteron?”

“He seems to listen to all, and offers pleasant words. He heeds none, and uses and discards all.” The contempt in Furwyl’s voice was in stark contrast to the more muted words about Lord Ghrant.

Kharl walked to the stern, by the port rudder post, thinking, considering what little he knew. Ilteron had to have ridden south to attack Dykaru before Ghrant had decided to retreat there. Likewise, the Hamorian ships had to have set out from Hamor even before Ghrant had left Valmurl. How did they know? Lands and lords didn’t stake ships and battles and moving lancers and troops just on guesses about where the enemy would be. They had known. But how? Spying? Wizardry? What sort of wizardry allowed them to see across vast distances and know what would happen?

He looked up and forward. Furwyl had left the poop.

Kharl made his way down to the mess. Most of the crew had eaten, but Kharl managed to scrounge enough bread, and some cheese, and a soft pearapple, as well as a mug of redberry. He sat down across from Hodal and Kawelt, who were finishing up what looked like fried and salted pork. Kharl didn’t miss not having the pork.

“You see the ships?” asked Hodal.

“They’ve moved farther offshore, the first said,” replied Kharl after swallowing a mouthful of bread and cheese. “He thinks a storm’s in the offing.”

“Told you so.”

“Captain’ll wait till it’s just right, and then we’ll be off…”

“… knows what he’s doing. That’s why no shore leave.”

Kharl had no doubts that Hagen knew what he was doing, but he was far less sure that those actions included leaving Dykaru while the future of Austra was yet in doubt.

“… should have gotten here earlier. Cook had fresh eggs…”

“… should have…” Kharl mumbled, his mouth full.

After eating, and the morning in-port muster on the main deck, Kharl made his way down to the carpenter shop. His eyes lifted to the overhead bin, and the staff, and the words of The Basis of Order came back to him… the idea that a mage could not fully master his abilities until he cast aside the staff… and the passage after that… where the words talked about how dividing power weakened it more than just in half…

“Carpenter?”

Kharl looked at the hatchway, where Dasket, a rigger he hardly knew, stood. “Yes?”

“Captain needs you, ser. Right this moment. He’s in his cabin.”

“Thank you. I’m on my way.” Kharl had thought that Hagen was ashore, but perhaps the captain had already returned.

Dasket hesitated, then turned.

Kharl followed him out and up the ladder to the main deck. From there, Kharl crossed the deck and entered the passageway he had once guarded, noting that the lamp bracket remained but the watch bell had been removed. He knocked on the door to the captain’s cabin. “Kharl, ser.”

“Come in. Close the hatch.”

“Yes, ser.” Kharl opened the door, entered, and closed it behind him.

Hagen stood beside the circular table. His eyes were reddened, and deep black circled them. “How do you feel?”

“Fine, ser.”

“I’m going to ask you something. It’s not an order, but a request, and I want you to understand that.”

Kharl nodded, waiting.

“The highlanders are about to attack the keep. They broke through the regulars early this morning. Before long, it’s likely they’ll surround the town. Lord Ghrant will make an attack shortly, I believe, in hopes of breaking them and driving them back. He has charged me with the safety of his lady and heirs. I think you could help me.”

“I’ll go,” Kharl said immediately.

“You don’t have to.”

“You didn’t have to take me aboard, ser. What’s right is right. I think I ought to bring my staff.”

“That wouldn’t hurt. We need to hurry.”

“I’ll get the staff.” Kharl understood that Hagen had spent extra time, just to meet Kharl in private, so that Kharl would not feel influenced by others watching, and it was another measure of the man that Kharl appreciated.

The carpenter hurried down to the shop, where he reclaimed both the staff and his winter jacket and gloves, before hurrying back topside. Hagen met him at the quarterdeck. For the first time, the captain wore weapons, a sabre and a long belt knife.

Kharl followed Hagen onto the pier, a pier that grew wetter with each wave that broke against it, as higher waters surged into the small harbor from off the Great Western Ocean.

At the end of the pier waited a small detachment of armsmen in black and yellow, only eight in all. There were two mounts without riders.

Kharl had never ridden a horse. He’d seen riders mount, and he managed to do so. He struggled to get the base of the staff into what looked like a lance holder. Then he glanced at Hagen. “I’m not a lancer, ser.”

“We’re not riding into battle. We’re only riding to get there. Just hang on to the saddle and the reins.”

Kharl hoped he could.

The undercaptain and another lancer led the way, two abreast, with Kharl and Hagen riding behind them. Kharl felt that he bounced more than rode as the column moved at a quick trot through the stone-paved streets of Dykaru, eerily empty under the hazy morning sky, with the horses’ hoofs being the loudest sound, echoing off the streets and white-plastered stone walls.

“We’re supposed to meet the rest of the company on the orchard lane leading to the causeway,” Hagen said to Kharl.

