Mage-Guard of Hamor

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “You’re an ordermage, and stronger than the average for a mage-guard, but there’s no hint of chaos about you. How did you manage to get the ship to explode?”

  “I managed to use a sight shield to get to the ammunition magazines, and I set fuses to the powder, sir. I did fashion a little order around the fuses so that they’d burn steady. Then I hurried as fast as I could to get away. I almost didn’t make it, and I had to jump into the harbor and stay underwater.”

  Fieryn laughed once more. “It’s good to hear when a mage-guard has to use something besides his order-or chaos-abilities.” The laugh and smile vanished. “I’m curious. How did Recluce let an ordermage as accomplished as you are depart?”

  Rahl offered a rueful smile. “It’s a long story, ser, but the short version is that they declared that I was a natural ordermage, and could not learn anything, and that I was a danger to Recluce and Nylan. The magisters were relieved to see me depart.”

  “Yet you worked as a clerk for a time?”

  “They did not think I was teachable or knew that much. I didn’t know better. I didn’t even think I knew enough to be considered any sort of mage until one of the harbor mage-guards stopped me while I was delivering papers and suggested that I register as an outland mage.”

  “Did you?”

  “Yes, ser. Almost immediately.”

  “Almost?” Fieryn raised his near-transparent eyebrows.

  “I finished delivering the papers to the tariff enumerators and went straight to the mage-guard station.”

  Fieryn looked to Taryl.

  “He did, and there’s a record of his registry.”

  Fieryn shook his head. “Sometimes, I have to wonder how Recluce survives. They throw out mages like you, and they threw out the greatest engineer in recent history, and he had to defeat an entire fleet with one ship for them to allow him back—and only if he built a separate city.” His eyes flicked back to Rahl. “Are you loyal to the mage-guards or to Taryl?”

  “From what I know and have seen, ser, there is no difference.” As soon as he spoke, Rahl wished he’d phrased his reply differently.

  Fieryn paused, just fractionally, before asking, “Did anyone tell you to say that?”

  “No, ser. It’s just that everything I’ve seen tells me that. I doubt the overcommander would have wanted me to say that. It’s probably not a good answer for someone who is ambitious or knows Cigoerne well.” That was an even worse answer. Why couldn’t he just murmur something polite?

  “Why do you say that?”

  That he could answer honestly without getting in trouble. “Because I don’t know Cigoerne, ser, and because I’m most grateful to be a mage-guard after all I’ve seen.”

  Fieryn nodded slowly. “I can sense you mean that deeply, and few do, or not for long. I would caution you that innocence will not protect you from evil or corruption. Nor will good will and faith. The only true protection is an understanding that there is no such thing as a little corruption and that all power and fame are fleeting. I doubt that there is a mage-guard anywhere under thirty years who can name the Triad before my predecessor, and less than a handful of Hamorians recall the name of the Emperor before Hamylt. Cyad once ruled the world, and no one is certain where most of her great cities even were.”

  Rahl sensed that the Triad meant every word, and yet…He just nodded. “Yes, ser.”

  Fieryn stood abruptly. “It has been good to see you again, Taryl, and to meet you, Rahl. I look forward to hearing good things from both of you.”

  Rahl rose from the conference table with Taryl. He realized that he had not sensed the Triad’s intention until Fieryn had stood. That alone told him he still had much to learn.

  He also had to wonder why Fieryn had requested such a long coach ride for both Taryl and Rahl for such a short meeting that seemed almost perfunctory, yet he had the strong feeling that asking about it would be most unwise.

  Taryl did not speak until they had left the Triad’s wing and were back in the coach.

  “When we get back to the High Command post, I’d like you to impose on Majer Xerya to show you anything she thinks might someday be within your capability, even if you cannot do it now or in the near future.”

  “Ser?”

  “Rahl…think.”

  Rahl almost stopped dead in his boots. Why was…He shook his head. “Is that because I have to know it can be done by having seen it?”

  “After the past year, you have to ask?” Taryl’s tone was between exasperated and chiding.

