Mage-Guard of Hamor

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  As Rahl turned away, he maintained a pleasant smile. While Taryl might not have known, it was clear to Rahl that Taryl’s new position had resulted from the meetings of the previous days.

  Once the mess doors opened, Rahl seated himself with the three mage-guards he knew more than just by name—Laryn, Devalyn, and Rhyett. The main course at dinner was burhka, with side platters of goat biastras. As he wrapped the flat bread around the thin tube of goat, Rahl couldn’t help but think of Deybri…and the letter he still carried with him.

  “Taryl’s wearing an overcommander’s insignia,” observed Devalyn, looking to Rahl. “All the seniors are courting him…again.” After a pause, he offered in a more formal tone,

  “For those in power all will court,

  in seeking softer words of praise,

  and bringing harder truths up short,

  exalting self and sunlit days.”

  Rahl glanced at Devalyn.

  “That’s Elhazuryn, one of the old Afritan poets.”

  “Does everyone quote old poets?” asked Rahl curiously.

  “Only in Cigoerne,” injected Rhyett. “You’re considered…uncultured…if you don’t.”

  Rahl had a suspicion that Rhyett had almost said “Atlan,” but he just smiled. “I’d better read a few of them, then. Are there any in the library here?”

  “Ah…I don’t know. I’ve never looked,” replied Rhyett.

  Rahl turned his eyes on Devalyn.

  Devalyn shrugged. “Me, neither. I just memorized a bunch because my father said they’d be useful. It helps if you deal with Vladyrt. Saulya just laughs, but that helps, too.”

  “Do you know where Taryl’s going?” asked Rhyett.

  “He’s been appointed Mage-Guard Overcommander in Merowey,” Rahl replied, “but I don’t know more than that.”

  “That won’t go down well with Cyphryt or Welleyn,” murmured Rhyett.

  “You think not? I can’t imagine why.” Laryn’s voice was pleasantly ironic.

  “Are you going with him?” asked Rhyett.

  “Yes. I don’t know when we’ll leave, though, except it’s likely to be before too long.”

  “Word is that you should have been an arms-mage,” ventured Laryn. “One of the mage-clerks said you disarmed every one of them, just using a truncheon.”

  “There are advantages to having been a patrol mage in Swartheld,” Rahl replied. “I can’t use chaos, and that meant I had to be good with the truncheon.”

  “That’s why the best mage-guards with the army are those who can handle a blade,” Devalyn pointed out. “You get exhausted if all you can do is throw chaos. You’ll run out of chaos before the enemy runs out of armsmen.”

  Rhyett gave Devalyn a hard look.

  “That’s what Khedren says,” added Devalyn.

  No one pressed Rahl on what Taryl had in mind for the rest of the meal, and when he had finished, he made his way to the library.

  Rahl had read enough of the two mage-guard histories, more than enough, he thought, and he began to peruse the shelves to see if he could find any volumes of the old poets. Most of the verse, he discovered, was rather more florid than what he’d heard, as he read the opening of something called “Remembrances Past.”

  Evening’s soft hues seep o’er the hamlet’s green,

  with magely tints to harmonize the scene,

  stilled is the crack that through the village broke

  when to the ground crashed down their ancient oak…

  Surely, there had to be something that he could memorize and use, as necessary, if sparingly, to suggest he’d read something.

  One set of lines suggested Saulya to him.

  You spoke and smiled, and I believed

  By every sound and word deceived…

  Another set of lines bewildered him more than anything else at first, and he read them several times.

  As if your deepest thoughts had been screed clear

  and in the glass set forth with every fear,

  while we stand a hundred kays apart

  order links us life to life, heart to heart.

  Could an ordermage actually use a glass to see something hundreds of kays away—or sense what someone was feeling? Certainly, Rahl could sense what someone else felt, but only when they were near. How would such a glass work? Or was it something special that had only existed in ancient Cyad?

  He finally left those lines of verse and leafed on through the book.

