Mage-Guard of Hamor

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “I’m meeting with Triad Fieryn shortly,” announced the thin-faced and angular mage-guard. “When I know more, I’ll get back to you. I’ve already arranged for you to spar with Khedren this morning. He’s the headquarters armsmaster, and he should be able to teach you something about how to handle a falchiona with less strain.”

  Rahl wondered if that could be possible.

  “There are techniques. Physical techniques, not order techniques,” Taryl added.

  “Besides,” Rahl replied with a grin, “I’ll get into less trouble if I’m working hard and no one can ask questions.”

  “There is that.” Taryl’s face was expressionless.

  Even so, Rahl caught the sense of amusement.

  “You’ll need all the practice you can get,” Taryl added. “After you finish, wait for me in the library. I trust you can find some suitable reading material to pass the time.”

  “What would you consider most suitable, ser.”

  “I’d suggest one of the histories of the mage-guards. It might give you a better feel for the traditions, but try to read between the lines and the words. What is not written is often as important as what is. Try the most slender volume first.”

  “Yes, ser.” Rahl had to wonder how he was supposed to determine what had not been written. Taryl was sounding like Kadara, and that bothered him.

  “Off with you. The armory and exercise chambers are in the smaller separate building to the south, across the paved rear area and next to the stables.”

  Rahl nodded and headed for the main entry foyer, passing several other mage-guards and nodding politely as he did. Outside, even as early as it was, the air was warm and nearly as damp as it had been in late summer in Swartheld. The green-blue sky was faintly silvered with a thin haze that did nothing to reduce the heat and glare of the sun.

  Unlike the main headquarters, the armory was a low one-story building with two entrances. Rahl took the eastern one and found himself in a foyer with three corridors branching from it. In the middle of the foyer was a table with a fresh-faced mage-clerk seated behind it.

  “Might I help you, ser?”

  “I’m supposed to meet with armsmaster Khedren.”

  “Yes, ser. He said he had a sparring session.”

  “That’s what I’m supposed to be doing,” Rahl admitted.

  “He’s in the main sparring chamber. If you’d take the right corridor to the second set of double doors halfway down.”

  “Thank you.” Rahl smiled and followed the mage-clerk’s directions down the empty corridor. He passed one door, and he could sense a number of people beyond it. He also heard a strident voice.

  “…juniors! All of you…the next one who makes that mistake gets to spar with a senior…”

  A faint smile crossed Rahl’s lips.

  When he reached the second set of doors, Rahl paused, taking a long, slow breath and wondering exactly what to expect. Then he opened the right-hand door and stepped inside. The stone-walled chamber was well lit by four large skylights, but each had what looked to be a black shade to one side and a rope dangling from one end.

  Rahl nodded. The arrangement was similar to what Taryl had used in Luba to train Rahl.

  “Taryl said you’d be here.” The man who stepped forward wore a worn khaki uniform of a mage-guard, but without insignia. He was the only one in the chamber besides Rahl.

  “Yes, ser. You’re armsmaster Khedren, ser?”

  Nodding, Khedren picked up two staffs, extending one to Rahl. The armsmaster was one of the few men in Hamor taller than Rahl, yet even in the few moments Rahl had observed him, Rahl saw a spare grace in his movements and gestures. He bore only the slightest traces of white, but Rahl suspected that was because of the effectiveness of his shields.

  Rahl set aside his visor cap, hanging it on one of the polished wooden pegs on the rack beside the door, then took the proffered staff.

  “You might as well strip down to your undertunic,” suggested Khedren. “Taryl said to give you a workout.”

  “Yes, ser.” After leaning the staff against the stone wall, Rahl took off his shirt and hung it on another peg, then took out his truncheon and laid it across the space between two of the pegs. He reclaimed the exercise staff and turned.

  “Taryl said you were tolerably good with a staff and truncheon. I’d like to see how tolerably good that might be. Let’s see your defenses, first. No attacks.” The armsmaster took his staff and walked to the center of the exercise chamber without waiting for a response.

