After riding another kay through the orchard steads, Rahl noted that the ground to the left of the road sloped gently upward, not even steeply enough to be considered a hill, but perhaps a rise. The orchards gave way to fallow fields edged with low stone walls, barely more than knee high.
Just ahead to the left was a lane that ran up the rise. Rahl turned to Alrydd. “I’m going to ride up that a way, just to make sure there’s nothing up there.”
“Best I be going with you, ser.”
Rahl nodded and turned the gelding onto the lane, which was bordered on both sides by the low stone walls, and the fields within the walls had been turned after whatever had been planted had been harvested. A small house was set farther to the west, with a barn behind it. Rahl did not see anyone outside in the late afternoon, although with no wind, the clear skies and bright sun, the day was almost pleasant, cool as it was.
Just short of the top of the rise was a hay wagon, heaped high with bales of hay, the horse tethered to a tree stump, as the farmer loaded another bale. Rahl extended his order-senses, stifling a wince as he did so, because the effort sent miniature knives of pain through his skull. He could sense no chaos in the man, who scarcely looked in his direction.
After a moment, Rahl turned the gelding back down the lane.
“Just the one hay wagon, ser?”
“That’s all.”
At the road, Rahl turned the gelding back toward Helstyra. He thought he caught a glimpse of water ahead—perhaps the river or the lake. After he had ridden a quarter kay or so, he looked back over his shoulder, catching sight of the hay wagon.
He frowned, then pulled the gelding off the road and looked back down the road. First squad had almost reached the place where the lane and the road joined.
Across the fallow field and low stone fence, Rahl could see the wagon heaped high with bundled hay and pulled by a bony horse now heading down toward the main road. The farmer walked beside the horse, leading it with a tether, but he was walking fast. Too fast, Rahl thought.
Could the wagon be another trap? Had he missed it because his head ached too much? Rahl had his doubts, but even as he turned the gelding back toward the road, urging him into a canter, he extended his order-senses, trying to ignore the pain. The teamster still held no chaos, and there was little around the wagon, but there was something…
Rahl strained to sense what he could, but it was hard trying to sense something while riding, especially after what had already happened.
The wagon had been perhaps three hundred cubits from the intersection with the main road, rolling down the gentle slope behind the horse, when Rahl had begun to hurry back. He could not sense anything else until he was within a few hundred cubits.
Barrels—there were barrels in the low-sided wagon, and they were not stored on their butt ends, but stacked on their sides, roped in place and facing forward. Why would anyone store or transport barrels that way? How had he missed them?
“Company to the rear, ride!” Rahl yelled, trying to order-boost his words to Drakeyt. He could see the captain ordering a halt, but the squads only froze in position.
Rahl kept the gelding moving.
“To the rear, ride!” he bellowed again, as he got within easy hailing distance.
At that moment, the teamster cut the horse loose from the traces—leather, not wood—and swung up onto the horse, then galloped forward just enough to get clear before turning his mount and galloping back up the lane. The wagon began to pick up speed, rumbling more loudly down the lane toward Third Company.
Rahl jabbed his heels into the gelding, hanging on. He had to get closer. He just had to.
He was almost at the intersection, almost within a handful of cubits of first squad, when he sensed a wave of chaos coming from the wagon.
All he could do was throw up shields as strong as he could, extending them as far toward first squad as he could.
CRUMP!
Rahl felt himself being hurled from the saddle, as though a giant invisible hand had swatted him.
Then a second hand—this one hot and black—slammed him into the ground.
L
Everything hurt. That was Rahl’s first feeling.
“He’s coming ’round, Captain.”
Rahl didn’t recognize the voice, and his vision was so blurry that all he could see at first were colored blotches against a blue-green haze that was probably the sky. It had to be, he realized, because he was lying on his back. His sight began to improve, but large unseen hammers pounded on his skull. From what he could sense, he didn’t think he’d broken anything, but he had the feeling he was covered with bruises, especially on his right side.
After a time, he slowly sat up, then struggled to his feet, only to take a half score of steps to a low stone wall where he sat down again. His legs were wobbly.
Drakeyt rode over and reined up. “How are you feeling?”
“I’d have to say…” Rahl’s throat was so dry and raw that he couldn’t say any more.
The captain handed him a water bottle, reaching down.
Rahl’s shoulders protested as he lifted a hand to take the bottle. He drank slowly, then added, “I’ve felt better.” He took another swallow, glancing around. To his left gray smoke swirled into the sky, and he realized that he’d been smelling the acrid odor of something burning.
Drakeyt followed Rahl’s glance. “We had to move you and the company—that blast set fire to the orchards on the south side of the road.” He paused. “What was it?”
“It was a makeshift cammabark cannon,” Rahl said slowly, “barrels of cammabark with an iron plate at the bottom and metal fragments on top.”
“I thought it was something like that.” Drakeyt looked down from the saddle at Rahl. “Everyone should have been shredded. What did you do?”
“I tried to shield Third Company.”
“Whatever you did saved a good score of troopers. Could have been more.”
“How many didn’t I save?”