  What could Rahl say to that? Although Taryl’s words had irritated him, the overcommander was right. It was just that he was trying to learn so much.

  “Rahl…you have this tendency to feel sorry for yourself when you are overwhelmed with what you need to do and learn. I’m going to say something that I will not say again, but I expect you to remember it.”

  “Yes, ser.”

  “First, anyone who has ever done anything of true worth has been overwhelmed. Only the lazy, the incompetent, and the ignorant have not experienced that feeling when working hard at something. Second, no one cares if you feel overwhelmed. They only want the task at hand accomplished. Feeling sorry for yourself just distracts you and wastes time and effort.” Taryl pointed to the smaller stack of dispatches. “You have more than a little reading to do.”

  “Yes, ser.”

  There were definitely aspects to being a mage-guard that Rahl had never considered. He picked up the dispatches and began to read once more.

  XXI

  The remainder of oneday and most of twoday blurred together for Rahl, perhaps because his head was splitting by the time he got out of the coach back at the High Command. Trying to read through the dispatches was almost as bad as copying Natural Philosophies had been when he’d been an apprentice scrivener. Half the officers wrote too little, and the other half wrote too much in phrases that sounded as though they were trying to please an ancient master of rhetoric, perhaps even an ancient Cyadoran master of rhetoric.

  After Taryl left him, Rahl had gone to the infirmary and conveyed Taryl’s wishes to Majer Xerya. She had promptly made him accompany her for the entire remainder of the day, which had included using order and a sharp surgical saw to amputate a leg, assisting as he could in setting and splinting a broken lower arm, and lancing and cleaning a number of boils. Rahl managed to get adequately proficient with boils and small eruptions that Xerya had him handle several on his own, if under her watchful eye. He had to admit that he had a far greater respect for the majer—and for Deybri—when he walked slowly back to his quarters to wash up for the evening meal in the mess.

  By the time oneday was over, his back, shoulders, head, eyes, and fingers all ached. Still, he did scan the skies and try to determine the weather ahead. He even managed some more exercises with the iron blocks and water.

  Twoday wasn’t much better. After breakfast, Taryl quizzed him briefly on the tactics manual, then handed him a list of questions on tactics and told him to come up with written answers before the evening meal. The overcommander also handed him more dispatches, asking Rahl to sort out those he thought important and to be prepared to tell Taryl why. He was also asked to write out a report on what he thought the weather would be for the next three days heading upriver.

  Rahl finished the weather report just before the evening meal and handed it to Taryl in the library that was little more than a quarters chamber stuffed with shelves, books, a few ancient wooden armchairs, and two battered table desks.

  Taryl looked at it and nodded. Then he skimmed over Rahl’s responses to the tactics questions and nodded at those. But…on every dispatch Rahl pulled out, he asked variations on the same question: “What isn’t in this dispatch, and what does that mean?”

  By threeday, Rahl was more than ready to carry his gear onto the Fyrador. Following Taryl’s orders, he boarded slightly after midday and found himself assigned to a cabin that held two bunks and little more. He put his gear in the net above t
he upper bunk and went out to the upper deck to wait for Taryl. Upper deck was a misnomer, because it was actually the third deck, above both the main deck and the middeck. There was a half deck above the upper deck, but that was reserved for the crew.

  Rahl stood at the railing under the hazy winter sun that created a warmth more like the spring in Land’s End, but the air held the acrid odor of burning coal. He eased his visored cap back slightly, his eyes drifting from the stone piers back aft to the massive paddle wheel. As he had noted earlier when he’d inspected the docks, the river steamers were most unlike the seagoing trading vessels or warships like the Ascadya. They were far broader in the beam, and except for the bow, almost oblong in shape. The Fyrador and the Syadtar were more than a hundred and fifty cubits in length, while the other three were a good thirty cubits shorter. They all had neither the screws of the iron-hulled military vessels nor the side-wheel paddles of the trading ships, but a single rear paddle wheel more than fifteen cubits in diameter. Rahl didn’t know exactly how much water they drew, but their draft was far shallower than the sea-going vessels, certainly less than ten cubits.

