Daelyt inclined his head, and Rahl hurried back to Shyret’s study.
“Director, Hylart is here with twenty golds from Waolsyn.” ‘
“Now? After the Exchange is closed?”
“Yes, ser.”
With a sigh that seemed forced to Rahl, rather than resigned, Shyret rose from behind the fruitwood desk. ‘Tell him I’ll be right there.”
“Yes, ser.” Rahl turned and headed back to his own desk. As he neared the other two clerks, he slowed slightly, taking in what they were saying.
“. . . anyone else who might have known that Waolsyn was going to pay the Association?” asked Daelyt.
“If Waolsyn knows it, so does all Swartheld,” replied Hylart. “He never says what he receives, but he’s always complaining about all the factors he owes.”
Both stopped talking as they saw Rahl.
“He’ll be right here.”
“Oh… Hylart, this is Rahl. He’s new with .us, the past. two eightdays.”
Rahl inclined his head. “I’m pleased to meet you.”
“From Ada?”
“Just my speech,” Rahl said, offering a smile.
“He’s from Nylan,” Daelyt added, “but he learned Hamorian in Atla.”
As he took his seat at the desk Rahl decided against correcting Daelyt.
“You think the rain will continue?” asked Daelyt.
“For a few days. The first rains of fall always last a few days. Makes the mage-guards edgy, though. Have to be careful around them when it rains.”
“That’s what they say.”
“That’s the way it is,” insisted Hylart.
Shyret approached, clearly his throat loudly, before speaking. “You have something for me, Hylart?”
“Yes, ser. The last remittance on the last purchases.” The clerk handed a cloth pouch to the director. “Ser Waolsyn would like a receipt, ser.” Hylart drew an envelope from his tunic. “If you would not mind signing…?”
“If you would not mind my counting the golds first,” countered Shyret, opening the cloth pouch and easing the coins onto the desktop before Daelyt. “… eight, nine, ten… thirteen, seventeen, nineteen, twenty… all here.“ He swept the golds back into the pouch, then took the pen that Daelyt handed him and signed the receipt already spread on the desk. ”There you are.“
“Thank you, ser director.” Hylart bowed, then turned, and departed.
Shyret picked up the pouch. “We’d better have Rahl eat first tonight, before you go, Daelyt.”
“Yes, ser.”
Without explaining more, the director turned and headed back to his study.
Rahl looked to the older clerk.
“The director hates getting large remittances after the Exchange closes,” Daelyt said. “He doesn’t want to risk taking them home. So he locks them away in his study. That’s why he wants you to eat first tonight and not go out after that. I doubt anything will happen, but he’d feel better knowing that someone will be here until he can take the golds to the Exchange when it opens in the morning. Tyboran and Yussyl can go with him”
Despite his genial tone, Daelyt was clearly uneasy.
“Just tell me when you want me to go,” replied Rahl. What else could he say?
LIV
Rahl woke abruptly. He’d been dreaming of flame and fire, and sweat was pouring off his forehead. What night was it? Twoday? Was it only twoday? He sat up and swung his legs off the pallet and let his feet drop onto the floor tiles, reassuringly cool. Chaos! Somewhere nearby…
He grabbed his truncheon and slipped out of his cubby, moving surely through the darkness of the night that seemed little more than early twilight to him. Barefoot, and in drawers and an undertunic, he didn’t feel exactly ready for an intruder, but taking the time to dress seemed unwise.
He quickly checked the rear storeroom door, but it was still firmly closed, with all its multiple locks fastened tight.
As he moved toward the front of the building, the feeling of chaos grew stronger. It was clear something was happening there. Rahl eased closer to the door, sensing some form of chaps. He blinked and looked again, but his order-senses, rather than his eyes, discerned a tendril of chaos threading its way through the thinnest of gaps between the door and frame. It wasn’t chaos alone, but chaos intermixed with something else, something darker. Was it order? How could it be?
