Mage-Guard of Hamor (32 page)

Two days later, just past midafternoon on fourday, Third Company reached Shaluzyl, another town set amid widely spaced low rolling hills. The spaces between the hills were filled with heavily worked bog meadows, many of them abandoned and filled with black water. Neither the scouts nor the outriders nor Rahl had discovered any sign of rebels or traps, but Rahl couldn't help but wonder how long it would be before they encountered either or both.

As they rode into the town, Rahl could make out several brick buildings that looked to be distilleries, with chimneys seeping gray smoke against a sky that was as much gray as green-blue. The brick houses were neat enough, but older, and the bricks were dingy, doubtless from years of smoke from the distilleries, and the air held the same pungent odor as it had in Fhydala.

The chandlery in Shaluzyl was fair-sized and across the square from the Inn of the Dun Cow. As the company drew up in formation, Rahl turned in the saddle and said to Drakeyt, “Once we get everyone quartered, I think I'll go over and talk to the chandler. We're close enough that he might know something, and what he's selling or not selling or can't get should tell us something.”

“The chandlers in the past haven't been too helpful,” Drakeyt pointed out.

“They've told us that there weren't any rebel forces or strangers, and that seemed to be right.”

“They missed the mages and saboteurs.”

Rahl wasn't quite certain how to respond to that. After a moment, he asked, “Do you have a better idea about whom in town we should question?”

“You might as well question him. Then we can claim that we've done our best when the marshal complains, not that he'll listen to us. I just don't think questioning people here is going to tell us much.”

“Probably not, but how will we find out if we don't try?”

Drakeyt shrugged. “We'd better get on with dealing with quarters and food.”

Rahl nodded. He was still going to talk to the chandler.

As in the other towns, the proprietor of the Dun Cow was willing to take script for quartering and feeding Third Company, but it was late afternoon by the time Rahl finished helping Drakeyt with quartering arrangements. Then he had to stable and groom the gelding. After that, he left his gear in the small room and walked to the chandlery.

The white-haired chandler was beginning to close the inner shutters when Rahl walked through the door. He turned.

Rahl saw that the man had but two fingers on his left hand. “Good evening.”

“Evening, Captain. You're almost too late. You interested in some good riding fare? Or replacing some gear?”

“I might be interested in the fare. If it's not too costly. What do you have?”

“Hard white cheese wedges, and some dried beef strips. I've got some biscuits, special-like, a pack for a copper.”

“Those might be useful,” Rahl admitted. “Could I see them?”

“Over here, Captain.” The chandler's two fingers pointed to a table against the wall. “In the tin on the left.”

Rahl opened the tin. The riding biscuits were squares a span on a side and of a finger's thickness. Rahl suspected it would take strong teeth to chew them, but that they might fill his stomach at times. “How long will these last before they spoil?”

“Two seasons if you keep 'em dry.”

The chandler believed what he said, Rahl could tell. “How many in a pack?”

“Five, but I'd make it six for you.”

“Two packs, then.” Rahl could have bargained for a lower price, but it had been a long day, and that wasn't his purpose in being there.

“Have to wrap 'em in grease paper unless you got a biscuit tin.” The chandler smiled. “Got one of those, too. Old, but clean. Could let you have it for three coppers. It'll hold fifteen biscuits.”

Rahl laughed. “How about half a silver for the tin and fifteen biscuits?”

“Suppose I could do that. Have to be for coin, not script. Been slower than I'd like lately.”

“Coin it is.” Rahl handed over five coppers. “Slow as it is, you still must get some travelers from Dawhut.”

“Not many. Not these days, Captain. Just those who want to sell me the things I don't need more of because there aren't that many travelers.”

“Are there any at all coming from the coast?”

“Not travelers.”

“Then who?”

“Coast city traders and factors, looking for goods, or to sell 'em.”

“What do they tell you about the rebels?”

“What rebels?” The chandler snorted. “Closest rebels are a good hundred kays southwest of Dawhut. The High Command garrison in Dawhut's got three companies. My cousin there…well, he's really Aviera's second cousin, but he's selling all he can get from everywhere else in Merowey because the rebels aren't letting any goods leave the coast.”

