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ORDERMASTER

L. E. Modesitt, Jr.

TOR®

A Tom Doherty Associates Book / New York

For Nancy and Kennet, in the trinity of time

This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this novel

are either fictitious or are used fictitiously.

ORDERMASTER

thereof, in any form.

This book is printed on acid-free paper. Edited by David G. Hartwell Maps by

Ellisa Mitchell

A Tor Book

Published by Tom Doherty Associates, LLC

175 Fifth Avenue

New York, NY 10010

www.tor.com

Tor* is a registered trademark of Tom Doherty Associates, LLC.

ISBN 0-765-31213-1 EAN 978-0765-31213-6

First Edition: January 2005

Printed in the United States of America

0987654321

Lord Ghrant's Mage

You sure you'd not be wanting more, ser?" The ample Adelya stood in the archway

from the kitchen to the breakfast room.

Kharl smiled as he eased back the straight-backed oak chair and stood. He

glanced down at the green-trimmed white plate-it was the plain china-on which

remained a half slice of egg toast. "More, Adelya? I couldn't finish everything

you cooked. It's been a long time since I've eaten so well." That wasn't quite

true. He'd eaten that well as Lord Ghrant's guest in Dykaru, but, he reflected,

he'd never eaten under his own roof as he had for the last two eightdays.

He still had trouble believing that he was lord of Cantyl. He'd studied the

figures laid out in the ledger by Speltar, the estate steward, and seen and

counted the golds in the strong room below. He was wealthy, if modestly so by

the standards of lords, and that was something he'd never expected, never

dreamed. Not for a man who had been a cooper in Brysta most of his life, and a

carpenter's assistant on the Seastag after he'd been forced into exile by Lord

West's son Egen.

From that exile had come all the events-and the magely talents-that had led

him to become lord and master of Cantyl and its lands. Cantyl was a modest

estate, as estates went, roughly some ten kays by five, with tim-berlands and

vineyards, enough fertile ground to provision the lands, and more than a few

rugged and rocky hills. There were a handful of fruit trees on the slope south

of the main house, but they were barely an orchard.

The only things missing were his sons, but he had no way to reach Arthal,

and he'd sent a message on Hagen's Seastag, the next ship of the lord-

chancellor's merchant fleet scheduled to port in Brysta. It was chancy as to

whether his letter would actually reach Merayni in Peachill, where Warrl stayed

with his aunt, but Kharl had to try.

"You be sure you've had enough, ser?" asked Adelya. "The way you've been

working, more like a field hand than a lord ..."

"Hard work makes me feel better," Kharl replied.

"You could have someone-"

"I'm a better cooper and carpenter than anyone I could pay." Kharl grinned.

"And I'm more trustworthy, too."

Adelya tried not to smile, and failed.

"Besides, how can I learn about Cantyl if I don't work it?"

"You sound like Lord Koroh. He was Lord Julon's father."

Hagen had mentioned in passing that Julon had held the estate before Lord

Ghrant, but had not mentioned any details.

"Good lord, Koroh was." Adelya straightened. "You sure you don't need any

more?"

"I'm most certain." With a smile, Kharl turned and walked from the breakfast

room down the rear hall to the south doorway. It was really a service entrance,

but it was closest to the small barn that he was converting into his private

cooperage. He enjoyed working with wood, and once he received the oak he had

ordered, he could begin to make barrels for the vineyard. That would save Glyan,

the head vintner, more than a few golds over the course of the year, and it

would give Kharl the sense that he was adding to the worth of Cantyl.

Once outside in the chill sunlight, he walked briskly down the gravel path

toward the small barn. Although the first days of spring had been cool for

Austra, the heavy sandstone walls of the house had kept it pleasant during the

past eightdays as Kharl had worked to learn about his holding, studying the

accounts, walking the lands, and building his cooperage.

Without hesitation, Kharl slid back the barn door and stepped into what had

once been a secondary stable. At some point, he'd need to put in a better set of

doors, but his first task was to finish removing the remaining stalls.

For a good two glasses, Kharl worked in the small barn, carefully loosening

and breaking down the last of the stall walls, taking out pegs and the

occasional nail, so that the planks and cut timbers could be reused. He had

three piles in the center of the dirt floor.

After finishing with the eighth stall, he straightened. Despite the coolness

of the day, sweat beaded on his forehead, and he blotted it away with the sleeve

of the heavy gray shirt he'd worn as the carpenter's assistant on the Seastag.

