Mage-Guard of Hamor

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “…still a bad idea…” murmured Drakeyt as Rahl edged his mount back into formation beside the captain. “If you and the overcommander hadn’t been in front where you could move, there’d have been a lot more casualties.”

  Rahl agreed, but he only nodded.

  The submarshal, unhurt, waited until quiet settled over the companies. Then he began to speak. Loud as Dettyr’s voice was, Rahl doubted that many troopers or officers more than thirty cubits away could make out what he said.

  “…Dawhut is just the first step toward reuniting Hamor under the true and rightful Emperor. While some days will be long, and some battles bloody, we will persevere, and we will win. The attempt to disrupt this muster was an example of the evilness of our enemies. This evilness cannot be allowed to poison our land, and no sacrifice is too great to rid us of those who would divide us….”

  The beginning of what Dettyr said was trite enough, but with each succeeding word, Rahl just felt that the subcommander would have been better saying nothing—or stopping after the first few words.

  Near what Rahl hoped would be the end of the submarshal’s too-long speech, Dettyr said, “…quarters assignments for each company are being dispatched as I speak. Obviously, the compound here at Dawhut cannot accommodate all of the companies…do not attempt to change or to find other arrangements…everything has been carefully planned…”

  If it all had been so carefully planned, then why had the submarshal tried to cram all the companies into the River Square? Good planning would have shown it wasn’t possible. Rahl frowned. How had the assassins known where the companies would be—unless someone on the headquarters’ staff had let them know?

  At that moment, a messenger rode up and handed a folded dispatch to Drakeyt, who immediately opened it and began to read as the submarshal finished his address.

  “…the beginning of a successful effort to return all of Merowey to the order and prosperity afforded by the Emperor, and every trooper and every officer is expected to do his best at all times. You can do no less for yourselves, and I will accept no less.” After a pause, Dettyr added, “Long live the Emperor!”

  There was another pause before the first and closest companies repeated the words, if raggedly.

  “Long live the Emperor!”

  “We’ve been assigned quarters,” Drakeyt said, looking up from the dispatch. “Such as they are.”

  “Not in the High Command compound, I assume?” asked Rahl.

  “Hardly. We’ve got the equivalent of something like three heavy infantry regiments—and that’s only a third of the force—and you and I are scarcely in the best graces of the submarshal.”

  Rahl had to convert that mentally to numbers of troopers. With five companies to a battalion, and four battalions to a regiment—if all the companies were at full strength—Drakeyt was talking about six thousand troopers in Dawhut at the moment. That meant that the land campaign from Kysha would require almost two-thirds of the entire army, possibly against twice as many men. From what Taryl and Marshal Byrna had said, only a fraction of the rebels were highly trained, but each eightday that it took for the Imperial forces to reach the coast reduced that advantage.

  “We’ve been assigned to a stead about a kay to the west of the compound. The holder’s name is Korsyn, and he’s got a large barn and a shed, and some rooms in the dwelling.” Drakeyt raised his eyebrows. “We’re to begin scouting the south road tomorrow, and prepare for departure within the eightday. We’re also ordered to maximize supplies for the ride to Nubyat, consistent with established practices.”

  “Maximize supplies?”

  “Scrounge, beg, borrow, offer script—anything but actually commandeer food. And we’re to send daily reports to the submarshal on our efforts.”

  “Where?”

  “His headquarters is in the River Inn—that big place at the south end of the square over there.”

  “If size means anything, it must be a good inn,” replied Rahl dryly. “The best in Dawhut anyway.”

  “Would you expect any less?”

  Rahl shook his head.

  XLVI

  On twoday morning before dawn, Rahl sat at one end of a swaybacked trestle table in Korsyn’s kitchen eating fresh-fried egg toast. The kitchen was a long, narrow room with tan-plaster walls—or walls that might once have been white and that had become tan from the heat and smoke of cooking. The big iron stove dominated the outside wall, and hints of turf smoke escaped from the ceramic tile that vented the stove into the hearth chimney behind it.

