Free Ordermaster by L. E. Modesitt

there was a small section of a hedgerow. There, Kharl found a spot that was sheltered from casual view and released the sight shield. While he did not feel as weak as he had after the encounter with the rebel lancers and the white wizard, he could sense that he needed to rest. He drank some more from the water bottle and finished the cheese and dried apples—and another biscuit that was also mostly pieces and crumbs.
    After he had refreshed himself, he peered northward through the screen of branches and winter-gray leaves. A handful of tents rose from the highest point in the meadow to the northwest of the hedgerow, and around them were mounts on tie-lines and armsmen in groups, seemingly waiting. Beyond the meadow were the smoldering ruins of what had been Lord Lahoryn’s large country house.
    Kharl had to wonder why they had burned it, rather than just taking it. Or was the rebels’ plan to make an example of Lord Ghrant’s supporters? It didn’t make much sense to him.
    Beyond the hedgerow was more of the damp meadow grass, and he would have to cross a good half kay of open ground. He just hoped there were no dogs around because they would sniff him out, even if they couldn’t see him.
    He took a long and deep breath, then drew the sight shield around himself and stepped away from the hedgerow.
    Step by step, he made his slow way toward the tents. After less than ten rods he had to circle more to the east to avoid a line of mounts and the lancers tending them. He listened as well as he could as he slipped past.
    “. . . not that hard . . .”
    “. . . just an old man and his people . . .”
    “. . . would have liked to have gotten that girl before . . .”
    “. . . she’s spoils for the lords . . .”
    By the time Kharl had circled around more lancers and mounts, reoriented himself, and headed back toward the low crest in the middle of the meadow, he felt soaked inside and out, from the high damp grass, from the damp mist that was becoming more like a fine rain, and from his own sweat. With each step, his feet sank into the soft ground, and he could feel the chill dampness inside his boots.
    From what his order-senses told him, there were but five tents, the two in the center being the largest. He eased between two of the smaller tents, both empty, and toward the nearer of the larger pair. There, he paused near the rear canvas wall. There was no need for him to enter the tents, but the first larger tent was vacant as well.
    At the sound and sense of someone coming, Kharl edged closer to the canvas, standing beside a guy rope. An armsman strode past. The man paused, looked around, shook his head, then continued toward the next large tent.
    Kharl waited, then followed. While the armsman circled to the front of the tent and the two guards stationed there, Kharl made his way close to the rear canvas, where he listened.
    “Lord Kenslan, Undercaptain Giron, ser.”
    “Yes, undercaptain?” The voice was simultaneously surprisingly high and yet hard.
    “You had asked for a report. Lord Ghrant’s black mage came up the orchard road. He set some sort of trap that killed a handful of our lancers. The mage Alborak and the lancers chased him back south. We don’t have a report on what happened yet.”
    “Thank you, undercaptain. Let us know what occurred as soon as you hear.”
    “Yes, ser.”
    There was silence within the tent until the undercaptain was well away.
    “Where is Yarak? Alborak is barely a wizard. That mage of Ghrant’s could be more than he can handle.”
    “Yarak had another task. He went to make sure that our plans are not revealed. What Ghrant’s mage can do is limited. He is black, not white.” There was a laugh. “Kenslan, you worry too much.”
    “Malcor, you worry too little. I have good reports on what that mage did. That’s why I suggested to Fostak that a stronger wizard would be necessary if we were to be successful. And you sent him off on this . . . fool’s errand.”
    “Vatoran