Mage-Guard of Hamor (18 page)

“Oh, not so much a change for Klassyn,” said Serita. “His family owns rather a great deal of land in the northwest. Somewhat isolated, I understand, but quite grand.”

“And for you?” inquired Rahl. “You seem equally at home.”

“We were comfortable.”

“More than that,” added Klassyn cheerfully.

Rahl could sense a certain coolness beneath the facade.

“Compared to your family, Klassyn, comfortable is appropriate.”

“I won't dispute you, not tonight. What about you, Rahl?”

“All Recluce is modest, compared to Hamor, and my background more so than most.”

“One would never guess it. You speak and comport yourself like a well-educated Atlan or Nubyatan.”

“I suspect that's in my favor,” Rahl replied.

Serita laughed softly. “You must have something to drink.” She raised a hand, and a server seemed to appear from nowhere.

“Ser, might I get you some refreshment?”

“A pale lager, please.”

The server slipped away.

“No leshak or brandy?” asked Klassyn. “The Emperor's leshak is not to be believed.”

“And probably what it does to those who are unprepared to drink it is also not to be believed,” Rahl said genially.

The server turned and offered Rahl a crystal beaker from a small tray.

Rahl let his order-senses check the lager, but it felt untainted, and he took the smallest sip. “The Emperor's lager is also quite good.”

“As it should be,” said Klassyn.

Another crimson-clad server slipped up next to the three, proffering a tray on which rested small pastry octagons. Rahl waited for Serita to take one before helping himself.

Klassyn ignored the server, instead continuing, “I understand you're going off to be a hero. As one of the old poets—Remyl, it was, said,

“Although,” he added, “Hamor is not actually your land of birth.”

Rahl smiled politely. “I'm afraid I'm not that kind of hero. I think such words reflect another time. Today,

Serita laughed.

“Some think times change, but they don't,” Klassyn replied. “As the ancient Cyadoran wrote,

“That's a good point,” Rahl conceded.

“Precisely. We all think that we and our times are different, but all situations result from people, and people don't change from generation to generation.” Klassyn offered a superior smile.

“Ah…but that same poet would not necessarily agree,” interjected another voice.

Rahl turned to see a slender man dressed in gold and crimson. It had to be the Triad Jubyl.

“He also wrote some other lines, such as

“Or,” continued the Triad,

“And since Cyad no longer stands, and has not for many, many centuries, it is fair to conclude that while human nature may not change, the circumstances do, and at times, the new is indeed new, and not merely a retelling of the past. But the trick is to learn when new is new, and when it is not.” The Triad turned to Rahl. “You must be Taryl's assistant.”

Rahl bowed. “Yes, Triad.”

“Save your bows for the Emperor. A simple ‘ser' will do. As you have doubtless surmised, I am Jubyl.”

“Yes, ser.”

“You are said to have considerable skill with truncheon and staff, enough to be considered as equal to an armsmaster with those weapons. Have you thought of seeking such a position?”

“No, ser.”

“Why not? It is a most honorable position, and those armsmasters with whom you have worked feel you have the ability to impart skills to others.” Jubyl smiled, not coolly, but as if with interest, although his personal shields hid all feelings except a general friendliness, most possibly projected in the way that Taryl had suggested Rahl attempt to cultivate.

“I had not thought of it. It might be because I feel that I still have much to learn, and that handling a blade is painful and difficult.”

The Triad nodded. “It is unwise to dream of what cannot be, but it is even more foolish to have no dreams beyond the present.”

How could he reply to that? After a hesitation, Rahl offered a smile. “I'm still trying to learn about what is possible and what is not.”

“If you can determine that, Rahl, you will have attempted what most never try, and fewer yet can do.”

Rahl could sense that both Klassyn and Serita were watching intently. Although they were out of comfortable earshot, both were capable of using their skills to catch every word. “I will keep your observation in mind, ser.”

“Oh…now you sound like the courtiers who used to flatter Hamylt.”

“Ser…if I say that I will determine what is possible, then I sound arrogant. If I say that I will act as I can, I will sound willful and stupid, and if I agree, then I sound weak and seeking merely to agree.”

Jubyl shook his head, still smiling. “That is the answer you should have given first.”

“I might have, ser, but I couldn't think of it that quickly.”

At that, Jubyl laughed. “A most honest answer.”

Before Rahl could say more, the Triad turned toward his assistants. “A word with you, Klassyn, if you would.”

