“It was sent, nonetheless,” snapped Erdyl. “Your lord should have been more respectful of a mage who salvaged his rule for him.”
Kharl repressed the faintest of smiles.
“Nor is it exactly respectful,” Erdyl continued, “to send a boy of an undercaptain after displaying such disrespect.”
“But … he is Lord West …”
“Lord Kharl represents Lord Ghrant, the ruler of all Austra, and a domain many times the size of the West Quadrant.” At the chill in Erdyl’s words, Huard looked almost helplessly at Demyst.
The older undercaptain remained stone-faced.
“What has happened has happened,” Kharl said evenly. “Why did Osten send you?”
“Ah … he wishes to meet with you, ser.”
“Why?”
Huard glanced around the library, then finally looked back at Kharl. “I do not know.”
Kharl could sense that was not quite the truth. “Then I would suggest that you guess,” he said dryly. “I am not interested in meeting with Osten unless I know why.”
“It … might be about the harbor forts. The remaining rebels hold them. There are no cannon remaining, and the two gunships cannot be found.”
Kharl suspected that the two small warships of the West Quadrant would never be found, not unless someone found a way to search the bottom of the Eastern Ocean. “I will meet Lord Osten-at the foot of the oceangoing piers. He is not to bring more than a squad of personal guards.”
“He had thought … the Quadrancy Keep.”
“At the foot of the piers, at the third glass past noon. I will be there.”
“Ah …”
“You heard Lord Kharl.” Erdyl’s voice was cutting. “Lord Osten requested a meeting. He has it.”
“Ah … yes, ser.”
“Oh … undercaptain,” Kharl said politely. “I would also request your presence at that meeting. If you are not there, I will not meet with Lord Osten, either.”
“Me, ser?”
“I am only thinking about your health, undercaptain,” Kharl said.
At those words, Huard paled. “Yes, ser. Thank you, ser.” He bowed.
When the captain had left, Demyst laughed softly. “Scared the piss out of him, you did. Little snot deserved it.”
Jeka opened the door and slipped into the room. She looked at Kharl.
“Bastard Osten wants something from you. What?”
“He wants me to bring down the harbor forts, I’d wager. We’re meeting at the third glass after noon on the ocean piers.”
“Bastard tried to kill you.”
“He’ll deny it,” Kharl said.
“Still did.”
“There’s no proof. Osten and the five of us are the only ones alive who know what happened. That may be for the best.”
Jeka snorted. “You’re still going to meet him?”
“Yes. So long as the rebels hold the harbor forts, there won’t be any merchanters in here. We can’t leave, and neither can anyone else.” Kharl fingered his chin. “The rebels probably wouldn’t be holding out if Vielam didn′t happen to be with them, and Osten′s afraid that so long as he’s alive, the Hamorians will keep meddling. That’s not good for anyone.”
“Don’t like it,” said Jeka.
“You think I do?” asked Kharl.
“What will you do?”
“Take some precautions.” Kharl turned to Demyst. “Can you find a pair of good pistols that you can use?”
“Yes, ser.”
“Good. Now …″ As he spoke, Kharl just hoped that, among the four of them, they could cover most of the possibilities that would allow him to deal with both the harbor forts and with Osten’s treachery and duplicity.
LXXXVIII
Erdyl had suggested that Kharl keep Osten waiting. Kharl had demurred. “It’s better if I’m there first.” For one thing, Kharl could sense any changes that might reveal any treachery Osten planned. Also, Kharl saw no point in mere pettiness.
With Alynar seated beside him on the driver’s bench, Mantar drove Kharl, Demyst, and Jeka to the piers. Jeka was still attired as a young man, wearing openly the knives she had learned to use so well in her days as astreet urchin. The carriage came to a halt at the first ocean vessels’ pier at half before the third glass.
Before getting out, Kharl turned to Jeka. “I’d prefer that you stay here with Mantar and Alynar, but if you see anything that looks like trouble, let me know.”
“I can do that.” She nodded solemnly.
Kharl caught the gleam in her eye. He hoped she didn’t see trouble, because she’d be in it if she did. He got out and looked up to Mantar. “I’d like you to wait, but more toward the slateyard-that new barracks there-a little away from where Osten will show up.”
“Yes, ser.”
As the carriage moved away, Kharl walked onto the pier a good thirty cubits, stopping next to one of the heavy bollards nearly as tall as he was.
Demyst took out one of the pistols. “Good weapon. Wasn′t quite sure we could get these, but Sestalt has his ways.”
“We ought to make him the head of guards at the residence. Start a regular guard corps. It’ll have to be small.”
“I’ve mentioned the idea to him. Besides Sharlak, he has another man who might do well.”
“That’s all we can afford,” Kharl said. “For now, anyway.″
The moments drew out.
“You think he’ll come?” Demyst finally asked.
“Osten? He wants something that no one else can provide. He’ll come.”
“He won′t be happy.”
“He never will be.” After the words left his mouth, Kharl looked down at the worn and graying timbers of the pier. Was he like Osten? Not exactly, because he’d been satisfied with being a mage, even being a cooper-the undeniable satisfaction of a task well-done. But what about happiness? Joy even?
He glanced along the seawall toward the slateyard, where the carriage waited. “What do you think of Jeka?” he asked Demyst.
“Why, ser, if I might ask?” Demyst’s voice was quiet, deferential.
Kharl wasn′t certain what to say. “I came back here for her. Not just for her, but more for her than I knew.”
“That says something, I’d wager.” Demyst half smiled. “She didn’t leave your chamber that night after the battle. Don’t ever tell her I told you.″
“She doesn’t like to let people know she cares,” Kharl said.
“Begging your pardon, Lord Kharl, ser … but neither do you, not in words. You’d walk through chaos to save a friend, but you’d find it hard to tell him he was your friend.”
Kharl started to protest, then stopped. Had he ever told anyone he’d cared, or loved them? Warrl-but only when he’d had to leave his son with Merayni. After a long silence, he said quietly, “Thank you.”
“Ser …” Demyst broke off. “Riders coming down Cargo Road, ser. Looks to be Lord Osten, or … Guess he’s probably Lord West now.”
Kharl extended his order-senses toward the short column of riders. So far as he could tell, there was no chaos, and none bore rifles. That would doubtless change in the seasons and years ahead, now that the Hamorians had discovered how to keep the powder from being set off except by more powerful mages. Still, he stood ready to throw up shields.
“I count just two squads. Think he’s got a company holding farther up the hill.”
Kharl reached out farther to the north, then smiled. “He does.”
“He’s the type. Like your little Jeka’s words for him.”
“She’s not mine,” Kharl said with an embarrassed laugh.
“She’ll never be anyone else’s, ser.”
“She won’t belong to anyone. She has to be herself.”
“So do you, ser,” the undercaptain said.
“When you want to point out something, Demyst, you get very formal.”
“You are a lord, ser.” The undercaptain’s words were delivered in a humorously sardonic tone.
Kharl would have said more, but Osten had reined up at the foot of the pier and dismounted. Kharl focused his senses on the new Lord West, and upon the squad of armsmen that followed him. Leading the squad was Undercaptain Huard. His face was set … and pale.
Kharl could sense Demyst easing back, to give the two lords space to themselves.