Mage-Guard of Hamor (61 page)

After the first few days, Taryl had moved his headquarters from the overcommander's villa to the Administrator's Residence, which made sense to Rahl. It also meant that to get to Taryl, Rahl had to announce himself to Falyka—a stern-faced former mage-guard who had been stipended off after thirty years of service, but whom Taryl had found somewhere to serve as gatekeeper and personal aide. Falyka sat behind a wide table desk in the foyer outside the administrator's study. Every time Rahl had been to see Taryl, the table had been filled with neat stacks of paper, and this time was no exception.

“I see you did manage to find the healer,” offered Falyka, even before Rahl could say a word. “The administrator is expecting you both.” She nodded toward the door to her left, then picked up her pen from the blotting pad where she had set it and continued making entries in the ledger before her.

Rahl managed to keep his mouth shut. How many people had known that Deybri was coming to Nubyat?

Deybri looked at Rahl and raised her eyebrows.

He smiled helplessly, then opened the door.

Taryl immediately stood from behind the enormous wide desk, and Rahl could sense his quick appraisal of Deybri. He smiled warmly and broadly. “If anything, Rahl underplayed your beauty and ability. I cannot tell you how pleased I am to see you, Healer Deybri.” He gestured. “Please have a chair. You've had several long voyages.”

“Thank you.” Deybri slipped into the rightmost of the three chairs before the desk.

Rahl took the second one, not only to be beside her, but because the sunlight pouring through the wide west window bathed the leftmost chair and might have distracted him when he wanted to concentrate on Deybri—and needed to watch Taryl.

“How was the trip?”

“The voyages were both long, but the quarters were more than I could have expected. I'm very grateful. I'm also happy to be on land again. I'm not really a seafarer, as Rahl may well know.”

“You look to have borne up well,” Taryl replied. “I imagine you would like the chance to clean up and get settled. There are quarters here in the Residence for the administrator's healer,” Taryl said. “Since the officers' quarters are already overfilled, you'll be quartered here until matters settle out more.”

Deybri looked squarely at Taryl. “As a healer, I do intend to accompany the force attacking Sastak.”

“I would not have thought otherwise.” Taryl offered a faint but warm and amused smile. “As a healer, however, you will be assigned to the headquarters company. You cannot do much good as a healer if a rebel trooper spits you on a lance or blade.”

Deybri inclined her head in acquiescence.

“Now, Mage-Guard Healer, while you are getting settled, I need to discuss some matters with Senior Mage-Guard Rahl. Falyka—the aide outside—will help you. Later, in view of your situations, I have arranged dinner for the three of us here in the Residence this evening, and I will discuss anything you wish and answer any questions you may have.”

“You've been most kind, Overcommander, and I'm most appreciative.”

“I'm serving my own interests as well, Healer, but I appreciate your words.” Taryl rose, adding more gently. “And I am glad to see you here safely.”

Rahl stood as well. Much as he understood Taryl's reasons and requirements, he didn't want to let Deybri out of his sight—or senses.

“I'm glad to be here.” Deybri's eyes turned to Rahl. “Until later.”

Her words were almost a caress, as evenly and calmly as she uttered them, and he could not help but smile widely. “Until later.”

“How did you get her to come?” Rahl asked, several moments after the study door had shut behind Deybri. “She wouldn't even entertain the idea when I hinted at it.”

“Age does have certain advantages, Rahl. I did point out that I could offer her a position as a full mage-guard. I also sent her the golds for passage and agreed that, if she did not find Hamor to her liking, she could return at my expense.”

“
You
paid her passage?”

Taryl smiled. “Why not? Good healers are hard to come by, and so are good mage-guards. I have no children, and it is most unlikely that I will. My legacy will be how well the mage-guards perform after I am gone. Unless I'm mistaken, you will be a better mage-guard because of the healer, whatever may happen—”

“Whatever may happen?” Rahl didn't like that thought at all.

Taryl held up a hand. “You have thought of her ever since you came to Hamor. Don't tell me you have not. There is only one way to deal with that. Now that she is here, you two will decide whether you belong together or whether you do not. If you do, then you and the mage-guards, and Hamor are all better off. If you do not, then you will not waste time and effort pining for what cannot be, and you will be more effective. The healer will also understand what she is and is not.” Taryl's shields were as firm as ever, but the overcommander did smile.

Rahl could not argue with Taryl's logic, cold as the words sounded.