Rahl watched for a moment as Jubyl steered Klassyn in the direction of the main doors to the Grand Parlor.

“Honeyed biastras, ser?” A server appeared with a tray, offering delicate pastry tubes.

Rahl took one, carefully, and ate it, finding it too sweet for his taste. At that thought, he smiled, knowing that his mother would never believe that he would find anything too sweet. He took a longer swallow of lager from the beaker he still held.

“Mage-Guard Rahl?”

The voice was Taryl's, but the formality of the address alerted Rahl, and he turned immediately.

With Taryl was a personage that could only be the Emperor. Surprisingly, at least to Rahl, the Emperor Mythalt did not wear crimson or gold, but a black-silk shirt with a white vest trimmed in crimson and white trousers with a single black stripe down the outside of each leg. He was not especially tall, a span less than Rahl, but his black eyes were alert, and his smile was warm. So were the feelings behind the smile.

“Highest,” said Taryl, “this is Mage-Guard Rahl. He was the assistant envoy on the mission to Recluce, and he acquitted himself well.”

Rahl immediately offered a bow. “Highest.”

“You are an exile from Recluce who registered as a mage and labored in Luba. Is that not so?”

“Yes, Highest.”

“How have you found Hamor?” A faint smile hovered on the Emperor's lips.

“Hamor has been far more welcoming to me than Recluce, Highest, and Overcommander Taryl has taught me much.”

“Did he tell you to say that?”

“No, Highest. He told me to keep my replies to you direct and short.”

Mythalt laughed. “Would that all those who serve Hamor followed that advice.” After the slightest pause, he added, “We wish you well and thank you for all that you have already done for us.”

“Thank you, Highest.”

With another smile, the Emperor nodded to Taryl and moved toward Jubyl.

Taryl did not follow the Emperor but remained beside Rahl. “A good touch. Short, polite, but not obsequious, and truthful. Now that the Emperor has recognized you, we need to mingle. Just accompany me.” Taryl eased toward a man in black and tan who was talking to another senior officer in a similar but not identical uniform.

Rahl realized that the first man was the Land Marshal who had preceded them into the Grand Parlor.

“Ah…Overcommander Taryl,” offered Valatyr. “Surely, you recall Sea Marshal Chastyr.”

“I do indeed.” Taryl inclined his head slightly.

“A pleasure to see you back in a more commanding role, Taryl,” replied Chastyr. “I understand your mage-guards in Swartheld got rid of more than a few of those Jeranyi vermin. It's too bad that you had to travel the whole Eastern Ocean to smooth the feathers of those self-important engineers in Nylan. Worth the effort to us, though.”

“It was worth the effort.” Taryl inclined his head to Rahl. “Rahl here was the one who uncovered the Jeranyi plot and managed to destroy the one pirate vessel himself.”

Valatyr nodded to Rahl. “A pleasure to meet you, Rahl. I told the Sea Marshal here that there was a reason the Emperor recognized you.”

Rahl inclined his head politely. “I've attempted to follow the example of the overcommander.”

“A good example, indeed,” said Valatyr heartily.

“Likewise, I congratulate you,” added Chastyr. “A pity you couldn't have gotten all those Jeranyi in Swartheld. The world wouldn't miss them. We certainly wouldn't.”

In turn, Rahl inclined his head to the Sea Marshal.

“Rahl was my assistant in Recluce and will be a part of the land campaign,” Taryl added. “We'll not keep you, but it was a pleasure to see you both again.”

Rahl followed Taryl away from the two marshals, and toward a woman standing beside two younger women, yet looking somehow alone. The taller and black-haired woman was attired in a deep green that matched her eyes. Her shimmersilk sleeves and scarf were of the same shade, but so sheer that they were nearly transparent.

“My lady Highest,” offered Taryl, bowing deeply.

Rahl followed Taryl's example but did not speak.

“Triad Taryl, I had hoped you would notice me.”

“One can never not notice you. That has always been true, and always will be so.” Taryl inclined his head. “Might I take the liberty of presenting my assistant, Rahl?”

“Indeed you might.” She turned the deep green eyes on Rahl.

Abruptly, Rahl realized two things he should have caught the moment he had first seen her. She was the Empress, and she was a healer.

“Yes,” she replied ambiguously, “and it is always a pleasure to meet a mage-guard who holds order.”

“Thank you, lady Highest.”

“Emerya. Lady Emerya is required and more than enough.” Her eyes and being were lit with a warmth that Rahl associated with the best healers. Without ignoring Rahl, she addressed Taryl. “I wish you well, and thank you for returning.” Her eyes returned to Rahl. “I also wish you well, Rahl.”

