Mage-Guard of Hamor (41 page)

In the end, Rahl and what remained of Third Company did not near Lahenta until oneday. A good part of that delay resulted from the time it had taken on eightday for Rahl to deal with the bubbling brownish mess that had claimed scores of rebels and had expanded even more by the time Rahl had reached it by early midmorning.

The sun had climbed overhead and dropped into the afternoon before Rahl had managed to turn the chaotic quicksandlike ooze back into clay and dirt. Part of the problem was that he was still exhausted and had to rest between efforts, because he could only deal with the ooze in sections. While he thought it had reached its limits before he arrived, he wasn't sure enough to stake anything on it, especially since the rest of Second Army would have to cross the area, or spend even more time detouring around it. He also didn't want to face Taryl if he hadn't done his best in undoing the mess.

His performance in dealing with the ooze had been embarrassing as well, because he'd barely been able to sit down at the end before he passed out again—and no one had even been attacking him. When he had come to, it had been late afternoon, and Third Company was standing by, waiting, because, after all the magery, Drakeyt had decided it was wiser not to proceed until Rahl recovered. Even after all his efforts, that section of the road was still a muddy mess, but at least it was no longer chaos-quicksand.

In the end the company only rode slightly beyond the pass before setting up camp on eightday evening. By early oneday, Rahl was finally feeling stronger and was back with the outriders, able to order-sense, if not at full strength. His truncheon had been incinerated in the blast created by the interplay of his order and the white wizard's chaos, and he was reduced to carrying his own older and far shorter patrol truncheon.

The land beyond the rocky hills was lower, flatter, and more fertile. It also seemed to have steads everywhere, but rather than cultivated or winter-tilled fields, there were rows and rows of redberries.

“I didn't know they had so many redberries here,” Rahl said to Alrydd, as the two rode downhill toward the hamlet that looked to be several kays ahead.

“Best redberries in all Hamor,” confirmed the outrider. “The very best they ferment and distill into the special crimson brandy.”

The crimson brandy was yet another delicacy Rahl had never heard of, and probably would never be able to afford, either. His eyes dropped to the road, its churned and dusty surface bearing hoofprints obscuring other hoofprints, the same pattern he'd seen ever since they had left the ooze-battle site the afternoon before. He had not sensed any sign of riders or chaos anywhere close during the entire ride toward Lahenta, and the scouts and outriders had seen no one. The locals they had questioned had all seen the withdrawing rebels, but the rebels had not paid for supplies or even demanded any.

Lahenta was barely even a hamlet. As they rode along the main road that was also the only real street, Rahl counted less than two score dwellings, but three overlarge storage barns and one small structure with a tall large brick chimney that he took for the brandy distillery.

The hamlet square was little more than an oblong of clay and dirt with the obligatory statue of some past emperor. There was no inn, and one shop that looked as if it were part chandlery and part something else, perhaps a cooperage. A dwelling slightly larger than the others stood on the south side of the square, set off by a fence comprised of white rails set between pillars made of stones mortared together. The pedestal and statue were both modest, with the top of the statue barely higher than Rahl's head while mounted. The weathered letters spelled out “Elycatyr.”

“Elycatyr,” Rahl said.

“Never heard of him,” replied Drakeyt, reining up beside Rahl. “What do you suggest?”

“I've been pretty much ordered to check the town administrator's or clerk's records, and I'll need to check the records of the distillery. I haven't sensed any horsemen or rebels or wizards anywhere near here.”

“I'll have second squad go door-to-door to see what they can find.” The captain laughed. “There aren't that many doors.”

“I'm going to start with the chandlery. Someone there should know more about who's who and where they are.”

Drakeyt nodded. “I'll leave you fourth squad. You may need them for the distillery.”

Rahl hoped not. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure, Majer.”

After discussing with Fedeor what needed to be done, Rahl rode across the square to the chandlery, where he dismounted and tied the gelding, leaving fourth squad outside.

