Mage-Guard of Hamor

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  He pursed his lips, thinking. He hadn’t seen that people were that much different in Hamor. So why were the mage-guards more tolerant? Was it because Hamor was so much larger that there were places for different people? Or was it because all mages were closely supervised? Or because there were fewer mages for the number of people, and they were seen as more necessary? Or were they really more tolerant? Was he just seeing what he wanted to see?

  “You’re deep in thought,” observed Taryl, joining him on the open wing of the bridge. “Did you have a good dinner?”

  “Dinner was good. So was the company.” Rahl fumbled with his wallet. “I owe you some silvers. It didn’t take nearly so much as you gave me.”

  Taryl held up his hand. “Keep it. We were each given a gold for incidentals. Usually, what we get for these sorts of expenses is never enough. Just be thankful that it was.”

  Rahl sensed the truth of the angular mage’s words, but keeping the silvers bothered him.

  “Believe me, Rahl, you’ll spend more out of your own wallet for the mage-guards than you’ll ever get back.” Taryl smiled. “You weren’t out that late.”

  “No. There wasn’t much point in it. She wasn’t terribly impressed with Hamor when she was there, and Recluce isn’t exactly impressed with me.”

  “If you keep working on your order-skills, you’ll gain enough control to meet even their standards. You can already meet many of them, in areas such as shielding yourself from sight and making your way in total darkness.”

  What Taryl wasn’t saying, but what Rahl understood, was that the magisters would probably find another reason to keep him from returning to Nylan.

  “Do you think you’d be happy and useful in Nylan,” asked Taryl, “especially when the magisters in the north might not allow you to return there?”

  “I thought so.”

  “And now?”

  “Probably not. If it weren’t for Deybri, I wouldn’t be considering it.”

  “Do you know how she feels?”

  “She’s torn between me and not wanting to leave Recluce.”

  Taryl nodded. “That could be a hard decision, especially for a healer.”

  Rahl almost said that she shouldn’t have had to make such a decision, and wouldn’t have if the magisters had been fair, but he curbed the words, only saying, “I don’t think she’ll leave Nylan.”

  “If you love her, don’t give up on her,” Taryl said.

  Rahl had the feeling that far more emotion lay behind the older mage’s words, but he wasn’t about to ask.

  “Lines in!” came the order from the ship’s duty officer.

  Slowly, the Ascadya eased away from the pier, stern first, until she was out into the main channel.

  “Forward a quarter…”

  For several moments, the ship seemed not to move. Then she gained headway, straightening on a westward course that took her out the center of the channel, past the black-stone pillars that marked the ends of both the north and the south breakwaters. Rahl wanted to look back, but did not.

  Standing well to the west of the harbor was one of the black ships, its lines low and menacing. From what Rahl judged, it was slightly longer than the Ascadya, but nowhere as large as the Hamorian cruiser he had seen at the naval piers in Swartheld.

  “Do they have larger black ships?” he asked Taryl.

  “Not that we know of. Some of the newer ones are slightly larger in length and beam than that one, but they’re all effectively about the same size. That makes it easier to maintain and supply them. The shells and rockets are the same for all vessels.”

  “Rockets?”

  “They use incendiary rockets when necessary. That’s probably one reason why the Jeranyi pirates have gone to iron-hulled vessels.” Taryl smiled wryly. “There’s word now that the black ships are using black-iron-penetrating tips on some rockets.”

  “They’re working on a new kind of engine, too,” Rahl said. “I don’t understand it, but one of the engineers said it would be lighter and stronger and allow a ship to move faster.”

  Taryl frowned. “Are they actually building it?”

  “No, ser. They weren’t when I left. It was something one of the junior engineers had thought up.”

  Taryl laughed, ironically. “It will be years before we see it, if then.”

  “Why?”

  “Even if it’s a good idea, turning it into hard metal takes years, and that’s if there aren’t any problems with it…and if the junior engineer doesn’t have to argue with those who know better.”

