Mage-Guard of Hamor (46 page)

The captain glanced up as Rahl reined the gelding to a halt.

“The overcommander summoned me,” Rahl began. “He asked me to convey his thanks and appreciation for all that you and Third Company did. He said you did remarkably well.”

“His thanks and appreciation…We lost another twenty-five men,” Drakeyt said slowly. “Seven of them were in first squad. One of them was Roryt. He was a fine squad leader.”

“I'm sorry. I did…what I could.” What else could Rahl say? He'd used all the order-skills he'd had long before the battle was over, and they'd helped, but they hadn't been enough.

“What you could?” Drakeyt laughed, a sound that was cold and bitter.

Rahl wanted to shrink away.

“You don't know, do you, Majer?”

“Know what?” Rahl could feel the flatness in his voice.

“You and first squad—mostly you—broke a battalion. I sent a trooper out to count. Around where you were fighting, there were fifty men down. Fifty. Some are still alive. None of them will ever fight again. You can see it in their eyes. At the end, rebels were turning and riding back into the swamp.”

“Why?” Rahl didn't understand. He just knew he was almost ready to fall out of the saddle, and everything hurt. He'd been lucky because the rebels hadn't been able to attack all at once. He'd just picked them off in ones and twos while they were trying to recover from swimming through the swamp.

“Majer…” Drakeyt's voice softened. “You need some rest and some food. You've done enough.”

“Third Company did it,” Rahl said. “I didn't know what was going on or who was coming from where. I just tried to disable as many rebels as I could.” Fifty? That didn't seem possible. Not with a truncheon, even the one Khelra had made. “I just helped the squad as well as I could.” It probably hadn't been enough, but the battle had told him one thing—he didn't have enough experience.

“Sylarn!” Drakeyt called out. “The majer's about to fall out of his saddle. He could use an escort to the bivouac area—we've got that end cottage.”

“Yes, ser.” The trooper who rode up was thin and wiry, and blood was splashed across his lower sleeves.

Rahl looked down. There was blood everywhere on him.

“Ser…this way.”

Rahl turned the gelding.

Gray light seeped under Rahl's eyelids. That was the way it felt. He was lying on his back, and everything hurt. His head still ached, and there were flashes across his eyes, but they only stung rather than knifed into his skull. Yet he had the feeling that, if he opened his eyes and moved, all those aches and pains would get much worse.

At the same time, he did need to get up—for all too many reasons.

Slowly, he opened his eyes. The pain flashes across his eyes intensified, but not by as much as he feared. He was lying near the stone wall, his bedroll on a pallet. The morning light told him that he had slept for most of the afternoon after the battle and through the night. No wonder he was sore.

Rahl didn't remember laying out his bedroll on the floor of the small cot. In fact, he didn't remember much at all after turning to follow the trooper away from the carnage of the battle.

There were voices outside, low voices, and he began to listen.

“…you want to wake him?”

“…commander told the captain, and he told you…”

“…doesn't matter…scared the living sowshit outa me, and I knew he was on our side…closest thing I ever saw to a black demon, closest I ever want to see…”

“Squad leader said he killed more 'n sixty…”

“Rebs were throwing themselves into the swamp…couple of them won't ever think right again…”

Rahl swallowed. He'd done
that
? He couldn't have done that. He didn't even know how to do something like that. He started to shake his head, and a lance of pain slammed from his eyes through the back of his skull. His eyes watered so much that he could not see for several moments. Then, ever so slowly, he rolled onto his side. After a long pause, he levered himself up and staggered to a stool, next to a table. On the table was a clay mug, and it had ale in it. Beside it was a small oval loaf of bread.

Rahl forced himself to study the ale and bread with his order-senses. Both were good, and he needed no more encouragement to take a swallow of the ale and break off a corner of the stale bread. It still tasted welcome.

He'd eaten all the bread and drunk most of the ale when a trooper rapped on the side of the door and stepped into the cot. “Ser?”

