“And for you?” inquired Rahl. “You seem equally at home.”
“We were comfortable.”
“More than that,” added Klassyn cheerfully.
Rahl could sense a certain coolness beneath the facade.
“Compared to your family, Klassyn, comfortable is appropriate.”
“I won’t dispute you, not tonight. What about you, Rahl?”
“All Recluce is modest, compared to Hamor, and my background more so than most.”
“One would never guess it. You speak and comport yourself like a well-educated Atlan or Nubyatan.”
“I suspect that’s in my favor,” Rahl replied.
Serita laughed softly. “You must have something to drink.” She raised a hand, and a server seemed to appear from nowhere.
“Ser, might I get you some refreshment?”
“A pale lager, please.”
The server slipped away.
“No leshak or brandy?” asked Klassyn. “The Emperor’s leshak is not to be believed.”
“And probably what it does to those who are unprepared to drink it is also not to be believed,” Rahl said genially.
The server turned and offered Rahl a crystal beaker from a small tray.
Rahl let his order-senses check the lager, but it felt untainted, and he took the smallest sip. “The Emperor’s lager is also quite good.”
“As it should be,” said Klassyn.
Another crimson-clad server slipped up next to the three, proffering a tray on which rested small pastry octagons. Rahl waited for Serita to take one before helping himself.
Klassyn ignored the server, instead continuing, “I understand you’re going off to be a hero. As one of the old poets—Remyl, it was, said,
How brave are they who sleep in earth
who blessed in death their land of birth.
“Although,” he added, “Hamor is not actually your land of birth.”
Rahl smiled politely. “I’m afraid I’m not that kind of hero. I think such words reflect another time. Today,
The song is strained, the notes are cold,
the strings will break with words so old….”
Serita laughed.
“Some think times change, but they don’t,” Klassyn replied. “As the ancient Cyadoran wrote,
and the new becomes the old,
with the way the story’s told.”
“That’s a good point,” Rahl conceded.
“Precisely. We all think that we and our times are different, but all situations result from people, and people don’t change from generation to generation.” Klassyn offered a superior smile.
“Ah…but that same poet would not necessarily agree,” interjected another voice.
Rahl turned to see a slender man dressed in gold and crimson. It had to be the Triad Jubyl.
“He also wrote some other lines, such as
take your desert dunes and sunswept sands,
and pour them through your empty hands.
“Or,” continued the Triad,
“I hear the altage souls lifting lances
against what the future past advances…
until those towers crumble into sand
and Cyad can no longer stand.
“And since Cyad no longer stands, and has not for many, many centuries, it is fair to conclude that while human nature may not change, the circumstances do, and at times, the new is indeed new, and not merely a retelling of the past. But the trick is to learn when new is new, and when it is not.” The Triad turned to Rahl. “You must be Taryl’s assistant.”
Rahl bowed. “Yes, Triad.”
“Save your bows for the Emperor. A simple ‘ser’ will do. As you have doubtless surmised, I am Jubyl.”
“Yes, ser.”
“You are said to have considerable skill with truncheon and staff, enough to be considered as equal to an armsmaster with those weapons. Have you thought of seeking such a position?”
“No, ser.”
“Why not? It is a most honorable position, and those armsmasters with whom you have worked feel you have the ability to impart skills to others.” Jubyl smiled, not coolly, but as if with interest, although his personal shields hid all feelings except a general friendliness, most possibly projected in the way that Taryl had suggested Rahl attempt to cultivate.
“I had not thought of it. It might be because I feel that I still have much to learn, and that handling a blade is painful and difficult.”
The Triad nodded. “It is unwise to dream of what cannot be, but it is even more foolish to have no dreams beyond the present.”
How could he reply to that? After a hesitation, Rahl offered a smile. “I’m still trying to learn about what is possible and what is not.”
“If you can determine that, Rahl, you will have attempted what most never try, and fewer yet can do.”
Rahl could sense that both Klassyn and Serita were watching intently. Although they were out of comfortable earshot, both were capable of using their skills to catch every word. “I will keep your observation in mind, ser.”
“Oh…now you sound like the courtiers who used to flatter Hamylt.”
“Ser…if I say that I will determine what is possible, then I sound arrogant. If I say that I will act as I can, I will sound willful and stupid, and if I agree, then I sound weak and seeking merely to agree.”
Jubyl shook his head, still smiling. “That is the answer you should have given first.”
“I might have, ser, but I couldn’t think of it that quickly.”
At that, Jubyl laughed. “A most honest answer.”
Before Rahl could say more, the Triad turned toward his assistants. “A word with you, Klassyn, if you would.”
Rahl watched for a moment as Jubyl steered Klassyn in the direction of the main doors to the Grand Parlor.
“Honeyed biastras, ser?” A server appeared with a tray, offering delicate pastry tubes.
Rahl took one, carefully, and ate it, finding it too sweet for his taste. At that thought, he smiled, knowing that his mother would never believe that he would find anything too sweet. He took a longer swallow of lager from the beaker he still held.
“Mage-Guard Rahl?”
The voice was Taryl’s, but the formality of the address alerted Rahl, and he turned immediately.