“What else do you have to report?” asked Taryl quickly.

Rahl had the feeling Taryl did not wish to say more about Deybri at the moment.

“Oh…I met with Water-Master Neshyl…” Rahl went on to recount his visit, concluding, “…and he gave me the proposal that Golyat had turned down.” He extended the proposal, still tied in the dark cord.

Taryl raised his eyebrows. “Neshyl?”

“He said to tell you that the rock is still solid, ser.”

Taryl laughed. “He would. We'll find his golds, but it will have to wait a bit.”

“Have you heard anything from Commander Shuchyl, ser?”

“He's still almost an eightday from Elmari, but the fleet is standing by off the port there. Once he takes the town, they can transport Fourth Regiment back here in a few days. We'll leave Fifth Regiment in Elmari to keep order. By then, we should be ready to move on Golyat in Sastak.”

What Taryl said made sense, but the overcommander had certainly not been that cautious in attacking Nubyat. Or was Nubyat of such importance that Golyat and Sastak were effectively only afterthoughts? That couldn't be…but Taryl always had his reasons.

Taryl's eyes dropped to a dispatch on the corner of the table desk. Then he looked up at Rahl. “That came in with the transport. Regional Commander Chaslyk is dead. He was inspecting the warehouse of the city station in Swartheld, and part of a wall fell on him. Another mage-guard with him was killed.”

Chaslyk? The mage-guard who had commanded the entire area around Swartheld? Rahl could still remember the tall and muscular officer with the black eyes, olive skin, and angular face who dominated any room he was in—unless Taryl happened to be there.

“That wasn't an accident, was it?”

“I don't think so, but it will be a while before I know. What else?”

“I met the mage-guards. There's one senior mage-guard—Chewyrt. He tried to lean on me, but I think everything will be fine. I do need to get back there and talk to them. The sooner I can put him to work, the less trouble he'll be.”

“Chyphryt sent him because he's always been trouble. Do you think you can keep him in line?”

“I think so. He's the kind who respects power and little else. I didn't raise my voice, but I just projected absolute authority at him. He might do better if I could make him an acting undercaptain and tell him that whether the position is permanent depends on how well he gets things working without using unnecessary force and authority.”

Taryl smiled, if briefly. “You'd better go deal with him so that you can devote some attention to dinner and the healer. Oh…you can make him an acting undercaptain, but it is your responsibility.”

In short, Rahl had to make sure that Chewyrt understood.

He was about to leave, but realized he had one particularly nagging question. “Ser? How did you know how to reach her?”

Taryl laughed. “Who posted many of your letters?”

Rahl shook his head. So simple, and he'd never even thought of it.

When Rahl returned to the harbor mage-guard station, still accompanied by the three troopers, he found Chewyrt was standing in the corner of the small front foyer. With the suppressed anger and energy within the older mage, he might as well have been pacing furiously back and forth across the foyer.

“Mage-Guard Chewyrt,” Rahl said pleasantly, “I thought we'd walk around the area, and I could fill you in on some of the things particular to here.”

“I'd be most pleased.” Beneath very leaky shields, Chewyrt was anything but pleased. He was angry and felt that Rahl was being unfair and disrespectful. He jammed on his visor cap.

Rahl said nothing, but walked out the doorway, letting the senior mage-guard catch up. Rahl walked deliberately along the stone-paved walkway that led directly to pier one, saying nothing until Chewyrt had joined him. “You know, Chewyrt, I find myself in a rather unusual position. I don't imagine you know my background, do you?”

“No, I can't say that I do.”

Nor did Chewyrt care, Rahl sensed. “It might prove useful to you, although I'm most certain that you have no personal interest. You can see by the truncheon that I'm an order-mage. What you can't see is that I'm an exile from Recluce who survived a year or so in the ironworks of Luba and who worked his way back to becoming a mage-clerk after someone dosed me with nemysa.” Rahl smiled.

“I see.”

Chewyrt didn't.

Rahl shook his head. “I seem to be able to sense, even behind shields, what most people are feeling. You, for example, feel that I don't respect you, that I'm being unfair, and that there's no reason that you should care about my background.”

Chewyrt almost hesitated in taking his next step.

“You also feel that very few in the mage-guards understand what you've endured and that you should have been given more responsibility long ago.” Rahl stopped, just short of the wide paved street that served all the piers, and turned to face the older man. “I've talked it over with the overcommander, and he told me that you'd been sent here because, despite your abilities with chaos, you're so difficult that no superior in the mage-guards really wants to deal with you.”