  Rahl followed and then squared off, waiting for whatever attack Khedren might offer.

  For several long moments, Khedren did nothing, and Rahl waited, shifting his weight from foot to foot, trying to keep loose, yet alert. More time passed, but Rahl waited, knowing that Khedren was simply trying to unnerve him…or get him to attack and thus fail to follow instructions.

  The armsmaster finally moved, with a graceful jab that was half feint, followed by an undercut that Rahl slid. Khedren then thrust directly at Rahl from below, and Rahl slipped sideways, keeping his attention on the armsmaster’s body rather than his eyes. Eyes could deceive, but body weight was harder to use as a feint or deception.

  Once Khedren seemed to realize that Rahl was not open to the normal openings and feints, the armsmaster’s next efforts were based on his greater height and physical strength. Rahl countered by moving and slipping the blows, always sideways, rather than retreating.

  Then came the more complex movements, some that Rahl had never seen, but he managed to avoid being struck, although, at times, Khedren nearly managed it…but not quite.

  Rahl was sweating profusely when Khedren finally stepped back and lowered his staff. He laughed, softly. “Taryl always did prefer understatement. ‘If you’re tolerably good with a staff, how are you with a truncheon?”

  “Actually, ser, I’m just a trace better with the truncheon.”

  “I’ll take your word for that.” Khedren paused. “You must have had training before you came to Luba, even before you went to Nylan.”

  “My father put a truncheon in my hands almost as soon as I could hold it, ser. He had no order-skills, but he wanted me to be able to defend myself in a way that would not encourage me to be a bravo.” That was partly a surmise on Rahl’s part, because Kian had never quite said that, but Rahl felt it to be so.

  “Wise man. We’ll work on the blades, now, since Taryl asked me to give you instruction in falchiona techniques that are most useful for an ordermage. If you’d put the staffs in the rack over there, I’ll get the weighted wooden blanks.”

  Khedren walked to a chest set against the far wall, which he opened, and from which he extracted two blades. He walked back to Rahl, displaying both blunted practice weapons. They looked almost identical, but one felt far less threatening to Rahl.

  “You can tell the difference, can’t you?”

  “Yes, ser.”

  A faint smile appeared on Khedren’s lips. “The one you’ll use is of heavy oak with small lead weights set in the wood to approximate the weight and heft of a falchiona as closely as possible. Even a blunted blade strains a good ordermage, and the better the ordermage, the more the strain. There’s no reason to create unnecessary strain.” Khedren paused. “What we’ll work on with you is a series of moves designed more to keep an opponent from even crossing blades with you. From that basic set of moves, you’ll learn three or four single strikes. Obviously, you only want to use them when you’re facing a single opponent, or when others aren’t too close, because if you’re successful, you’ll be frozen for a moment after a blade kill, and a good blade can strike in that instant.”

  Rahl took the weighted wooden blank. As Khedren had said, it had the weight and heft of a falchiona, but it was easier to hold and didn’t contain the ugly reddish white of a true falchiona.

  “Now…watch this.” Khedren stepped to one side and began to demonstrate.

  Rahl concentrated, knowing that he well might need to k
now everything that the armsmaster could teach him.

  Once more Rahl found himself sweating heavily by the time Khedren called a halt.

  “That’s enough for today. You’ll need more practice before they become natural.”

  Rahl could tell already that the techniques would be helpful, although he hoped never to have to discover exactly how useful. “Thank you.”

  “My pleasure.” Khedren smiled. “In return, I have a favor to ask of you. After you have some bread and cheese, and some rest.” He gestured.

  Rahl followed him to a small adjoining chamber, which held a small table and several straight-backed chairs. He was glad to sit down, but surprised when Khedren sliced several small wedges of cheese off a wheel and set a loaf of bread on the table, along with two mugs of ale.

  “Thank you.”

  “I enjoyed it. Unless Taryl or Jyrolt or a handful of others come through, I don’t really get a chance to work out with someone of skill. You could be among the best in years—with the staff and truncheon.”