The tendril tugged, then pushed at one end of the bar, slowly shoving it out of its metal brackets. Abruptly one end of the bar clunked to the floor, then the other, and the door swung open, as if it had already been unlocked, pushing the bar aside. Rahl flattened himself against the wall beside the door, his truncheon ready.
A figure in dark garb stepped inside, falchiona extended.
The man started to turn as he caught sight of Rahl, but Rahl was faster, and his truncheon cracked the man’s wrist, hard enough that Rahl could feel bones snap.
“Oooo… !” The bravo reeled back, out of sight, the falchiona clattering on the floor tiles.
Whhstt! A bolt of whiteness flew toward Rahl, but only the edge of it splattered on his shields.
Another bravo charged into the building, and Rahl barely managed to parry the hurried cut from the sabre— not a falchiona, he noted almost absently.
The bravo was nowhere near as good as Aleasya, let alone Zastryl, and within moments, Rahl had slammed the truncheon across the man’s wrist, and the sabre was on the floor. The bravo backed away hurriedly, then turned and ran. Rahl wasn’t about to chase him, not with chaos-fire coming from outside.
“We will have to handle you differently, dear boy,” came the languid words from the chaos-wizard who stepped inside the front door.
The words chilled Rahl, but he forced himself toward the white-shadowed figure.
More chaos flared around his shields, but he kept moving.
At the last moment, the wizard lifted a falchiona, but one not of iron. It seemed to be made of something else, a whitish bronze, perhaps even true cupridium. Belatedly, Rahl realized that the wizard wore the khakis of a mage-guard, although his visored cap was nowhere to be seen.
Despite the greater length of the blade, Rahl managed a parry, and then to evade the blade enough so that the truncheon touched the wizard’s forearm. He could sense the agony as the wizard tried to swing the blade back toward him.
Rahl stepped inside the blade, ramming the truncheon into the wizard’s throat, knowing the lorken and iron had to touch bare skin to have any great effect. The wizard shuddered and brought the falchiona up, but not quickly enough. That hesitation allowed Rahl to slam the weapons aside, then smash the truncheon back across the wizard’s temple with a solid crunch.
Light flared from where the black iron touched skin, and the wizard gave a last shudder, and then began to collapse in upon himself.
Rahl stood there breathing heavily, still almost aghast at the disintegration of the wizard. He glanced around, trying to determine if anyone else happened to be nearby. He could not see, hear, or sense anyone else. After a moment, he looked down. All that remained was a rough pile of ashes and dust and small objects coated with both. The air seemed filled with glittering reddish white motes of chaos that seemed to disperse as soon as he had become aware of them.
He eased toward the door, truncheon ready, but the sidewalk and boulevard outside were almost silent, except for the distant bells from the harbor, the faint patter of a light rain, and a muted unharmonic discord from the evening insects.
Quickly, he rebarred the door. h How exactly would he explain what had happened?
Rahl snorted. He was more than a little tired of explaining anything. This time, he wasn’t about to explain. He returned to his cubby and pulled on his trousers and boots.
Then he belted his truncheon and picked up a broom and dustpan and walked back to the building entry.
He thought there should have been three blades around, but there were only two, both the bronzelike falchiona and the regular falchiona. He set them
against the wall and began to sort and sweep.
Among the ashes, dust, and scraps of cloth that were all that remained of the chaos-wizard were coins—-a gold, four silvers, and seven coppers. Rahl carefully wiped each off with a rag before placing it in his wallet. He had over four golds—more than he’d ever been able to call his own—and nowhere truly safe to put them, let alone any way to explain how he had gotten them. Still, he could now send a letter to Recluce, but he’d have to do it without Shyret or Daelyt learning about it, or there would be questions he didn’t want to answer.
Something nagged at him, and he looked among the debris for something, what he didn’t even know at first. Then, he swallowed. The mage who had appeared had‘ been wearing a mage-guard uniform. Did that mean he was a renegade of some sort, trying to gain extra coins doing something he shouldn’t be doing? Or were the mage-guards trying to cause trouble for Shyret?