“That's not true.”

Rahl shrugged. “You have solid abilities. You've been a senior mage-guard for years. If it's not true, then why has no one ever recommended you for a position of authority?”

Rage erupted within Chewyrt, barely held in check. He tightened his lips and did not speak for several moments. “Because they don't want to put people with real ability in those positions. They just want lackeys.”

That, unfortunately, was at least partly true, at least from what Rahl had seen. “You have real abilities, and I'd like to see you make use of them.” Rahl paused.

“But what? There's always a ‘but.'”

“But…” Rahl drew out the word, “you've gotten so bitter and angry that your abilities haven't been recognized that no one wants to work with you or for you. I'll give you a chance at that position of responsibility—”

“You?”

Rahl smiled, then wrapped his shields around Chewyrt, contracting them. The older mage-guard tried to break free, but found himself immobilized. Rahl waited until the other stopped struggling before he eased the pressure.

“Me. For better or worse, the overcommander has made me his acting deputy. Despite your outburst, and your lack of respect for me, I'm still willing to make you the acting undercaptain of the harbor station. If…
if
…the overcommander and I are satisfied with your performance, we'll make the rank permanent.”

Rahl could sense the faintest glimmer of hope amid the anger and bitterness, although Chewyrt did not reply.

“What we expect are what is expected of every undercaptain—that you be diligent, that you be effective in carrying out your duties, that you be open and fair, and that you do not abuse your position in having others do things for you that you should be doing for yourself. And that you stop arrogating yourself over others.”

Rahl waited.

“I only…” Chewyrt broke off what he might have said. After another long pause, he asked, “Might I ask, ser, why you are only a senior mage-guard?”

Rahl was relieved to sense that at least some of the other's anger and bitterness had receded, if only because Chewyrt had realized Rahl's true power and position, and that the question was the only way that Chewyrt could admit that he would try to meet the terms.

“Because I haven't been a senior mage-guard long enough to prove that I'm worthy of being more.” That was the most honest answer Rahl could offer.

The directness of the reply clearly stunned Chewyrt.

After another silence, the older mage-guard said, “I appreciate your honesty, ser. I would like to try.”

“I'd like you to try. More than that, Chewyrt, I'd like to see you succeed.” Rahl paused. “So would the overcommander.” Left unsaid, but understood, was the fact that Chewyrt would never get another chance if he failed.

“So would I, ser.”

Rahl nodded. “I don't have much time now, but across from us is pier one. That's for smaller fleet vessels. Pier two, over there is for the cruisers and larger ships. Pier three and four are for merchanters….”

As he continued to walk and explain, Rahl wondered if he'd handled Chewyrt correctly, but he thought that the man needed a combination of force and understanding. Rahl just hoped his feelings about the older mage-guard were right.

Rahl managed to get back to his small room in the overcommander's barracks with enough time to wash up and don a clean uniform. He did walk the distance to the Residence, if at a leisurely enough pace that he would not arrive overheated. No one questioned him—but no one had in days—when he entered the staff doorway and made his way to the upper level on the south end. He couldn't help but note that the green carpet runners in the staff quarters had seen far better days, and that the plaster walls could have used a fresh coat of whitewash.

He cleared his throat, squared his shoulders, and knocked on the goldenwood door. Then he waited. When Deybri opened the door, Rahl couldn't help but stare, thinking how truly alive and luminous she looked in another set of immaculate greens.

“The way you look at a woman makes her the center of the world.”

“Not
a
woman,” he protested, taking her hands. “You. Just you.”

“I would say that you tell all the women that,” she said gently, “and you say it well in Hamorian, but I know better. That's almost frightening.”

Rahl was afraid he knew what she meant, but he didn't want to talk about that. Not yet. Then he realized something else. “Your Hamorian is much better. You barely have an accent.”

“Uncle Thorl's doing. He said I always had the ability, but that I really didn't want to learn it perfectly.”

“I've always known you had many hidden abilities.”

“I didn't know you were that interested in my less obvious attributes,” she teased.

“I always have been. I must be. I haven't even kissed you.”

“I know.”

Sometime later, Deybri eased back out of his arms. “We are supposed to have dinner with our superior officer.”

“I came for you earlier than we're expected,” Rahl confessed.