"Ah ... ser?"

Kharl turned to see Speltar, the estate steward, standing in the open

doorway. "Good morning, Speltar."

"That it is, ser. You've been working hard."

"I can't build a cooperage here until I've got the space ready."

The steward nodded. "I should have the listing ready this afternoon." He

paused. "For the equipment we talked about yesterday."

"What did we forget?" Kharl grinned. "Or I forgot?"

"We'd talked about varnish or shellac for the flooring here...."

Kharl looked at the dirt floor inside the east end of the barn, a space where

there had been ten stalls, then glanced to Speltar. "I can't believe there were

so many stalls. There were ten here, and there are twenty in the main barn."

"Lord Julon had four teams," replied the short and slim steward, nervously

pushing back his wispy reddish brown hair, not that there was enough to cover

his balding pate. "He had four horses to a team, and they weren't used for work

around the lands. So we needed stalls for the shire horses, mostly in winter,

and stalls for the fancy teams."

"Where did he drive them?"

"Oh, he took two teams to Valmurl. One team pulled the carriage most of the

way, and then he made his entrance with the other." Speltar cleared his throat.

"About the varnish?"

"What about it?"

"I was talking to Dorwan about it. He had a suggestion."

Kharl nodded. He'd already learned that Dorwan never volunteered anything

directly to him, but always suggested things to Speltar. The forester, for all

his size and bulk, was almost painfully shy, and it would take a while before he

was at ease with Kharl-or anyone new to the estate. "It was probably a good

one."

"Yes, ser. You know the flagstone walk in front? Well... years back, Lord

Julon had flagstone squares cut, big thick squares, and he was going to have

them polished for a summer porch. Ah... the porch never got built. Dorwan says

that the flags, more than enough to floor your cooperage anyway, are still there,

in the back of the storage shed above the vineyard building. They were smoothed,

but never polished."

Kharl laughed. "Those would be better than a timber floor, especially around

the forge." He paused. "I know how to lay a plank floor. I can't say I know how

to lay a stone floor that well."

"Dorwan says his boy Bannat and he can do it. Take less than an eight-day.

Need some lime for the mortar, but that's a sight cheaper than varnish."

Does he have the time, without neglecting what he does in the woodlands?"

Still early for poachers, and word's out that Lord Kharl's a mage." peltar

grinned shyly. "Dorwan says that he and Bannat can start leveling and Packing

the clay underneath tomorrow."

"What do you think?"

"Stone'll last longer than wood, ser. We already have the flags. If we have

to cut the timbers ... all we have is softwood."

"What you're trying to tell me is that a softwood floor won't last, and that

we could sell the good spruce timbers to the carpenters and shipyards in Valmurl

for good coins, and besides that, you can get some use out of the flagstones

stored in the shed, and free up some storage space."

"There is that, ser."

Kharl shook his head. "It's a good idea. We should do it. If I don't see

Dorwan today, and you do, tell him that I appreciate his thoughtfulness. I'll

tell him, but..."

"Yes, ser. He's a mite ... reserved."

"Begging your pardon, ser .. ." came a young voice from behind Kharl.

"There's a vessel under steam headed for the pier. Da said you'd want to know,

ser."

Kharl turned to see a dark-haired girl of ten or so-Glyan's daughter Rona.

She was the unofficial messenger around Cantyl. "Thank you."

"Yes, ser." Rona smiled. "Do you want me to tell Da anything?"

"Not yet. Why don't you come down to the pier with us? That way, if I need

you to take a message ..."

"Yes, ser!"

Kharl and Speltar walked up the rise from the small barn to the main house,

then took the graveled lane that led down to the east and to the pier. Rona

followed several paces behind. The lane split a large sloping meadow into two

sections of roughly equal size-although the grass was still winter brown, with

just the barest hints of green showing beneath the dead thatch. The meadows were

bordered by stone walls, beyond which, on the south-facing slopes, were the

vineyards that produced much of the income from the estate, mainly from the sale

of the pale amber Rhynn, considered a desirable wine with poultry and fish by

those well-off in Valmurl and Bruel. In the brief time he'd been at Cantyl,

Kharl had discovered that he actually liked good wine, and he suspected that his

past dislike of wine had not been a distaste for wine but a repugnance for bad

wine-and that had been all that he'd ever tasted. Still, a good lager was his

favorite.

