Mage-Guard of Hamor (31 page)

“I thought Recluce only exiled chaos-mages.”

“I'm a different kind of ordermage—the kind they didn't know how to train. So they decided I'd be better off elsewhere.”

“Sounds like they thought they'd be better off if you were elsewhere.”

“That, too,” Rahl replied.

Drakeyt shook his head slowly. “You could have fooled me. You speak so well I just thought you were one of those Atlan merchant heirs whose family discovered he was a mage and bought him the best training possible.”

“It would have been nice to have that kind of coin behind me,” replied Rahl with a laugh, “but it didn't happen that way.”

“We'd all like coins, but we're just poor captains of the Imperial High Command.” Drakeyt paused. “Or poor mage-guards drafted to help poor captains.” He yawned. “It's been a long day. I'm about to turn in.”

“That was my thought,” Rahl said. “Good night.”

“Good night, Rahl.” Drakeyt's smile seemed warmer, although Rahl couldn't have said why.

Rahl turned and climbed the creaking stairs to the second level slowly. Tired as he was, he still wanted to write at least a few lines to Deybri. Writing made him feel closer to her, and at times when he wrote, he felt she was just around a corner or beyond a door. That had to be his imagination, but it felt that way all the same. He tried not to dwell on the impossibilities of any future with her. He'd worry about that after the campaign against Golyat was over.

Drakeyt and Rahl were finishing breakfast before muster when Khasmyr appeared in the public room and crossed to the table where the two officers sat.

“Sers,” began the second squad leader, “word is that Captain Rahl ordered Cheslyn to see you two this morning.”

“That's right,” Rahl replied. “After muster. You were meeting with Quelsyn at the time when I told him.”

“Captains,” began Khasmyr, “Cheslyn's a good trooper in a fight. Did well in that mess in Worrak. He doesn't always see how some things might not be wise, but…” The squad leader paused and looked at Rahl. “…gaming with friends isn't a real offense.”

Rahl smiled politely and extended his hand. In it were the knucklebones he'd taken from Cheslyn. “I took these from him last night. That's all I did—except I asked him to see Captain Drakeyt and me this morning.” Rahl gestured to the table beside them. “Roll them. Several times.”

Khasmyr looked to Drakeyt. The older captain nodded.

The squad leader rolled the bones twice, then a third time, a fourth, and a fifth, before he looked at Rahl. “Begging your pardon, ser. I didn't know.”

“I didn't want to call him out in front of the others,” Rahl said. At the same time, he hadn't felt much surprise from the squad leader, almost as if Khasmyr had expected something like loaded bones.

“It might be best if you were with us, Khasmyr, when Captain Rahl tells Cheslyn that there will never be another pair of weighted bones in second squad.”

Rahl appreciated Drakeyt's way of conveying what was necessary. Khasmyr should be present, but Rahl hadn't thought about that. He glanced toward Drakeyt, then Khasmyr. “I should have let you know sooner. Would you prefer to bring Cheslyn yourself after muster?”

“Yes, sers. That might be best.” A faint and ironic smile followed. “If you'd excuse me, sers?”

“See to your squad,” Drakeyt replied.

The squad leader nodded, then turned and left the public room.

Rahl was surprised that the squad leader felt little resentment and hoped that was because Khasmyr understood Rahl's inexperience.

Drakeyt grinned. “He's a good squad leader. He managed to let you know that you'd bypassed the chain of command without being either obsequious or offensive. You acknowledged and rectified the situation, and he accepted that.”

“I won't do that again. I mean, I'd stop Cheslyn, but I'd hunt down the squad leader…” Rahl shook his head. “You told him, didn't you, and you told him how to handle it.”

“Of course. It works better that way.” Drakeyt rose from the table. “We might as well get saddled up.”

Rahl followed him.

He had the gelding saddled and was waiting outside the inn stable with Drakeyt under a gray sky that suggested rain—but would not deliver it, Rahl felt—when Khasmyr appeared with Cheslyn.

The squad leader stepped back and waited as Cheslyn presented himself to the two officers.

“Sers, you wanted to see me?” Cheslyn was far more subdued than he had been the night before.

Drakeyt nodded to Rahl.

Rahl opened his hand and revealed the knucklebones. “These are very well weighted bones, Cheslyn. A man wouldn't fail to make his point often with these. Sooner or later, he might get stabbed or strangled in his sleep, but until then he'd make his points. A friendly game of bones for a few coppers isn't anything an officer needs to get upset about, but a game where someone's using weighted bones is something else. Sooner or later, you'll end up dead if you keep that up. Or someone else will. You're a good trooper, your squad leader says. We don't like losing good troopers. I don't know if the squad leader told you, but I'm an order mage-guard. That means I can tell when someone's cheating. You're not ever to cheat other men out of their coins. Ever. Is that clear?”

“Yes, ser.”

“I'm also telling you that there won't be another warning. The next time you'll be flogged or dead.” Rahl smiled politely and extended his shields until they pressed against the trooper for a moment. “Even when we're assigned to the High Command, mage-guards can execute Codex breakers without going to a court-martial or a flogging board. Is that clear?”

Cheslyn had paled somewhat at Rahl's words and extended shields, and he did not reply for a moment. “Yes, ser.”

“Good. You can return to your duties.”

“Yes, ser. Thank you, ser.” Cheslyn turned.

Khasmyr escorted the trooper toward the other end of the stable.

“About now,” Drakeyt said, “Khasmyr will be telling Cheslyn that he's lucky to be alive.”

“And that he's fortunate you're his commander and not me?” asked Rahl with an ironic smile.

“He probably won't say that.”

The intimation was that Khasmyr wouldn't have to.