  Drakeyt sat to Rahl’s right. The holder’s consort and two older daughters were busy frying up stacks of toast for Third Company—using not quite stale bread that Quelsyn and the company’s acting quartermaster had gotten from somewhere on oneday afternoon while the rest of Third Company had been setting up at the holder’s stead.

  Rahl almost felt guilty eating a hot breakfast with the holder and his consort, but Drakeyt didn’t seem to have any qualms as he quickly ate the egg toast drizzled with a thin and barely sweet redberry syrup.

  “This is good egg toast,” Rahl said.

  “Khasia makes the best in this part of the valley,” replied Korsyn.

  “The best north of Dawhut,” added Khasia, not turning from the turf-fired iron stove that warmed the entire kitchen. “And don’t you forget it.”

  “You’ve not had any…trouble…last night or this morning?” inquired Drakeyt.

  “No, ser. Your troopers been right polite to all of us.”

  Drakeyt looked to Rahl.

  Rahl nodded, sensing that the holder and his consort were saying what they felt.

  The night before, after Drakeyt had mustered the company at the stead, he had gathered the squad leaders, and he had been adamant that no harm of any sort was to come to the holder or his family. He’d even indirectly referred to Rahl, by suggesting that, if any questions were raised, there was no doubt that he’d find the truth. All five had glanced at Rahl, even though the mage-guard’s name had never been mentioned.

  “I wish we could pay you in coin,” added Drakeyt.

  “Script’s better than potatoes and roots we’d have to sell in Nubyat for the prince’s paper chits,” replied Korsyn. “That paper’ll be worthless in less than two seasons.”

  Rahl thought that Korsyn was being optimistic until the holder spoke again.

  “One way or another. The Emperor’ll defeat the prince. If he doesn’t, the prince still won’t have the golds to pay off his paper.”

  “We won’t be here too long,” said Drakeyt, ignoring the obvious truth of the holder’s words. “I know it’s cramped.”

  “We’re not doing too bad. Norwal…he’s just to the north. He’s got two companies there. They claimed he had two big barns. Wanted to know where the second one was.” Korsyn laughed roughly. “Burned down three years back. He lost his eldest and his consort and all that year’s crop. Never had the golds to rebuild.”

  “It sounds like the quartering plans were based on information that was years old,” offered Drakeyt.

  “Five years leastwise.”

  How much other information was that dated? Rahl wondered.

  “Did you ever hear any word about the rebellion?” asked Rahl. “Before it happened, that is?”

  “Not a word, not here in Dawhut. I was down in Storisa last spring, and I heard one of the grain factors there saying that things were going to change, but he wouldn’t say how. The fellow with him muttered something about a ‘real emperor.’ I just thought it was talk.” The holder turned both palms up.

  “Has anyone else you know heard things like that anywhere else?”

  “I haven’t.” Korsyn glanced toward Khasia.

  Even though he had not spoken to his consort, and she was working at the stove with her back to the table, Khasia replied. “Calydena was in Nubyat in early summer. She sometimes works the barges with her consort. She told me that they were building big walls around parts of the harbor, almost like a f
ort. No one seemed to know why.”

  If true, that would tend to confirm Taryl’s supposition that the planning for the rebellion had been ongoing for some time.

  Neither Korsyn nor Khasia had any more to offer, and Rahl hurried to finish his breakfast so that he would not delay Drakeyt and Third Company.

  Once the two officers were outside the dwelling in the chill and damp northwest wind, Drakeyt stopped and looked at Rahl. “We’re better off here. I wouldn’t want to be at the compound right now. Not with all the senior majers and the commanders billeted there. The majer there—I think it’s Zoacyr—can’t be having an easy time.”

  “The River Inn would be worse with the commanders and the submarshal,” Rahl added, thinking about their last encounter with Submarshal Dettyr. “Especially after yesterday. Why would he do something that stupid? Every junior captain in the army would know that you don’t pack troops into a confined area like that.”