Kharl nodded, as if the words meant something, not that they did. He had no idea even what the keep looked like, except from a distance. He would have liked to try to see if he could sense the white wizards, but merely staying on the mount took most of his concentration. Still, it was faster than walking.

Before long, they reached the northern edge of the town, where the dwellings thinned, and a parklike expanse of grass and trees extended toward the ridgetop keep a kay away. Kharl could smell smoke, if faintly. The park seemed empty of armsmen, except in the distance off to the right, where a squad of riders had reined up, facing toward the white walls of the keep. The lancers wore dark blue and gray.

“We’ll circle to the west some to reach the lane,” Hagen ordered, turning his mount left onto a graveled road that fronted the park.

From the keep a series of horn blasts rang out, and there was the muted thunder of hoofs, but Kharl could see no riders. He took a moment to let his order-chaos senses feel the area before him. Almost immediately, he could feel an upwelling of white chaos more to the right, beyond the riders in blue and gray, who had already ridden northward, and out of sight. There had to be fighting in that direction, Kharl felt, although he could not say exactly how he knew, only that he did.

None of the armsmen spoke. The loudest sound was the clicking of hoofs on the pure white gravel of the lane. Kharl tried to shift his weight and came close to falling but grabbed the saddle and caught himself. He was not an instinctive rider; that was certain. In less than a tenth of a glass, the short column turned right onto a paved road that arrowed through an orchard toward the southwestern corner of the keep.

“From the right!”

Kharl turned in the saddle to see a good score of riders in the dark blue and gray riding toward them along a gravel service path in the orchard. Somehow he managed to turn the horse to face the attack, but he wasn’t about to try to charge the attackers and try to use the staff at the same time. He fumbled the staff out of the lance holder, hoping that he could stay mounted while using both hands on the staff.

Because the others rode toward the rebels, Kharl was at the rear when the enemy lancers reached them.

Several of Ilteron’s men went down, as did two of those in black and yellow, and then a lancer in blue and gray was bearing down on Kharl, his sabre coming toward Kharl in a vicious cut.

Kharl underhanded the staff, bringing it up from below the man’s guard. The heavy iron-banded end slammed into the lancer’s forearm, then into the side of his face. Kharl reeled in the saddle, but struggled back upright. The attacker lay on the ground unmoving.

Bringing the staff back into position, Kharl could only deflect the slash of the next attacker before the lancer was past him.

Another rider—Hagen—had wheeled his mount back and rode past Kharl, cutting down one of the attackers from the blind side.

The third lancer to charge Kharl saw the staff and tried to swing closer to the carpenter to block the staff short of its most effective length, but Kharl dropped the tip and angled it more from below, catching the attacker’s sabre arm while he was still a good three cubits from Kharl. There was a cracking sound, and the sabre went flying.

Then, just as suddenly as the attackers had appeared, they vanished, except for the six or so bodies that lay on the gravel of the service path.

Kharl found he was breathing heavily.

“You wield a mean staff, even mounted,” called out Hagen.

“Not… a… mounted weapon,” gasped Kharl.

“We need to get to the end of the lane.”

The six remaining lancers had regrouped. After putting the staff back in the lance holder, Kharl urged his mount up beside Hagen’s as they rode along the remaining quarter kay of the lane toward the two short stone columns where the orchard ended and a grassy expanse separated the orchard from the keep.

As they neared the stone posts, a column of riders in black and yellow rode toward them down a causeway from the keep. Kharl could see blood splashed across the tunics of those leading the oncoming column.

“Captain Hagen! Captain Hagen!” An undercaptain spurred his mount toward Kharl and the others.

“We’re here,” Hagen said quietly once the other had reined up. “The lady?”

“She and the boys—they’re waiting at the keep gates. The guards there have the causeway clear, and they’ve pushed them back. Don’t know how long they can hold.”

“Lord Ghrant?” asked Hagen.

The undercaptain shook his head. “He’s trapped on the ridge to the north of the keep. Holding them at bay. He’s trying to keep the wizards from getting close enough to fire the keep. They’d be lofting fireballs over the walls.“ Kharl could sense the truth of that. He also hadn’t thought about wizards being able to destroy a stone keep.

Hagen looked to Kharl.

Kharl nodded. “He’s speaking the truth.”

“Get the lady and the boys down here as quick as you can, and with as many lancers as you can spare. We’ve already been attacked once.”

“Yes, ser.” The undercaptain turned his mount. Two riders galloped back up the causeway toward the gates, less than half a kay away.

To the right of the causeway, a squad of lancers had formed up, facing northeast, toward the chaos of battle that Kharl could sense all too clearly.

As they waited, Kharl looked down at his jacket and gray trousers, both streaked with blood, then at Hagen. “A word, Lord Hagen?”

Hagen eased his mount closer to Kharl, and the carpenter wondered how he could explain what he needed to do. Finally, he cleared his throat. “I would not see Austra become as Nordla, nor as Hamor. I would like your leave to depart for a time.”