Mage-Guard of Hamor (15 page)

“It's not mentioned in any of the readings or the legends, and none of the magisters said anything about it,” Rahl replied carefully.

“The more I hear about what they don't teach, the more I have to wonder how long the isle will remain strong.” Taryl snorted.

“The engineers teach more, but they're not…” Rahl didn't really want to finish that sentence.

“Yes? What?”

“They only see things their way, and if you ask questions that don't fit, they get unhappy.”

Taryl laughed. “That describes most people in most lands. We all want things our way.”

“You were talking about that link…”

“I don't know how it could be accomplished, nor do I wish to know that, nor would any honest mage ever want to wreak such violence on another. It could kill both parties.”

“Was that why they died young?”

“It could be. It also could be that they were so linked that one could not survive the other's death.” Taryl used a cloth to blot his face.

“What plans do you have for me for tomorrow?”

“Not that many.” Taryl smiled. “But you'll need to pack all your gear tonight. We'll be leaving headquarters right after breakfast and traveling to quarters at the High Command. But don't forget to practice with trying to see the weather. I'll expect a report while we're traveling tomorrow.”

“Yes, ser.” Rahl had forgotten about the weather exercises, although he had actually managed to order-lift one of the tiny iron cubes rather than just to push it across a smooth surface.

After leaving Taryl, Rahl walked up the narrow steps that led to the small stone-walled platform above the quarters wing. It was late enough that he doubted anyone would be on the platform, and it was easier for him to sense what little he could about the weather when he was outside. He thought it might be easier yet if he were higher. Taryl had only mentioned the platform, but it was no secret, and he'd seen others using the steps.

The door that opened onto the platform was secured only by a latch. Rahl paused, letting his order-senses extend out beyond the closed door, but there was no one on the platform. He opened the door and stepped into the night.

The evening air was still—cool and heavy. The slightest hint of a breeze wafted across his face, coming from the east-northeast. Rahl walked to the stone balustrade on the north side of the platform—a space no more than six cubits on a side—and faced into the light breath of air. He stood there, not so much concentrating as letting his order-senses be one with the air, trying to feel the dispersed water in it, and the various patterns that it created.

More to the east, over the Swarth River, there was a greater feel of water in the air, and beyond that, much higher in the sky, there was even more. He almost laughed. There were clouds there that he could make out because they blocked the stars, and he certainly didn't need order-sensing to determine where there were clouds he could see.

Were there clouds beyond the ones he could see?

He tried to let his order-senses feel what lay beyond the nearer clouds, and while he had a feeling of more water in the air, he could not be certain. Slowly, he let his senses range across the skies, moving slowly around the platform as he did. In the end the only dampness in the air near Cigoerne seemed to be that to the northeast, but he had no idea whether that meant rain, although he thought he had felt some motion toward the city.

When he felt he could do no more, he left the platform, but he was careful to latch the upper door behind him. As he walked down the stone steps toward his single room, he thought about the weather. Taryl had said that weather was nothing more than heat and water. People and animals and everything that lived held some water. Rahl didn't know how much, but there had to be some. And most land, except the deserts, held water. So did most air. So…if he could sense weather, at a distance, why couldn't he sense other things? Even sense them with a glass the way Taryl said some mages could?

The second-level corridor to his room was empty, although it didn't seem all that late to him, but it could be that many of the mage-guards were at the Staff and Blade. Abruptly, Rahl had to wonder what had changed. When he'd been an apprentice scrivener, he couldn't wait to go out, either to play plaques with Sevien or just to share talk and redberry or ale. Now, it didn't seem that important.

Once he was back in his room, he slid the door bolt into place, then took the mirror off the wall and laid it flat on the small writing table. He sat down at the table and looked down at the mirror. His own face looked back at him.

What should he do? How did one look for someone or something? Whom could he seek out? It should be someone he knew, but not a greater mage-guard. That might be embarrassing, or even dangerous. He also did not think it wise to seek anyone who might encounter him casually.

Idly, he wondered what Edelya was doing. Then he let his order-senses reach for an image of what he recalled of the blond mage-guard.

The glass silvered, and fog seemed to swirl somewhere beneath the shimmering surface. Slowly, a face appeared in the center of the glass, wreathed in fog, a sleeping face. Abruptly, Edelya's eyes flew open, and a look of fear appeared, and her mouth opened as if she would scream.