The incoming vessel was already well past the harbor mouth and steaming

toward the pier, a thin trail of smoke dispersing into the blue-green sky.

"You weren't expecting a ship?" asked Kharl.

"No, ser."

Kharl tried to make out the vessel. It wasn't the Seastag, but with the twin

masts, and the midships paddle wheels, it could have been her twin. "Looks like

one of Lord Hagen's vessels."

"Aye," offered Speltar. "Looks much like the Seacat. Captain Druen stops

here now and again for timbers, and for the wine."

Kharl and Speltar reached the pier before the ship, but not before Dor-wan

and his assistant, the wiry Norgal.

"You'll be handling the lines?" Kharl asked.

"Yes, ser," replied Dorwan.

"Good." Kharl paused. "Dorwan ... Speltar told me about your idea for the

cooperage floor. Using the old flagstones, that's much better than using

softwood. Thank you."

Dorwan nodded. "My duty, ser."

"That may be, but I appreciate how well you do it."

"Thank you, ser." Dorwan turned toward the end of the pier, watching as the

vessel approached with bare steerageway.

When the ship drew within ten rods or so of the pier, Kharl made out the name

under the bowsprit-Seafox. Within moments after making out the name, Kharl

recognized Hagen, standing just aft of the bow, wearing the same dark gray

jacket he'd often worn as master of the Seastag, rather than the finery of the

lord-chancellor of Austra. Why was he coming to Cantyl? Or was he stopping on

his way to Valmurl?

That was unlikely, Kharl thought, because Hagen had been obliged to ride

northward from Dykaru with Lord Ghrant in almost a processional return to

Valmurl.

The master of the Seafox backed down the paddle wheels expertly, and the

vessel came to rest less than three cubits from the pier. Dorwan and Norgal

caught the lines and made them fast to the bollards.

"Walk her in! Lively now!" came the commands from the deck.

When the gangway was down, Hagen was the first one onto the water-whitened

timbers of the pier.

Kharl stepped forward, inclining his head to Hagen, out of respect for both

the man and the office. "Lord-chancellor."

"Ser Kharl and mage." Hagen smiled broadly. "No sooner than you're °ut of

sight, and you're back in working grays." He shook his head in mock-despair.

"I don't see any lord-chancellor's finery on you, ser," Kharl replied.

"Not in traveling," Hagen said with a laugh. "What's your excuse, ser

Kharl?"

"I was working on turning part of a barn into a cooperage. If we make our

own barrels, we can bring in more coins from the wine. We can also save on

storage barrels...."

Hagen shook his head. "Lord Ghrant will be disappointed to hear that his

mage has returned to coopering."

"I can't be a mage all the time, not when matters here are peaceful." Kharl

gestured toward the Seafox. "I'm not sure that we have any cargo for your ship."

He turned toward the steward. "Speltar? Do we have cargo that should go?"

"Not right now, ser."

"That makes us even," replied Hagen. "We don't have anything to offload,

either. Or so I'm told."

Kharl gestured toward the house. "Would you like to see the house? You

haven't seen it before, have you?"

"No. I wasn't exactly favored by either Lord Julon or Lord Estloch." Hagen's

voice was dry. "I'd like to see it. I do need a few words with you, as well.

That's why I'm here, but we can talk while you give me a private tour."

Kharl caught the slight emphasis on private. Of course, Hagen had a reason

for stopping in Cantyl. He turned to Speltar. "Speltar, if you and Rona would

let Adelya know that the lord-chancellor will be having the midday meal with me.

We'll eat in the breakfast room, just the two of us."

"Yes, ser."

As Rona and Speltar hurried ahead of them, Kharl and Hagen started up the

lane toward the house at a more measured pace.

After several moments, Kharl glanced at Hagen. "You can stay for a midday

meal, at least, can't you? I didn't ask you ... I just thought..." His eyes

flicked back, but Dorwan and Norgal had remained on the pier.

"That would be about all," replied Hagen, with a laugh. "Lord Ghrant expects

me for tomorrow afternoon's audience." Hagen paused. "He expects you as well."

"Me?"

Lord Ghrant had told Kharl his services might be required, but within two

eightdays of coming to Cantyl?

"He has a problem," Hagen said. "The problem is Guillam."

