After scrabbling up the yard or so of rip-rap at the edge of the causeway, Kharl studied the area around him. The misty fog was still thick enough that the armsmen to the north and east of Kharl were but indistinct forms. He checked the leather pouch at his belt and began to move toward the rear of the column of armsmen. With no wizards around, he could throw up a sight shield once he got closer-or if the fog began to thin.
He had decided to begin by releasing the order linkages in the nails he carried in the pouch. Metal was easier to handle than were small stones, at least with his level of ability. He’d thought about releasing the order in the nails, then using a sling to throw them; but the moment he finished unlinking the order within anything, the chaos flared out instantaneously, and he couldn’t unlock order from any great distance.
As he eased along the causeway, angling toward the road, Kharl took care that his boots did not skid on the uneven surface that was mossy rock and slime, with occasional patches of honest soil. He couldn’t see or sense anyone to the south, not nearby, although he thought there might be others another two kays or so to the south.
After a tenth of a glass, Kharl was within perhaps fifteen cubits of the stragglers in the rear guard, five or six back, and less than ten to one side. With the sun yet to rise and with mist all around, the carpenter’s grays had so far provided all the concealment Kharl needed.
The voices of the foot carried in the mist and stillness.
“ … don’t have any armsmen at the harbor … what Vuran said …”
“ … got that mage …”
“ … phaw … order-mage … not like a chaos type …”
“ … hope you’re right …”
Kharl’s lips tightened. He still wasn’t close enough. With a muted deep breath, he drew the sight shield around himself and, in the darkness, made his way onto the road, turning northward and closing the gap between him and the stragglers. As he neared the last rank, he decided that such a positionwas unwise, that he needed to move so that he was more toward the middle of the column.
“You in the rear!”
For a moment, Kharl thought that the mounted officer had seen him, but the man was calling to the stragglers in front of Kharl.
“Close it up! Don’t make me keep coming back here, or you’ll not be lying on your backs for a season or so.”
“ … frigging undercaptain …”
“ … just move … don’t want a floggin′ …”
“Keep it close!” ordered the officer, even as his turned his mount back northward.
Kharl eased back to the west side of the road and began to hurry along the shoulder, trying not to breathe hard as he moved past one rank, then another. By the time the mage had caught up to the middle of the second company, the captain or undercaptain had ridden even farther toward the front of the column.
Kharl kept walking, but pulled the first nail from his pouch, letting his order-senses range over it. The linkages in the iron nails were more like clips than hooks, but he had discovered how to unlink whole segments. The nails were small enough, and he was quick enough, that he could handle a nail all at once. He couldn’t have done that with a much larger piece of metal, and that didn’t take into account the fact that his shields wouldn’t have been able to protect him from that much chaos.
Kharl took the nail and threw it. None of the armsmen seemed to hear the faint clink as it landed two ranks ahead of where he stood.
With a deftness he would not have believed possible an eightday earlier, he used his “unclipping” technique to release the order bonds in the first nail. Immediately, intense heat radiated from the nail, but none of the armsmen seemed to notice.
As the last of the order unlinked, Kharl raised his own order shield.
Crumpt! Soil and chaos flared from the nail as it fragmented into an explosive white miasma. Dirt and rock fragments pattered against Kharl’s order shield.
One of the armsmen dropped, and those near him scattered.
Kharl threw another nail, and then unclipped the order bonds.
At the second explosion, the confusion and yells began to mount.
“Cannon! They’re shelling us!”
“How?”
“Magery!”
“ … don’t have any white wizards …”
“ … cannon … somewhere in the marshes!”
Kharl threw another nail, and removed the order.
Crumpt!
He winced as he felt the red-white chaos-void of death sweep over him, but he followed with another nail, and yet another.
Invisible to those around him, Kharl continued to rain forth random destruction for a time yet. When he stopped, he could feel that he was close to his own limits, and the rebel force had split-or he had split it. All the rebel armsmen were moving quickly, but the lancers and the leading foot continued toward the harbor. The latter half or so of the column had turned back southward, heading away from Kharl and past the disguised boat, seemingly not even looking at it.
Kharl had only covered more than twenty rods of the distance back to Dorfal and the boat before it had become a chore just to lift one leg, then the other. He had long since released the order shield, but holding the sight shield had become a major effort. Keeping himself erect and not falling was also becoming harder and harder.
The toe of one boot caught on something, and he sprawled forward. He managed to break his fall, somewhat, with his hands, but he had the feeling he’d slashed one palm on a sharp rock, and his left knee throbbed as he scrambled erect, shambling toward the straggly cattails protruding from marsh-grass-covered canvas. He knew he wasn’t that clumsy, but tiredness and uneven ground could make the strongest man awkward.
His legs were shaking, and his eyes blurring as he clumsily struggled under the canvas flap, and released the sight shield.
Dorfal had to help him into the scow.
“Winch … us … back …”
“All the way?”
“If … you do it slow-like … still might see us … some close …” Each word was an effort.
As Dorfal began to crank the return winch, Kharl could feel the boat moving away from the causeway.
Nothing had gone the way it had been planned. Half the rebels had gone one way, and half the other. As a mixture of whiteness and darknessswirled around him, Kharl thought he heard cannon. Had Hagen been more successful?
He tried to concentrate, to use his senses to find out, but then, a deeper blackness pulled him under, as though he had sunk silently into the marshes through which Dorfal winched the concealed scow.
XIV
Kharl’s head was splitting when he woke. He opened his eyes, but the room remained black. He turned his head, but that didn’t help. He tried to reach out with his order-senses, but a line of fire slammed through his skull, and his head dropped back onto the pillow. Another wave of darkness swallowed him.
When he drifted back awake later, he still could not see, but the headache was only a dull throbbing. He did not try to use his order-senses.
“Ser?”
The voice was female, slightly throaty-and unfamiliar.
“Yes?” His voice was croaking and hoarse.
“I have some ale … Istya said you should drink as much as you can.”
“You’ll have to put the mug in my hands. I can’t see right now.”
There was a momentary silence, followed by a clink and a scraping sound.
“Ah … ser.”
“Oh …” Kharl raised both hands.
The unseen woman guided the mug to his right hand.
Kharl grasped the heavy mug with both hands before slowly moving it to his lips, tilting it slowly until he could feel the ale. He took a small swallow at first, then a larger one.
“What time is it? What day?”
“Midafternoon, ser. On eightday.”