Rahl was so startled by her reaction that he released all his order-hold on the glass. It was just a mirror once more. He found he was breathing faster, and he was slightly light-headed. He didn't want to lose the feeling of what he had done, but he certainly didn't want to try to look at anyone—or not another mage. It was clear that Edelya had felt something. Could all mages sense being seen through screeing?

After resting for several moments, Rahl decided just to see if he could view the platform from where he'd sought out the weather. This time, he tried to visualize looking eastward toward the scattered lights of Cigoerne. Once more, the glass silvered over, then showed swirling mists, and slowly, indistinctly, an image emerged, foglike, but clear, showing a section of the ring road and the Northern Boulevard, stretching eastward.

Rahl could feel himself getting light-headed, and he tried to relax, not to use so much effort. That seemed to help, but he could still feel the strain, as well as the sweat beginning to roll down the sides of his face. He stopped, and found he needed to take several deep breaths.

Had he succeeded? Or had he imagined it? He looked down more closely at the mirror. A thin line of frost ran around the outside edge of the glass. He touched the glass there. It was so cold that for a moment, it felt like he'd burned his fingertip. He'd definitely done something.

Rahl smiled. Perhaps…just perhaps…if he practiced…if he worked at it…he might be able to obtain a glimpse of Deybri.

He wiped his forehead and blinked. A white oblong caught his eye—the still-unsent letter to Deybri. He smiled, if but for a moment.

Taryl—and the ancient poet—had both mentioned, if in different ways, that consorted mages could develop a link. Was that what he felt with Deybri?

He shook his head. That sort of thing only happened in legends and ancient poems. Anyway, it was just wistful thinking. Or dangerous thinking. Or both. Would he want someone, even someone as warm as Deybri, knowing his every feeling? Yet why did he feel so much for her? It hadn't been like that with any other girl—or woman. But…what use was there in pursuing such thoughts? No matter how accomplished he became with order-skills, none of the magisters would let him return to Recluce. In fact, he suspected that the more accomplished he became, the less likely they would be to allow him to return.

If it weren't for Deybri…would he even care?

Yet…Hamor was far more dangerous than he had realized, even with Taryl's efforts to help him and guide him.

He almost laughed as he recalled that, in its own way, Recluce had also been dangerous.

With a last glance at the letter, he rose from the writing table. Slowly he opened the narrow wardrobe. He bent down and pulled out the canvas gear bag and set it on the foot of the bed.

He took a deep breath. He still had to pack.

On fiveday at breakfast, Rahl sat between Devalyn and Fientard, and, mindful of Taryl's suggestion, even before joining them, had strengthened his personal shields and tried to overlay them with a “wash” of friendliness.

“I have to ask,” Fientard said, after eating several mouthfuls, “where you got your arms training. Khedren was impressed, and so was Elatyr, and they aren't often pleased.”

Rahl could sense Devalyn's increased attention, as well as that of others, but he just smiled, holding friendliness in front of his shields. “I'd have to say that I owe much to my father. He put a truncheon in my hand almost as soon as I could hold it.”

“He was a patroller or mage-guard?”

“No. He was a scrivener, but he was very good with the truncheon and not bad with the staff.” Rahl waited a moment before continuing. “I also worked with some armsmasters in Nylan, and then with Khaill in Luba, and then with the armsmaster in Swartheld.”

“Nylan?” Fientard frowned. “I thought you were from Atla or Merowey.”

Rahl shrugged. “That's just how I learned to speak.”

Devalyn frowned. “You didn't mention you were trained as an order armsmaster.”

“I wasn't. They tried to teach me about both order and arms. I didn't learn much about order, but I did learn something about arms before I got sent to Swartheld.”

Fientard was the one to frown. “And the mage-guards made you a clerk there?”

Rahl laughed, a slight struggle while maintaining tight personal shields. “Oh, no. I was a clerk. I didn't have that many order-skills, but I was working for an outland trading outfit, and I was registered…” He explained quickly how he'd ended up in Luba as a loader without any memory and his progress from there.

The armsmaster's assistant nodded slowly. “Makes sense. Also explains a lot.”

“What do you mean?” asked Devalyn.