“I'm awake.” Rahl smiled. “I think.”

“The overcommander would like to see you, Majer, at your convenience. He's at the first big barn to the west of here.”

At his convenience? Either Rahl had acquitted himself far worse than he thought, or Taryl was feeling more generous than he had after the battle. Rahl could only hope that it was the latter. “It will be a few moments. Thank you.”

It was probably more than a few moments before he found a bucket of water and cleaned up as well as he could, including sponging off as much of the blood as he could from his uniform, then trying to blot his sleeves and trousers half-dry.

The gelding was tied outside, but had clearly been brushed and saddled for him. He looked around, seeing two troopers—from fifth squad, he thought. “If you two are the ones who took care of my mount, I'd like to thank you. If not, please pass my thanks to whoever did.”

“Ah…yes, ser.”

“Thank you. Could one of you tell Captain Drakeyt that I've been summoned by the overcommander and that I'll be back as soon as I can?”

“Yes, ser.”

“Thank you.” Rahl managed not to wince as he swung up into the saddle.

As he rode slowly away from the cot and the two troopers, he couldn't resist using what little order-strength had returned to catch what they were saying.

“…just be glad he's on our side…”

“Where did he come from?”

“Word is that he was a laborer in Luba 'cause he offended some powerful mage-guard who took all his memories. The majer got 'em back, and now he'll tear down every stone in Nubyat to set things right 'cause that mage-guard is one of Golyat's mages…”

“Might, too, if he keeps on like yesterday…”

Even as he smiled at the fanciful tale, Rahl wanted to yell out in protest that it wasn't true, not even in poetic terms. Yet he feared that disavowing it would only result in the troopers' coming up with something even more fantastic.

There were more than a few mounts tied around the large barn, as well as most of the army's supply wagons, or so it seemed. Rahl finally ended up tying the gelding to a fence post nearby. Then he walked into the barn. Rows and rows of injured men lay on pallets.

Rahl almost staggered at the amount of collective wound chaos. He glanced around. He ought to do something, but there were so many wounded…so many.

Finally, he moved toward a group of lancers who seemed to have thrust injuries of some sorts. None were looking his way, not until he appeared.

Rahl let his senses range over the first man, who had taken a lance through a shoulder, or so it seemed. There was a pocket of wound chaos deep inside, but it was not large. “Hold still, trooper.”

The trooper looked up, his eyes widening.

Rahl let what order he could neutralize the wound chaos, then moved to the next man. His entire insides were reddish white. Rahl managed to keep his face pleasant, but there was no way he could do anything. The injuries and chaos were even worse than those of the sailor whose lungs had been steam-burned in Nylan. All Rahl did was project warmth and comfort. “Take care.”

He managed to help, he thought, five men before he began to get extremely light-headed, and he turned away, looking to find Taryl.

“What were you doing there? Do you have—”

As Rahl turned to face the undercaptain, the young officer stepped back. “I'm sorry, ser.”

“I was just trying to help some of them,” Rahl said. “I was summoned by the overcommander.”

“Yes, ser.” The undercaptain eased back from Rahl. “He's down there.”

“Thank you.” Rahl stepped away. Again, he could hear murmurs, but whether they were from the wounded or from some of the officers who had joined the undercaptain, he couldn't tell.

“…one they're calling the black demon…”

“…seems young for a majer…”

“…not when you see his eyes…”

His eyes? Was there something wrong with them? Rahl frowned, but kept walking toward the half-open plank door pointed out by the undercaptain.

Taryl was in a small room Rahl guessed might once have been a tack room. The overcommander was standing over a makeshift plank table on which were spread maps.

“Ser? You said to see you today.”

“Greetings, Rahl.”

Rahl could see the deep black pits under Taryl's bloodshot eyes. “Begging your pardon, ser, but did you get any rest?”

“Some, not enough. There's never enough time.” Taryl coughed, then took a sip from the mug on the side of the plank table. “There are all the wounded, too.”