He stepped into the chandlery, nodding as he took in the stave blanks in crude bins and hoops hanging on one side of the single long and narrow room. The room was empty, and he walked forward.

Abruptly, a young woman in trousers and a stained leather vest appeared. Her boots were scuffed and worn. She started as she caught sight of Rahl. “Ser…ah…what can I do for you?”

“Answer a few questions.” He offered a smile.

The woman did not step closer to Rahl but remained a good five cubits away, holding a wooden mallet.

“You're a cooper?”

“What passes for one, here.”

Rahl wondered if she were the daughter or the young widow of the former cooper, but did not ask. “What can you tell me about the rebel troopers who rode through here yesterday?”

“Not much. Some came in here on sixday and bought some things, small stuff, mostly dried redberries. I think they were officers. I never saw any of them again.” She shivered so slightly that Rahl would have missed it had he not been watching closely.

“You were worried about them.”

“Why would I worry about officers?” The cynicism in her voice was barely veiled.

“Did anyone hurt you?” He tried to project concern, which was easy, because he hoped she had not been hurt or molested.

“No.” After a moment, she added, “But the way one of them looked…”

He nodded. “I'm glad you're all right.”

“Is the Emperor coming back?” She didn't want to discuss how she felt. That was clear.

“We're the vanguard of Second Army. We're here to put down the rebellion.” He paused, then asked, “Was the town clerk sending tariffs to the usurper?”

“Of course. Chyrl thought he should be so much more than a town clerk in Lahenta.” The scorn was even stronger than her previous cynicism. “He must have known you were coming. He rode out to join the rebels yesterday.”

“Did he leave any records? Where would he have kept them?” Rahl tried to keep his voice even.

“He took the main ledger, but there's plenty of records left. He didn't understand bookkeeping all that well, either.”

Rahl was getting a very good idea who and what Chyrl was, unfortunately.

“The rest of the records are on the table there. I suppose I should have burned them or something and said I didn't know anything, but Lahenta's too small a place to cover anything up.”

“You didn't support the rebels, did you?”

“No. I couldn't say much, but…” She shrugged helplessly.

Rahl could sense the total honesty of what she had said, but he needed to make sure about one thing. “You seem to know a lot about him.”

“I should. He was…I guess he still is…my consort. He ran the chandlery part, well as he could, and that wasn't all that well, and I did the cooperage. Learned it from my da. Wouldn't have consorted, except Da was dying.” She shook her head. “Don't know why I'm telling you.”

“Because you believe in the truth,” Rahl suggested. “And you tell it.”

She looked at him more intently, and her mouth opened. “You're a mage-guard, aren't you?”

“Yes. Don't worry. It's clear you had nothing to do with what he did. I would like your help in going through the papers he left.”

“I guess…”

Rahl could sense the doubt behind her reluctant agreement. He smiled again. “You're worried, and you don't trust me. I don't blame you for your caution, but I'm not here looking for people to punish because they didn't resist the rebels. I'm only after the ones who went out of their way to support them, and that's why I want to look over the records.”

“I'm Khelra.” She walked over to the shelf on the north wall that rested on two wooden brackets. “Here's his draft ledger. He had to draft everything, because he never could get anything to balance the first time. I had to check his figures half the time.” She snorted. “I insisted, even from the beginning, when he was just a town clerk for the Emperor. Otherwise, I could just see the tariff enumerators visiting him with a mage-guard, begging your pardon, ser, and that wouldn't have been good.”

Rahl was getting the feeling that the young woman had been far too good for her consort, and he almost hoped that Chyrl would be one of the unfortunate casualties of the revolt. He forced a pleasant nod as he turned to the last pages in the draft ledger.

After a brief study, Rahl turned to Khelra. “There are only five people who paid large tariffs, and by far the largest were paid by someone called Gorsyn. Who's that?”

“Gorsyn owns the distillery. He has the big house on the south end of the square.”

“He makes the crimson brandy?”

“Grande Crymson—that's what he calls it. We don't sell it here. No one here has that kind of coin, except him and his family.”

“What did Chyrl do with the tariffs he collected?”