Three companies in Dawhut? Then why hadn't they done any scouting? Or sent any scouts or messengers? Or had they, and had the rebel mage-guards captured or killed them? The latter possibility didn't seem that likely to Rahl, but he couldn't disregard it.

“What about goods here? Is anyone selling much?”

“Big thing is the Vyrna, and business there is piss poor. The Emperor won't let ships leave Nubyat, and the distilleries are stocking up Vyrna in barrels, hoping it's all over before long. A lot of folks sold their garden produce when one of the factors from Nubyat came up here last eightday. Some sides of mutton, too. Didn't think much of letting go of what they had for coin, but they will. They will. Can't eat coin, and prices'll go up come late winter and spring.”

“You didn't, I take it?”

“I'm just a town chandler, but I know when I'm looking at a long winter.”

“Produce wouldn't keep for that long, not on a wagon back to the coast.”

“Not fresh, but he had pickling barrels in his big wagon, and lots of salt.”

“There weren't any rebel troops with him?”

“Haven't seen a one. Aviera said they were staying away from the main road. Wouldn't have been surprised if the fellow with the pickling barrels hadn't already sold what he got before he'd even delivered.” The chandler finished packing the biscuit tin and handed it to Rahl. “Here you go, Captain.”

“Thank you. Have you seen or heard anything else that might be of interest?”

“The factor fellow was looking for bitumen. Didn't find any. The only place you can get that is in the hills north of Elmori. Other than that, haven't heard or seen anything…or anyone. Suppose that's of interest, seeing as we usually get more travelers this time of year than in summer or harvest.”

Rahl could sense that the older man wasn't hiding anything and had said what he knew. “I appreciate the tin, the biscuits, and the information.”

“I appreciate the coppers, Captain.” The chandler smiled.

Rahl inclined his head, then turned and left. Even before he'd taken more than a few steps across the square toward the inn, the chandlery was shuttered and locked.

Drakeyt was standing on the front porch of the Dun Cow, looking northward at the puffy white clouds that were moving southward. “Rain, you think?”

“Not tomorrow, or not from those clouds,” replied Rahl.

“What have you got there?”

“A biscuit tin, filled with biscuits.”

“When a mage-captain buys hardtack biscuits…” Drakeyt shook his head. “That doesn't sound good.”

“The chandler said a factor was here an eightday ago, buying all the produce he could get, and pickling it. Some mutton, too—salting it.”

Drakeyt frowned. “So the rebels have taken steps to load up on supplies.”

“That's my guess. The chandler's, too. Oh, the factor from Nubyat was looking for bitumen, too.”

Drakeyt winced. “They're looking to make Cyadoran fire. Nasty stuff.”

“They didn't get any here, but there's supposedly some north of Elmori.”

“We'd best hope that they don't ship a lot to Nubyat.”

“Did you know there were three companies in Dawhut?”

“I wouldn't be surprised,” replied Drakeyt.

“Why couldn't they keep the roads open and deal with the few rebels that there are?” asked Rahl.

“Three companies three hundred kays from Nubyat are enough to hold a large town,” Drakeyt pointed out. “That is, if the rebels don't send ten companies and if the companies don't get whittled down in piddling engagements.”

“So these traps were designed to whittle them down?”

“More to slow and whittle us down. The rebels had to know that the majer in Dawhut wouldn't risk troopers on road patrols. He might even have had orders to hold the town. That could be why we've been ordered to wait for the submarshal.”

“Because he's worried that there might be rebel forces around Dawhut? Or because the majer might attack us if we tried to enter the town.”

Drakeyt shrugged. “It could be either. We'll find out when we start sending out scouting patrols tomorrow. We wouldn't want the submarshal to encounter any surprises.”

“I should be with one of the patrols near the main road,” Rahl offered.

“I'd thought you would be,” Drakeyt replied. Then he smiled.

Rahl couldn't help grinning…but only for a moment.

Later, after eating with Drakeyt, Rahl retired to his small room. There he sat on the edge of the bed, using the small washstand as a desk, under the dim light of the single lamp, trying to find the right words to close his letter to Deybri so that he would be able to dispatch it as soon as Taryl and the submarshal's forces joined them.

He murmured the words, “I have just received your letter…”

No, that wasn't right.