“Why don't you take fourth and fifth squads out along the road to the south and see what you can find out on the west side of the road?” said Drakeyt. “Quelsyn can go due west with second squad, and I'll take first and third south on the east side.”

Rahl nodded. “I'll see what we can find.”

“There probably won't be much, but you never know. Don't push the mounts.”

“I won't.” Rahl knew too well that Drakeyt wanted an easy day for the horses—and the men.

This time, the scouting went exactly as Drakeyt had surmised. Rahl found no signs of rebels, no tracks, and no holders or turf-cutters who had seen any sign of either.

When Rahl and fourth and fifth squads returned to Fhydala while the sun was still above the western horizon, if barely visible through the clouds that had gradually thinned throughout the day, four troopers were waiting on the narrow porch of the Turf Inn.

“Ser, Captain Rahl?”

“Yes?”

“You have a dispatch bag from the overcommander. Have you seen Captain Drakeyt?”

“He should be here before long. He was patrolling to the southeast.” Rahl turned in the saddle. “Squads, dismissed to your squad leaders.”

“We have command, ser.”

Once Fedeor and Fysett had ridden with their troopers past Rahl and across the square to the Red Coach, Rahl dismounted and tied the gelding to the iron ring on the brick hitching post, then climbed the three steps to the porch.

“Here you are, ser.” The trooper handed a leather pouch to Rahl, tied shut with a simple knot.

“Thank you.”

“Our pleasure, ser.”

Rahl walked to one side of the porch and untied the pouch. He didn't feel like sitting, especially on one of the hard wooden backless benches. In the leather bag were two envelopes. One bore a Mage-Guard seal; the other was addressed to him in Kysha, but in care of “Mage-Guard Overcommander, Merowey.” The handwriting was feminine, and the single initial on the seal was a “D.” Deybri. She'd written him. How had she thought of sending it in care of the overcommander? Did he dare open it? Was it a sweet and polite dismissal? Could he expect any more than that? He couldn't take that thought, not at the moment, and he slipped her letter inside his riding jacket.

The other had to be from Taryl, and the sooner he opened that one, the better. He used his belt knife to slit it carefully, absently noting that the edge of the blade bore a slight white sheen of chaos that he had not felt before. He read quickly but carefully.

Except for the elaborate “T” at the bottom, that was the extent of the dispatch. Rahl folded it and put it back into the envelope, then slipped the letter and pouch under his arm before leaving the porch and remounting the gelding. He rode to the stable at a walk, thinking.

White wizards supporting the rebels? It made sense if Fairhaven wanted to weaken Hamor. But would weakening Hamor really strengthen Fairhaven? Outside of trade, Hamor hadn't had that much to do with Candar, and especially with Fairhaven. From what he'd observed in Nylan, Rahl could see that weakening Hamor didn't benefit Recluce. Wouldn't the same be true regarding Fairhaven and Hamor? Did Fairhaven see Hamor as a potential enemy?

He shook his head. Any land that was strong could be considered a potential enemy. He replaced the letter in the pouch and walked down to his mount, leading the gelding to the stable.

Once he stabled and unsaddled his mount, Rahl forced himself to take his time in grooming the gelding. The mount shouldn't suffer because of his impatience. Besides, he wasn't certain he wanted to know what was in the letter from Deybri.

Just as he finished and was ready to leave the stable, Drakeyt led his mount in.

“How did it go?” Rahl asked.

“Same as always. No one's seen anything. No one's heard anything, and there aren't any tracks anywhere. What about you?”

“The same,” Rahl admitted. “It's like they just left this part of Merowey alone.” He paused. “Did you get the dispatches for you?”

“There was just one. The submarshal wants us to stop and wait for him at Saluzyl. According to the maps, it's fifteen or twenty kays from Dawhut, maybe two days' ride from here the way we've been going. We're not to scout closer than ten kays.”

“Did he say why?”

“Submarshals never explain. Not this one. That's all he said.”

“I got a dispatch from the overcommander. He wrote about the same, but he also said that some Fairhaven fast frigates avoided the fleet and ported in Nubyat. He thought they might have some white wizards on board.”

“That's all we need—more chaos types for the rebels.”

“They didn't send fleets or large numbers of troops,” Rahl pointed out.

“Of course not. They'd prefer to cause trouble with as little cost as possible.”

That description fit more than a few people, Rahl thought, and Puvort came immediately to mind. Rather than exert himself in the slightest, the magister just pushed people into exile, and some of the magisters and magistras in Nylan weren't much better. For that matter, he conceded silently, some in Cigoerne seemed the same way—especially Cyphryt, but he wasn't so sure about Fieryn, either.

“See you in the public room?” asked Rahl. “I'm going to wash up.”

“In a bit.”

Rahl tried not to rush back to his small room. Even so, he permitted himself a smile once he was alone there and had the letter out and in his hand. He stood beside the window, letting the last light of day fall on the envelope in his hands.

He could sense that it had not been opened and that the seal was intact. Equally important was the sense of order around the seal. Somehow…it
felt
like Deybri. He used the tip of his belt knife to slit the envelope—carefully—then smoothed out the single sheet of paper and began to read.

Rahl was afraid to look at the next words, and he glanced out the window, toward the sun that was sinking below the rooftops to the west. After a moment, he turned back to the letter and continued reading.

Her deepest affection? Those words sounded as though she actually might recognize that she loved him. Yet…would she accept that? Could she? His eyes returned to the top of the page.

After rereading her letter, Rahl folded it and slipped it inside his tunic, smiling. At least, she hadn't closed off all possibilities—even if he had no idea how he would manage to see her again…or when.

He might as well wash up and meet Drakeyt for dinner. After that he could begin to wrap up the letter he had been writing to Deybri so that he could have it ready for dispatch.