“You need to take a guard, ser, someone in addition to Undercaptain Demyst,” Erdyl said quickly. “So we asked Alynar to accompany you.”
“Thank you.” Kharl glanced at the two armed men. “We’d best be going.” He turned and walked down the corridor to the front portico, then outside.
While Kharl and Demyst entered the carriage, Alynar settled himself next to Mantar on the right side of the driver’s bench seat.
The Quadrancy Keep was at the top of the hill to the northeast of the harbor, an ancient and sprawling pile of gray stone at the topmost end of the Lord’s Road. At perhaps a quarter before the hour, the carriage rolled up to the iron gates-closed and with three guards stationed outside-all regular armsmen, and not patrollers. Kharl could see a raised stone tower on the right, just behind the wall and gates, and he sensed several more armsmen there.
“Lord Kharl, the Austran envoy,” Mantar announced.
Kharl’s name was relayed to another armsmen on the inside of the gate, and several moments passed before the gate began to swing open. As the carriage passed the iron gates, Kharl noted the heavy oak gates behind them, held flush against the outer stone wall. An inner and higher stone wall stood another rod or so inside the outer wall. The inner gates were open, and Mantar drove the carriage into a courtyard beyond the second set of gates. There he pulled up opposite an arched entryway.
Two more armsmen flanked the archway.
As Kharl descended from the coach, a man stepped from the archway.
“I’m Mihalen, Lord Kharl, secretary to Ostcrag, Lord West.” The slender dark-haired man bore a sabre and looked as though he could use it. His eyes measured Kharl. “You look like you were once a marshal.”
“I’ve seen a few battles,” Kharl replied, with a slight laugh, “but not as a marshal.”
Mihalen’s smile was faint. “This way to the small receiving chamber, ser.” He turned and walked through the archway leading into the keep building. Beyond the entry was a small foyer, then a wide but dimly lit corridor. Mihalen kept walking.
Kharl followed.
Close to a hundred cubits down the stone-walled hallway, the secretary turned and stopped at a doorway. There he tugged at a bellpull. After a moment, he spoke. “Lord Kharl, the Austran Envoy, to present his credentials.”
“Show him in, Mihalen.”
The secretary opened the door and gestured for Kharl to enter.
The envoy and mage extended his order-senses … and paused for the briefest of moments. Somewhere beyond the door was a white wizard. Ready to raise shields or harden air, Kharl stepped through the open doorinto a chamber no more than twenty cubits by ten. The walls were of dark wood, and without painting or ornamentation, and the ceiling above was of plaster once white, but yellowed through age. The two high windows were open, but no breeze issued from either.
Four men were on the low dais at the far side of the chamber. Lord West, wearing a dress tunic of Brystan blue and gray trousers, but looking grayer and more frail than the one time Kharl had seen him before, was seated in a carved ebony chair. At his shoulder stood a younger man, close to Kharl’s age, with deep-set black eyes and blond hair cut carelessly short. His dress tunic was burgundy. Stationed at each end of the dais was an armsman, both in burgundy and blue.
Kharl took several steps forward before bowing. “Kharl of Cantyl, here to present my credentials as envoy of Lord Ghrant of Austra to the West Quadrancy, and its Lord.”
“And to his son, Lord-to-be, Osten,” replied Ostcrag. His voice was hoarse.
“Step forward, Lord Kharl,” suggested the younger man, “so that we can see you face-to-face.”
Kharl did so, stopping less than two cubits from the dais. “My credentials.” He took out the proclamation and sealed letter and extended them.
Osten stepped forward. He broke the seal and read the letter, then the proclamation, quickly and seemingly almost casually, before handing them to his sire. “They seem to be in order.”
Ostcrag took more time in reading through the documents. He kept the letter and handed the proclamation back to Kharl. “Welcome to Brysta, Lord Kharl. We honor you as envoy of Lord Ghrant.”
“Thank you.” Kharl inclined his head, then straightened. “In addition to my credentials, I bring a small token of Lord Ghrant’s esteem and respect.” Ignoring the probes by the white wizard for the moment, he extracted the pouch from his case and extended it.
Osten took the pouch as well, easing out the silver box, which he lowered for his sire to see.
“The Lords of Austra have always bestowed such small and exquisitely tasteful gifts,” Ostcrag replied.
“That is because the taste of the Lords of the West Quadrant are well known,” Kharl said, hoping he didn’t have to deal with too many more implied slights, but grateful for the time Erdyl had spent going over some of the possibilities.
Kharl could sense that the white wizard remained behind the hanging at the back of the dais. The wizard was not one as strong as those he had faced in Austra, but one with enough strength to throw firebolts and possibly detect untruths. Yet Kharl could say little about it, without revealing his own abilities. Then, he considered, he could not conceal them.
He looked directly at Osten. “You could invite your wizard to join us. I’m sure he would be more comfortable here than behind the arras.”
“There were rumors,” suggested Ostcrag. “You seem to be affirming them.”
“I have some order-ability,” Kharl admitted. “Enough to sense a white wizard, anyway. That takes little enough.”
“I am certain that Borlent feels more comfortable where he is,” suggested Osten.
Kharl merely nodded. “We all have our places and preferences.” Another phrase from Erdyl.
“Lord Ghrant has survived some difficult challenges in recent times. He must feel most confident-or most adventuresome-to send a mage of any sort to Brysta as an envoy.” Ostcrag’s smile did not extend beyond his lips.
“Times have indeed been difficult in Austra, but Lord Ghrant is most fortunate in having Lord Hagen as his lord-chancellor. Matters have improved greatly. Lord Ghrant is most interested in strengthening Austra within itself. He has little interest in adventures.”
“Not even in Nordla?” Ostcrag raised his eyebrows as if in disbelief.
“Lord Ghrant would hope that matters remain as they have with the four quadrants of Nordla. He would certainly not wish to support any change here.” Kharl managed to keep his expression pleasant, even as he could sense a swirling of chaos from the hidden white wizard. He stood ready with his shields, but the momentary spike of chaos behind the hanging subsided.
“Things always change,” observed Osten, his voice languid, at odds with his almost rigid posture.
“That is true,” Kharl admitted. “Lord West succeeds Lord West, and so long as the succession is proper, that is change as it should be.”
“Yet … small as you claim your talent for order-magery may be, Lord Kharl,” Osten said, “does not your presence suggest … a certain … proclivity … an indication that Austra might favor the policies of Recluce.”
“I don’t think so.” Kharl paused for just a moment. “Hamor uses whitewizards, but I would not claim that such use has ever meant that the emperor is inclined to follow the views of Fairven.”
Ostcrag laughed harshly. “One would hope not. In either case.”
“How are you finding Brysta?” asked Osten quickly. “Or have you been here before?”
Behind him, Lord Ostcrag nodded.
“I’ve seen Brysta from the deck of a merchanter before,” Kharl replied. That was certainly true, if definitely not the whole truth. “And I’ve traveled the streets.” He paused. “I could be mistaken, but I’ve seen no beggars at all on the streets since I’ve been here this time.”
“I’m glad that you have not.” Osten’s voice was hearty. “My brother has taken it upon himself to ensure that no such riffraff bother honest people.”