  “Like the senior engineers?”

  Taryl shook his head. “Most of the time, those who get to be senior engineers are willing to look at a new idea. They’ll be skeptical, but they’ll look. It’s the ones in the middle. They’ll either try to stop it or steal it. The same thing is often true with armsmen and other military officers.” He paused. “Not exactly. Very junior undercaptains usually don’t know what they’re doing, not unless they’re former rankers, but older and senior majers from distinguished families with Imperial connections are to be avoided as much as possible. So are older senior mage-guards. They have a great similarity to the magisters of Land’s End.”

  Even in Hamor?

  “Now…I have another exercise for you.” Taryl smiled. “We’re headed aft to the fantail, and you’re going to attempt to ‘tag’ some pieces of wood and follow them with your order-senses when I drop them off the stern.” At that, the senior mage-guard turned and headed for the ladder down to the main deck.

  Rahl saw that Taryl was carrying the satchel that usually meant some other exercise. After a moment, the younger mage followed. Why did Taryl keep pushing him?

  Cigoerne

  V

  If anything, Captain Jaracyn pushed the Ascadya even more on the return voyage to Swartheld. The seas were rougher, and Rahl was a touch queasy, for the first time.

  Late on threeday, the northwestern cliffs of Hamor came into view, and before long Rahl could see the late-afternoon sun reflecting off the great northwest lighthouse, a spire above the white cliffs. The swells were high enough that a wide line of white foam marked Heartbreak Reef.

  “I’m glad we’re almost back,” Taryl said from where he stood on the wing of the bridge beside Rahl.

  As he took in the lighthouse, Rahl recalled what Captain Liedra had told him on his first trip to Hamor. “The merchant captains think that Hamor’s never recovered from what Creslin did after he founded Recluce. Is that true?”

  Taryl laughed. “It is, but not in the way they would think. Hamor’s never forgotten the lesson he taught us.”

  Lesson?

  “Good tactics, magery, and new ways of doing things will usually defeat someone who merely relies on what has worked in the past. Why do you think we keep improving our ships? Or trying to use every mage we have, rather than just exiling or executing the ones who are difficult to train or don’t fit into predetermined roles and patterns?”

  “I don’t think they see it that way.”

  “All the better for us. They think we avoid conflict with them because we fear their black ships, but that’s not the real reason. Oh, the black ships could cause considerable damage, but we could build a score of these frigates in the time it would take them to build one black ship, and a half score of our new fast frigates could probably take out two of their ships.”

  “Then…” Rahl wasn’t sure he wanted to ask the question.

  “Why don’t we attack Recluce and remove a problem? Because we’d gain nothing and lose a great deal. They provide goods we want. They send us black and white mages, and while they complain a lot, they don’t attack our shipping, and they buy our goods. A war would cost us golds, ships, and trained men, and in the end, we’d either have to rebuild Recluce the way it was or lose more coins.” Taryl shook his head. “Our navy’s best use is to keep trade free and open, and to track down pirates and raiders. Or to keep people from attacking us or meddling.”

  “Like
in the rebellion?”

  Taryl snorted. “It’s not true all the time, but most of the time, lands have far more problems within their borders than without. Often, even when they are attacked, such attacks come because of the problems they have within and have failed to address.”

  “Might I ask what problem caused the rebellion?”

  “The failure of the previous emperor and of the present emperor to recognize that Golyat was not qualified to be emperor and too self-centered and ambitious to serve his brother for longer than it would take him to raise an army and golds enough for him to attempt to seize the throne.”

  “What would you have done?” asked Rahl.

  “Had him perish as a young man while hunting some dangerous beast, then inform the Emperor of the unfortunate accident. Golyat is the kind who would only chafe in exile until he could find someone to back an invasion.”

  Rahl swallowed at the matter-of-fact tone—and the conviction within the older mage.

