“You can sense that?” Taryl seemed surprised, and that didn’t happen often.
“Yes, ser.” Rahl paused. “I guess I always could, but until I worked with Majer Xerya, I really didn’t know what it was.”
“She didn’t mention that to me.” Taryl sounded somewhere between amused and slightly miffed.
“I didn’t tell her, ser. It was when I saw the patient with brain fever, and there was chaos all through his body, but not all that much in one place, not like the troops with wounds or broken bones. I got to thinking and watching. The majer seemed to know that, and there didn’t seem to be much point in telling her what she knew and expected me to know.”
Taryl laughed, ruefully. “Just because people expect you to know something doesn’t mean that they know you know it. You need to find a way to let them know without being obnoxious or obsequious. But then, that’s true of most times when you have to tell superiors something.”
True as Taryl’s words probably were, they irritated Rahl. Why couldn’t he just say something without having to worry about how people reacted? Most of them didn’t seem to care about how he felt.
“You’ve been assigned to the Third Mounted Heavy Infantry under Captain Drakeyt. That’s normally a position for a longtime mage-guard or one with less time in the mage-guards who’s just been made a senior mage-guard. Cyphryt wanted someone else for the position—”
“Vladyrt?”
Taryl shook his head. “Vladyrt isn’t suited to that. He’d end up with half the company dead and his throat cut in weeks. I could have just assigned you. That’s within my purview, but I wanted Fieryn and Jubyl to understand my reasons. That’s why you had to meet so many people and undergo the arms evaluation and the order/chaos-skills evaluation. They had to know that you had the basic skills for the position.”
Rahl considered Taryl’s words, then looked at the overcommander. Taryl was waiting. “I’m new to all the plotting and scheming, and I don’t think I’ll ever be that good at it. You’re saying that I had to get the position on my ability rather than because you wanted me in that position. I don’t have a problem with that, ser, but…” Rahl paused. “That suggests that there are only so many things you can order just on your say-so…or…that everything you do needs to be supported.” Rahl could sense that he didn’t have it quite right. “Is all this because there are mage-guards and officers who are secretly supporting Golyat and who would use any favoritism against the Emperor?”
“Close enough,” replied Taryl. “In something like this, the more all the officers feel that everything is being done as well as possible, the more likely that the troops will feel the same way. That makes them more effective troops. Making them feel that way consists of two parts. First, the officers have to do it the best way possible. Second, they have to make those they command feel that they’ve done it that way.”
“How many other mage-guards are assigned to other companies?”
“There are supposed to be two mage-guards for every battalion. We’ll be fortunate if we have one for every other battalion.”
“What exactly are my duties?”
“The Third Mounted Heavy Infantry will conduct scouting expeditions ahead of the main body. Your task is to locate enemy forces as you can, find and check water supplies, provide an idea of the weather conditions, act as a field healer as much as practicable, and advise the captain who commands the company. You are also his back-up in case of injury, but not his subordinate, and you need to keep that distinction in mind.”
“Ser…what is the difference between mounted heavy infantry and cavalry?”
“It’s minimal these days, but the basic distinction is that in heavy infantry, the officers and men are trained to fight as individuals and units both on foot and from the saddle. We don’t use footmen that much for attacks, in any event, because they’re sitting swans for a chaos-mage. They’re better suited to defense behind walls, and we’re usually not the defenders.
“Why do they use sabres, instead of falchionas?”
“In combat, except in the hands of a master blade or someone trained as a mage-guard, falchionas can be as much a danger to the wielder as the opponent. They’re also much heavier. That means most lose their effectiveness sooner in a pitched battle.”
“Is the Third Mounted Heavy Infantry onboard the Fyrador?” If Captain Drakeyt were on the steamer, Rahl might as well meet him before they reached Kysha.
“No. They’re already in Kysha, and they’ll be setting out almost as soon as we disembark. They’ve been part of the force protecting the city. They’re ready to go. The heavy mounted companies on the steamers will need several days before their mounts are ready.”
“Then I’ll be setting out fairly soon.”
“Yes.” Taryl smiled. “And if you want to post a letter to your healer, you ought to write it and have it ready to go before we reach Kysha. The Fyrador can carry it back. After that, it could take eightdays for anything you write to get back as far as Kysha.”
“Is there someone on the ship…?”
“All river vessels have dispatch clerks. Just ask.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Taryl paused, then added, “Oh…I also have something for you. It’s with my gear. I meant to give it to you earlier. It’s a black-oak truncheon that’s about the length of a cavalry sabre. It might take a little getting used to, but that shouldn’t be hard for you.”
Rahl suspected that learning to ride well would be far harder than adjusting to a longer truncheon.
XXIII
By midmorning on sevenday, Rahl was more than ready to get off the Fyrador. There was little enough to do on the river steamer, besides read the dispatches and keep checking the vessel for any chaos that showed up out of place—which was almost none. He had written several pages of a letter to Deybri, mostly telling her about what he had seen along the river, but he had decided not to finish it or seal it until they had almost arrived in Kysha.