“You have a devious mind, Senior Mage-Guard.”

“Not at all devious,” Rahl admitted. “Hopeful.”

“We still should go.”

“Yes, Healer. Oh…” He extracted the thick envelope from his winter uniform shirt and extended it to her. “This is for you. It's the latest letter—or letters—the ones I could never post because there was no way to send them. I kept writing…”

She leaned forward and kissed his cheek, then took the envelope. “I will read them. You write so well, and your hand is so beautiful.”

The two walked down the long corridor from the staff quarters and into the formal area of the Residence.

Taryl was standing outside a large archway. He smiled sheepishly. “I forgot to tell you that we'd be eating in the private dining chamber. We'd be lost in here.” He stepped aside and gestured toward the darkened formal dining chamber, not that the dimness was any barrier to the three, which held a table that stretched a good twenty cubits, if not longer. Then he turned, and the three walked another fifty cubits and around a corner and through a far smaller archway.

The private dining chamber was still large, holding an oval table that could easily seat ten. Three places had been set at one end. The pale green china plates had silvered edges, and the crystal goblets shone in the light of the polished-bronze wall lamps. The cutlery was also silver.

“This is less pretentious, but not as warm as I'd prefer.” Taryl gestured to the seat to his right.

Rahl seated Deybri, even if it was probably against some protocol, since he outranked her, technically anyway. The three had no more been seated than an orderly appeared with a pitcher of wine, half-filling each goblet.

“It's Seblenan, supposedly very good.” Taryl smiled. “Prince Golyat did keep a fine cellar, and most of it is still here. It's been years since I've had the privilege of good wine.” He lifted his goblet. “To your safe arrival, Healer.”

“Thank you.”

There was something about the formality with which Taryl addressed Deybri, but Rahl could not quite put a finger on it. Instead, he lifted his own goblet, then sipped the wine, a vintage that was the palest of ambers, holding a flavor that reminded Rahl of roses and pearapples.

The orderly returned with three small bowls of soup. Rahl had never tasted anything like it.

“That's a winter gourd cream soup, isn't it?” asked Deybri. “It's very good.”

Rahl had no idea that there were even winter gourds, or soup made from gourds in winter. He just nodded his agreement.

“I promised I would answer any questions you might have, Healer.” Taryl looked at Deybri.

She tilted her head slightly, as if thinking, then smiled. “Why is Rahl so important to you?”

Taryl laughed, then shook his head. “I would not wish you opposing me in anything.”

Deybri waited.

“I could offer evasions, but you would know them, even behind my shields,” Taryl finally replied. “The simple answer is that he is powerful and honest, and that while there are other powerful mage-guards and other honest mage-guards, there are far too few who are both, and Hamor needs those desperately in these times.”

“Why is that so? Why now?”

“You know about the revolt. It occurred because powerful and less-than-honest mage-guards persuaded Prince Golyat that he was far better suited to rule Hamor than his younger brother. It also occurred because other powerful and less honest mage-guards wanted a revolt to occur, but to be unsuccessful, and to use it for their own ends. Without Rahl, we would not have accomplished near so much so quickly, and without him, the future is far less certain.”

“Is that why you offered me a chance to join him?”

“That is one reason. Another is as I wrote you. Also, you must already have noted that Hamor has far fewer skilled healers than does Recluce. There are other reasons as well, which I will not reveal, but which are honorable, and for which you must take my word for now.”

She nodded. “What plans do you have for Rahl if you are successful in quashing the revolt?”

It surprised Rahl that Deybri did not press Taryl on his other reasons, but he said nothing.

“I would like to see him advance as far as he possibly can in the mage-guards.”

“Enough to assure that?”

“I will not press others to promote him beyond his abilities or what he has earned, but I will support him fully for what he has earned.”

“And for me?”

“The very same, Healer.”

At that moment, the orderly removed the soup and replaced each dish with a plate on which were thin slices of beef laid between thinner slices of pastry and covered with a dark mushroom sauce.

“Beef Fyrad,” Taryl said. “It's not all that popular these days, but I enjoy it.”

So did Rahl, perhaps because he'd been so involved in thinking about Deybri and watching her that he'd forgotten how hungry he was.

“You did read the
Mage-Guard Manual
?” Taryl asked after several mouthfuls.

“Yes, ser,” Deybri replied. “Some of it was…difficult.”