With Taryl was a personage that could only be the Emperor. Surprisingly, at least to Rahl, the Emperor Mythalt did not wear crimson or gold, but a black-silk shirt with a white vest trimmed in crimson and white trousers with a single black stripe down the outside of each leg. He was not especially tall, a span less than Rahl, but his black eyes were alert, and his smile was warm. So were the feelings behind the smile.
“Highest,” said Taryl, “this is Mage-Guard Rahl. He was the assistant envoy on the mission to Recluce, and he acquitted himself well.”
Rahl immediately offered a bow. “Highest.”
“You are an exile from Recluce who registered as a mage and labored in Luba. Is that not so?”
“Yes, Highest.”
“How have you found Hamor?” A faint smile hovered on the Emperor’s lips.
“Hamor has been far more welcoming to me than Recluce, Highest, and Overcommander Taryl has taught me much.”
“Did he tell you to say that?”
“No, Highest. He told me to keep my replies to you direct and short.”
Mythalt laughed. “Would that all those who serve Hamor followed that advice.” After the slightest pause, he added, “We wish you well and thank you for all that you have already done for us.”
“Thank you, Highest.”
With another smile, the Emperor nodded to Taryl and moved toward Jubyl.
Taryl did not follow the Emperor but remained beside Rahl. “A good touch. Short, polite, but not obsequious, and truthful. Now that the Emperor has recognized you, we need to mingle. Just accompany me.” Taryl eased toward a man in black and tan who was talking to another senior officer in a similar but not identical
uniform.
Rahl realized that the first man was the Land Marshal who had preceded them into the Grand Parlor.
“Ah…Overcommander Taryl,” offered Valatyr. “Surely, you recall Sea Marshal Chastyr.”
“I do indeed.” Taryl inclined his head slightly.
“A pleasure to see you back in a more commanding role, Taryl,” replied Chastyr. “I understand your mage-guards in Swartheld got rid of more than a few of those Jeranyi vermin. It’s too bad that you had to travel the whole Eastern Ocean to smooth the feathers of those self-important engineers in Nylan. Worth the effort to us, though.”
“It was worth the effort.” Taryl inclined his head to Rahl. “Rahl here was the one who uncovered the Jeranyi plot and managed to destroy the one pirate vessel himself.”
Valatyr nodded to Rahl. “A pleasure to meet you, Rahl. I told the Sea Marshal here that there was a reason the Emperor recognized you.”
Rahl inclined his head politely. “I’ve attempted to follow the example of the overcommander.”
“A good example, indeed,” said Valatyr heartily.
“Likewise, I congratulate you,” added Chastyr. “A pity you couldn’t have gotten all those Jeranyi in Swartheld. The world wouldn’t miss them. We certainly wouldn’t.”
In turn, Rahl inclined his head to the Sea Marshal.
“Rahl was my assistant in Recluce and will be a part of the land campaign,” Taryl added. “We’ll not keep you, but it was a pleasure to see you both again.”
Rahl followed Taryl away from the two marshals, and toward a woman standing beside two younger women, yet looking somehow alone. The taller and black-haired woman was attired in a deep green that matched her eyes. Her shimmersilk sleeves and scarf were of the same shade, but so sheer that they were nearly transparent.
“My lady Highest,” offered Taryl, bowing deeply.
Rahl followed Taryl’s example but did not speak.
“Triad Taryl, I had hoped you would notice me.”
“One can never not notice you. That has always been true, and always will be so.” Taryl inclined his head. “Might I take the liberty of presenting my assistant, Rahl?”
“Indeed you might.” She turned the deep green eyes on Rahl.
Abruptly, Rahl realized two things he should have caught the moment he had first seen her. She was the Empress, and she was a healer.
“Yes,” she replied ambiguously, “and it is always a pleasure to meet a mage-guard who holds order.”
“Thank you, lady Highest.”
“Emerya. Lady Emerya is required and more than enough.” Her eyes and being were lit with a warmth that Rahl associated with the best healers. Without ignoring Rahl, she addressed Taryl. “I wish you well, and thank you for returning.” Her eyes returned to Rahl. “I also wish you well, Rahl.”
“You are kind, lady,” replied Taryl.
“How could I not repay such as you have done?” Her eyes flicked to her left, to the Emperor. “If you will excuse me.”
Both Rahl and Taryl bowed.
After that, Rahl lost count of the names and introductions.
When the time came for their departure, he was more than glad to accompany Taryl out through the marble halls and columns and back to their coach—waiting several hundred cubits away from the rotunda concourse, unlike a number of others lined up at the entrance. Most of those were far more ornately decorated than the one that had brought the two mage-guards.
“We don’t need to make a departure,” Taryl murmured, but he said nothing more to Rahl until they were in the coach and had left the outer gate of the Palace well behind.
Then he turned to Rahl. “What did you think of the Emperor?”
Rahl wondered how he could respond to such a question. “An honest and direct answer, ser?”
“So long as we’re in private, Rahl.”
“He’s intelligent, good-hearted, and he chose his consort well.”