  Rahl had only found two or three sets of lines that he had committed—he hoped—to memory when Taryl appeared. Rahl quickly reshelved the books and hurried out after Taryl, who, in turn, led him back down to the underground chamber.

  The older mage-guard did not speak until he had closed the door to the small windowless chamber, lit only by a single bronze wall lamp, and stood behind the small table where Rahl had manipulated sand and water. The table was now clean, without a trace of either sand or water. “Rahl…there is a great deal at stake here, and I’ll be more than happy to explain matters once we leave headquarters, but not until then.”

  “What about your becoming an overcommander? Can you explain that?”

  “Everyone will know that in a few days. The Emperor made the appointment, but he told Dhoryk beforehand that he would. Dhoryk agreed, because he’s been trying his best to discredit Fieryn’s leadership and choice of seniors. Dhoryk also didn’t want to cross Jubyl, not when Fieryn’s already his enemy. While Fieryn didn’t like it, with the Emperor and two out of the Triad supporting the choice, Fieryn really had no choice but to accede.”

  “So Jubyl and the Emperor were the ones who really sent you to Recluce, then?”

  “I can’t admit that, but I won’t contradict it, either. For the moment, those matters are all you need to know.”

  “I can’t reveal matters inadvertently if I know nothing?” Rahl tried to keep the tinge of bitterness out of his voice.

  “Your shields are strong enough to hide anything, but you’re not yet skilled enough to hide the fact that you’re hiding something. That alone, given the right questions, would reveal more than necessary, and there is the difficulty that there are those who would use any tactic to discover certain things.”

  “Like Saulya or Edelya?”

  Taryl laughed softly. “They’re gentle by comparison to Cyphryt and Welleyn and some of their enthusiastic subordinates.”

  “Who is Welleyn? Rhyett mentioned him at dinner.”

  “Welleyn is the overcommander of the Cigoerne region, and that effectively makes him the third-most-powerful mage-guard and the equal of Cyphryt. They’re both vying to succeed Fieryn.”

  “But don’t the senior mage-guards select a successor?”

  “They do, and it’s usually who’s the most powerful, for obvious reasons. Very few of the Triads have been chaos-mages. Fieryn and Dhoryk among the few. Now…enough of that. We can talk about such on the way to the High Command.”

  “Yes, ser.”

  “I want you to raise full personal shields. You’ll need them.”

  Rahl did so.

  “I’m going to ask you questions, and I want you to try to avoid revealing anything…or any emotion involved with the answers.” Taryl extended a tendril of order and snuffed out the wall lamp.

  “Yes, ser.” Rahl waited in the darkness.

  “Were you really so stupid as to think you could seduce that girl in Land’s End with order and not get her with child?”

  Rahl tried not to think about Jienela, but why had Taryl used that question?

  “Did you honestly think that even a second-rate ordermaster like Puvort wouldn’t have known what you’d done? Or do you just think he’s second-rate because he discovered you were breaking the laws?”

  Rahl tried just to think of Deybri, anything calming, behind his shields.

  “Rahl! You’re not paying attention. You never do, not for long enough, anyway.” Taryl’s voice dripped sarcasm and venom. “Why do you always think you know bette
r? Was that why you killed the undercaptain? Because he really did know better than you, and you couldn’t face it?”

  Rahl could sense the disapproval, the condescension behind Taryl’s words. What had he done so wrong?

  “Feeling sorry for yourself now? Is that it?” Waves of scorn washed toward Rahl. “You think you’re the only one in the world who’s had troubles?”

  Rahl knew he wasn’t, but certainly more than a few of the mage-guards had led far easier and more sheltered lives than Rahl.

  “Do you really think that it was just Shyret’s fault that you ended up in Luba?”

  The questions seemed to go on and on, as did waves of the condescension, scorn, and disappointment. What had he done to upset Taryl so much? Had he misread the older mage? And Hamor and the mage-guards?