"The head of the factors' council?" As Kharl recalled, perhaps accord-

ing to Lyras, the black mage who had claimed he was but a minor mage, if that,

Guillam had been quietly backing Ilteron and had slipped out of Val-murl during

the revolt.

"Guillam claims that he is a most faithful subject. For obvious reasons,

Lord Ghrant has his doubts. You are known to be a mage, and Lord Ghrant wishes

you present when he receives Guillam."

"He expects I will know if Guillam lies, then?"

"Will you not? You knew when Asolf was lying about stealing Reisl's coins."

Again, Kharl was reminded of how thorough Hagen was, and how he had known

everything aboard the Seastag. Doubtless, that attention to detail was what had

made him the owner of ten ships and lord-chancellor. "I usually can tell."

"That could be a problem," mused Hagen.

"That I might not be able to tell?"

"No. That you could. Let us say that Guillam did support Ilteron. What else

can Lord Ghrant do but execute or exile him?" Hagen cocked his head, waiting for

an answer from Kharl.

"If he does either, then, that will upset the other factors."

"All regarded Ghrant as weak."

"He still is," suggested Kharl. "He has a strong lord-chancellor."

"And a black mage," added Hagen.

"So ... you are suggesting that my presence is more important than my

judgment?"

"Your presence is most important."

Kharl realized that. It had to be, with Hagen diverting one of his ships to

get Kharl. "Does it matter so much what Guillam has done as what he will do?

Does his past matter as much as his loyalty?"

Hagen fingered his chin, smiling broadly. "So you would have him questioned

about both his past and his loyalty?"

"If he lies about his past, but honestly believes that he is loyal," Kharl

said slowly, "Lord Ghrant might overlook his lies."

"That is possible, but what if Guillam lies about his loyalty?"

"Then Ghrant is better off if he is dead or exiled, I would judge," Kharl

replied carefully.

'Dead. Traitorous exiles can return."

Kharl wasn't so sure that he liked having Guillam's life put in his hands.

"You see, Kharl," Hagen went on, "there is a price to wealth and position.

There is always a price. Those who do not attain either seldom see that price,

and at times, the price is deferred, often for generations, but when it is

deferred the cost falls upon the descendants manyfold."

Kharl couldn't help but wonder if Lord West of Nordla and his sons had ever

paid such a price, or if it had been deferred in the manner Hagen suggested.

Adelya hurried up as Kharl and Hagen stepped onto the front porch. "Ser

Kharl... ser Kharl.. ." Abruptly, she stopped and bowed. "Lord-chancellor ...

I'd not be meaning ..."

"Whatever we have will be fine," Kharl said to Adelya. "I didn't know that

Lord Hagen was coming, and he didn't know before yesterday. That didn't give him

time to send a messenger."

"Whatever you cook will be far better than we ate on board ship."

Adelya did not look mollified, not completely.

"I'll come back-with notice-for one of your finest meals," Hagen offered

with a smile. "Then you will have time to offer your best."

Adelya bowed again. "Your lordship is most kind."

"Please don't blame Lord Kharl. He did not know I was coming."

Kharl could hear the words under her breath as Adelya backed away, "But he's

a mage...." He resisted replying.

Hagen laughed softly. "You see. There is a price for being a mage, too.

People come to expect the impossible."

"She isn't happy that I like working with my hands."

"People aren't ever happy when you don't meet their expectations." Hagen's

voice was matter-of-fact, almost dismissive. "How do you find Cantyl?"

Kharl gestured toward the bay. "It's more than I ever expected. I'm still

learning about the lands, and I haven't been through all the timberlands and the

southern hills yet."

"If you do, you'll have seen more of them than any of the lords who've held

Cantyl in generations," Hagen said dryly.

"How can a man not know his lands?" asked Kharl.

"That's a good question. It's also why at least some of them didn't keep

them."

"Let me show you the house and the nearer outbuildings," offered Kharl.

"If you would..."

Kharl began the informal tour by showing Hagen the first-floor study with

the wide window overlooking the bay, directly below the master suite, which had

an even grander view, and took him through the entire two-story stone structure.

By the time they had walked through the house, toured the barns, viewed the

vineyards, and returned to the house, the midday meal was waiting.

Adelya hovered in the archway as the two seated themselves.