The river had narrowed considerably, so that it was only about two hundred cubits wide, and the river steamer had to follow a narrower channel, marked with yellow-and-maroon buoys. The lands beyond the banks—when he could see over the low hills that bordered the river—were also hilly and mostly covered in browning grasses. On the hillside to the west, half a kay or so ahead was a stand of trees, certainly no more than a half kay in length on the side that fronted the river, and not much more than that in depth.
Rahl didn’t recognize the trees, but there was something about them that bothered him. He turned and started forward to find Taryl.
At that moment, a column of water exploded skyward from the water less than fifty cubits from the midships area of the port side of the ship. Three short blasts of the whistle followed, and the ship swung starboard, as if the captain were going to run her aground.
“Cannon!”
Taryl scrambled out of the midships hatch and glanced around.
“It’s coming from the trees, I think!” Rahl pointed toward the grove.
Taryl turned. “Can you tell how many men are there?”
Rahl tried to extend his order-senses, but he had trouble reaching that far. Still…
“How many?”
“I can’t tell exact numbers, but probably not more than thirty, maybe only a score.”
“Good!” Taryl turned and hurried forward.
Another column of water spouted, this time within a handful of cubits of the steamer, but still on the port side.
Three more whistle blasts followed. Rahl could tell that the steamer was heading for the shore. What he couldn’t understand was why.
“Shore force! Ready on the bow! Shore force!”
Belatedly, Rahl moved forward. Troopers were forming up on the lower forward deck. He could see two distinct groups—archers and footmen. Taryl had just finished talking to a grizzled captain.
Already the Fyrador was nearing the shore, and from what Rahl could tell, the steamer would ground
almost below the trees.
Suddenly, he sensed…something…and threw up full shields.
CRUMMPTT!
Rahl found himself being flung backwards and sliding along the railing, then bouncing against a bulkhead. Stars flashed in front of his eyes as he staggered to his feet.
The pilothouse and the front part of the crew deck was a shattered mass of wood, but the steamer stayed on course toward the shore, except he didn’t hear the thumping of the paddle wheel. He glanced aft. It was almost still. Then, within less than a hundred cubits of where Rahl thought they would ground, it began to turn—in reverse, slowly at first, and then building speed.
Rahl grabbed the railing.
There was a lurching grinding and a long shudder as the steamer grounded.
After hurrying farther forward, Rahl was able to see that a bow ramp had been lowered and almost a company of infantry was charging uphill. The archers loosed wave after wave of arrows.
Another spout of water erupted, but it was a good fifty cubits out into the river.
Rahl tried to concentrate on finding where the rebels were, now that he was closer.
“Rahl!” yelled Taryl.
“Most of them are in a small clearing at the south end…a hundred cubits back on a rise!” Rahl bellowed back.
Taryl turned and relayed the directions to the archer captain, then to a messenger who sprinted down the ramp and through the knee-deep muddy water.
Another cannonball slammed into the water just off the bow of the Fyrador, close enough that spray rained down on the port side of the bow.
The shore force had vanished into the trees, and Rahl keep trying to sense what he could not see, occasionally glancing down at the forward main deck where Taryl stood, with two messengers. Beside him, another company was forming up.
Then an explosion and a font of flame rose from where the attackers had been, followed by the reddish white chaos and emptiness of death. Rahl guessed that the attackers had set off the remaining powder when the shore force had neared.
There were no more cannon splashes in the water, or impacts elsewhere, and another company of troopers followed the shore force into the trees. Rahl could sense the continuing chaos emanating from the trees as the number of dead and wounded mounted.
Then, as midday approached, that diminished, and the troopers from the second force returned to the Fyrador. Most looked unwounded.
Rahl could sense no more deaths, and he walked aft until he could see the channel downstream. The other four steamers had clearly backed down, awaiting the outcome of the skirmish on the shore.
Once the wounded started returning, Rahl made his way down to the main deck, where they were being treated by the healers—not order-healers, but those trained in dealing with wounds without using order or chaos. Remembering what he had learned from both Deybri and Majer Xerya, Rahl used his limited healing skills only where necessary, and applied as little order as was required. Even so, he had to retire from the area of the bow used as an infirmary after doing what he could for only about a score of troopers.
He managed to get some bread and cold mutton from the mess. Eating that eliminated the light-headedness, but he could still feel that he couldn’t do much more order-work until he had rested more.
In midafternoon, Taryl found him sitting on a bench on the upper deck. “Majer Chevaryn said that you helped the healers for a while.”
“I tried to be careful, but…” Rahl shrugged. “After about a score of them, I couldn’t do any more.”
“That score are fortunate, and I told the majer that. Most mage-guards don’t have your abilities there, and true healers are in short supply. Majer Xerya and two of her assistant healers will be taking the next convoy to Kysha, but three healers for a force of more than ten thousand…” Taryl shook his head.
“Why are there so few healers compared to ordermages?”
“There always have been. I can only guess that it’s because dealing with living bodies takes a different talent that’s rarer. Also, it often comes with other abilities, and some of those are even more scarce.”
Rahl nodded.