“We are in the small town of Saluzyl, and I've read your letter four times already since I received it two days ago…”

He frowned, then shook his head. What he needed to do was to write a short cover letter expressing his feelings in response to her letter, and then enclose with it the more lengthy correspondence he had been writing a bit at a time. But how could he begin? Finally, he began to write, one slow word at a time.

This time, he did sign it, “With all my love.”

Was he being too bold? Assuming far too much?

He tightened his lips. He might be too bold, but he did not think he was assuming more than was warranted. Deybri would never have committed what she had to paper if she had not felt even more strongly than what her words had spoken.

After a time, he sealed the letter and addressed it.

Although he blew out the lamp, he lay on the lumpy inn bed for a long time, thinking, before he dropped into an uneasy slumber.

When Rahl rode back into Saluzyl on sixday at the head of fourth and fifth squads, after a second day of patrols that had revealed nothing more than what he'd learned from the chandler two days earlier, he found the town filled with troopers and wagons, but no one hindered him as he formed up the two squads in the area between the stables and the Dun Cow.

Another trooper rode up even before Rahl finished dismissing the squads to their squad leaders, but he reined up and waited until Fedeor and Fysett released their men to care for their mounts. Then he eased his mount over toward Rahl.

“Captain Rahl, ser?”

“Yes, trooper?”

“The Mage-Guard Overcommander sent me to escort you to headquarters.”

Headquarters? Rahl supposed headquarters was wherever the submarshal declared it to be. “Lead on.”

“Yes, ser.”

The ride was short, less than a quarter kay, by the time Rahl reined up in front of a moderately large but modest-looking two-story stone dwelling surrounded by a chest-high brick wall. Rahl had not seen the dwelling before, because it had not been in that part of town he had scouted. The roof was of dark gray tile, and the wooden trim was painted white. The area between the front wall and the house was a garden, not particularly well kept, Rahl noted, with more than a few wilted and dead flowers that should have been cut or trimmed eightdays before. Guards stood at the open gates that flanked a lane leading to a separate stable. Neither gave Rahl more than a passing glance as he rode past them.

Rahl dismounted at the side of the dwelling and tied the gelding to a hitching rail.

“Rahl! Over here,” called Taryl from a roofed and railed side porch.

Rahl had to vault the railing because the porch had no steps down to the side yard. He glanced past Taryl at the etched-glass window beside the door into the dwelling. The image was that of two roses with crossed stems—a thorn rose and a white rose without thorns.

The overcommander followed his eyes. “Submarshal Dettyr has requisitioned this dwelling as his temporary headquarters while he assesses the situation in Dawhut. It belongs to one of the leading citizens of Saluzyl, one Shawyn. He owns the larger distillery.”

“He's not around? Or he doesn't object?”

“Would you, in his position? He's wealthy and in a rebellious district, and he has offered no support to the Emperor.”

Rahl just nodded.

“You look good,” observed Taryl. “Your reports to me have been helpful and will prove more so in the future, but that isn't why I sent for you. I wanted to talk to you briefly before you meet with the submarshal. He has a few words for you and Captain Drakeyt. The captain arrived just before you and has been waiting. I would like to caution you to say nothing to dispute what the submarshal has to say. He is in a foul mood, and he will not be kind. After he dismisses you, you and I will discuss matters. Is that clear?”

“Yes, ser.” Rahl didn't like what Taryl was telling him, but the overcommander had always been fair before, and he had reasons for everything.

“Good. We shouldn't keep the submarshal waiting.” Taryl opened the door into the mansion and stepped through the doorway.

Rahl followed. The parlor inside was not much warmer than outside, but the lack of wind made it feel far less chill. Rahl glanced around the chamber—a good fifteen cubits by nine or ten. A polished rose marble mantel graced the hearth, centered on the wall opposite the door to the outside porch. To the right of the hearth, in which a fire was laid but not burning, was an archway to a center hall. The parlor held two maroon-velvet settees, set at right angles to the hearth and facing each other, several fruit-wood armchairs with seats and backs upholstered in the same maroon velvet, and a small writing desk in the corner formed by the front wall and the outside wall. Under the two large front windows, whose base was some two cubits above the floor, was a low bookcase, on which rested two bronze sculptures. One looked to be a Cyadoran mirror lancer. At least, it looked like a drawing of such a lancer he'd seen in one of the histories. The other was a man in garb Rahl did not recognize. The floors were polished but worn dark oak, and a large oval rug covered most of the parlor floor.