"This looks to be a feast, not a midday meal!" Hagen exclaimed, taking in

the platters that Adelya set between them, with cutlets, fowl breasts, cheese

lace potatoes, honeyed pearapples, and rye and dark bread with the honey-butter

that was Adelya's pride. There were two goblets, with a pitcher of Cantyl's full

red wine set on one side of the table.

"It's little enough, ser."

"It's a great deal, Adelya," Kharl said firmly, "and we both appreciate it.

Thank you."

"I am hungry," Hagen admitted as he began to serve himself, "and we won't

have anything near this good on the return voyage to Valmurl."

"How long will that take?"

"We'll be using both the engines and sails. If the winds hold, we might

reach the harbor by midnight."

Kharl filled both goblets, then lifted one. "To you, for all of this ..."

Hagen flushed as he lifted his goblet. "To you, ser Kharl... for saving

Austra."

"And to friendship ..."

Hagen nodded, then took a sip of the wine. "It's a good solid wine."

"I like it. Glyan says that the Rhynn is better, but to me, they're both

good." Kharl broke off a chunk of the dark bread and passed the basket to the

other. "Do you know how Tarkyn, Furwyl, and Rhylla are doing?"

"The Seastag is on its way to Land's End on Reduce. Only want to port there

in spring and summer. I heard that there was some black wool to be had there.

Doesn't come on the market often. A good weaver can make cloth for a lord from

it."

At the reference to weavers, Kharl couldn't help thinking about Jeka,

wondering how she was doing with Gharan-hoping that she had been able to stay

with his former neighbor. He just wished he'd been able to do more for Jeka.

She'd certainly saved his life and befriended him at a time when no one else

would lift a hand. Beneath the hard surface ...

"Kharl?"

"I'm sorry. I was . .. thinking. Was everyone all right when they cast off

from Valmurl?"

"Furwyl left a report for me, and everything was fine. He did say that he

needed to look for another carpenter. Tarkyn was complaining that there was too

much work for any one carpenter." Hagen shook his head. "No one will ever be as

good a ship's carpenter as you were, not for Tarkyn."

"Nothing is ever as good as it was," Kharl said dryly. "Even when it wasn't

that good."

"You are almost as cynical as I am, ser mage." Hagen took another sip of

wine. "That's saying a great deal."

Kharl feared he would need that cynicism when he reached Valmurl.

I hrapl

"Ser Kharl? Ser Kharl?"

Kharl struggled out of sleep. Where was he? How early was it?

"Ser Kharl?" The feminine voice was unfamiliar.

He squinted in the light pouring into the unfamiliar bedchamber, before

everything came back. He was in the north wing of Lord Ghrant's Great House. For

just himself, he had not only a large bedchamber, but a sitting room with a desk,

as well as a lavishly equipped bath chamber.

"Ser?"

"Coming..." Kharl pulled himself out of the triple-width bed and yanked on

his traveling trousers, shambling through the sitting room to the door, aware of

the old but thick carpet beneath his bare feet.

"Your breakfast, sir."

Kharl concentrated, hard as it was, with his order-senses, but so far as he

could tell, the young woman stood alone outside his door. He eased the lock

plate back. A dark-haired young woman, barely out of girlhood, stood there

holding an enormous tray.

"If you'd let me bring it in, ser. If you would, ser."

Kharl watched as she eased through the doorway and set the tray on the table

desk. "Thank you."

"My pleasure, ser." The girl bowed and slipped away.

After locking the door again, Kharl crossed the sitting room. He looked at

the tray, taking in the slices of ham, the egg toast, fillets of some sort of

fish, a basket of black bread, a pot of jam, and the twin pitchers, one of pale

ale, and the other of cider, with an empty beaker. He hadn't expected a

breakfast to be delivered, but he couldn't say he was displeased, not as late as

he had arrived in Valmurl the night before.

The winds had not been as favorable as Hagen had hoped, and the Seafox had

not reached Valmurl until a good two glasses past midnight, even pushing the

engines. A coach had been waiting, though, to take them to the Great House. For

all that, or because of it, he had not slept that well, fretting as he had about

the upcoming audience. Then, just when he had drifted off, or so it had seemed,

the young woman had knocked on his door, carrying a tray with his breakfast.

A faint smile crossed his lips. A former cooper, being served by the

servants of the Lord of Austra-that was something that Charee would never have

believed. The pain he felt when he thought of his dead consort was not so much

grief as a deep sadness over something that had never been quite right for

years-and for the fact that she had been killed because Egen had wanted to

punish Kharl. Her death had led to his losing both boys. Charee's sister Merayni

had claimed the younger Warrl just before Kharl had been forced into hiding.