“You are kind, lady,” replied Taryl.

“How could I not repay such as you have done?” Her eyes flicked to her left, to the Emperor. “If you will excuse me.”

Both Rahl and Taryl bowed.

After that, Rahl lost count of the names and introductions.

When the time came for their departure, he was more than glad to accompany Taryl out through the marble halls and columns and back to their coach—waiting several hundred cubits away from the rotunda concourse, unlike a number of others lined up at the entrance. Most of those were far more ornately decorated than the one that had brought the two mage-guards.

“We don't need to make a departure,” Taryl murmured, but he said nothing more to Rahl until they were in the coach and had left the outer gate of the Palace well behind.

Then he turned to Rahl. “What did you think of the Emperor?”

Rahl wondered how he could respond to such a question. “An honest and direct answer, ser?”

“So long as we're in private, Rahl.”

“He's intelligent, good-hearted, and he chose his consort well.”

“That he did. Better than even he deserved but what Hamor needs.”

Rahl could sense something behind Taryl's words, but wasn't sure he should ask or even hint.

“What else? Was that all you noticed?”

“The Emperor is possibly too kind to be as effective as he needs to be. He seems like the kind of man who might give too many second chances.”

“He already has, especially to his brother, but he has begun to learn the costs of ill-advised kindness.” Taryl leaned back in the coach seat. “One of the hardest things to learn is when to offer kindness and when not to.”

“Is there any rule to that?”

Taryl laughed softly in the darkness. “Only that you will always make mistakes.”

Because it was end-day, far fewer mage-guards had been at breakfast, and Rahl had eaten alone. As Taryl had requested, after breakfast, Rahl waited outside the quarters entrance. Before long, a duty coach, one of plain and drab tan, halted. From inside the coach Taryl opened the door and gestured for Rahl to join him. Once Rahl was seated, the driver flicked the leads, and the coach eased away from the quarters.

“We have a short ride,” said Taryl.

Rahl managed to conceal his puzzlement behind his shields. “Yes, ser. Might I ask where?”

“We're going to visit an empty powder bunker.” Taryl's smile was polite and brisk.

Rahl sensed he would not get any more information, not at that moment, and forced himself to sit back, although he doubted he would find relaxing possible.

The coach turned east and, after a quarter kay, southward, proceeding past the troop barracks and along an older paved road that had been cut through another berm running east and west from the river. Beyond the berm were only grass-covered bunkers, and the coach pulled up at the third one.

Taryl got out and waited for Rahl.

Rahl descended from the coach and looked westward along the short stone ramp that led to the bunker's entrance—an open doorway below ground level.

“This will be another type of examination,” Taryl said. “It is obviously to your advantage to do as well as you can. Absolute failure could be quite painful, possibly deadly.”

Rahl managed to keep his irritation behind his shields. “Might I ask if this has anything to do with what my future assignment in the mage-guards will be?”

“Anything that you do, or fail to do, will affect your future,” Taryl said dryly. “Generally, total failure in any field of endeavor is painful and often deadly. I can only say that you will be examined through confrontation of all sorts, from verbal through order and chaos. You are to walk into the bunker and close the door behind you. Beyond that, I cannot say.”

Rahl thought he might have detected some concern behind Taryl's personal shields, but that could have just been wistful thinking. “Yes, ser.”

“When you are finished, I'll be here.”

Rahl wasn't exactly cheered by the older mage-guard's choice of words, but he nodded, then walked down the stone ramp to the door, heavy double-planked and ironbound oak. He stepped through the door and closed it, then turned in the total darkness. The floor underfoot was packed clay, not stone, and he could sense two figures inside standing ten cubits or so from him. Both were shielded, but one's shields were order-based, and the other's bore chaos.

“Step forward.”

Rahl couldn't tell which figure spoke, but he stepped forward until he was roughly three cubits away.

“Were you told to stop?”

“No, ser.”

“Why did you?” The questions came from the figure who radiated order, rather than the one who held chaos.

“Stepping forward usually means to meet someone, not to walk into or past them, ser.”

“You were born in Recluce, were you not?”

“Yes, ser.”

“You were exiled, were you not?”

“Yes, ser.”

“Explain why. Briefly, and without excuses.”