  Drakeyt shook his head. “I can’t agree with you on that. Remember, the submarshal was once a junior captain, and there are others just like he was around now. There are always some of that type. They don’t think; they just follow orders, and they get promoted. They keep following orders, and some of them get promoted until they become majers and commanders.”

  “All of them?”

  “No. Just the ones lucky enough to survive.”

  Rahl’s lips quirked, and he nodded. Was it that way everywhere? He’d seen that in Land’s End, and in Nylan. No one had liked it when he’d asked questions. But then, Taryl didn’t mind questions. No…Taryl didn’t mind good questions; he was less patient with stupid questions. But then, could anyone learn to ask good questions without asking stupid ones, at least in the beginning?

  In the gray light that preceded dawn, Drakeyt and Rahl resumed walking toward the stable that held but a handful of mounts. The others were either on tether lines or in a corral to the west of the barn where most of the company had bedded down.

  “How do you want to handle the scouting today?” asked Rahl.

  “I’d thought…now, I’m only suggesting…” Drakeyt began.

  “Suggest away,” Rahl said dryly.

  “No one’s going to be putting traps on the side lanes and the back roads, but holders back there might have seen anyone who did.” Drakeyt said blandly.

  Why was the captain being so indirect?

  “Of course, if you don’t agree…”

  Rahl suddenly understood. “When did you notice?”

  Drakeyt gave a sheepish grin. “I didn’t. When we were leaving the square, Balazyr rode over and asked if I knew you were a senior mage-guard.” He shook his head. “I thought I’d looked close enough when you were posted to Third Company.”

  “You did,” Rahl replied. “I only got the promotion when the submarshal’s forces joined us in Saluzyl. I didn’t expect it.”

  “You never said anything. You outrank me, now.”

  Rahl shrugged. “You’re still in command of Third Company. It doesn’t change anything. I still don’t know as much as you do about running a company.” He grinned momentarily. “What did you have in mind?”

  “Like I said, no one’s going to set traps away from the main road. So…if you could take fourth and fifth squads and check over anything that looks strange on the main road, then Quelsyn and I will follow and see what we can find out from the holders on each side, and on the side and back lanes.”

  “How far out should we go?”

  “Ten kays, if we can.”

  “I can do that, but it will take longer for you to check all the holders. Once we reach ten kays, we can turn back and start talking to the holders until we meet up.”

  “Good.” Drakeyt nodded.

  As he saddled the gelding, Rahl wondered why Drakeyt had become even more deferential. Or did senior mage-guards just have a reputation for being difficult?

  XLVII

  For the next three days, all Rahl and Drakeyt and Third Company did was ride patrols on the main road to the southwest of Dawhut, covering the first twenty kays in depth—and finding no trace of traps and no sign of rebels. None of the holders along the roads or back lanes could recall anything, and only a handful had even seen tracks that looked different.

  When Rahl rode back to Korsyn’s stead on fourday, he was still at the head of fourth and fifth squads. He had the feeling that their squad leaders were at ease with him, but that neither Roryt nor Khasmyr was that comfortable with him. That was a problem he didn’t see any way to remedy except over time—because the leaders of first and second squads were uneasy with an officer who could disable or even kill an enemy with a truncheon, yet they had no problem with one who used a sabre. To Rahl, that distinction made little sense, but he was well aware that it did to Roryt and Khasmyr.

  Rahl’s other concern was that any more scouting within the fifteen-kay area southwest of Dawhut would not provide any additional or meaningful information, but that any more delay would certainly be beneficial to the rebels.

  He’d no more than reined up outside the small stead stable as the sun touched the horizon when an unfamiliar trooper wearing the sash of a messenger rode toward him.

  “Majer Rahl?”

  The use of his “new” equivalent rank jarred Rahl, and it was a moment before he replied. “Yes?”

