“I can see you understand,” Hagen said.
“I almost did not,” Kharl confessed.
“The Seastag is leaving tomorrow for Valmurl. I’ve arranged for Furwyl to make a stop at Cantyl. They’ll be expecting you.”
“Who will?”
“The estate steward. That’s Speltar. Lord Ghrant sent a messenger informing him an eightday ago.”
“Lord Ghrant…or you?” asked Kharl wryly.
“I did have something to do with it, but he had to accept my recommendation.”
“I hope it didn’t cost you too much.”
“Nothing at all. He’d much rather be indebted to you than, say, Lord Deroh.”
The name meant nothing to Kharl.
“Oh…and you’ll be traveling as a passenger. As an honored passenger in my quarters.”
“I couldn’t take…” Kharl paused. “You won’t be on board?”
“No. I’ll be with Lord Ghrant and his family…riding in triumph back across Austra.”
Kharl realized something else. By not accompanying Lord Ghrant, his role in saving the lord would be diminished. There were advantages and disadvantages to that for him, but clearly only advantages for Ghrant.
“So that he can show his banner and reassure everyone?”
“That is most necessary,” Hagen affirmed. “Long and tiring as the journey will be by road.”
“The crew won’t mind me as a passenger?”
“Not at all. They know you saved us all from having to leave Austra, and they’re more than ready to leave Dykaru and to get back to Valmurl.” Hagen smiled. “I’m famished. Are you ready to join me in a quiet meal? With no discussion about rulers and their duties?”
Kharl was.
XCI
As Kharl walked down the last few rods of the pier toward the waiting Seastag, the light breeze swirled the odor of burning coal around him, confirming that the ship was indeed making ready to cast off. He stopped just short of the gangway and looked westward, out over the white walls of Dykaru, and the orangish brown tile roofs, brilliant in the direct morning sunlight, then turned back toward the ship.
Ghart was grinning as Kharl walked up the gangway, carrying the new leather bag-black, of course-that contained equally new garments.
“Do anything to get out of the fo’c’s’le, wouldn’t you?” offered the new first mate.
“I tried.” Kharl couldn’t help grinning in return. “Even to keeping you from a bigger cabin.”
“Only for a few days. Then you’ll go off as lord of leisure.”
“Not a lord. Just a minor landholder, with some rocky hills and a vineyard, I’m told. And a few trees. Maybe enough to set up a cooperage.”
Ghart shook his head. “Cooper, carpenter, warrior, mage…and now you’re going to be a lord.”
“No…just a minor landholder,” Kharl protested.
Ghart began to laugh. Finally, he stopped and looked at Kharl. “Being a landholder’s worse than magery. Mages understand magery. No one understands what landholders do.” There was the hint of a twinkle in the first mate’s eyes.
Kharl could understand Ghart’s amusement-and appreciated the fact that Ghart was amused, rather than resentful or jealous. “Maybe I’ll learn enough to know why no one does…”
“You might at that.” Ghart’s head turned.
Kharl glanced to his left, his eyes taking in the figure crossing the main deck to the quarterdeck-Furwyl, now wearing a blue master’s jacket. “Master Kharl…”
“Captain.”
“Aye, and we’ve all gone up a little in the world, you more than us, I’d wager.” Furwyl’s smile was also warm and welcoming. “Though I’d not be saying that Lord Hagen is enjoying his fortune so much as us.”
Kharl chuckled at Furwyl’s observation. “The highland lords respect his abilities, perhaps more than do others.”
“Lord Ghrant will have to listen to him now,” Furwyl replied. “He’ll soon be wishing that he had earlier, if he’s not already.”
“Lord Ghrant is already listening,” Kharl replied.
Ghart smiled knowingly.
“Now that you’re aboard, Master Kharl…” suggested Furwyl.
“I’m more than ready, captain.”
Furwyl stepped back. “Single up!”
The bosun’s whistle shrilled, and Bemyr’s voice boomed out. “Single up. Make it lively!”
“Best I stow my gear,” Kharl said. “What I have.”
“Ah…Master Kharl,” Ghart said. “You’ll not be minding that we took the liberty of putting your other things in the captain’s cabin as well.”
“Hardly. Thank you.” The carpenter-mage shook his head. “Seems strange to go from the fo’c’s’le aft.”
“Happens to us all, ser. You’ll get used to it.” Ghart smiled. “Remember when I had the smallest cubby on the Seasprite.”
Left unsaid was the knowledge that very few seamen made the transition out of the forecastle.
Kharl nodded and made his way past the deck crew. Seeing Reisl and Hodal there, he smiled at the two. “It’s good to see you.”
“Good to see you, Master Kharl,” replied Reisl. “Wasn’t sure we would when you fell off that horse.” The deckhand grinned.
“I wasn’t either,” Kharl admitted. “I don’t do well with horses. You could tell that.” Belatedly realizing that he’d distracted the deck crew, he added, “Best let you get back to listening to Bemyr.”
“Aye…”
As Kharl stepped away, toward the hatchway leading to the captain’s quarters, he could hear the voices behind him.
“…always said…something strange…”
“Strange or not, saved our asses more ’n once…” replied Reisl.
“…never shirked any duty…” added Hodal.
Kharl wished he could thank the two for their words, but that would just have embarrassed them.
After stowing his bag in the captain’s cabin-and he somehow felt guilty, no matter what Hagen and Furwyl said-Kharl made his way out and up to the poop deck. There he stationed himself at the port railing, watching quietly as Furwyl guided the Seastag away from the pier and into the narrow channel leading to the Great Western Ocean.
Astern of the ship, the white walls and tiled roofs of Dykaru dwindled slowly under the cool and clear greenish blue sky. Ahead, there were but the slightest of whitecaps on the low and rolling swells of the endless gray-blue waters.
Only when the Seastag was well clear of the harbor did Kharl approach the captain, standing beside the steering platform and slightly forward of the helm. The engineman stood to starboard and aft of the wheel.
“How long a trip, this time?”
“We’re low on coal, but we’ve got favoring winds,” Furwyl replied. “I’d guess four, maybe five days to Cantyl.”
Five days…five days before he set foot on lands that were his. That…that still seemed more like a dream. But he would see. He certainly would. In the meantime, he watched the sea and the shrinking outline of the coast.
Once the Seastag was well clear of the coast, Kharl climbed down the ladder and crossed the main deck, making his way to the carpenter shop.
Tarkyn looked up from his stool and the scrimshaw he had been carving. “Wondered if you’d get down to see an old carpenter.” Tarkyn’s voice was gruff as usual. “Or if you’d forgot where you started.”
“Don’t think I’ll ever forget that,” Kharl replied.
“What happened to the staff? You still have it somewhere?”
“No. Got broken in the fight with the wizards.”
“Must have been a real fight. Didn’t think anything could break it.”
“Wizardry and magery did.” After a moment, Kharl added, “Fighting wizardry did.”
“Wasn’t sure you’d make it. You more like fell off that horse when you brought Lord Ghrant back.”
“I wasn’t either. Felt like I’d been run over by a herd of lancers’ mounts. That was when I woke up days later. Wouldn’t let me do much for more than an eightday.”
“You get more than parchment from Lord Ghrant?”
“They tell me I’ve got some land-rocks, trees, and a vineyard-and some coins. Took what they offered. Probably stupid not to have asked for more.”