“He gave them to the enumerator who came from Nubya, the same as always.”

“But he must have known…”

“He knew. He even said that he was glad they were going to someone strong.” Khelra shook her head. “I'd prefer an Emperor who lets us be as much as possible…begging your pardon, ser.”

Rahl continued through the ledger. “Who are Desytt and Shavorn?”

“They're the two biggest growers…”

When Rahl finished, he had a list of five men he needed to visit, starting with Gorsyn. Khelra had also supplied their approximate locations. He had a long afternoon ahead.

He found Gorsyn at his dwelling. In fact, the distiller was the one who stood there when the door opened, a carved goldenwood portal, flanked by two frosted-glass panels displaying stylized redberries.

“Ser Gorsyn?” asked Rahl, standing on the narrow front verandah.

“Yes?”

“I'm here to ask you a few questions.”

“Officer, I do not believe I owe you an explanation for anything.” Gorsyn's voice was warm, smooth and modulated, as if it were nut oil flowing into a pan.

Rahl smiled. “It's Majer Rahl, ser Gorsyn, and since I'm also an Imperial Mage-Guard reporting directly to the Imperial Mage-Guard Overcommander for Merowey…you do. Also, since that squad of troopers drawn up out there will do whatever I ask, I think it would be most unwise for you not to answer my questions.”

Gorsyn's eyes flicked past Rahl to fourth squad, then back to the mage-guard. He smiled, but only with his mouth. “I suppose I must, mustn't I? What do you wish to know?”

“You've paid your seasonal tariffs regularly, even the last one, haven't you?”

“Of course. I'm a loyal citizen of the Emperor.”

“Did you know that Chyrl was paying those tariffs to the usurper?”

“Majer—it is Majer, is it not? I wouldn't want to be disrespectful. As I was saying, Majer, my duty as a loyal citizen is to pay my tariffs to the Emperor's duly appointed representative, and to the best of my knowledge, that was the town clerk, Chyrl. It was his duty to dispatch those funds to the appropriate authority, and I would certainly not wish to second-guess any Imperial functionary, whether minor or mighty.” Gorsyn smiled again.

Rahl could tell that Gorsyn had known what Chyrl had been doing. “Did you offer Chyrl any advice or suggestions once the fact of the revolt became known?”

“I wouldn't presume, Majer. I'm a distiller, not an Imperial functionary.”

“Yes or no?”

“No.”

“Did you offer any assistance or aid to anyone known to be a rebel, or known to support the rebellion?”

“I did not, unless you would classify paying my lawful tariffs as support.”

That suggested most strongly that Gorsyn had known Chyrl's sympathies and actions, but Rahl couldn't very well discipline someone for what he knew, rather than what he had done, not in this case.

“Did anyone in your household?”

“Absolutely not.”

That meant Gorsyn had forbidden it, and that suggested a very clever man. By paying his tariffs to Chyrl and winking, so to speak, he had made sure that he'd remain in a good position, no matter what happened.

“You're a very clever man, ser Gorsyn.”

“I'd like to think so, Majer, but that's something time will tell, won't it?” He smiled again. “Is there anything else you'd like to ask?”

Rahl could have asked more questions, but he'd sensed enough from Gorsyn to know that he'd find little more than what he'd already discovered, and nothing that would amount to proof of treason. “No. You've been most helpful, and I thank you.”

Those were the first words that created unease within the distiller, but Rahl merely smiled and stepped back. “Good day, ser Gorsyn.”

“Good day, Majer.” The door closed gently, but firmly.

Rahl walked back to the fourth squad and the gelding, then mounted. He still had four others to run down.

In the end, he found all four, and his conversations will all four were remarkably similar to the one he had held with Gorsyn. All insisted—truthfully—that they had given no golds or support to the rebels and that they had only paid their lawful tariffs to the town clerk, trusting in his sense of duty. That meant that they'd all talked about how to handle the situation, and that, in a way, Chyrl had been partly set up, if willingly, to be the only true rebel in Lahenta.