Ordermaster (39 page)

XLVIII

/liter the first eightday in the Hall of Justice, spent entirely in the library reading, Kharl wasn't sure that he understood any more than when he had first walked inside. He knew more, but the knowledge had not yet deepened his understanding. At least, he didn't think so. His routine was simple. He spent the morning there, rode back to the Great House for a midday meal, then returned and studied some more until close to sunset. The last half glass or so was spent with Jusof.

   
On fiveday evening he walked slowly into the dining chamber in the Great House. For a moment, he did not recognize anyone. Then he saw Norgen and Casolan seated at the larger table. They had ales before them, but no platters.

Casolan gestured. "If you would join us, Lord Kharl. .."

"I would not intrude."

   
"You'd not be intruding/' said the square-faced Casolan. "In fact, we insist."

Norgen nodded agreement.

   
Kharl sat down, gratefully. He hadn't been looking forward to eating alone. He'd been doing that too often, of late.

   
"An ale"-Norgen glanced from the serving girl to Kharl-"it is an ale, isn't it?"

"Pale ale, please."

"A pale ale for Lord Kharl."

"Yes, sers."

   
"You don't get to choose tonight," Casolan said. "It's stew. Only stew. They had problems in the kitchen."

   
"That's fine." Kharl looked at the two commanders. Both had circles under their eyes and appeared thinner than when he had left Valmurl. "How are matters with you both?"

   
The two officers exchanged glances. Then Casolan burst into a laugh, and Norgen shook his head, his lips twisted into a wry expression.

   
"We've had to recruit more armsmen and lancers, and retrain most of those who remained," Casolan finally said. "Half the new lancers think horses are wasted on anything but plowing. Half the junior officers have had full stables and have no idea about the need to pace a mount."

"Not half," suggested Norgen. "Just too many."

   
"The ones who know blades fancy themselves duelists, and those who don't treat a sabre like an ax." Casolan took a swallow of his ale, almost finishing the beaker.

   
"None of them think that they really need training, because wars don't happen often, and we've just finished one," Norgen added. "They don't see that training and discipline are necessary for more than just fighting. Some of them don't even see the need for training to fight. They just think that you charge with your mount and swing wildly at anything in sight."

   
The three paused as the server returned with another round of ales, and with three bowls of the stew-and two baskets of bread, only rye.

"No dark bread," observed Casolan. "What's stew without it?"

   
"I'm so sorry, ser," offered the serving girl, "but the molasses ran out..."

   
"It's not your fault," Casolan said politely. "It's probably not even the cook's fault."

   
"No, ser. It's not. Thank you." Before anyone could say anything else, she bowed and hurried off.

"What's the problem?" asked Kharl.

   
"The lord-chancellor discovered that the provisions steward for the Great House was, shall we say, taking a small portion of the accounts for his own uses. Some of the holders had not been paid in eightdays for supplies delivered here. Everything below the stairs is being looked at, and not everything has been ordered as it should have been because the steward kept it all to himself."

"So that no one would know what he was doing?" suggested Kharl.

   
Norgen nodded. "When someone wants to do everything by himself, it's a good wager that he either doesn't trust those working for him or that he's up to no good. Neither is a good sign."

   
Kharl understood that. Even as a cooper, if he couldn't train his sons or apprentices to be trusted, he wouldn't have been much of a crafter. "So the Great House has a new provisions steward, and he's having trouble finding everything?"

   
"So I hear. It doesn't help that some of the holders were favored with a few extra coins, and not because their provender was of better quality."

   
"It's going to take a while before the lord-chancellor can work things out," interjected Casolan.

Kharl did not envy Hagen.

"Where have you been?" asked Norgen.

   
Kharl debated momentarily about what he should say, then replied. "I've been studying law at the Hall of Justice."

"Law?" Casolan frowned.

   
"The lord-chancellor thought it might be helpful. I'm not sure yet, but I think I've learned a bit more about how Austra really works."

   
"I can see how that might be helpful for a mage," observed Norgen. "Whatever you do may affect someone."

   
"Glad it's not me," said Casolan, after a mouthful of stew. "Just as soon stay away from the Hall of Justice. You have to settle things there, and it's already more trouble than anyone should want."

"What have you learned?" asked Norgen.

   
"Mostly, that clerks and advocates and justicers write down everything, and that their writing is very small."

Both commanders laughed.

XLIX

Late on fourday afternoon, Kharl stepped out of the Hall of Justice and looked across the square toward the tavern. After almost another eightday in the library, Kharl's eyes and brain were weary. His initial impression had not changed that much. The law was a tool, as Jusof had stated; but it was a tool that, while varying between the bluntness of a cudgel and the focused deadliness of a stiletto, generally served the interests of those with property and wealth, especially the Lord of Austra. Still, like all tools, it depended on who was using it for what. That had also become clear from his readings.

   
He had decided that he needed a break from the fare at the Great House and arranged for Dorfal to meet him much later than usual in the square, after having asked Jusof about places to eat nearby.

   
"A tavern that would be appropriate for a lord? There are few of those." Jusof had paused, mulling over the thought. "The Silver Horse is said to be the best. It is just across the square. I suppose one would not find much trouble with an establishment but a few doors from the Watch Patrollers' headquarters."