  Then, almost abruptly, Taryl stopped badgering Rahl. The older mage-guard walked past Rahl and relit the lamp before turning to face Rahl. Taryl’s face was dripping sweat, and Rahl could sense the strain that the “exercise” had taken on him.

  “I asked you questions designed to upset you and put you on edge, but that was merely a small sampling of what a truly cruel and disciplined mage-guard interrogator can do.” Even Taryl’s voice sounded tired. “You didn’t do too badly, except you still feel far too guilty, and I could guess your answers to a number of the questions by the fluctuations in your shields and the level of your anger. Several times, whatever you were thinking of, you were totally effective. I think you know when that happened. You need to work on that. I suggest that you practice being very polite at the mess and projecting only friendliness. Keep everything else behind shields. Keep at it until it’s a firm habit. I can’t do much more with you on this, because now you’ll be expecting it, and it won’t have that kind of impact anymore.”

  Rahl could see that.

  “Remember this. I like you far too much truly to batter at you, or to deceive or ensnare you. I hope you understand that.” Taryl took a deep breath. “I need to wait a bit before heading upstairs. Do you have any questions?”

  “I came across something in the library,” Rahl offered, wanting to shift the conversation away from the failings that Taryl had exposed. “The writer mentioned screeing, and seeing someone in a glass, and also sensing what they felt through it.”

  Taryl frowned. “They have it mixed up. It’s a rare ability, but some mages can use a glass to see events at a distance. Once it was said only chaos-mages had the talent, but a few ordermages have shown that ability, but it’s said they do it differently. I wouldn’t know.” He smiled. “Like all ambitious young mages, I tried it, but never had any success. As for sensing what others feel, some mages who are consorted develop that closeness. There supposedly is a way to force such a link, and the legends say that it was done to Creslin and Megaera—you should know about that.”

  “It’s not mentioned in any of the readings or the legends, and none of the magisters said anything about it,” Rahl replied carefully.

  “The more I hear about what they don’t teach, the more I have to wonder how long the isle will remain strong.” Taryl snorted.

  “The engineers teach more, but they’re not…” Rahl didn’t really want to finish that sentence.

  “Yes? What?”

  “They only see things their way, and if you ask questions that don’t fit, they get unhappy.”

  Taryl laughed. “That describes most people in most lands. We all want things our way.”

  “You were talking about that link…”

  “I don’t know how it could be accomplished, nor do I wish to know that, nor would any honest mage ever want to wreak such violence on another. It could kill both parties.”

  “Was that why they died young?”

  “It could be. It also could be that they were so linked that one could not survive the other’s death.” Taryl used a cloth to blot his face.

  “What plans do you have for me for tomorrow?”

  “Not that many.” Taryl smiled. “But you’ll need to pack all your gear tonight. We’ll be leaving headquarters right after breakfast and traveling to quarters at the High Command. But don’t forget to practice with trying to see the weather. I’ll expect a report while we’re traveling tomorrow.”

  “Yes, ser.” Rahl had forgotten about the weather exercises, although he had actually managed to order-lift one of the tiny iron cubes rather than just to push it across a smooth surface.

  XIV

  After leaving Taryl, Rahl walked up the narrow steps that led to the small stone-walled platform above the quarters wing. It was late enough that he doubted anyone would be on the platform, and it was easier for him to sense what little he could about the weather when he was outside. He thought it might be easier yet if he were higher. Taryl had only mentioned the platform, but it was no secret, and he’d seen others using the steps.

  The door that opened onto the platform was secured only by a latch. Rahl paused, letting his order-senses extend out beyond the closed door, but there was no one on the platform. He opened the door and stepped into the night.

  The evening air was still—cool and heavy. The slightest hint of a breeze wafted across his face, coming from the east-northeast. Rahl walked to the stone balustrade on the north side of the platform—a space no more than six cubits on a side—and faced into the light breath of air. He stood there, not so much concentrating as letting his order-senses be one with the air, trying to feel the dispersed water in it, and the various patterns that it created.