“You know something about that?”
“I was thinking of Dorrin. He was the smith who built the first black ships and founded Nylan. He was a healer, according to what I read while I was in Nylan.” Rahl frowned. “And Creslin had some healing abilities, supposedly.”
“Those are anecdotal examples, but they support the point.” Taryl smiled wryly. “Before I forget, Majer Chevaryn asked me to convey his thanks for your information. He said it reduced their casualties.”
Rahl shook his head. “I sensed something just before they fired, and I was on my way to tell you. I just didn’t think about a cannon attack from the shore.”
“How would you have known?” asked Taryl. “You’ve never experienced one.” He laughed ruefully. “Neither have I. I’ve been under attack at sea, but never on a river in Hamor itself. The majer didn’t think about cannon, but he did want to be able to make a shore attack if he spotted rebels. It’s a good thing he did.”
“Why didn’t he think about cannon?”
“There weren’t any High Command cannon anywhere along the river, and that meant they were either smuggled here by Golyat or carried by wagon from the coast. They must have just gotten them in place because they didn’t fire at the earlier convoys.”
“That’s over seven hundred kays.”
“That’s why no one was thinking about cannon.”
Rahl paused. “I heard Marshal Byrna say that Imperial forces controlled Dawhut. How did they get the cannon past them?”
“That’s a good question, but I would be cautious at accepting at full value anything that the good marshal asserts. In any case, the shore force did manage to catch a number of the rebels, and I’ll be interrogating them shortly, and you’ll be observing. Then, we’ll have a better idea.”
“Do you think there will be other attacks on the way to Kysha?”
“There could be, but I have my doubts. Before long, we’ll be in the area of the river where the High Command forces are patrolling regularly. I’d guess this group set up in one of the few places where they had trees for cover outside the patrolled area. But we’ll see what the prisoners have to say before we proceed upstream.” Taryl turned and began to walk toward the ladder down to the lower decks.
Rahl followed him down until they met Captain Erehtel, who led them forward along the fore and aft passageway on the main deck until he was roughly amidships.
“The prisoners are confined in a single space here. We’ve moved one into the adjoining space, as you requested, Overcommander.” The captain nodded to the hatch to his right.
“How many prisoners are there?” Taryl asked the captain.
“Five. There were six, but one died of his wounds before they could get him back. We found fourteen bodies, and several of the shore force saw two or three men running through the fields on the far side. They were probably spotters higher on the hill who made off when they saw how many men we landed.”
“Because we’ll need to question each one separately, this will take a little time, but it’s actually faster.”
And both safer and easier, thought Rahl.
“Yes, ser,” replied the captain.
Rahl followed Taryl into the small windowless room. The first prisoner sat on a stool, his hands bound behind his back. He wore a khaki shirt and trousers, with a four-pointed gray star on each shoulder of his shirt. His face was smudged with dirt, and there were bruises on one cheek. His eyes widened as he saw the two mage-guards, but he said nothing.
“Is that the uniform you all wear?” asked Taryl casually, remaining standing.
There was no response, but Rahl could sense a vague sense of a smothered affirmative answer.
“Or is that just for now, until Prince Golyat can issue gray uniforms?”
There was still no response, but Rahl sensed nothing behind the silence.
“You
don’t know,” Taryl said. “That’s often the case, especially when your superiors don’t want you to know.” He paused. “So far, we’ve found fifteen bodies, and there are five of you who are prisoners.”
Rahl could sense something…perhaps satisfaction that some had escaped.
“The handful who ran off won’t be much use. We did capture the teams that hauled that cannon here. How long did it take you, a season?”
Rahl got a definite feeling that it was half that.
“And you had help in getting around Dawhut, isn’t that so?” Taryl’s voice was calm but forceful.
Rahl could also sense that the overcommander was pressing the prisoner with a mild compulsion to tell the truth, enough that the man’s feelings and unspoken words were revealing what he was not saying.
“Was it one of the local garrison officers? Or a mage-guard officer?”
The questioning went on…and on.
Abruptly, Taryl stopped. “He’s told us what he can.”
Rahl watched as Taryl went through the same procedure with the second prisoner, but that took less time. Then the overcommander turned to Rahl. “You do the next one. I’ll add any questions if you miss something.”
“Yes, ser.”
Rahl emulated Taryl’s technique on the next two prisoners, adequately enough that Taryl only asked two or three questions. The overcommander did interrogate the last, an older and more hard-faced rebel.
In the end, from what Rahl determined himself, there had only been one group and one cannon that the prisoners knew about. The cannon had actually been an older practice weapon in Dawhut and moved to a stead outside of the city, probably before the revolt. None of the prisoners knew who had done it. They’d just ridden back roads and taken two wagons holding a small disassembled cannon and powder and cannonballs from Dawhut to the attack point. They’d had a map and instructions to return when they used up their ammunition, leaving the cannon behind.
Taryl went to fill in Majer Chevaryn, and Rahl climbed back to the upper deck, where he sat on a short wooden bench set against the superstructure.
Mage-Guard of Hamor Page 19