  So far as Rahl could tell, he was the only mage-guard on the Fyrador. The upper deck was limited to squad leaders and officers, but Rahl only saw a handful of either.

  The overcommander arrived just before the Fyrador blew its departure whistle. Rahl watched as Taryl hurried up the gangway carrying two gear bags that bulged in all directions. Behind him came a trooper carrying two more bags. Before long, Taryl appeared on the upper deck and walked to join Rahl. The older mage-guard had deep circles under his red-rimmed eyes, and while his steps were firm, Rahl could sense his exhaustion.

  For a time, Taryl just leaned on the railing and watched as the gangway was swung aboard and the lines singled up, then untied and reeled in. Another series of long blasts issued from whistle, and the paddle wheel began to turn, slowly thumping as it churned the water aft of the Fyrador. Slowly, the river steamer pulled away from the pier and out into the channel, heading upstream.

  The departure whistles of the second river steamer, the Syadtar, echoed through the afternoon.

  Slowly, Taryl straightened. “I’m going to take a nap. Keep an eye on things, and wake me if you sense anything strange. Otherwise, I’ll see you later.”

  “Should I be looking for anything in particular?”

  “If I knew that—” Taryl broke off his words. “I’m sorry. No, I can’t tell you what to look for, just anything that feels chaotic or disordered…or makes you uneasy, particularly any boxes or bundles that no one is around.”

  “Yes, ser.”

  After Taryl left for his cabin, Rahl checked the truncheon at his belt, then walked slowly along the upper deck, pausing every few cubits to let his order-senses range over the troopers on the middeck and main deck. For the first twenty cubits or so, he sensed nothing unusual. Then he could feel a touch of chaos, but he had trouble locating it. Finally, he realized that it was not chaos properly at all, but some sort of vent that carried hot air—probably from the engine or boiler room.

  He passed several officers, generally captains, and nodded politely to each. The only one he knew by sight and name was Bleun, but Bleun just nodded and stepped back as Rahl neared him.

  Rahl paid special attention to boxes set on the narrow, uncovered, outboard section of the main deck, but troopers were still carrying a number of them toward the forward hold. With the steamer’s shallow draft, Rahl could imagine that not all that much cargo could be stored belowdecks, not with the need for the boilers and engines—and the coal that powered them.

  With Taryl’s concerns and cautions in mind, Rahl took his time in making a complete circuit of the upper deck and probing below with his order-senses. He had found a number of “chaotic” points, but so far as he could tell, all had to do with the actual operation of the Fyrador in some fashion or another.

  Before making another circuit, he stopped and took a long and deep breath.

  He glanced aft. The massive rear paddle wheel left a white froth behind on the dark water, yet that foam vanished by the time the Fyrador had traveled twice its own length, and certainly long before the Syadtar reached where the foam had been.

  Even hundreds of kays upstream from Swartheld, the Swarth River was far wider than the Feyn—the only river worthy of the name in Recluce—still close to half a kay in width although not so deep as it was near Swartheld. Orchards still lined both sides of the river, planted in neat rows on the slopes above the marshy area at the river’s edge.

  Rahl spied several wild gray geese in calmer water near a stubby pier on the west side of the river. He thought they might take flight as the ripples from the steamer reached them, but they only bobbed slightly in the water. For some reason, their apparent grace and calm reminded him of Deybri, and the thought that he was traveling toward a rebellion seemed almost impossible.

  One of the geese tipped sideways, and Rahl realized that it was only a decoy. He smiled wryly and began another circuit of the upper deck.

  Merowey

  XXII

  Taryl slept most of threeday afternoon, and Rahl saw him only briefly at the evening meal, if overspiced burhka and soggy noodles qualified as a meal. Taryl said little beyond pleasantries, and his thoughts were clearly somewhere else. Because Rahl had learned that trying to get Taryl to say something he did not want to discuss was clearly unproductive, he did not press. Irritated as he was, he kept that irritation behind his personal shields. At least, that was a form of practice at strengthening those shields.