  “You think I am cruel? That I have deceived you about who and what I am?” Taryl shook his head. “Hundreds have already died, and thousands will yet die. Crops and grasslands will be devastated. Hundreds, if not thousands, of women will become widows, and children will become orphans. Golds that could be spent on roads and reservoirs and other good works will be spent on weapons and supplies that would not be needed otherwise. The prices of food will rise, and the poor will become poorer. All this because a father and a son would not face the fact that a son and a brother cared for nothing but his own power and pleasure.”

  “But…to order the death of his own son?” Rahl protested.

  “A ruler has a responsibility to those he rules, and one of those responsibilities is to assure that those who follow him provide good and just governance. Rebellions and civil wars do not do so, particularly when they are caused by an emperor’s offspring.”

  Rahl just looked at Taryl.

  The older mage sighed, then took a deep breath. “You killed Undercaptain Craelyt and at least a score of Jeranyi. Why?”

  “Because the Jeranyi would have killed hundreds more.”

  “And the undercaptain?”

  “Because he had killed the captain and…it wasn’t right. You know that, ser.”

  “I do, indeed,” replied Taryl, “and so does the Triad. Your actions prevented far greater harm. Now…is the Emperor more or less responsible for Hamor than are you?”

  “More…” Rahl grudged.

  “Then he has an even greater responsibility than you do. If he is unwilling to do, or have done, what is best as a ruler, what right does he have to request that others behave honorably?”

  “But…murder…fratricide? How is that just?”

  “It is not just. That, I admit, and that is why the Emperor could not and should not do such,” Taryl said. “If emperors are allowed such latitude, all too soon they will see anyone who opposes them in anything as a threat to be removed, and they will become corrupt.”

  Rahl realized, then, exactly what Taryl had said and meant. “The Triad and the High Command? They should have acted? Was that why…?”

  “The Triad and the High Command are supposed to act as a check upon the Emperor.”

  “You were involved, weren’t you?”

  “Let us just say that is why one member of the Triad died and one stepped down after recovering from his injuries. All Hamor will now suffer from that lack of resolution.” Taryl looked directly at Rahl. “A good mage-guard always does his best. Sometimes, it is not enough. That does not mean the effort was wasted, for it must always be made. Bitter as it can be, those who risk all and fail, or only partly succeed, have held true to themselves. Those who weigh the odds and never try unless they have absolute certainty…they never know their true worth.” The older mage-guard offered an ironic smile. “That’s enough philosophy for now. Just remember that all loyalties have their prices, and make sure you understand what those prices are before you act.”

  Taryl gestured toward the southeast. “We’ll be porting shortly, and I need to finish writing my report to the Emperor.” He turned and headed down the ladder.

  After Taryl had left, Rahl looked toward the stone lighthouse and the white cliffs beneath it.

  VI

  Fourday morning found Rahl following Taryl onto the Khamyl—a river steamship headed for Cigoerne. The two had spent the night before at the naval mage-guard quarters in Swartheld, a space largely deserted, since there was only one other warship ported at the naval piers—an older coastal patroller—and two broad-beamed iron-hulled cargo transports.

  “The transports will be dispatched once we have word that we have control of a deep-water port in Merowey,” Taryl had said. “Golyat’s forces control Sastak and Nubyat.”

  Rahl had merely nodded, knowing only that the two cities were ports in the southwestern part of the continent that was Hamor. Still, the fact that the rebel chief held two major ports suggested that the Emperor faced something more like a civil war than a mere rebellion.

  The Khamyl was smaller than the Ascadya, and Rahl and Taryl shared a small room with two bunks. Taryl suggested that the upper was more appropriate for Rahl, and the younger mage-guard had to agree. Small as their room was, it was on the upper deck, the one reserved for those passengers who were either wealthy or on official business of some sort.

  Rahl and Taryl had taken a position on the starboard railing of the upper deck, from where Rahl was observing the various commercial buildings on the south side of Swartheld and trying to see if he could pick out where the Nylan Merchant Association had stood.

