Mage-Guard of Hamor (71 page)

When he finally left Deybri, Rahl knew he had one more person to seek out, but the sun was low over the harbor before he reached the barn northwest of Sastak and walked toward Drakeyt. He looked at the older officer, pleased to see that Drakeyt already wore a majer's insignia on his collars. “I just found out that you're now a battalion commander. Congratulations.”

“Thank you.” Drakeyt nodded.

Rahl could sense the other's mixed feelings, but he didn't know quite what to say. After several moments of silence, he finally added, “I don't think anything turned out quite the way we expected, but I wanted you to know that I appreciate everything you taught me. I owe you more than I can repay.”

Drakeyt smiled ironically, but warmly. “That's true, but you'll repay it to others, just like the way I'll try to repay what you taught me.”

What had Rahl taught Drakeyt, besides foolhardiness? He didn't even want to ask.

“That's the way it works,” the newly promoted majer went on, “or should work. Besides, your healer wouldn't have it any other way, would she?”

Rahl smiled. “No, she wouldn't.”

“You're fortunate to have her, you know? Not many women, especially healers, would follow a man across two oceans.”

“I know. It's hard to believe she's here. I'd hoped you'd be at the consorting. It will be on eightday at headquarters here in Sastak.”

Drakeyt grinned. “The overcommander said that might be soon.”

“Very soon.” Rahl flushed.

“I wouldn't miss it. She and the overcommander are the only ones who'll ever be able to tell you what to do.”

“Not quite,” Rahl protested. “I listened to you, especially when you added my title, and I always will.”

“A mere majer's words?”

“A trustworthy majer of good judgment who won't always be a majer,” Rahl suggested.

Drakeyt shook his head, then, after another moment of silence, added, “I asked the overcommander to make Lyrn the Third Company undercaptain. He agreed. I'm taking Quelsyn to be battalion squad leader.”

Rahl nodded. “Lyrn will do well at that. He's solid and thoughtful.”

“What about you, Majer?”

Rahl could see a twinkle in Drakeyt's eyes. Despite that, he still felt sheepish in answering. “Well…it seems…you were right. Taryl did have something in mind…”

“More than city mage captain, I'd wager.” Drakeyt was grinning again.

“Acting Regional Mage-Guard Overcommander of Merowey,” Rahl said, managing to inject a note of wryness into the words. “It seems that I'm unsuited to be a mage-guard city captain.”

“Might it have something to do with the fact that no one besides Overcommander Taryl would dare to be your superior?”

“Something like that was mentioned,” Rahl admitted. “It was also mentioned that he wouldn't have considered it without a certain healer's presence as my consort.”

“Wise man.”

“There's something else,” Rahl said. “If you ever need the help of a mage-guard…”

“I hope the Emperor and the overcommander will make sure that I wouldn't, but…I'll keep that in mind.”

As he left, Rahl just hoped that Drakeyt would.

Rahl and Deybri stood before the desk table in the study. A warm breeze barely moved the air, but the stone walls of the overcommander's villa kept out the worst of the summer heat.

Rahl opened the case that had just been delivered—all the way from Cigoerne. Inside was a roll of parchment, a smaller folded sheet of parchment, and a deep green enameled box that, despite its unmarred exterior, exuded great age. Rahl unrolled the document with the Emperor's seal.

“That makes it official,” said Deybri, as she read the words over his shoulder. “Mage-Guard Overcommander of Merowey.” After a moment, she pointed. “You need to read the other one.”

Rahl unfolded the smaller sheet and began to read.

The signature was a single name: Emerya.

Rahl handed the note to Deybri and eased open the green-enamel box. Inside was a lambent cupridium and lacquer pin displaying three crossed miniature items: a lance, a jagged lightning bolt, and a sheaf of grain.

“What is it?” asked Deybri, leaning toward him.

“A token of esteem and inspiration,” Rahl said quietly, turning the pin over. There was a name inscribed in tiny letters. Cyadoran, he thought. He squinted and puzzled them out. “Lorn'elth'alt'mer. That must be the name of her distant ancestor.”

Deybri smiled sadly. “The poor woman. Poor Taryl.”

Rahl thought so, too. But Hamor was the richer for that doomed love…and so were he and Deybri. He reached out with his free hand and drew her to him, feeling the swell of her body against him…and the life force of their son.