  “I have a message from the Mage-Guard Overcommander for you.” The trooper extended an envelope.

  “Thank you.”

  “The overcommander requested that I return with your spoken reply, ser.”

  “In a moment.” Rahl opened the envelope and extracted the single sheet, beginning to read immediately.

  Rahl—

  I’d like to have dinner with you this evening [fourday] when you return from scouting. If that is possible, please tell the messenger, and come to the River Inn as soon as you comfortably can.

  I’ll most likely be in the conference room. Have yourself announced if you don’t see me quickly.

  The signature was the familiar “T.”

  “You can tell the overcommander that I will be there shortly. Thank you.”

  “Yes, ser.” The messenger inclined his head, then turned his mount toward the lane leading out to the main road.

  Rahl dismounted, tied the gelding to a post outside the stable, and hurried into the stead house, where he washed up quickly, then spotted and brushed his uniform and jacket. He did not see Drakeyt, and when he returned to the stable area, he spent more than a few moments before he found Fedeor, the fourth squad leader, in the barn bunking area.

  “Ser?”

  “I’ve been summoned to a meeting with the Mage-Guard Overcommander, and I’d appreciate it if you’d convey that information to the captain. He and Quelsyn and the other squads haven’t returned yet.”

  “Yes, ser. We can do that.”

  “I’d appreciate it.” Rahl paused. “You and your men did a good job out there today—this whole eightday in fact.”

  “Thank you, ser.”

  As Rahl left the barn, he reminded himself that he needed to tell the squad leaders when they’d performed well more often.

  He took another few moments to give the gelding some water—not too much—and some handfuls of grain before he mounted and rode out, back toward Dawhut. By the time he neared the River Square, the early twilight had deepened into a deep violet dusk, and the brisk breeze that had chilled the afternoon had faded into occasional light wisps of air that only intensified the unpleasant odors from the distilleries.

  To his left, below the river wall and farther to the south, he could just make out the river-barge piers. Several guards paced the piers, but the barges all seemed empty, and there were no steam tugs anywhere in sight.

  The River Square itself was empty except for a squad split into four groups of five, one group at each corner, and Rahl rode across the north side of the square, then the boulevard on the west side before turning back east toward the River Inn. Once in the small courtyard behind the in
n, he dismounted before the stable, then had to slip the inn’s stableboy a pair of coppers to get him to find a place for the gelding.

  “Thank you, ser.” The youth smiled.

  “You’re welcome. He’s had a long day, and any fodder or grain you could find…we’d both appreciate it.”

  “We’ll see what we can do, ser. We will.”

  Rahl could sense that his gratitude was genuine. Had the officers and troopers at the inn just been ordering the staff around? “I may be a while, but I’ll be leaving tonight.”

  “Yes, ser.”

  With a smile at the young man, Rahl turned and crossed the courtyard, making his way through a side entrance and along a narrow corridor past the doors of several rooms before he pushed open another door and stepped inside the oversized but low-ceilinged foyer of the River Inn. He glanced around, taking in the dark wood paneling lit by too few wall lamps, as well as the worn dark green and maroon carpets and a number of high-backed wooden benches, all of which were empty.

  Taryl was actually waiting—if talking to a dark-haired army commander. He turned and gestured to Rahl.

  Rahl walked toward the two, then stopped, and inclined his head politely. “Sers.”

  “Commander Whelayn, this is Senior Mage-Guard Rahl. He’s been working with Third Company on the scouting I told you about.”

  “My pleasure, Commander.” Rahl inclined his head.

  “No, it’s mine. I appreciated your quick action out there on the square the other day.”

  “I just followed the overcommander’s lead. If he hadn’t acted so quickly, anything I did wouldn’t have mattered.”

  “But he did, and you did, and that’s what counts.” The commander inclined his head. “Thank you, Overcommander, and a pleasure to meet you, Majer.” With a nod and a smile, the sandy-haired commander stepped away from the two mage-guards.