“I worry … someday, ser …″
“So do I,” replied Kharl.
“I’d best be getting them positioned.” Demyst slipped away into the darkness.
The force approaching the residence through the darkness was less than half a kay downhill, when Jeka reappeared. “Got everyone down in the cellar. Wanted to know why. Told ‘em that Egen sent a white wizard. Better stay down there’less they want to get burned. That right?”
“That’s right.”
“Undercaptain’s got Cevor, Alynar, and Erdyl up top with crossbows. Erdyl said he was a good shot.”
“Probably is.” Kharl felt a slight twinge of something. Jealousy? He was too old to be jealous, and in too much trouble to worry about it. “He doesn’t boast.”
“You don’t, either.”
“I try not to.”
The street and the other dwellings seemed suddenly silent, hushed as if the very structures knew that danger neared.
Kharl thought he heard hoofs on brick, but that might have been his imagination.
He kept waiting until he was certain that the muffled clop-clop-clop was indeed nearing and not something he just thought he heard.
“They’re almost here. Keep down!” he hissed at Jeka.
“I’m down.” She was crouched beneath the low stone half wall that formed the outside edge of the portico around the residence.
As the lancers drew up in the street below the residence, Kharl wondered why they were waiting-and for what. He could sense but a single white wizard, and an effort to collect free chaos.
Four lancers rode toward the gate. Between them they carried some sort of ram-sling that swung into the gate. Thud!
The four backed off, then rode forward again.
With a second thud, the gate, more decorative iron than barrier, broke open, and the four lancers turned their mounts.
As the remainder of the lancers shifted formation in some fashion, Kharl forced himself to remain behind the shelter of the stone. Then something flew past him, and the window behind him and to his left shattered, spraying glass into the residence. Flame flared up. The crossbow bolt had carried chaos.
What could Kharl do? For a moment, he just stared. Then he reached out with his order-senses, and hardened the very air around the chaos-flame, clamping a small order shield around it. The flame died. After a moment, he released both barriers, but the flame did not rekindle.
He could sense another flare of chaos headed toward the residence, and he threw up an order shield. Chaos flared against the shield, lighting the night like a lightning flash that vanished. In that moment, Kharl peered out.
Crack!
He jerked his head back. The lancers had rifles, and they were using them.
Crack! Crack! …
Another chaos-filled bolt smashed through a window to Kharl’s left. This time, he managed to smother it immediately with order and hardened air.
The reports of the rifles came more quickly, and Kharl could feel the bullets flying toward the residence and past him.
What could he do about so many rifles? He hadn’t faced those before, not in such numbers. He tried to think. Rifles meant powder, even if kept within soft iron.
He extended his order-senses, but all but two or three lancers were beyond his reach for what he needed to do, and sweat was already streaming down his face.
Those he could reach would have to do.
All he needed was just to unlink a small bit of the order in the iron … just a small bit. His entire body felt hot, as if he were about to catch fire. Then, the unseen, but strong links began to unravel, and Kharl flattened himself against the stone.
Whhhstt … CRUMPT!!!
The entire residence shook. Flames shot up from the front rank of the lancers, and parts of the trees overhanging the street began to smolder.
A wave of death surged over Kharl.
The lancers were dead, and so were their mounts, so quickly that there were no screams-just ashes and several charred figures of men and horses, those farther away from the point where Kharl had unbound order and released pure deadly chaos.
For all that, Kharl could sense the shields of the white wizard, just beyond his reach. Raising his own shields, he eased sideways across the portico.
″No …″ whispered Jeka.
Kharl kept moving, taking the steps down to the drive.
Whhhstt! A firebolt arced toward him, splashed across his shield.
So much sweat was streaming down his face that his eyes stung, and hecould barely see. He had to get to this white wizard before the man tried to flee. Kharl didn’t want the other white wizards to know any more than they might gather from a distance about him, and he certainly didn’t want to deal with three or four at once. That could happen if this one escaped. Kharl had barely managed two at a time before, and that had been chancy, even with lancers supporting him.
Two firebolts flashed at Kharl, one right after the other. Both sheeted around him. Kharl felt as though he were standing in the middle of one of his coopering fire pots, but he kept walking toward the attacking wizard.
The white wizard was still mounted. Even from fifty cubits away, Kharl could see that he was young. He didn’t look that much older than Erdyl. A look of surprise had appeared on his face as he saw Kharl walking through the gate that the lancers had battered open.
Whhstt! Another firebolt flared toward Kharl, spraying around him as he walked forward, readying his own attack.
With the next firebolt, Kharl created the shield that deflected the chaos back at the young wizard, then struck by hardening the air around the man.
The wizard froze in the saddle, then slowly toppled sideways. A flicker of chaos whispered toward Kharl, then died as the younger man struck the bricks of the street. Kharl still had to hold the hardened air shield for a time before the other man died.
He took a deep breath. He still knew of no way to capture chaos-wizards-not that would keep them from escaping. From what he knew, he wasn’t sure that there was a way. Or maybe he just didn’t know enough.
When he released the shield, the figure of the wizard, young as he had looked, shimmered, and disintegrated into dust.
Kharl turned and trudged back to the residence.
Demyst and Jeka were waiting on the portico-both shielded by stone pillars.
“Ser?” asked Demyst.
“They’re dead. All of them.” Kharl sank onto the half wall, half-sitting, half-leaning. White points of light flickered in and out of his vision. “Need to eat, drink. In case someone else comes.” He straightened slowly, then walked into the residence.
He hadn’t done that much heavy magery recently, and it showed. He also hadn’t eaten that much the night before, and that hadn’t helped, either. So many things to think about.
Demyst headed up to the third level. Kharl knew someone up therehad died, and he hoped that it hadn’t been Erdyl. Then, he hadn’t wanted anyone to die.
He settled into a chair in the breakfast nook.
Jeka reappeared with a wedge of cheese and some bread. “You want lager?”
“Please.”
“The others can come up from below?”
Kharl nodded, then, realizing she might not see the movement in the darkened room, added, “Yes. Won’t be anything happening for a while.”
Kharl sat in the darkness, slowly chewing some bread. His mouth was so dry he was having trouble swallowing, and he was grateful when Jeka reappeared with a pitcher of lager. She found a beaker and filled it. He took a careful swallow, then sliced a piece of cheese off the wedge with his belt knife. He had trouble holding the knife, but managed.
As Kharl slipped the cheese into his mouth, Demyst entered the breakfast room, followed by Erdyl.