“I was and am what the magisters called a natural ordermage. I was unable to improve my skills under their teaching, and whenever I attempted to teach myself, I made severe mistakes. They decided that I was too much of a danger to Nylan and prepared me for exile—with the exception that I was not to attempt any active use of order until I departed.”

“Did you?”

“Not that I was aware of or that they told me, ser.”

“Did not this inability to learn suggest a grave deficiency in you?”

Even though Rahl knew that his interrogator was working to make him angry, he still felt irritation, although he thought he was keeping it behind his shields. “I may have a deficiency in being unable to learn certain aspects of handling order from merely reading—”

“
Merely
reading?” The words were mocking. “Merely reading?”

“From reading by itself without an effort to work out in practice what the words mean,” Rahl said evenly.

“Then that is what you should have said. Do you always use words that incite and irritate others, Mage-Guard?”

“I attempt not to, ser.”

“Attempting is not succeeding. As a mage-guard, what you attempt matters little if you fail. Effort is honorable, but meaningless unless it leads either to present or future success. Life does not reward pointless and unsuccessful effort. Why should the mage-guards?”

Rahl nodded, but did not speak.

“Answer the question, Mage-Guard. Why should the mage-guards reward pointless and useless effort?”

“They should not, ser, not unless it is useful in teaching a mage-guard or unless it leads to success either by that mage-guard or another.”

“You killed a superior officer in your last posting. While you may have felt it was justified, there is a real question as to whether it indeed was. Was it not just because you had failed to follow your captain's orders? Or because you actively flaunted those orders?”

Rahl had thought about that question more than a few times in the eightdays since he had left Swartheld. “No, ser.”

“That is a simple and convenient reply, but one with little meaning—except your conviction. Why did you not follow your captain's orders?”

“Begging your pardon, ser, but I did follow those orders. I did not understand at first the meaning of all that I had seen, and when I did tell the captain, he felt that I was exaggerating the seriousness of the situation. When I observed what was happening in the course of my assigned pier watch, I tried again to tell him, but he had already vanished. I believe, as does Overcommander Taryl, that he had already been killed by the undercaptain. Even so, I told the undercaptain, and he called me aside. There he insisted that I had disobeyed orders. Keeping one's eyes open while on duty and then reporting what one has seen to one's superiors is not disobeying orders. He attempted to kill me. Obviously, to me, and as events later proved, he was attempting to cover up what was happening. I was not skilled enough to disable or to immobilize him, and in trying to remain alive to report what was happening, I did kill him.”

“There was no way to stop him? I find that hard to believe.”

“There may have been, but I saw no other way at the time.”

“No other way? Are you so blind as to think that each situation has but a single possible resolution…”

The questions and insinuations seemed to go on forever.

Then, abruptly, they stopped.

“Raise any shields you require to defend yourself against a chaos-attack.”

Rahl did so.

A moderately strong bolt of chaos flared against Rahl's shields, then a stronger one. At the same time order hammered at them so hard that he was almost knocked off his feet. Abruptly, the packed clay under his left foot began to disintegrate.

Rahl forced himself to check the ground on both sides, then jumped farther to left and squared his footing.

A chaos-bolt that was more light than flame seared his eyes, leaving them watering, but he sensed that something else was coming.

A dart of iron, propelled by chaos-force, slammed into his shields, and then a small ball of chaos seemed to come from it and began to unlink his shields. Rahl erected a second set of shields behind the first, then collapsed the first around the chaos-worm or-serpent.

The serpent exploded, lifting Rahl and throwing him backward. While he held his shields, he had to scramble back to his feet.

A soundless scream shivered his ears, so loudly that they rang.

He could sense fog growing between him and the two figures, almost a miniature storm of some sort, and a small jagged bolt of lightning flashed toward him. He managed to turn it away from him, although it passed through his shields.

He could sense another forming. Immediately, he used order to gather the heat from the chaos-forces used and create a hot breeze directed at the miniature storm. The storm dissolved into fog—although it was fog he could only feel and not see. Then the fog vanished under the force of his hot wind.

Then…there was silence.

Rahl tried to sense what might be coming next, but he could only feel a growing chill, an arc growing larger, an arc that was likely to surround him before long.

How was he supposed to stop chill? He couldn't generate heat from chaos the way a chaos-mage could.

How were they creating the chill?

Order. It had to be order, so structured that it was lifeless.

He could feel the heat being sucked away from him. What could he do?

Movement!