An embarrassed smile crossed Fientard's face before he responded. “More than a few mage-guards only learn weapons because they have to. They think that chaos will always save them. Doesn't always happen that way.”

“I don't know about that,” Devalyn replied. “Why are there so many chaos types compared to order types?”

“That's only here in Hamor,” Rahl replied. “The Balance applies to the entire world. The ordermages in Recluce could ask why there are so many order types as compared to chaos types.”

“There's something else to think about,” interjected Rhyett from down the table. “Chaos is more suited to attacking, and order more suited to defending. On land, anyway.”

“You won't solve that question by discussion,” said a mage-guard Rahl didn't recognize. “It's how each is handled….”

Rahl was more than happy to let others debate. He had the feeling that the less others knew about his ability, the better.

Once he finished breakfast, Rahl started out from the mess when Taryl appeared and gestured to him. “I'll be a while. It might be midmorning.”

“Khedren asked if I could help him. Would that be all right for a time?”

“Until midmorning. If I'm through before that, I'll get you.”

“Yes, ser.”

Before going to help Khedren, Rahl went back to his quarters room and made sure that his gear was ready to go. Then he walked back to the arms exercise building in back.

Most of what Rahl did for Khedren was to illustrate specific moves with the staff, then make an attack on each of the mage-clerks of the sort that could be blocked, parried, or countered with the move they had just been shown.

Rahl found it more tiring than he'd thought it would be because there was no telling what some of them would do.

After the group had left, Rahl looked at the armsmaster. “That's hard work.”

“But necessary.” Khedren grinned. “You've got the makings of an armsmaster, leastwise with staff and truncheon.”

“I thought you had to be a chaos type for that.”

“Most are, but…if you're good enough to beat a master blade with a staff or truncheon…there have been a few.” Khedren shook his head. “You'll do better than that. That's if you listen close to Taryl.” He paused. “You'd better go. Wouldn't want to keep him waiting.”

Rahl did have a chance to wash up a bit before he carried his gear down to the waiting coach. He had no sooner eased his gear into the small luggage compartment at the back of the coach, beside Taryl's two larger canvas gear bags, and closed it than the driver appeared to slip a latch clip in place.

“Wouldn't want anything falling out, ser.”

“That we wouldn't.” Rahl offered a smile, then scrambled into the coach and eased past Taryl to the side away from the door.

Because he sensed Taryl was preoccupied, he said nothing, just watched through the open window, glad of the slight breeze generated by the motion of the coach as it headed eastward on the Northern Boulevard. The area around Mage-Guard Headquarters was meadow, or grasslands, for almost half a kay in all directions. Then there were dwellings and small shops. Rahl caught sight of the Staff and Blade—the tavern he'd never visited in the short time he'd been at headquarters. Rahl wondered why they were headed back into Cigoerne, rather than taking the ring road as they had before. Doubtless, Taryl had some reason, but Rahl wasn't about to ask at the moment.

They'd traveled slightly more than a kay when Taryl looked up, and asked genially, “What can you tell me about the weather?”

“Ah…there aren't any clouds close, except to the northeast, and there are more farther to the northeast. There's some water in them, and the wind is still blowing out of the northeast.” Rahl shrugged. “I can only guess that there might be some light rain here by tonight. That's just a guess.”

“Keep practicing. You'll get better at it.” Taryl nodded. “You were carrying stronger personal shields when you got in the coach. That's good.”

“It's work,” Rahl admitted.

“Did you help Khedren this morning?”

“With staff demonstrations and practice,” Rahl admitted.

“He thinks you could be an armsmaster. If you could be more patient.”

Rahl thought he'd been very patient with the uppity mage-clerks. “He told me that, ser.”

“But what?”

“Ah…” Rahl wasn't quite sure what to say.

“Yes?”

“Was I that bad when you and Khaill started working with me?”

Taryl laughed. “No. But you'd already had considerable training. You were doubtless that bad when you started.”

As the coach neared the intersection with another wide avenue, the driver slowed, then turned southward. Like some of the avenues and boulevards in Swartheld, the one they now traveled held a wide center area landscaped in trees, bushes, and gardens, with a center paved walkway. Larger homes, not quite estates, flanked the avenue, with low walls around them. Most of the small mansions were square or oblong and appeared to have central garden courtyards. From what Rahl could see, there were more impressive dwellings along the Western Avenue than in all of the parts of Swartheld that he'd seen.