   
Kharl had repressed a laugh at that. His experiences with the Watch in Brysta had left something to be desired.

   
Dorfal had not been exactly pleased when Kharl had told the young armsman that he would be eating at the tavern and to meet him later, but Kharl had insisted quietly. "I don't know enough about Valmurl, and where people eat tells something. Besides, I need to get out of the Great House more, and not only to the Hall of Justice."

   
At the recollection of Dorfal's glum agreement, Kharl smiled momentarily. Then he lengthened his stride and crossed the square. The Silver Horse stood out from the brick-fronted buildings on either side, neither of which bore signs identifying them, because its front was of dark timbers framing white plaster. The door was of time-blackened oak. Kharl opened it and stepped inside, closing it behind him.

A muscular woman in nondescript blue, with a gray apron, hurried up

to Kharl, then slowed as she took in the black jacket, trousers, and tunic. "Ah ... ser ..."

   
"I'm looking for a meal and a good lager," Kharl offered cheerfully. "I'm told you have both."

   
The woman smiled. "Yes, ser. Plain fare, but good. No ale any better." She looked over her shoulder. "Early enough we got a corner table." She turned.

   
Kharl followed her, then sat in the corner chair against the wall, the one from which he could see most of the crowd. "A lager or a light ale, if you have it. What do you suggest for fare?"

   
"Light ale's better, ser. Tonight, ser, the burhka's pretty good. Hot but not too hot."

Kharl hadn't had burhka in seasons. "That sounds fine. Dark bread?"

   
"Yes, ser. Five for the fare and bread. Three for the ale. When you please, ser." She hurried off.

   
She hadn't gotten more than a few cubits away, when another serving-woman, gray-haired, stopped her. "Who's that? Some advocate .. . ?"

"... think it might be Lord Ghrant's mage ... you want to ask him?"

"... think not... don't question mages. You keep serving him."

Within moments, the first server returned with Kharl's ale.

"Thank you."

   
"Yes, ser." She nodded and slipped away, glancing toward the other corner of the tavern.

   
Kharl's eyes followed hers. Opposite him was a small group of men, young but fairly well dressed. After a moment, he smiled. No wonder Jusof knew about the Silver Horse. Kharl could recognize the faces of several of the student advocates, not that he knew any of their names.

   
One of the advocates-to-be lifted a guitar and began to strum and sing. After a moment, the others joined in.

Kharl concentrated on the words.

"Our brave Lord Ghrant, he ran away,

came back to fight another day.

His found mage fought wizards and even more,

whupped 'em all in the age's shortest war.

"Our brave Lord Ghrant, he loved his land, ran and showed it but his left hand.

His brother lost his mages and his head,

and Lord Ghrant came back from the almost dead.

"Our brave Lord Ghrant, he knows so well when to fight and when to run and tell. But better a lord who knows where to flee than his brother who'd slaughter you and me!"

   
Several of those at the tables in the tavern laughed, heartily, but Kharl could only shake his head. Humorous as the song was, the point applied to him, and, like Lord Ghrant, it was more than clear that his running days were done, and that he needed to return to Brysta before Egen became yet another Ilteron-and before something happened to Warrl.

   
He paused, thinking. Just how likely was it that such a song could have been sung in Brysta about either Egen or Lord West? He doubted that the singers, wellborn students or not, could have sung such words about the ruler of the West Quadrant of Nordla-not without ending up either in gaol or suffering some other form of Egen's displeasure. In that sense, Aus-tra was much to be preferred to Nordla.

   
Yet... even without his debts to Ghrant and Hagen, Kharl knew he would have had to return to Nordla. Was it just because of Warrl? Or because he needed to see Brysta with fresh eyes? Or because he worried that he had not done enough for Sanyle and Jeka-especially Jeka?

   
"Your burhka, ser." With the burhka came a small loaf of dark bread in a basket, still warm.

"Oh ... thank you." Kharl slipped the server a silver and a copper.

   
"Thank you, ser." With a pleased smile, she gave the slightest of bows before leaving Kharl to his evening meal.

Across the tavern, the students were singing another song.

"Oh, clerks and justicers, justicers and clerks,

all that they love are their cases and their perks ...

With their ink-stained noses as black as a rook's,

their only pleasures lie in their files and their books ..."

Kharl smiled again and began to enjoy the ale and the burhka.

Jxharl made his way through the double doors of the Hall of Justice. He hoped to spend some time reading through the next-to-last section of Aus-tran Justicer Cases, suggested strongly by Jusof because Jusof had wanted him to finish those cases before they observed the day's proceedings in the Hall of Justice.

   
The mage used his sight shield to slip by the open chamber door of the lord justicer's chief clerk because he really didn't feel like another long lecture by Jusof on the law as a tool. Kharl had understood that the first time, and he doubted that he could keep from showing some impatience. Kharl knew Jusof was trying to help him, but sometimes what Jusof said lasted a full glass. Kharl suspected that was because Jusof was lonely, and because the older man knew that Kharl was honestly trying to understand the law for itself and not as a way to wealth or fame or both.

   
He released the sight shield as he neared the corner table, hoping that none of the student advocates happened to be looking his way.

"... see that?" whispered one of the young men.