Once more, Rahl had more questions than answers. But questions or not, he needed to remove all evidence of what had happened.
After unlocking the door and checking outside, he took the contents of the dustpan and walked through the light rain several hundred cubits, scattering the contents in the gutter, which had a modest flow. Then he returned to the and took the two falchionas and carried them back westward to the gates to the warehouse courtyard, where he set them just inside the grillwork, where they would be easily visible from inside the courtyard, but not immediately obvious from outside. He certainly could have sold the blades to Chalyn ‘for even more coins, but everyone would know that he had, and that was the last sort of notice he needed, especially since the bronzelike falchiona would have raised far too many questions.
After that he locked up, and replaced the bar, and then went back to his pallet bed. But he left his trousers on and his boots beside his bed. Had the renegade mage-guard and his accomplices come because they had known about the golds Waolsyn had sent to Shyret? That didn’t seem exactly right, but what else could it have been? Or was it an attempted burglary—another part of someone trying to get to Shyret, one way or another?
Were Shyret’s methods making enemies in Swartheld as well?
Again, there were far more questions than Rahl had any way to answer or even speculate-accurately on the possible answers. One thing he did know. It was unlikely that he would sleep well for the remainder of the night.
LV
Rahl took the precaution of getting up early on threeday and mopping the entry area with some of the water left in the storeroom. He also polished the brasswork, including the inside and outside door levers and kick plates, and the woodwork in the area around the door, as well as that around the clerks’ desk. The clouds that had brought the rain the night before had lifted, but not vanished, and a gray dawn had given way to a gray morning by the time Rahl had gotten his day-old loaf of dark bread from Gostof and returned to the Association building. He thought it might rain later, but he’d learned in Nylan that he was far from accurate in predicting the weather.
He was at the desk cleaning his pen, when Daelyt arrived, with a frown on his face.
“Is everything all right?” asked Rahl.
“Have you been out through the courtyard?”
“No. I brought in a bucket of water last night so I wouldn’t have to this morning. I usually do because it takes so long to unlock the gates and relock them.” Rahl paused, then asked, “Why?”
“Something…” Daelyt shook his head. “Chenaryl found some weapons by the gate. I wondered if you’d seen them.”
“I wasn’t out there this morning… well, except I walked by the gates when I went to get some bread, but they were still locked.”
“Daelyt!” Shyret’s voice was harsh, as well as a trace higher than usual.
Without a word, the older clerk turned and headed back , to the archway where the director stood.
Even with order-senses, Rahl could not make out what they discussed, except that Shyret was gesturing and clearly unhappy. Then both walked toward Rahl.
“Did you hear anything… unusual last night?” asked Shyret.
“I woke up once,” Rahl admitted. “I was hot all over and sweating, and I thought I heard something in the street outside, but then it all went away.”
Shyret looked to the older clerk, who frowned.
“Ah… ser, could you tell me what’s the matter? Did I do something wrong? Is this about the weapons? What kind of weapons?”
“There were two blades left on the pavement inside the courtyard,” the director explained. “One was an ancient Cyadoran blade. It had to belong to a mage. The other was a falchiona.”
“Why would anyone leave blades like that?” asked Rahl. “They’re valuable. At the least you could sell them. I got several silvers for that dagger.”
“You couldn’t sell the wizard’s blade without Chalyn telling the mage-guards,” Daelyt pointed out.
“But even if whoever left it knew that, why would they leave the falchiona?” Rahl did his best to look puzzled. Daelyt shrugged.
Shyret looked at Rahl, then at the older clerk.
“Is anything missing from the warehouse?” Rahl asked, trying to instill concern in his words.
“I’m going to have Chenaryl look, but it doesn’t look like anyone opened the gates or climbed them.” Shyret turned and headed for the rear door and the warehouse courtyard.
“Mage-blades at the gates…that’s not good at all,” Said Daelyt.