  Rahl wondered about the favor. “Ah…”

  “Oh, the favor. It’s very simple. I’d like you to spar with some of the older mage-clerks, and I’d like you to disarm them as quickly, but painlessly, as possible. As you may know, the mage-clerks have this tendency to think that they are better than they are, and they dismiss my efforts because they feel that I’m an armsmaster and that they’ll seldom come up against anyone that good.”

  Rahl couldn’t help grinning.

  “Finish up eating while I have Fientard bring them over here.”

  Rahl tried not to hurry, but he still felt nervous, and was waiting at the end of the chamber when Khedren returned with another arms-mage and five mage-clerks. As he walked toward the group, Rahl couldn’t help but be aware of his disheveled appearance and the aura of near contempt from the dark-haired youth who was taller than the others and even slightly taller than Rahl himself.

  Rahl stopped and listened as Khedren addressed the five.

  “Some of you seem to have the mistaken impression that you are of equivalent ability to the everyday mage-guard. I have told you that is not so, but you seem not to have understood my words.” Khedren inclined his head to Rahl. “Rahl here became a full mage-guard less than a year ago, and he has been stationed in Swartheld. He is an ordermage, as some of you should be able to tell, so that he will not be able to use chaos against you. Each of you will have an opportunity to attack him with your own weapon of choice. He will use a truncheon.”

  Rahl decided to use his own weapon, rather than a practice truncheon, and reclaimed it from where he had placed it on the pegs.

  Khedren turned to the mage-clerk who still radiated a slightly veiled contempt. “Viencyr, you seem eager to prove your worth. You can go first.”

  The would-be mage-guard lifted a blunt-edged falchiona.

  Rahl emulated Khedren’s earlier example and walked to the center of the chamber, where he waited for Viencyr.

  The youth followed, then took a stance, with his feet slightly too far apart, raising his falchiona to a guard position.

  “You may begin,” Rahl said quietly.

  Viencyr began to circle, and Rahl angled into the youth’s trailing side. When Viencyr turned and flicked out the blade, almost as if as a warning, Rahl leaned and darted in behind the blade, bringing his truncheon sharply across Viencyr’s elbow. The falchiona clattered to the stone.

  Rahl could sense that he’d been too quick for what he had done to make an impression. He stepped back. “Pick it up.”

  Viencyr scooped up the blade and attempted to attack as he came up.

  Rahl was waiting, and beat down the blade, stepped on it, and jammed his truncheon into Viencyr’s gut. The youth doubled over, letting go of the blade. Rahl stepped back.

  “You’re next, Xeryt.”

  Xeryt was more cautious, but the results were the same, if with different moves by Rahl.

  Rahl didn’t raise a sweat in disarming all five.

  After the last, Khedren turned. “Thank you very much, Mage-Guard Rahl.”

  “My pleasure, ser.”

  Rahl began to collect his gear, deciding, although it might not be approved, merely to carry his shirt back to the quarters and not to wear it until he washed up. He also managed not to smile as Khedren spoke to the mage-clerks.

  “…hope this little demonstration has given you all an idea of how much you still have to learn about arms. I would also point out that Mage-Guard Rahl could easily have killed each and every one of you with no more effort than he used in disarming you. There are a number of Codex breakers in Swartheld who are no longer with the living as a result of his truncheon…”

  How much had Taryl told Khedren? Rahl slipped out of the arms exercise chamber and made his way back to his quarters. By the time he had cleaned up and was back in full uniform, it was early afternoon.

  As he walked along the main-floor corridor toward the library, he noted large pale green glass hexagons set at regular intervals between the stone floor tiles, something he had not seen before. The hexagons ended at the door to the library, located in the corner spaces between the quarters wing and the mess wing.