Rahl had expected opulence in the Imperial Palace, but the casual display of such wealth in a town in the middle of Merowey somehow unsettled him.

“Rahl…this way,” Taryl said firmly, but in a low voice.

“Oh…yes, ser.”

Taryl crossed the center hall to the door on the other side and knocked, then opened it. “Submarshal, Captain Rahl is here.”

Rahl crossed the hall and waited.

“Thank you, Overcommander. If you would have both captains join me. This will not take long.”

Taryl motioned for Rahl to enter, then stepped back, leaving the door open. Rahl took three steps into the library and waited. The chamber was the same size as the parlor, but held little furniture except an ornate carved desk and chair, two wooden armchairs without upholstery, and a polished dark oak library stool stepladder. The fireplace mantel was of green marble, and floor-to-ceiling bookshelves of dark oak covered the walls—except for the area of the two front windows and an outside door to another porch. The window hangings were of dark green velvet and half-drawn. Neither the wall lamps nor the one on the desk was lit.

Before the submarshal could speak, Drakeyt arrived, and Taryl shut the door on the three, remaining outside.

The submarshal's uniform was spotless, and his boots shimmered, as did the balding patch in the middle of his thinning brown hair. His watery green eyes were cold, and he radiated displeasure. Rahl was getting the feeling that the man was never pleased with anything, and that he wouldn't know what to do if he couldn't find fault with something, if not everything.

The library remained silent as Dettyr glared at the two captains. Finally, he spoke, his voice hard. “Third Company was sent out to scout the roads and report on any enemy activity.” Dettyr looked at Drakeyt. “Was this not so, Captain?”

“Yes, ser.”

“And you, Captain Rahl, were supposed to detect difficulties before they escalated into major problems. Was that not so?”

“Yes, ser.”

“Yet…” Dettyr drew out the word. “…all your dispatches only reported that your efforts created more problems, rather than resolving them. You killed one out of three rebels you captured, and the other two were worthless as sources of information. You triggered an avalanche that partly blocked the road, killed several troopers, and delayed our progress. You tripped an arrow trap that killed a scout, and you lost half a squad in a flood you should have stopped, and that flood destroyed the only bridge across the sole sizable river on the entire line of march. You seemed unable even to avoid a mere flood. Again, the one additional prisoner you managed to capture was drowned in the flood, and we gained almost nothing from that, except your sketchy reports on what he reputedly said.” Dettyr's eyes went first to Drakeyt, then to Rahl. “Have I omitted anything, Captains?”

He'd omitted the arrow traps that Rahl had found that hadn't killed anyone, and he'd totally mischaracterized almost everything.

“I don't believe so, ser,” replied Drakeyt evenly.

Rahl could sense a combination of anger and resignation from the older captain, and he forced himself to say, “No, ser.” He also managed to keep his shields in place and his face pleasant, although holding an impartial expression was difficult.

“As scouts and as Imperial officers, you are supposed to act to preserve the roads and bridges of the Empire, not to facilitate their destruction. I cannot tell you how displeased I am that I have been forced to employ troopers and fighting engineers to repair structures and highways that should never have been destroyed.” Dettyr paced back and forth in front of the cold hearth, not looking at either officer.

Rahl waited.

“Your performance, Captains, has been marginal at best, and in that evaluation, I am being most charitable. Do you understand?”

“Yes, ser.” What Rahl understood was that the submarshal was even less competent than the marshal, and that someone had planned for it to be that way. He couldn't imagine that either the High Command Overmarshal or the Land Marshal could have chosen an idiot like Dettyr as the best qualified senior officer to be Marshal Byrna's deputy. Then again, Rahl hadn't been all that impressed with Land Marshal Valatyr on their one brief meeting.

“Good!” snapped Dettyr. “I trust I will never have to remind you of the need for better performance and accountability again.”

“No, ser.”

“You may go.”

“By your leave?” asked Drakeyt.

Belatedly, Rahl echoed the words.

“My leave, Captains. Close the door after you depart.”

Rahl turned and followed Drakeyt, closing the library door quietly, but firmly.

