“I’ve heard that,” replied Hagen. “One of the traders out of Recluce said that just two mages destroyed Fairven, and only one returned, and he never spoke a word about it.” Hagen shook his head. “I was younger then, and I asked why the rulers of Recluce, their council or whatever it is, hadn’t forced him to tell them. The trader gave me this funny look, and then he asked me exactly how I would propose to force that from a mage who had destroyed an empire.” Hagen’s chuckle was anything but humorous. “Take you, Kharl. Someone might be able to take you off guard and kill you, but could anyone force you to tell them how you do what you do?”
“No.” Kharl didn’t explain that was because so much of what he did was through order-senses, and that the directions would have been meaningless to anyone without that ability.
“That’s the problem with wizards and mages. They can only be controlled by other mages or wizards-or by their own beliefs. That bothers lords. They don’t like to deal with powers they can’t control.”
“That’s why Lord Ghrant prefers to have you deal with me?”
“Of course.” Hagen laughed, once, brusquely “That way, if anything goes wrong, it was my fault.”
Kharl waited to see if Hagen would say more.
“Ghrant’s basically honest,” the lord-chancellor went on. “Weak about some things, but honest. Your presence doesn’t bother him, except that he’d rather have me give orders. Vatoran and Guillam, though, you made them uncomfortable just by being around. Do you feel that way around the white wizards?”
Kharl frowned. “I can feel them. Don’t know as they make me uncomfortable.” He paused and reconsidered his words. “I don’t know as I’d be comfortable around chaos all the time.”
“That makes sense. I’d wager they’d not be comfortable around you, either.” Hagen stood. “I need to go and see Norgen.”
After a moment, Kharl stood, belatedly realizing that the lord-chancellor had many demands upon him, and Kharl was in no position to help with those demands-not at the moment, not until he recovered. “I’ll try to see if I can discover some other way to help.” He stepped around the chair, deliberately.
“That would be useful.”
Kharl appreciated the understatement. Hagen and Lord Ghrant needed something that was more than merely useful.
After leaving the lord-chancellor, Kharl walked slowly back up the steps to the upper level, past his own quarters, and toward the north tower. He took the stone steps carefully, one at a time. Once he was out in the late-morning air, he crossed the tower to the east side.
There, he leaned forward, his forearms on the parapet stones, with the spring sun warming him and the breeze in his face. For a time, he faced eastward, in the direction of the city and the harbor he could not see, thinking.
What could he do? Unbinding order to release chaos was definitely a bad idea-except as the sort of last resort when he might be killed if he didn’t. A chaos-wizard could spray free chaos everywhere, and it couldwound or kill. Doing the same with order would only strengthen things. It might help people who were ill. As Hagen had pointed out, order did seem to make people who were chaos-driven uncomfortable, but Kharl didn’t see that as terribly useful in a battle. From what he’d been able to do so far, his only effective use of order seemed to be to use it to kill Ghrant’s enemies through confinement, and he could only do that to one or two people at a time. Still … if he removed enough of the rebel lords …
He shrugged. He couldn’t do anything until he recovered more.
XVI
By threeday, Kharl could see-intermittently. His vision came and went unpredictably. At least, he could not discern the reasons for its presence or absence, although he had no doubt that his ability to see was affected by some deeper interrelation between order and chaos. In time, he suspected, he would understand, and wonder why he had not seen sooner. That seemed to be his lot in life, to understand, imperfectly and late.
As he made his way toward the small dining room for a midday meal, in one of his moments of clear vision, he noticed Commander Norgen leaving Hagen’s study.
“Commander?”
“Ser mage.” Norgen bowed.
“Have you a moment to join me in eating?” asked Kharl.
“Ah …” Norgen paused. “I cannot take long.”
“You have not eaten, have you?”
“No. Sometimes, I end up missing meals here and there.”
“That can’t be good. I won’t take much of your time, and it won’t hurt for you to eat something.”
“I suppose not.” The slender commander’s laugh was good-natured.
Once they entered the larger of the small dining rooms, Norgen led the way to a corner table. Only one other table was occupied, and that by two men in dark blue, one with white hair, and the other much younger, perhaps Kharl’s age. The mage recognized neither.
“ … does not understand that law favors precedent and example …”
“ … consistency over the wishes of a ruler …”
Kharl kept his frown to himself, but even as he did, his sight vanished, and he had to rely on his order-senses to seat himself.
“Advocates, magistrates, justicers,” said Norgen, “always talking about law. They think it’s the same as justice.”
Kharl’s laugh was short and bitter.
“Your laugh says more than my words,” added Norgen.
“Why are they here?” asked Kharl, not wishing to discuss his past experiences with justicers, or rather, Lord Justicer Reynol of Nordla.
“They come to brief Lord Ghrant on the cases they have already decided. Always in open audiences.”
“He’s not in the Hall of Justice?”
“No. Everyone knows that’s not good. They might decide the cases on what Lord Ghrant wants, or what they think he wants.”
Norgen’s reply confused Kharl. “But … if they tell him …?”
“Oh … there’s a procedure for that. Lord Ghrant sits behind a screen and never speaks. If he has a question, he whispers to the lord-chancellor or whoever’s attending him, and they ask it. His questions are always about the facts or the law.”
That seemed better than what happened in Nordla, but Kharl still suspected that in some cases, Lord Ghrant might well be able to get his views across.
“Sers?”
Kharl turned toward the server’s voice.
“We just have a boar stew today,” announced the serving girl.
“I’ll have that with ale,” said Norgen.
“The same,” added Kharl. “The pale ale.” He liked the lager better most times, but occasionally had ale.
After she had left, Norgen cleared his throat.
“I’m sorry,” Kharl said. “At times, I’m still having trouble seeing. It comes and goes.”
“Did you hit your head? That sometimes …″
“No. What I did on the causeway released too much chaos. I’m pretty much an order-mage. Handling too much chaos affects how I see for a while.”
“I wondered why we hadn’t seen much of you lately.”
“Sers …” The server set the two ales on the table. “I’ll be back with the stew.”
“Thank you,” Kharl said. He had to use his order-senses to locate the mug. He took a swallow, enjoying the coolness.
“You had something in mind, ser mage?” asked Norgen gently.
“I did. I don’t know how to be subtle. How do the armsmen and lancers feel about this rebellion?”
As Kharl took another swallow of the ale, enjoying it, he could see once more. He blinked.
“You know, ser mage, that is a dangerous question?” Norgen lifted his eyebrows, white and bushy, in contrast to his thin and faded-and wispy-strawberry blond hair.
“Dangerous? I’m just a cooper and a beginning mage. Why would wanting to know how troops feel be dangerous?”
Norgen smiled. “My father always told me to watch the man who began with words like that. Just a beginning mage? Just a cooper? Hagen said you were one of the best, and Lyras says you’re far more than a beginning mage.”