  Only a few older mages were in the chamber, but one glared at Rahl as he entered. Rahl merely smiled politely in return and made his way to the floor-to-ceiling shelves. In time, he located the shelf that held the histories, and he found four different ones. Following Taryl’s advice, he picked the thinnest volume—Historie of the Mage-Guards of Hamor. From the binding and the letter styles, he suspected it was also the oldest.

  Then he settled into one of the comfortable armchairs best placed to catch the light from the long and narrow windows and began to read.

  The historie of the Mage-Guards of Hamor is old and illustrious, for the Mage-Guards form one pillar of the three that support the Empire, and the most vital pillar of those three…

  He read almost thirty pages, learning little more than what Taryl and Jyrolt had already told him, except for names and accomplishments that meant little to him and the fact that the Triad was actually composed of a senior mage picked by the senior mages of the mage-guards, one chosen by the High Command, and one picked by the Emperor.

  His stomach was beginning to growl, when the faintest sound of steps…and the aura of another mage-guard, definitely female, neared. She carried a larger volume than Rahl’s and eased into the chair beside him. Although she did not look at Rahl at all, he could sense that she had order-skills and was employing them. He left his order shields as they had been, low enough to protect him from casual probing and intrusion, and continued with the book. He turned the pages, slowly, not so much reading as looking for facts that would help him better understand the mage-guards.

  She finally coughed, and Rahl looked up.

  The blond mage-guard pointed to his volume and shook her head.

  He raised his eyebrows.

  She stood, still carrying the large tome, then motioned for Rahl to follow her.

  Rahl rose and walked after her, out into the foyer of the library. The history was not that intriguing, and he wanted to know why she was spying on him. He couldn’t believe it was just casual interest.

  “I’m Edelya,” she said. “I noticed that you were reading a mage-guard history. Everyone picks that one up because it looks short, but it’s not very good, and it’s harder to read than almost any of the others.”

  “Rahl,” he replied. “The language is…stiff, I guess I’d call it. How did you know that?” He looked at her closely. While she was small and wiry, petite, her face was smooth, almost chiseled, and her eyes were like gray granite, and looked about as hard. Behind the pleasant smile, she felt cool, almost shallow, compared to Deybri, or even Kadara or Leyla. With a shock, he realized that her bearing and attitude were more like Fahla, the factor’s daughter that Puvort had sentenced to indentured slavery because she had refused to betray her father.

  For a moment, Rahl’s anger flared, but h
e caught himself. The faintest hint of puzzlement escaped Edelya’s shields. Rahl decided it was better to explain than let her think the anger was directed at her.

  “I’m sorry,” Rahl said. “You reminded me of someone to whom a great wrong was done, and it kindled anger at those who did it.”

  “Someone you cared for?” Her eyebrows lifted.

  He laughed softly. “She was never more than a friend, but it was still a wrong.” After a moment, he added, “Which history would you suggest?”

  “Aliazyr’s—it’s the one in the brown-and-black binding.”

  “How do you know so much about the histories?”

  “We all have to read them sooner or later. The training mages force them upon mage-clerks here, and those of you who are trained elsewhere…usually someone ‘suggests’ you read them when you come here.”

  Rahl nodded. “Where are you from?”

  “Cigoerne.” Edelya paused. “Chalamer, actually. It’s about ten kays from here, but I always have to explain.”

  “What are your duties here?”

  “My…you are formal, Rahl.”

  “More like curious.” Rahl offered a grin. “I haven’t really figured out why the Emperor and the mage-guards need so many mages here.”

  “There really aren’t that many.” She frowned. “There might be twoscore, not counting the trainee mage-clerks. There are about twoscore and a half of those right now, but you won’t see most of them. Only the senior mage-clerks get to eat in the mess with the mage-guards. The senior clerks are the ones within a year of their evaluation.”

  “And you? Are you one of those who helps train them?”

  “Sometimes I help with the exercises for those who are ordermages, but I’m actually an assistant to the weather mage. Before long, I’ll probably be sent south.” She shook her head. “Knowing what the weather might be is something people overlook, but it can determine when to fight and when not to.”