  More to the east, over the Swarth River, there was a greater feel of water in the air, and beyond that, much higher in the sky, there was even more. He almost laughed. There were clouds there that he could make out because they blocked the stars, and he certainly didn’t need order-sensing to determine where there were clouds he could see.

  Were there clouds beyond the ones he could see?

  He tried to let his order-senses feel what lay beyond the nearer clouds, and while he had a feeling of more water in the air, he could not be certain. Slowly, he let his senses range across the skies, moving slowly around the platform as he did. In the end the only dampness in the air near Cigoerne seemed to be that to the northeast, but he had no idea whether that meant rain, although he thought he had felt some motion toward the city.

  When he felt he could do no more, he left the platform, but he was careful to latch the upper door behind him. As he walked down the stone steps toward his single room, he thought about the weather. Taryl had said that weather was nothing more than heat and water. People and animals and everything that lived held some water. Rahl didn’t know how much, but there had to be some. And most land, except the deserts, held water. So did most air. So…if he could sense weather, at a distance, why couldn’t he sense other things? Even sense them with a glass the way Taryl said some mages could?

  The second-level corridor to his room was empty, although it didn’t seem all that late to him, but it could be that many of the mage-guards were at the Staff and Blade. Abruptly, Rahl had to wonder what had changed. When he’d been an apprentice scrivener, he couldn’t wait to go out, either to play plaques with Sevien or just to share talk and redberry or ale. Now, it didn’t seem that important.

  Once he was back in his room, he slid the door bolt into place, then took the mirror off the wall and laid it flat on the small writing table. He sat down at the table and looked down at the mirror. His own face looked back at him.

  What should he do? How did one look for someone or something? Whom could he seek out? It should be someone he knew, but not a greater mage-guard. That might be embarrassing, or even dangerous. He also did not think it wise to seek anyone who might encounter him casually.

  Idly, he wondered what Edelya was doing. Then he let his order-senses reach for an image of what he recalled of the blond mage-guard.

  The glass silvered, and fog seemed to swirl somewhere beneath the shimmering surface. Slowly, a face appeared in the center of the glass, wreathed in fog, a sleeping fa
ce. Abruptly, Edelya’s eyes flew open, and a look of fear appeared, and her mouth opened as if she would scream.

  Rahl was so startled by her reaction that he released all his order-hold on the glass. It was just a mirror once more. He found he was breathing faster, and he was slightly light-headed. He didn’t want to lose the feeling of what he had done, but he certainly didn’t want to try to look at anyone—or not another mage. It was clear that Edelya had felt something. Could all mages sense being seen through screeing?

  After resting for several moments, Rahl decided just to see if he could view the platform from where he’d sought out the weather. This time, he tried to visualize looking eastward toward the scattered lights of Cigoerne. Once more, the glass silvered over, then showed swirling mists, and slowly, indistinctly, an image emerged, foglike, but clear, showing a section of the ring road and the Northern Boulevard, stretching eastward.

  Rahl could feel himself getting light-headed, and he tried to relax, not to use so much effort. That seemed to help, but he could still feel the strain, as well as the sweat beginning to roll down the sides of his face. He stopped, and found he needed to take several deep breaths.

  Had he succeeded? Or had he imagined it? He looked down more closely at the mirror. A thin line of frost ran around the outside edge of the glass. He touched the glass there. It was so cold that for a moment, it felt like he’d burned his fingertip. He’d definitely done something.

  Rahl smiled. Perhaps…just perhaps…if he practiced…if he worked at it…he might be able to obtain a glimpse of Deybri.

  He wiped his forehead and blinked. A white oblong caught his eye—the still-unsent letter to Deybri. He smiled, if but for a moment.

  Taryl—and the ancient poet—had both mentioned, if in different ways, that consorted mages could develop a link. Was that what he felt with Deybri?