Taryl motioned to Rahl from the archway to the parlor, then led Rahl out onto the side porch, while Drakeyt headed down the center hallway in the direction of the front entry foyer.

“I didn't say anything,” Rahl said quietly. “Except agree.”

“It took a great deal of willpower not to object, didn't it?” asked Taryl.

“More than a little.”

“I'd like you to think about what he said for a bit. What did he say that was true, and what was not? How did you link them together?”

Rahl didn't say anything for a moment. Did Taryl know just how abusive Dettyr had been? And how inaccurate?

“Just tell me, gently, where he was right, and where he was wrong,” Taryl said.

“He was right to be displeased about having to repair the bridges and highways, but he was wrong to blame me or Captain Drakeyt. It would have occurred no matter who was scouting, and it was all part of something larger. The cannonading of the
Fyrador
took place before I ever joined Third Company. The rockslide was built before we set out from Kysha, and even if we had not triggered it, someone would have had to have taken it apart or it could have fallen anyway. The same was true of whatever dam or levee they used to create the flood. I could have stopped the first arrow trap if I'd known what to look for, and that outrider died because I didn't have experience. Even so, I don't know how we could have avoided losing some of the troopers.” Rahl frowned. “If I hadn't been thinking about the low water level in the river, it could have been worse. I don't know. Maybe I should have sensed something there, and gotten everyone clear of the flood, but I'd never seen the river before, and how could I have even known what the water level was supposed to be in early winter? Usually water levels are the lowest then anyway.”

Taryl nodded. “All worthwhile experience has a price. Sometimes we pay it; sometimes others do. Most of the time, we pay but only a part of that price.”

Rahl looked at Taryl. “You wanted things to be difficult, didn't you? For me.”

“I didn't make them that way, but there were reasons why those difficulties will prove useful.” Taryl handed Rahl an envelope. “Open it.”

The last thing Rahl wanted to do after the submarshal's dressing down was to open a sealed envelope, but there was no help for it. He broke the seal and opened it. Inside was a heavy sheet of parchment with a seal at the bottom. He read the short section of parchment once, then blinked and read it again, his eyes falling on the key words—“having fulfilled the requirements, Mage-Guard Rahl is hereby promoted to the level of senior mage-guard.”

He looked to Taryl, whose lips quirked into a faint smile.

“Senior mage-guard? After this?” Rahl gestured in the direction of the library and the submarshal. “I'm too young…”

Taryl laughed. “You are, but you need the rank and position, and I need you to have it. Senior mage-guards rank with majers.”

“How did this happen?”

“The minimal requirements are much higher levels of proficiency with weapons and with control of order or chaos. You had those before we left Cigoerne. What did you think those tests were for?”

“I didn't know. I just thought you were trying to get me prepared for the campaign.”

“The other requirement is an absolute. A mage-guard must have completed two tours of duty in different locales and have a position of greater responsibility in a third tour before he or she can be promoted to senior mage-guard.”

“But…none of my tours were that long.”

Taryl's eyes seemed to laugh. “The procedures don't mention that. They just require completion with an excellent rating. You managed that.”

“The submarshal won't be happy with this.”

“He won't be, but that's not your worry. I'm the one who promoted you, and the worry is mine. Jubyl also agreed and wrote a recommendation for you as well. So did Mage-Captain Jyrolt.” The thin-faced mage-guard frowned. “Matters will come to a head before long.”

“How so, ser?”

“I'd prefer not to speculate, but you know what you did, and you know how the submarshal reacted. You have also met the marshal.”

“What should I do?”

“Just keep Third Company from taking too many losses.”

Rahl considered matters for a moment. “I have this feeling that matters are going to get much worse, or you wouldn't be pushing me.”

“They may be even worse than you can imagine.” Taryl's voice was sober and low.

Rahl waited for the explanation. There was none. “Is this because of the white wizards from Fairhaven?”

“I want you to be most alert, but I'd prefer that you come to your own conclusions.” Taryl offered a sad smile. “You need to get back to Third Company and talk to Captain Drakeyt. Try to listen more than you talk.” He paused, then handed Rahl a pouch. “Here are the senior sunbursts for your visor cap and the insignia for your uniforms.”

“Senior sunbursts? I didn't know there was a difference.”