“About half of second squad, and their mounts,” Drakeyt admitted. “I had the men buried short of the woods up there.” He gestured behind Rahl. “Not much of a woods, but better than in the fields.”
Rahl looked down. He’d been worn-out, in order terms, from the mess on the causeway, and he hadn’t realized how much. So another ten men, if not more, had died. But what was he supposed to do? He couldn’t be up in front to look to one kind of trap or ambush and also be with the main body of Third Company to prevent or protect against another kind of attack. And he couldn’t just tell Drakeyt that the scouting and progress was over for the day because he was tired.
He could feel rage and frustration building, but he forced himself to take a deep and slow breath. Getting angry would only make him less able…but he still hated the unfairness of the situation. Slowly, he stood, looking for the gelding.
“Over there,” Drakeyt said. “You up to this?”
“I won’t be very good,” Rahl admitted. “Better than not having a mage-guard, but not much.”
“We’ve only got another three kays until we’re in town. I didn’t know how you’d be feeling. So I sent scouts out. They didn’t see any rebels, and no one attacked them.”
Rahl walked to the gelding, then checked the horse, but he didn’t see or sense any injuries. It took all of his remaining strength, or so it felt, to clamber up into the saddle.
He rode slowly forward toward Alrydd. When he reached the outrider, he said, “We’re going as far as the town.” That was a stupid statement, because the sun was low enough in the western sky that the company wasn’t about to go anywhere else, and Helstyra was only a few kays away.
“Tried to save ’em all, didn’t you, ser?”
“I wasn’t strong enough to save everyone.” Rahl supposed the trooper knew that, but he felt he had to make that clear.
The trooper nodded. Rahl could sense the man was not displeased, but merely accepting, as if Rahl had stated that the twilight would be
coming.
The orchards had given way to smaller and meaner steads, with the winter-tilled fields barren, and no one out or about. But then, why would they be, when there was no field work to be done? Neither he nor Alrydd saw anyone who might be a rebel, just three older women, and one mother who scurried inside with a toddler when she caught sight of the riders.
Once they reached the outskirts of Helstyra, Rahl dropped back to ride beside Drakeyt, and the scouts were less than a hundred cubits ahead on the road that had become a main street that looked to be leading toward the river. Small dwellings interspersed with occasional shops flanked the street, but both houses and shops were small and of one level. Most were constructed with oversized bricks of a brownish gray shade. The roof tiles were a dingy yellow, as were many of the doors and shutters. The street had been paved, years before, and in places the stones were missing, with gravel and crushed stones filling the space. While there were no tall stacks suggesting distilleries, a sour odor hung in the air, one that reminded Rahl of a stagnant pond.
Rahl kept studying the streets, because he saw almost no one about. Yet the windows were not shuttered. As he turned in the saddle toward Drakeyt, the captain barked an order.
“Third company! Arms ready!” After a moment, Drakeyt added in a lower voice, “Too quiet.”
Rahl nodded, then once more tried to relax enough to gain greater concentration, despite the soreness in his body and the throbbing in his head. His eyes and senses looked ahead to each side lane and alley.
Ahead was a taller two-story building, with windows closed by sagging brown shutters. The roof was almost flat, with a half-wall facade around the upper level that gave the impression of even greater height. The double front doors were boarded shut with two planks nailed to each side of the door casement. Part of the odor Rahl had smelled seemed to drift from the structure, or from behind it. Had it been a rendering yard or a tannery? A dyer’s facility?
They were less than a hundred cubits from the structure when Rahl sensed someone—or more than one man—crouched behind the upper facade.
“Drakeyt,” he hissed, trying not to alert the rebels, “men up on that roof ahead, behind the half wall.”
“First squad, charge the building! With me!” Drakeyt urged his mount forward. “Second squad, third squad! Cover the rear!”
Rahl just tried to hold some sort of order shield as he followed Drakeyt. He was more than halfway to the building when the rebels began to loose shafts at Third Company. At least one struck his shield, rocking him back in the saddle, before he was next to the building where it was close to impossible for the archers to loose shafts directly down because the facade was set back from the natural wall lines of the building a cubit or so.
Two troopers dismounted and smashed open the doors, and the remainder of first squad followed Roryt inside. Drakeyt was the fourth or fifth man.
Rahl just sat on the gelding, holding the reins to Drakeyt’s mount. There wasn’t much else that he could do, not the way he felt.
In moments, the shafts stopped flying. Before long, a figure in khaki and maroon tumbled off the front of the upper level. The rebel did not move. Rahl could sense he was dead.
Shortly, Drakeyt hurried out through the ancient and shattered doors, took his mount’s reins from Rahl, and vaulted back into the saddle.
“What happened?” asked Rahl.
“One of ours dead, two wounded. Six rebels killed, three wounded and captured. As many as ten might have escaped through the back alleys, because there’s a wall close to the back that second and third squads couldn’t get through.”
Rahl turned the gelding to follow the captain up the side alley and around to the back of the dilapidated structure. Lying on the ground were five figures. From their position, they’d been tossed off the roof after they’d died.