After a moment, he spoke. “Ser…I do have a favor to ask.”

“Yes?” Taryl raised his thin eyebrows.

“I still have this letter I'd like to post.”

The overcommander nodded. “I thought you might. I asked the driver to go by way of the Great West Avenue, then the Southern Boulevard to the River Road. We'll pass the south city mage-guard station, and we'll stop there.” Taryl lifted his satchel. “In the meantime, I have another exercise for you.”

Taryl took out a thin sheet of iron and laid it on his lap. Then came three small iron boxes without tops, and finally came a small square of iron. “While you're not looking, or using your order-senses, I'll put the small cube under one of the boxes, and we'll shuffle them around, and you use your order-senses to tell me which box it's under.”

Rahl nodded warily. That didn't seem all that hard, but usually with Taryl what seemed not all that hard was anything but easy. He looked away until Taryl cleared his throat.

“You can try now.”

Rahl extended his order-senses—and realized that each of the upside-down boxes had been imbued with enough free order to mask what was—or was not—inside it.

“Well?”

Rahl concentrated, trying to sense any minute variation in the amount of order or…something. Finally, he said, “The one closest the window.”

Taryl lifted the box. There was nothing under it. “Look away. You can try again.”

It took Rahl five attempts before he realized that Taryl had changed the amount of order in the covering boxes themselves to conceal the small metal cube. Then he got the placement right the next three times.

“Good. Now…we'll try a different variation.”

Rahl had been struggling so hard with Taryl's exercise that he really hadn't paid too much attention to their surroundings, but he could feel the coach slow again as the driver turned back eastward.

“This time should be a little more difficult,” Taryl said.

Once more, Rahl was stymied and couldn't discover where the target metal cube was hidden—until he realized that Taryl had placed a miniature order shield around the cube. By probing for such a shield, Rahl could find the cube on the first attempt.

By now, his forehead was damp from the effort.

Abruptly, Taryl looked up, then leaned out the window and called to the driver, “Don't forget to stop at the south mage-guard station.”

“Yes, ser. It's about a half kay ahead.”

Taryl set aside the metal board and boxes, placing them on the seat across from him, rather than back in the satchel.

As the coach eased to a halt outside a two-story stone building that could have been a duplicate of the Swartheld station, Rahl eased the letter out from inside his uniform shirt and extended it to Taryl. “Here's the letter, ser.”

Taryl took the envelope, studied it for a moment. “Everything's on it, and you've got a clear hand. Good.”

“Oh, ser.” Rahl extended four silvers. “I think this should be enough.”

Taryl took the coins. “That looks about right. I'll let you know if it's more or give you the change.” He opened the coach door and stepped out. “I'll be back in a bit. I hope it won't take too long.”

Why would it take too long? Rahl frowned.

Without even the slight breeze caused by the coach's movement, and even with both windows open, the passenger compartment felt warm and close. Rahl glanced at the metal board and the boxes and the metal cube, then probed them with his order-senses. They were just what Taryl had said they were—worked iron, not black iron, or anything else.

He still had to wonder what the purpose of the exercise might be, although he knew that Taryl did nothing without a reason.

Rahl settled back in the seat and waited…and waited…and waited.

Finally, Taryl reappeared, followed by a squat mage-captain who stood outside the station as the overcommander reentered the coach.

“I'm sorry, but I had to spend a little time with Captain Myelr. He'll make sure that it won't get intercepted.” Taryl settled himself in the seat, and the coach pulled away and back out onto the Southern Boulevard.

“You must know most of the captains.”

“Not most, but many.” Taryl extended his hand. “Here's your change.”

“Thank you.” Rahl took the three coppers.

“Now…back to the exercise. You've mastered the simple parts. We'll see about the more complex ones, now.”

More exercise practice? More complex?

Why was Taryl pushing him so hard? From what little Rahl had seen at headquarters and from his time at Swartheld harbor station, he knew most other mage-guards weren't pressed to improve skills the way Taryl was pressing him, and he also knew his skills were better than those of most mage-guards, especially of those close to his own age.

Taryl grinned. “You could practice keeping your feelings of irritation and resignation behind shields, too.”

Rahl did sigh.