  “Rahl,” Taryl said quietly, “in a moment, I’ll be introducing you to someone.”

  As the older mage-guard spoke, Taryl tightened his order shields to the point that Rahl could not determine in the slightest what Taryl was feeling. Even before Rahl turned, he followed Taryl’s example, although he doubted his shields were as effective.

  A slender but muscular mage-guard walked along the deck toward them. Those near him, the men in their ornately embroidered fharongs and the women in silks and with head scarves of even more sheer shimmersilk, eased away with a swiftness that they had not evidenced when Rahl and Taryl had taken their place at the railing. From more than twenty cubits away Rahl could sense the tightness of the newcomer’s shields, as well as note the quality of the cloth of his uniform. He did not seem to notice Taryl or Rahl until Taryl cleared his throat.

  “Cyphryt,” said Taryl pleasantly, “what a pleasant surprise. It’s rather distant from Cigoerne, and I would not have expected to see you here.”

  “Nor I you,” replied the round-faced and cheery-looking mage-guard, who carried a strong aura of white chaos. “But one must occasionally review rather unpleasant situations. As I am sure you know.”

  Taryl smiled and gestured. “Oh…this is Rahl. He’s been transferred from Swartheld to be my assistant.”

  Cyphryt gave a nod slightly more than perfunctory. “You will learn much from Taryl, in more ways than most would believe.”

  “And in more ways than I would have as well, ser,” replied Rahl.

  Cyphryt tilted his head slightly. “For an Atlan, you’re remarkably well spoken.”

  “As you suggested, ser, I’ve already learned a great deal from Senior Mage-Guard Taryl.” Rahl sensed that Cyphryt harbored the same kind of arrogance as Puvort did…and roused the same kind of anger within Rahl. Rahl nodded politely.

  “That’s always for the best.” Cyphryt continued to smile cheerfully. “I wish you both well. I understand that, after the untimely and unfortunate death of Marshal Charynat, the Emperor and the High Command have settled on Marshal Bryna to command the campaign. I would have expected you to continue doing penance in Luba, Taryl, but the vast expanses of Merowey will do as well, I assume, after you do what you must in Cigoerne.”

  “We’ve been requested to report on our last commission.”

  “Ah, yes. Placating the black barbarians. So troublesome, but neces
sary. You do deal with unpleasantness so well and so patiently.”

  “As do you,” replied Taryl.

  “I can see that your…sabbatical…has done you well, Taryl, and that is for the best.” Cyphryt nodded pleasantly. “I am certain I will see you in Cigoerne.” With a continuing smile, he walked toward the rear of the upper deck, where he joined two younger mage-guards—both chaos-mages—at a table under the awning overlooking the lower rear deck. One was a striking red-haired woman.

  Even Cyphryt’s bearing and walk reminded Rahl of Puvort, although the two looked not in the slightest alike.

  “I take it that Cyphryt is to be treated with the same care as…I did with Undercaptain Craelyt?”

  “I would suggest even greater care. For all his outward cheerfulness, Cyphryt can muster more chaos with one finger in an instant than the late undercaptain could have with his entire being in an eightday.”

  “He is highly placed, also?”

  “He is the administrative director of the Triad. Officially, he’s not in the chain of command. That suits him and his approach, but in practice he has close to the same authority as the Mage-Guard Overcommander—without the accountability.”

  Rahl didn’t know quite what else to say. It was clear that Taryl and Cyphryt disliked each other intensely.

  “You will have to watch for him, now,” Taryl went on. “He takes any remark that offers the slightest disagreement with him as a personal affront. He won’t deign to deal with you personally, but it’s more than likely that one of those who wishes to please him will attempt to make your life less pleasant. It will mostly probably be a woman, one such as Saulya—she’s the redhead there.”

  Rahl kept his head lowered, as if he continued to study the shore, behind the Khamyl, but let his eyes and order-senses focus on Saulya. Like all the others at the table, she held firm shields, and there was a sense of coolness behind those shields. “She’s cold.”