Arthal, bitter at his mother's death, had signed on to the Fleuryl as a

carpenter's apprentice without even telling Kharl until the morning he had left.

Kharl could only hope that Warrl was doing well as a grower's boy at

Peachill. Once the rebel lords were subdued-if they were-then he could look into

sending for Warrl. Going back to Brysta in person to get Warrl wasn't a good

idea, but if all else failed, he'd try that as well. As for Arthal... he didn't

even know where his older son was-or that Arthal would even talk to him if he

could find the boy-except Arthal was a young man, an angry young man. Then,

Arthal had always been angry, and Kharl had never understood why.

He shook his head and looked down at the breakfast tray. After a moment, he

frowned.

There was something about the tray.

He studied it, both with his eyes and his order-senses. His eyes and nose

insisted that everything was as it should be. His order-senses told him that

there were pockets of reddish white spread through most of the food.

He left the tray on the table and went into the bath chamber.

In less than half a glass he was washed up and dressed. The tray and food

remained untouched on the desk, and Kharl used the big brass key to lock the

door behind him. He doubted that would stop whoever had poisoned the food.

He found the staircase down to the main level without any difficulty and

made his way southward, toward what he thought was the center of the Great House.

He stopped in a large hexagonal hallway, off which branched four corridors.

"Ser mage?" asked the guard in the yellow and black of Ghrant's personal

guard.

"I'm looking for the lord-chancellor. Lord-chancellor Hagen."

The guard looked at Kharl's face, then at his black garments-those of a

mage-once more. "Ah ... yes, ser. His chamber is this way. I'd best take you."

Kharl studied the man with his order-senses, but the fellow seemed honest.

The guard turned down a narrower corridor that stretched a good fifty cubits,

but he stopped after thirty at an unmarked ironbound door.

"The mage Kharl to see you, ser."

"Have him come in."

"Ser." The guard nodded and stepped back.

Kharl found himself inside a small chamber, no more than ten cubits square,

without even a window. There was a second door, also of golden oak, at the rear

of the room. Wearing a black velvet jacket trimmed in gold, with a heavy gold

chain with a gold medallion at the end around his neck, Hagen stood beside the

small table desk.

"You look upset, Kharl. What is it?"

"I had a breakfast tray delivered. I'm fairly sure it's poisoned. I just

left it in the sitting room."

Hagen walked to the wall and yanked on the yellow-and-black bellpull. "I'll

send Charsal up with you. He'll bring back the tray, and we'll feed it to the

rats."

"The rats?"

"Lord Estloch keeps them for just such purposes. Anything that kills a rat

will certainly kill a person."

Kharl hadn't thought about the possibility of an organized system for

dealing with poison, but the moment that Hagen had mentioned it, he realized

that he should have.

Hagen fingered his chin. "I wouldn't put it past Guillam. I can't think of

anyone else who would know-or want to-that you were coming-or what that might

mean. But that doesn't mean it was he."

"There's something he doesn't want discovered," Kharl suggested. "Why

else ... ?"

Hagen laughed. "Were it only that simple. A mage reduces everyone's

influence with Lord Ghrant. Many will feel themselves threatened." The lord-

chancellor moved back toward the desk. "How did you sleep?"

"I must have slept. I don't recall anything."

"Good. It's likely to be a long day. Lord Ghrant has confirmed that he

expects Guillam at the second glass past noon."

"Early afternoon," Kharl mused. "Does Guillam have a dwelling near here in

Valmurl?"

"Not that close. He has a country house fifteen kays west of Valmurl, and a

small mansion off the Factors' Square. That's three kays from here-" Hagen broke

off at the knock on the chamber door. "Yes?"

"Charsal, ser."

"Come in."

The door opened, and a trim young man, half a head shorter than Kharl,

entered. He wore the yellow and black of the Ghrant's personal guard.

"Undercaptain... this is ser Kharl of Cantyl, the mage. He believes that a

breakfast tray that was delivered to his quarters may be poisoned. If you would

take one of your Serjeants ..."

"The rats, ser?"

"Exactly, and have him watch them closely."

'Ah ... after that... where can I get breakfast?" Kharl asked sheepishly.