He recalled Taryl's exercises and concentrated on a patch of clay on the ground just at the inside edge of the arc, beginning to move bits of order around, tugging at the ground under the arc, then linking order. Abruptly, he realized that the arc was linked together in the same way as the black wall of Nylan, but not nearly so intricately. With a smile he began to investigate the linkages, probing their “hooks.”

Light flared everywhere, and Rahl was flung backward. His shields cushioned him somewhat as he was shoved into the stone wall beside the door, but he had to take several gasping breaths.

He thought the explosion had knocked down both other figures, but by the time he could gather himself together, they were apparently standing where they had been.

“You may go, Mage-Guard.” The words were cool but not cold, impersonal but not mocking or indifferent.

As he stepped out into the midday sun, Rahl understood that he had been tested on the limits of his abilities and personal control. That had been obvious. Why was another question.

Taryl was waiting, standing beside the coach.

Did he look relieved or worried? Or merely disinterested? Rahl wasn't certain.

All emotion was concealed behind impenetrable shields, as Taryl said calmly, “The driver will take you back to the quarters, then return for me and the others. We will meet in the library after the evening meal. It is much smaller than the one at headquarters, but it will suffice. It appears likely that we will embark on the lead river steamer before long, but I should know more by tonight. In the meantime, I would suggest your reading the manual on tactics for cavalry and other mounted units. I took the liberty of leaving a copy on the desk in your quarters. It is yours to use and keep for as long as necessary.” Taryl nodded.

Rahl returned the nod, climbed into the coach, and closed the door.

As the coach pulled away from the bunker, he tried to think about everything that had occurred. First, Taryl had pushed and pressed him to develop every possible order-ability he might possess. Second, Rahl had been introduced to some of the highest officials in Hamor and been recognized by them. Third, he had been effectively examined twice, once in arms and once in order and chaos. Fourth, Taryl had pressed him to learn what he could about healing.

All of that suggested that Taryl was preparing him for something. Was it that the overcommander had deep concerns about what awaited the forces being assembled to deal with the rebellion? Rahl didn't know, but what he did know was that Taryl was being mysterious, and the longer they had been in Cigoerne, the more mysterious he had become.

Taryl clearly didn't trust either Triad Fieryn or Triad Dhoryk, but if he didn't, why had he been recalled from Luba? Or had he asked Jubyl to be recalled? Or was something else happening?

Rahl shifted his weight on the coach seat, realizing something else. He was going to be sore and stiff.

Following Taryl's advice, Rahl returned to his quarters and began to study
Mounted Tactics.
Because he had ridden little and had no military experience, he read slowly, and had only gone through two long basic chapters by dinnertime. He consoled himself that the reading had taken so long because he had actually drawn out some of the simple maneuvers to be able to understand them. He did wish the manual had more diagrams.

He brought the manual down to the mess but kept it tucked inside his uniform.

At the evening meal, Rahl looked to see Taryl, but the overcommander was not seated at the seniors' table, which held but a few officers, who appeared to say little to each other. Rahl sat across from the garrulous Bertayk and another younger captain named Uhlyr. To Rahl's left was Sevala. The place to his right was empty.

“Word is that you went off in a formal coach last night with the overcommander,” Bertayk said cheerfully, spearing two slices of mutton marinated in firemint. “Word also is that you went to the Imperial Palace. What's it like?”

Rahl laughed gently. “Big. The halls are wider than the mess. The columns are tall and white, and there are guards in crimson everywhere.”

“How did you get that lucky?” persisted Bertayk.

“When you're the assistant to an overcommander, you go where you're told and try not to be obvious.”

“Did you see the Emperor?” asked Sevala. “What does he look like?” Her interest was genuine, Rahl felt, and she was less pushy than Bertayk.

“I only saw him in passing,” Rahl replied. “I'm just a mage-guard. He wore black and white and a vest of some sort. He seemed to spend a little time with each of the senior officers. Both the Land Marshal and the Sea Marshal were there.”

“You were with some powerful officers,” observed Uhlyr.

“I was with one powerful mage-guard overcommander,” Rahl said with a smile. “I wouldn't have been there if I weren't his assistant. I'm sure all of those officers knew that.” Rahl helped himself to the mutton and to the laced potatoes, breaking off a section of the thin fried bread.

“This is your first tour in Cigoerne, you said the other night,” offered Sevala, after a sip of what looked to be dark ale. “How does it compare to Nylan?”

Rahl grinned, thankful for the question. “There's almost no comparison. Cigoerne is far larger, and the buildings are far taller…” He went on to describe Nylan at great length and in extreme detail. By the time he finished, so was dinner.