“I know. I did what I could for some of them. When I'm stronger, I'll try more.”

“That's commendable, but don't exhaust yourself. You'll need to be at full strength in the eightdays ahead.” Taryl shook his head. “I might seem cold, but healing won't do much for dealing with Golyat, and that's where we—and you—have to put most of our efforts.”

Rahl understood that. He didn't have to like it.

“In that regard, I wanted to ask you a few questions before you have to fight any more battles. Why do you think so many of the rebel forces were attacking the left side of Second Army?”

Rahl didn't know, and he was still so tired that he knew he wasn't thinking all that well. “I couldn't say, ser, except that they wanted to turn our eastern flank.”

“Do you think it was coincidence that Third Company was there?”

“No, ser. You thought they might, and you wanted someone there who could tell if they were going to do that, and you hoped I'd be able to slow them down if it happened, ser.”

“That's true enough,” replied Taryl. “But what if I wanted to make sure that they'd concentrate on the eastern flank?”

“Was that to make it easier for the marshal to attack their rear?”

“Exactly. But you didn't answer my question.”

Rahl closed his eyes for a moment. What was different about Third Company? Him? The fact that he was an ordermage? “You wanted their mages to sense me? But you were the one who told me to keep my shields stronger.”

“I did. That was for two reasons. First, it keeps them from locating you precisely, and that will become even more important in the days ahead. Second, it shows your strength.”

“And that was why they put so many forces against us?”

“I would judge so.”

“What if they had overwhelmed us? Then what?”

“That was a risk, but I do have some faith in you, Rahl.”

Rahl was too tired to be as angry as he might have been. He just nodded. “Could I ask you something, ser?”

“You can ask. I might not answer, or not answer to your satisfaction.”

“Why did the rebels fight us here?”

Taryl laughed, harshly. “I don't know, exactly, but I can guess. First, they knew my forces were inferior, and they didn't know exactly where the marshal was, because all the strong mage-guards were with Second Army, and they concentrated on us. Second, they don't want to fight in places that will destroy crops or other valuable land or buildings or assets. That doesn't matter as much to the Emperor, because he can draw on the rest of Hamor, but Golyat has to be careful of his resources. If he fights where food or crops are destroyed, he loses much of the support of the people that he now has—and there will be more opposition. He could defeat us in every battle and lose. We don't want that because it would take generations, if not centuries, for Merowey to recover. So…at least in the beginning, we will fight in places like Thalye. But, as we push them back, it could get nastier and more brutal. That is why we must move with great care. It is not just a matter of winning battles.”

There were several moments of silence.

“Ser…have I failed in some way?”

Taryl's eyes narrowed. “Do you have to ask that question?”

“I realize that I have much to learn, and I've kept trying to develop my abilities, but it seems as though, no matter what I do, it's never adequate.”

“Oh…that.”

Rahl felt as though he'd taken a staff in the gut.

Taryl shook his head. “There is one lesson, one aspect of life I cannot teach you. It is something that you must learn with every fiber of your being. It cannot be taught, only learned, and for that reason I will not tell you what it is. I will say that you have much to learn, as you have acknowledged, but you have not yet failed. Neither have you succeeded in becoming what you must in order to live with yourself. Given your potential, if you do not learn that, you will become as Golyat and those who have followed him.”

“And you cannot tell me?”

Taryl's sad smile was the only answer he gave.

“Is there anything else, ser?”

“More will be expected of you, Rahl. You have the potential to be great, and of those who could be great, much is expected.” Taryl's lips quirked. “Once we determine what the enemy is doing and how to pursue, I'll brief you and Captain Drakeyt on what you'll be doing. In the meantime, eat some more and get some rest.”

“Yes, ser.” Rahl nodded politely. “If that's all, ser…?”

“For now.”

Rahl turned and walked out of the small chamber.

At least he had not failed. But what was it that he had to learn that Taryl refused to tell him? And why did Taryl expect so much of him?