Taryl nodded. “It is for most healers. You would not be healers were you not inclined to believe that there is at least a chance to heal most wounds. The
Manual
as much as states that some individuals can never be redeemed and that they must either be executed or work their lives away in the ironworks, the quarries, or the road crews.”

“I can see that. Most in Recluce avoid thinking about that because we exile many and leave their fate to others. We do execute some few, but their offenses are usually great.”

Rahl still had his doubts about that latter statement, especially given his experiences with Puvort and the magisters in Land's End, but he saw no point in contradicting Deybri.

“Rahl might disagree,” Deybri added, “but I have to believe that his experiences are colored by his own uniqueness.”

“Because he is a natural ordermage of the kind Recluce is unable or unwilling to train?” asked Taryl.

“And because he is potentially far more powerful than any of them—or any mage-guards here, possibly with the exception of the Triads. You know that. Wasn't that one reason why you saved him?”

“No,” replied Taryl. “When I made him a mage-clerk, he only had a fraction of his true abilities. Later, it became very clear.”

Deybri looked at Rahl.

“It's true. I could barely order-sense more than a few cubits away, and I could do nothing else.”

“To be honest, however,” Taryl added, with a wry smile, “I suspected more because usually only strong mages survive the amount of nemysa that he had to have been given. But I didn't know that.”

From that point on, through the dessert of pearapple tarts in flaky crusts, Taryl was careful to keep the talk casual.

After the dessert, Taryl stood. “I must say that I've enjoyed this, and now I must pay for that by getting back to what remains on my desk.”

Rahl and Deybri rose.

“Thank you, ser,” offered Deybri.

“Thank you,” added Rahl.

“It was my pleasure.” Taryl smiled, warmly, and anything but mechanically.

Rahl offered Deybri his arm, and they left the small dining chamber and walked slowly down the long corridor toward the staff section and her quarters.

“He was very formal with you,” Rahl said.

“It's both a message and a habit, I would say. He didn't strain to remind himself to use my title,” mused Deybri.

The Empress?

“You have that look, Rahl. Your face reveals what your shields conceal.”

“I don't know, but I think he was once in love with a woman who was consorted to someone else very powerful. I don't think he's ever forgotten her.”

“You're being mysterious. Please don't be.”

“I'm sorry. It's just…I owe Taryl everything…Everything but you, and now, in a way, I owe him for you. For your being here. I wouldn't want to say anything when I'm only guessing…but you should know. You probably could guess…You know, he was once a Triad. I think I wrote you that. Well, when we were in Cigoerne, I saw him once with the Empress…”

“The Empress of all Hamor? You met the Emperor and Empress?”

“It was at a reception. Each of them spoke to me for just a moment. The Emperor thanked me for helping with the mission to Nylan.”

“What was she like?” Deybri's voice was soft.

“She's a healer, but she doesn't look at all like you.”

“A healer…of course. The poor man. The one woman even a former Triad could never have. Not one as honest as Taryl.”

“No one has ever said anything,” Rahl said quietly, “but I wonder if he gave her up so that the Emperor would be a more able ruler.”

“That's…horrible…as if she were…”

“There's more to it than that, but I don't know what. Maybe she loved them both. I can't believe Taryl would trade anyone.”

“Maybe she gave up Taryl,” suggested Deybri.

“I don't know. He's never said a word. It's only what I saw and felt.”

“That's enough, most times.” Deybri stopped outside her door and turned to him.

He leaned toward her and kissed her tenderly. She returned the kiss, warmly, lovingly, but also gently, then eased back from him. He could feel her entire body trembling.

Looking at him, she smiled sadly. “Rahl…I would like that more than anything…but we can't. Not now.”

He could sense both the longing within her, the sadness, and see the brightness in her eyes. “Could you tell me why?”

“You've become so much more powerful. None of the magisters in Nylan could stand against you now, and you desire me so much…” Her words broke off.

“A child? Is that it?” He'd almost forgotten what she had told him so long ago about how almost any love-making would immediately lead to a child…the same mistake that had begun his exile and the long way he had come.

She nodded, her eyes dropping from his for a moment. “I'm almost sure that we should be together, that it's right. But…with you…almost isn't enough…and it would never be fair to the child. Please…”

He stepped forward and put his arms around her. Demons, it felt so good even to hold her. He still couldn't quite believe she was with him—in Hamor, where she had said she would never return.

Their faces were damp with tears when he stepped away and opened the door for her. He did not leave until it clicked shut.