Charsal will take you to the kitchen. It's probably best if the cooks fix

something for you while you're there. I'll send a messenger to find you efore

the audience. If you'd just stay somewhere in the Great House." Hagen nodded to

Charsal. "Undercaptain."

"Yes, ser."

Because Hagen was clearly preoccupied, Kharl inclined his head.

"Until later, ser."

Hagen offered a wry smile in return.

Charsal stepped back and opened the door, holding it for Kharl. Outside, an

older armsman, with a short but grizzled beard, stood. Without a word, the

Serjeant followed the undercaptain and Kharl.

Kharl led the way back up the stairs. Outside the chamber, Kharl took out

the heavy brass key and unlocked the door. His order-senses confirmed that the

room was empty. The tray remained where he had left it and did not look as

though it had been touched.

"Is this it, ser?" asked Charsal, gesturing toward the tray.

"That's it."

Charsal nodded to the serjeant. "Everything gets fed to the rats. You're to

watch them and report to me."

"Yes, ser." The serjeant lifted the tray and carried it out.

"Now for the kitchen." Charsal smiled.

"I hope this isn't too much of a problem."

"No, ser. We can't have people being poisoned here in the Great House."

"I'm not sure it is poisoned, but there's something not right about it."

"When a mage says something's not right, best to listen." Charsal smiled.

"You were asking about breakfast, I believe."

"I had thought about it," Kharl replied with a grin.

"This way, ser."

The kitchen was on the lower level of the north side of the Great House, a

large stone-walled room already uncomfortably warm even before mid-morning.

"The mage here needs some breakfast," Charsal announced. "Prepared now."

A round-faced woman looked up, then nodded. "Be right on it. We could have

prepared a tray if we'd 'a known."

Kharl kept his frown to himself, but noted the slightest nod from Charsal.

"Anything you'd be liking, ser?" asked the cook.

"Whatever you do best, except I'd rather not have any fish."

"We can do that. Egg toast, good ham, fresh bread, and cool cider? Jam,

too."

"That would be fine," Kharl replied.

Both Charsal and Kharl stood against the stone wall and watched as the cooks

bustled around the huge cast-iron stove.

Seemingly in moments, the cook had two heaping platters, pitcher and goblet,

a basket of the black bread, and a pot of jam all set on a tray. She looked

around, as if for a serving maid.

"I can take it," Kharl said.

"But.. . ser . .."

"I'm escorting the mage." Charsal stepped forward and took the tray, then

turned and led the way to the northwest corner of the kitchen, through an

archway, and up a circular set of stone steps into an airy room with wide

windows overlooking a stone terrace. "This is one of the dining rooms, ser. For

those guests and staff here who are not being fed at various functions."

Two younger men were seated at a circular table in one corner, clearly

finished with eating, but talking in low and intense voices. Besides Kharl and

the undercaptain, they were the only ones in the room.

Charsal set the tray on a table before the windows. "Is this all right, ser?"

"That's fine. Thank you, undercaptain. I can find my way back to my chambers,

and there's no need to keep you from your other duties." Kharl paused. "You have

eaten, haven't you? There's more than enough-"

"I ate just a little while ago, ser, but I appreciate your kindness."

Charsal bowed. "If you would not mind ..."

Kharl smiled. "Go."

After Charsal turned, Kharl settled into the breakfast. While he had thought

the portions large, he was surprised to find that he left little enough, except

for half a loaf of bread. The black bread was heavy and sweetish, some of the

best he recalled having, and he'd appreciated it. He still recalled all too well

the days of hiding between the Tenderer's walls in Brysta, when he and Jeka had

gone days with little sustenance.

With his hunger satisfied, using his order-senses, he tried to pick up the

conversation of the two men in the corner, both wearing dark green tunics and

trousers, the same color as the green of the Austran armsmen and lancers.

"• •. taking a chance to stay here ... Lord Ghrant... be vindictive ..."

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ORDERMASTERL.E.Modesitt,Jr.TOR®ATomDohertyAssociatesBook/NewYorkForNancyandKennet,inthetrinityoftimeThisisaworkoffiction.Allthecharactersandeventsportrayedinthisnovelareeitherfictitiousorareusedfictitiously.ORDERMASTERCopyright©2005byL.E.Modesitt,Jr.Allrightsreserved,includingtherighttoreproducethi...

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