“His mightiness the white wizard, the almighty Alborak?”
“Guess he’s the one.”
“Take the stairs in front.” There was a pause. “Why’d you come in back?”
“They said I could tie my mount out back,” Kharl explained, hoping the other did not check immediately.
“Figures.”
Kharl walked toward the only door he saw, still holding himself ready to use the shields if he needed to. Nothing happened, and he stepped into another corridor, even more dimly lit. The staircase was to his left.
While there were no guards on the lower level, a single armsman stood at the top of the steps. He had not seen Kharl, or not looked in the mage’s direction.
Kharl formed a sight shield, hoping that Alborak would not notice, and began to climb the steps, quietly, slowly, one at a time. As he climbed, he could hear voices from above him. He tried to listen as he moved.
“ … you didn’t even know he was there?”
“He was only a cooper,” said a second voice, hard and conveying arrogance. “How can he possibly know that much about order, let alone chaos?”
“I’m but an undercaptain, ser wizard,” came the reply, “but CaptainFegaro said that there was chaos-fire everywhere on that causeway, and he’s seen most everything in his years.”
Kharl moved up several more steps. He had the feeling that he would be able to get close enough to the white wizard without going all the way to the top of the ancient stairs.
“It had to be cannon fire, like in the harbor. Order-mages cannot handle chaos.”
“He said it was chaos.”
Kharl took two more steps.
“He’s not a wizard or a mage. How would he know?”
“Ser … you’d have to ask him.”
“There’s something strange-″
Kharl hardened the air around the young wizard before he could say more.
Hssst! White fire appeared from nowhere, as if it had formed in the air less than three cubits from Kharl, and flashed downward toward him.
His shields barely deflected the chaos-bolt, and he took a hard step sideways on the staircase.
“Chaos-fire!” called the guard.
“There’s a mage somewhere! Look for him!” called the undercaptain.
Another blast of chaos flared toward Kharl, if slightly weaker than the first.
Kharl struggled to maintain his barrier around the white wizard and to maintain the sight shield. He could sense the sentry moving to the top of the stairs, less than two cubits from where Kharl stood, and looking down.
“There’s no one here, ser! Just chaos-fire everywhere!”
“There’s a mage somewhere! There has to be!”
“I don′t see no one, ser!”
A third blast of chaos-fire rocked Kharl, one hurled with a desperation that Kharl could feel, but his defenses held.
“Has to be somewhere!”
Leaning in darkness against the side of the staircase, Kharl kept his shields in place. He could smell something burning farther down the staircase.
“The stairs are catching fire, ser!” called the guard.
More chaos, this time more diffuse and less focused, splashed around Kharl. He could also feel heat from the wall behind him, and he edged forward.He knew he couldn′t retreat yet. He was close to the limit at which he could hold the hardened air barrier around Alborak, and if he loosened that barrier, the white wizard would escape. That would make any later efforts much, much harder, if not impossible.
“Find the wizard!”
“But … ser … there’s no one here!”
A grim smile crossed Kharl’s lips, one erased by the effort of holding his shields as another desperate blast of chaos flared around him.
Two more weaker blasts followed.
The sound of crackling flames began to rise, and Kharl struggled not to cough as smoke filled the staircase.
“Ser … we got to get out of here!” called the armsman at the top of the staircase.
Abruptly, the reddish white void of death washed over Kharl. He almost sagged as he released the hardened air barrier that had killed Alborak. Flames licked at him and the old and dry wood as he staggered down to the bottom of the steps and toward the front double doors.
He scrambled forward and let his sight shield drop just as he pushed open the right-hand door. “Fire! Fire! Stairs are on fire!”
The two guards standing beyond the archway just looked at him.
“Can’t you smell it? See the flames? Get a bucket brigade … or something … whole place’ll burn.″ A well of heat rushed out from behind Kharl.
The guard who had been at the top of the stairs charged out, beating out small patches of flame on his uniform. “Call the fire brigade!”
″We … we′re …″ stammered one of the guards.
“I’ll do it.” Kharl dashed past them, heading south. “Fire in headquarters! Fire in the building!”
Others took up the cry.
Once he was past the woolen factor’s, Kharl raised his sight shield for a short time, just long enough to get around the corner and closer to his mount. The gelding had remained where he tied it, doubtless only because he had only been gone for a short time and possibly because the locals feared that it had belonged to the rebels and that taking it would have led to great reprisals.
Kharl dropped the sight shield, mounted, and rode away at a fast trot, a pace he judged likely enough for a messenger or a scout. He tried not to bounce in the saddle.
As he made his way north and west, watching for rebel lancers, and for pursuit, he couldn’t help thinking about the young white wizard he’d killed. The young man hadn’t had a chance, not really. He hadn’t known what had struck him, not until it was effectively too late.
Yet what else could Kharl do? He didn’t know any method to capture a white wizard, or to hold one once captured, and he couldn’t just let the man continue to use chaos to kill Lord Ghrant’s and Hagen’s lancers and armsmen. And Kharl didn’t have any other weapons that would be effective. A staff was useless in close quarters, and, besides, neither a staff nor a cudgel could stand up against chaos-fire.
He glanced over his shoulder. A column of thick gray smoke rose from the dockworks area. Kharl could only hope that the fire did not spread beyond the one building, but how could he have predicted that Alborak’s chaos-bolts would turn the old factoring building into an inferno?
Kharl shook his head. Chaos-fire was hotter than fire in a hearth or a stove, perhaps as hot as a forge. With that much of it being flung around an old building, fire was highly likely-but that was a chance he’d had to take.
He kept riding, and looking back over his shoulder. The column of smoke had gotten larger, but not markedly so. He could only hope the damage was limited, but he kept glancing back.
In time, he returned to the Cross-Stream Pike, where he removed the blue sash and tucked it back into his tunic.
Undercaptain Demyst was waiting-with both squads-at the rendezvous point.
Kharl reined up. “Thank you.”
“Our pleasure, ser mage.” Demyst frowned slightly. “Your face is a shade red, ser Kharl.” He glanced eastward toward the column of grayish smoke that still rose over the north harbor area.
“Matters were somewhat hotter where I was,” Kharl replied, slowly easing his mount beside that of the undercaptain. “Did you see any rebel forces?”
“Not except for the ones at that barrier. We saw one messenger. He saw us and turned due south.”
“I think I saw him, too,” Kharl said. “We can head back to Buvert’s estate.”
The undercaptain nodded, then gestured. The two squads fell in behind the mage and the undercaptain.
Kharl forced himself not to look back toward the fire. He regretted so much destruction, but what else could he have done?
XIX
After he had returned to Buvert’s estate and taken care of the mount, Kharl made his way to the kitchen in the main house. His legs were shaky. His eyes blurred, and his ribs had begun to ache again. All were signs that he needed to eat. A servingwoman from the Great House, wearing Ghrant’s livery, suggested that he seat himself at the dining table to be served.