  Breakfast was overdone egg toast and dry mutton slapped on a platter with warm ale. Rahl sat at a corner table in the small mess that served both squad leaders and officers. No one asked to sit with him.

  Finally, well past midmorning on fourday, Taryl joined Rahl under the awning at the rear of the upper deck. Given the cloudy nature of the day, the awning was unnecessary either as respite from the sun or from rain, because the clouds were high enough—and contained little enough moisture, Rahl had ascertained—that rain was most unlikely. The river had narrowed somewhat, and the current seemed stronger. Rahl could sense that the engines were working harder, and their upstream progress seemed slower.

  He’d had time to think more about the revolt, and there were certain aspects of it that made little sense.

  “You have that quizzical look, Rahl. Creating effective shields isn’t much use if your face reveals what your shields conceal.”

  “I know I don’t understand all the machinations, or the reasons behind them, ser, but I’m having trouble figuring out why there’s so much maneuvering and scheming. The Triads are all powerful mages, and the Emperor…well, he’s the Emperor. Who could stand up to them directly?”

  Taryl laughed. “That’s exactly why there’s scheming. Think about it this way. No one rules except through others who carry out their will. In every land, some group has the power to support or topple a ruler. If the white wizards of Fairhaven do not support the High Wizard, there is another High Wizard. If the magisters just below the council in Nylan do not support the council, the council changes. In Hamor, matters are more…mixed.”

  “That’s what I don’t understand. The officers in charge of the battalions and regiments seem to support the Emperor. Most of the more successful traders and factors do. The mage-guards were established and govern to support the Emperor.”

  “That’s not quite true, Rahl. Why do you think that there are three Triads, one for the Emperor, one for the High Command, and one for the mage-guards?”

  Rahl frowned. “You’re suggesting that the Triads were formed to weaken the power of the mages?”

  “To channel and restrain that power, yes. A structure that provides equal power to advise the Emperor and to carry out his policies and the law of the land to three powerful mages goes far to assure that no one group or person has too much power. It also assures the people, the troopers and sailors of the High Command, and the mage-guards that they h
ave an equal voice in how Hamor is governed. Equally important, it restricts what the ordermages and chaos-mages of Hamor can and cannot do. In return for certain powers and privileges, they are forced to forgo others. In a way, it’s a continuation of the Cyadoran division of elthage, altage, and merage.”

  Rahl hadn’t the faintest idea what Taryl meant.

  “Cyador divided its society into mages, military, and merchanters. Hamor’s structure is somewhat different, but the Cyadoran system endured thousands of years before the great collapse.” Taryl paused. “The problem facing the Emperor is simple. He believes that the mage-guards have enough power and privilege, and that trade and prosperous growers are the keys to Hamor’s future. He’s right, because neither the High Command nor the mage-guards produce anything. We only protect. The High Command protects against other lands and their fleets. The mage-guards protect the people against themselves. Both protections are needed, but they should serve all people, not just those with coins or power. The problem of ruling in Hamor is that the Emperor needs the support of two of the three Triads. To remain as Mage-Guard Triad, Fieryn needs the support of most of the more powerful senior mage-guards. Dhoryk needs the support of his marshals. The Emperor needs the support of the people. No ruler has ever survived against the opposition of his people. Those who scheme attempt to undermine such support to their own ends, which are their own accession to power.” Taryl offered a wry smile. “All lands have schemers, and in all lands, those who wish a fair and honest ruler need to oppose such schemers. That does not guarantee a good ruler, but the success of scheming almost always guarantees poor governing for most of the populace.” He cleared his throat. “Enough of that for now. Have you discerned anything out of the ordinary here on board?”

  “No, ser. I’ve been making regular checks. There’s chaos heat in places vented from the boilers and the engines, and some of the troops are a little ill—that shows up as diffuse chaos.”