“…and if you think I’d believe that, Lord Ghrant is as well-endowed as a prize bull…”
“…and your mother has whiskers tougher than iron nails…”
Kharl could sense the chaos rising around the table. He touched Herana’s arm “…need to get out of here…along the wall there…”
The two were almost to the doorway when the table went over and men piled into each other. They kept moving until they were out in the cool twilight air.
Kharl took a deep breath.
“You knew that was coming,” Herana said.
“I heard the words.”
“You knew.”
“I had a feeling,” Kharl admitted. “Took me a while to learn that it’s best not to ignore those feelings.” He nodded toward the harbor. “I probably ought to get back.”
She nodded.
They turned toward the harbor.
LXXIX
Kharl had been back aboard the Seastag for almost two glasses, a good glass after sunset, and according to Rhylla, no wagons had shown up with cargo. Nor had Hagen set a day or time for leaving, except that he expected that they could sail anytime in the next few days.
Because he’d been so restless that he knew he couldn’t read or sleep-especially as early in the evening as it was, he’d made his way back topside and settled out of sight against the railing near the bowsprit, warm enough in his winter jacket and gloves. He was trying to sort out too many matters-from what he felt about what had happened over the past year to where he wanted to go and what he wanted to do. He really had no answers, not ones that made much sense, and what he read in The Basis of Order confused him as often as it explained things.
The ale he’d had with Herana had made several things clear. First, he definitely missed feminine companionship. Second, he liked Herana’s company, but that was all. And third, he’d lacked a closeness with Charee for a long time, something he’d missed without knowing it. Or perhaps, he just had come to accept matters as they had come to be.
At the sound of hoofs on the pier, unusual after sunset, Kharl turned and looked down and aft. A rider had reined up and dismounted. He started up the gangway, and his voice carried. “Captain Hagen! Captain Hagen!”
Although the single lantern from the quarterdeck cast but faint illumination, Kharl thought the man wore a uniform, but not the black and yellow of Ghrant’s personal guards.
Kharl turned and moved aft, slipping around the paddle wheel frame in the darkness. He decided to try to cloak himself by using order, and concentrated on having the light flow around him. The dimness that surrounded him turned into absolute blackness, and for a moment he stopped, disoriented. He made an effort to sense his surroundings and, more slowly, continued toward the quarterdeck.
The evening deck watchstander was Ghart, and he was talking to the newcomer.
“I’ve called the captain, ser, and he should be here in a moment.”
Sensing Hagen coming from aft, Kharl stepped back, as quietly as he could. While no one could see him, people could still hear him, and Hagen could certainly walk into him, and that would not be what Kharl wanted.
“Captain,” offered the slender man.
“Majer…my cabin?” asked Hagen.
“I…think not. Perhaps aft and above.”
“As you wish.” Hagen turned and crossed the deck.
The majer followed, and then, quietly, so did Kharl, several paces back, cautiously, climbing the ladder up to the poop well after Hagen and the majer. Kharl stopped less than five cubits from Hagen and the other man, possibly the son of a lord, as well as an officer, Kharl judged, certainly someone of high stature from his few words and carriage.
“…would do almost aught to support Lord Ghrant,” Hagen offered.
“For now, what is of most concern to him is that you take his consort and sons to Dykaru. Tonight, if at all possible.”
“That is a goodly distance,” said Hagen.
“He does not want them threatened by Ilteron. Where else in Austra could they be more distant?”
“Or safer,” suggested Hagen, “seeing as it serves the center of the ancestral lands of Lord Ghrant.”
“If you agree, they will be arriving shortly.”
“Under the cover of darkness. Are matters that precarious here in Valmurl? Or does he fear that they soon will be?”
“Lord Ghrant does not want a pitched battle over Valmurl. If he wins, it will be a meaningless victory, because it will destroy the city. That is why he is moving south, and why he is making it known to Ilteron that he is.”
“And what if Ilteron takes Valmurl and does not follow Ghrant?” asked Hagen.
The other man laughed, harshly. “If Ilteron cannot dispose of Ghrant quickly, he will lose. He is known to be cruel and unforgiving. He has stated that he is strong and Ghrant is weak. If he cannot best Ghrant soon, that gives the lie to his words. And…he has already killed Lord Bowar in a fit of anger. The longer the fight goes on, the more it favors Ghrant, and even the highland lords know that. Ilteron will have to fight Ghrant in the south. The southern lords will never support Ilteron, and it was for that reason, as well you know, Lord Hagen, that Lord Estloch disinherited…”
Kharl nodded to himself. It did not totally surprise him that Hagen was called “lord.”
“I did not wish to see Austra torn in two, and yet what I did not wish has still come to pass,” Hagen said in a voice so low that Kharl had to strain to hear the words.
“If Ilteron does not press the fight to Lord Ghrant,” the majer went on, “eightday by eightday, the lords of the east, then the north, will slowly come back to Ghrant, for he will not rule them with an iron fist and curtail their powers. Ilteron will, and many follow him but through fear.”
“The Seastag is ready to set to sea,” Hagen said. “We will do what your master wishes, and I hope that your words are what comes to pass.”
In his concealment, so did Kharl.
“What will be will be, and the right will triumph,” answered the majer.
“Of that, I am certain,” returned Hagen, and Kharl heard the irony in his voice. “Let us hope that it is the proper right. For do not all men and lords believe that what they wish is right?”
There was silence from the majer, and Kharl could sense a swirl almost of chaos-anger, he thought.
“Come, majer,” Hagen went on. “Relying primarily on one’s cause as being right is an invitation to difficulty and defeat.”
“I have noted, Lord Hagen,” came the stiff reply, “that those who are convinced of the rightness of their cause are more likely to persevere and triumph.”
“They’re also more likely to show scorn and contempt for their opponents and to sow the seeds of future conflict. I have no love of this conflict, majer. No good will come of it, only less evil. I support Lord Ghrant, as I have told him to his face, not because he is a great lord, but because he has the chance to become one, while his brother can only become worse.”
The cool matter-of-fact words spoken by Hagen chilled Kharl, but the majer remained agitated.
“Ser…”
“Enough.” Hagen’s single word, delivered in a tone of cold command, silenced the majer. After a moment, he went on. “We do not live in a world where all is good, majer. We must do the best we can with what we are given. We have the better cause, but it is far from perfect, and to think otherwise is vain arrogance. I await the Lady Hyrietta and her sons.”
“Ser. They will be here shortly.” The majer’s words were clipped, but Kharl had the feeling that the man was still seething.
Still holding his shield around himself, Kharl quickly made his way back down to the main deck before the majer, hurrying forward past the paddle wheel on the starboard side. Then he released the shield. Even the dimness of night was welcome after the blackness he had endured.
Kharl had always felt that Hagen was more than a mere captain or factor, but from the majer’s reactions it was clear that Hagen held far more power in Austra than Kharl-or most of the crew-had realized. It was also obvious how Hagen regarded Lord Ghrant.