Just in looking at the fallen rebels, Rahl could see the difference. Like the dead rebel who had fallen into the street, they were younger, far more fit, and even their uniforms looked crisper, and they wore maroon uniform riding jackets. He looked to Drakeyt. “Real rebels, this time. We’ll need to send dispatches back—and about the causeway. It might be best not to mention casualties. They need to know that there are rebels in the area.”
“I can’t say I’m surprised. We’re only a bit over a hundred kays from Nubyat. We had to run into real rebels sooner or later.”
Rahl just nodded. He was having trouble just staying in the saddle.
“We’re requisitioning whatever inn or inns this place has. We can do that in hostile territory, and a town that allows a rebel attack isn’t friendly. You and the men need some rest. We’ll re-form and take care of that.”
Rahl couldn’t contest that, not that he would have. He wasn’t in shape to argue about much of anything.
LI
The River’s Edge was an old and rambling structure, an inn that might once have been the pride of the Awhut River, with its large and paneled public room, its wide porches, and its three stories. That had been years before, and now the porches sagged, ever so slightly, and all the years of oil and polish had only dimmed the luster of the golden oak paneling. The bed frame in Rahl’s room had been sturdy enough, but it creaked every time he had shifted position, trying to sleep, and the mattress was worn and as tired as the inn itself. The place was big enough to hold Third Company, if in tight quarters.
Rahl was up early on fourday to see if he could get some breakfast. Besides, he was too sore to sleep any longer, black-and-blue as he was along most of his right side. While his headache had subsided to a faint throbbing, he was hoping that the combination of food and lager might help him feel better. He managed not to totter down the unlit narrow staircase to the public room and was mildly surprised to see Drakeyt was already there, sitting at a table in the predawn gloom that was scarcely dispelled by the single wall lamp that had been lit.
The captain looked worse than Rahl felt, and Drakeyt hadn’t been hurled into the ground.
Rahl sat down gingerly across the square table from the older man. “You look like you had a long night.”
“So do you.”
“What happened?” asked Rahl. Had he been so exhausted he’d forgotten something? Failed at something else because he’d been put in a situation where no one mage-guard could do all that was expected of him?
“Dalcayn and Whebyt died this morning.”
Rahl froze where he sat. He’d been so certain that Whebyt would recover. How could he have died? “Dalcayn?”
“He was one of those wounded yesterday. Khasmyr thinks that some of the shafts the rebels fired were poisoned.”
“I should have checked the wounded.” Rahl paused. He’d been so dazed that he hadn’t even thought about it. “Why didn’t you wake me?”
Drakeyt shrugged. “They were already cold when Shemal and Khasmyr found them. Not even the whole Triad could do anything about that.” Drakeyt shrugged. “Besides, what could you have done? You looked to be in death’s foyer yourself. Could you have done that much?”
Rahl didn’t have an answer and was spared for the moment by the arrival of a servingwoman, who set two ales in tall battered pewter mugs before them, and two platters of an egg hash, each accompanied by a small loaf of rye bread. Rahl really would have preferred dark bread. He couldn’t recall when he’d last had any.
“Could you?” asked Drakeyt again.
“A little something, at least.”
“I’m not blaming you, Majer. If it weren’t for you, things would be far worse, but I can’t say that they’re good.” The captain paused to take a short swallow of his ale. “We left Kysha with eighty-four troopers. The submarshal sent us fifth squad with nineteen more troopers. Between the ones killed by the traps, the flood, and the rebels, and those wounded, we’re down to sixty-eight, and we haven’t even fought a pitched battle, or even a skirmish—except maybe the one yesterday.” Drakeyt shook his head.
Rahl took several bites of the egg hash, peppery and spicy,
even with the cheese and scraps of mutton. Then he had more ale, hoping the food and drink would clear his head some. “We’re taking casualties for others, in a way.”
“That’s what recon in force is all about, except the idea is to prevent casualties, especially this many.”
Rahl had nothing to say to that. He’d tried to do his best, and he was getting angry at the veiled implications that, somehow, the casualties were his fault. If he hadn’t done what he’d done, there wouldn’t be any Third Company left.
“That fire, yesterday,” Drakeyt went on. “I wouldn’t be surprised if the orchard holders petition the Emperor for damages. Then the submarshal will complain to the High Command that our shortcomings resulted in the problem. They can’t make us pay,” Drakeyt laughed bitterly, “but I’ll be a captain from now until I’m stipended out.”
“I’ll probably end up as a patrol mage supervisor in a backwater harbor town,” Rahl replied.
“Captain Drakeyt!” A voice echoed through the near-empty public room as a trooper wearing a courier’s sash appeared.
Drakeyt stood. “Over here.”
“Orders from the submarshal, ser.” The courier extended an envelope.
“Thank you.” Drakeyt took the envelope.
“I’m to remain here with Third Company, ser, until we join forces.”
“Stand by for a moment. After I read this, you can check in with senior squad leader Quelsyn. He’ll get you settled.”
“Yes, ser.”
“I didn’t expect a reply from the submarshal overnight,” Drakeyt said dryly, seating himself and breaking the seal. He read quickly, then handed the single sheet to Rahl. “What do you make of this?”
Mage-Guard of Hamor Page 37