“Does it mean that a mage is angry at the director or one of us?”
Daelyt laughed harshly. “No. It means that someone killed a mage, and the mage-guards don’t like that at all.”
Rahl shook his head. “But… if someone killed a mage… aren’t they supposed to be registered or something?”
“There aren’t any mages—not ones that are any good unless they’re outlanders—except for the mage-guards. Killing a mage-guard will get you flamed on the spot, unless it’s an accident, and then you’ll spend the rest of your life—what little will be left—in the ironworks.”
“Oh…”
“Exactly.” Daelyt looked directly at Rahl. “How are you coming on the copies of the new schedule?”
“I have one done, and I’m starting the second.”
At that moment, the front door opened, and Hassynat appeared, this time by himself. “Daelyt, what do you have that will handle five hundred stones in about three eightdays?”
“Five hundred stones’ worth of what, Trader Hassynat?”
“Lead plates,” replied Hassynat. “Metals cost more, an additional two golds per hundredstone.”
“That’s banditry, even for you,” complained Hassynat. ‘Then why, with your score of vessels, are you looking for cargo space?“ queried Daelyt with a laugh. ”Might it be that you can carry more of a lighter cargo, items that weigh less?“
Hassynat looked to Rahl. “Is this the way you should treat one who would pay for cartage?”
“Daelyt has far more experience than do I, Trader Hassynat.”
Hassynat laughed ruefully, although Rahl could tell it was largely for show. “You brigands stick together. Four golds a hundredstone? That’s an additional ten golds.”
“In addition to the cartage and valuation reserves,” Daelyt replied.
“What vessel?”
“In two eightdays, we’re expecting the Legacy of the Black Holding and then the Legacy of Nylan.”
“Those old tubs?”
“If you can wait almost five eightdays, you can have space on the Founders.”
“We’ll take the Nylan. I’ll be back tomorrow morning with a draft on the Exchange.”
“The consignment forms will be waiting, ser.”
Hassynat departed, not nearly so unhappy as his words might have indicated, Rahl realized.
“Captain Wyena won’t be happy with that,” Daelyt remarked. “Lead’s a spavined mule to load and stow.”
“I’ll be gone for a bit.” Shyret nodded to Daelyt as he hurried
past and headed for the front door. He did not look at Rahl, who had paused from copying a revised port call listing for the Association ships.
“Yes, ser.” Daelyt took out a consignment form. “You can make the copies for me, if you would, Rahl.”
“I’d be happy to.”
The longer Rahl was at the Association, the more worried he’d become. Not only were Shyret and Daelyt clearly hiding even more than their diversion of coins, but when renegade mages were involved in break-ins, far more was at stake than Rahl wanted to be involved with. But he didn’t have that many alternatives, and the idea of being a mage-guard made more sense than anything else. That he might be right about that occupation being the best for him was even more disturbing. He really didn’t know enough, but maybe he could visit the registry building on sevenday afternoon and talk to one of the mage-guards. He certainly didn’t want to wait until he was forced to leave the Association… or even close to that long, the way matters had gone. By the end of the working eightday, he should know enough more to have a better idea about when to leave. At least, he hoped he would.
For the moment, though, all he could do was his job. He picked up the pen and resumed work on the schedule.
As on oneday and twoday, traders, factors, and more merchants than Rahl had seen before made their way into the Association, all wanting something. That meant Rahl was doing mostly copying, while Daelyt and Shyret, after he returned, sold and bargained, except for the time when Shyret sent Daelyt to the Exchange with the golds from the night before. Clearly, the director was having second thoughts about Rahl.
Yet what could Rahl do? Even if he sent a message—or even managed to persuade a captain to return him to Reduce, how would that help him personally? He had no real proof of what was happening. The ledgers reflected what Shyret said, and Rahl had no way to show that “spoilage” was not taking place. No one seemed to believe him anyway, and even when they did, all the magisters said was that it was his problem.
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