“That he did. Better than even he deserved but what Hamor needs.”
Rahl could sense something behind Taryl’s words, but wasn’t sure he should ask or even hint.
“What else? Was that all you noticed?”
“The Emperor is possibly too kind to be as effective as he needs to be. He seems like the kind of man who might give too many second chances.”
“He already has, especially to his brother, but he has begun to learn the costs of ill-advised kindness.” Taryl leaned back in the coach seat. “One of the hardest things to learn is when to offer kindness and when not to.”
“Is there any rule to that?”
Taryl laughed softly in the darkness. “Only that you will always make mistakes.”
XIX
Because it was end-day, far fewer mage-guards had been at breakfast, and Rahl had eaten alone. As Taryl had requested, after breakfast, Rahl waited outside the quarters entrance. Before long, a duty coach, one of plain and drab tan, halted. From inside the coach Taryl opened the door and gestured for Rahl to join him. Once Rahl was seated, the driver flicked the leads, and the coach eased away from the quarters.
“We have a short ride,” said Taryl.
Rahl managed to conceal his puzzlement behind his shields. “Yes, ser. Might I ask where?”
“We’re going to visit an empty powder bunker.” Taryl’s smile was polite and brisk.
Rahl sensed he would not get any more information, not at that moment, and forced himself to sit back, although he doubted he would find relaxing possible.
The coach turned east and, after a quarter kay, southward, proceeding past the troop barracks and along an older paved road that had been cut through another berm running east and west from the river. Beyond the berm were only grass-covered bunkers, and the coach pulled up at the third one.
Taryl got out and waited for Rahl.
Rahl descended from the coach and looked westward along the short stone ramp that led to the bunker’s entrance—an open doorway below ground level.
“This will be another type of examination,” Taryl said. “It is obviously to your advantage to do as well as you can. Absolute failure could be quite painful, possibly deadly.”
Rahl managed to keep his irritation behind his shields. “Might I ask if this has anything to do with what my future assignment in the mage-guards will be?”
“Anything that you do, or fail to do, will affect your future,” Taryl said dryly. “Generally, total failure in any field of endeavor is painful and often deadly. I can only say that you will be examined through confrontation of all sorts, from verbal through order and chaos. You are to walk into the bunker and close the door behind you. Beyond that, I cannot say.”
Rahl thought he might have detected some concern behind Taryl’s personal shields, but that could have just been wistful thinking. “Yes, ser.”
“When you are finished, I’ll be here.”
Rahl wasn’t exactly cheered by the older mage-guard’s choice of words, but he nodded, then walked down the stone ramp to the door, heavy double-planked and ironbound oak. He stepped through the door and closed it, then turned in the total darkness. The floor underfoot was packed clay, not stone, and he could sense two figures inside standing ten cubits or so from him. Both were shielded, but one’s shields were order-based, and the other’s bore chaos.
“Step forward.”
Rahl couldn’t tell which figure spoke, but he stepped forward until he was roughly three cubits away.
“Were you told to stop?”
“No, ser.”
“Why did you?” The questions came from the figure who radiated order, rather than the one who held chaos.
“Stepping forward usually means to meet someone, not to walk into or past them, ser.”
“You were born in Recluce, were you not?”
“Yes, ser.”
“You were exiled, were you not?”
“Yes, ser.”
“Explain why. Briefly, and without excuses.”
“I was and am what the magisters called a
natural ordermage. I was unable to improve my skills under their teaching, and whenever I attempted to teach myself, I made severe mistakes. They decided that I was too much of a danger to Nylan and prepared me for exile—with the exception that I was not to attempt any active use of order until I departed.”
“Did you?”
“Not that I was aware of or that they told me, ser.”
“Did not this inability to learn suggest a grave deficiency in you?”
Even though Rahl knew that his interrogator was working to make him angry, he still felt irritation, although he thought he was keeping it behind his shields. “I may have a deficiency in being unable to learn certain aspects of handling order from merely reading—”
“Merely reading?” The words were mocking. “Merely reading?”
“From reading by itself without an effort to work out in practice what the words mean,” Rahl said evenly.
“Then that is what you should have said. Do you always use words that incite and irritate others, Mage-Guard?”
“I attempt not to, ser.”
“Attempting is not succeeding. As a mage-guard, what you attempt matters little if you fail. Effort is honorable, but meaningless unless it leads either to present or future success. Life does not reward pointless and unsuccessful effort. Why should the mage-guards?”
Rahl nodded, but did not speak.
“Answer the question, Mage-Guard. Why should the mage-guards reward pointless and useless effort?”
“They should not, ser, not unless it is useful in teaching a mage-guard or unless it leads to success either by that mage-guard or another.”
“You killed a superior officer in your last posting. While you may have felt it was justified, there is a real question as to whether it indeed was. Was it not just because you had failed to follow your captain’s orders? Or because you actively flaunted those orders?”
Rahl had thought about that question more than a few times in the eightdays since he had left Swartheld. “No, ser.”
“That is a simple and convenient reply, but one with little meaning—except your conviction. Why did you not follow your captain’s orders?”
Mage-Guard of Hamor Page 16