“You think you’ll be a mage-guard commander or overcommander some day?”
Rahl almost choked on the bitter lager. He managed to swallow, then cleared his throat. “Me? I’m lucky to be a senior mage-guard. I think I’d be fortunate to be a city captain or something like that.” Rahl would have liked to think he could be more, but his experiences to date suggested that he was exceedingly fortunate to have gotten as far as he had, and that had only happened because of Taryl.
Drakeyt shook his head. “You get out of this mess alive, and the overcommander has something in mind for you.”
“Why do you say that?”
“He’s given you and Third Company too many sowshit missions, and he keeps reinforcing the company.”
Why did reinforcing Third Company mean Taryl had something planned for Rahl? Usually Taryl wanted Rahl to learn or see something. But what would reinforcing a company rather than transferring Rahl to another company show? What fighting did to the troopers? Or to Drakeyt? Or how many died? Rahl was well aware of that—more than half the original company had perished.
Finally, Rahl replied. “He never does anything without a purpose, but I can’t figure out what he has in mind, except to give me experience, because I didn’t have all that much.”
“You had a lot more than most mage-guards your age, didn’t you?” asked Drakeyt.
Rahl shrugged. “That’s probably true. I also made a lot more mistakes than most did.”
Drakeyt laughed, darkly, then swallowed the last of the brew in his beaker. “That’d be true, too. I’m heading back.” He stood.
So did Rahl. He was in need of some sleep. He just hoped he could and that he didn’t spend all night worrying about what Taryl had in mind for him…or about all those who had died—on both sides—because of what he had done.
LXXVI
On eightday, Third Company left Selyma, heading south toward Nubyat, with the task of scouting everything within ten kays of the main highway. First and Second Army were scheduled to begin the advance on Nubyat on oneday. As before, Rahl was under orders from Taryl to maintain full shields and not to use any order-skills unless Third Company was attacked by vastly superior forces.
By midmorning, the day was like most winter days in Merowey—cool, but not cold; dampish, but not raining; and with a haze over the green-blue sky that was less than cloudy but enough to keep the sun from providing much warmth. Less than two kays south of that part of Selyma on the south side of the Awhut River, the road from Dawhut merged with the road coming from Sastak. The smooth stone surface was nearly fifteen cubits wide, with broad shoulders on each side, and it led due southwest toward Nubyat.
Everywhere were groves of olive trees, but of a type Rahl had not seen before, seldom reaching more than fifteen cubits in height. Between the tree-lined rows in the orchards was low grass with winter-browned tips. The orchards were empty, and the barns and stead houses were shuttered and barred. Many were empty, but not all, by any means. That, Rahl could sense. The road itself was empty of all riders or wagons—except for Third Company.
The company had also gotten another half score of replacements, and when they had arrived, Drakeyt had just looked at Rahl, not even raising his eyebrows. Rahl had to admit that Drakeyt had as much as predicted those reinforcement troopers. Was it just to make Third Company a stalking horse to allow Taryl to act and react in a more effective fashion? It certainly couldn’t be just to give Rahl more experience. As thoughtful as Taryl could be, when the Emperor and Hamor’s very unity were at stake, the overcommander wasn’t about to give Rahl any experience that could threaten either. But that left the question of why Taryl continued to push Rahl to learn more at a time when the overcommander had far larger concerns than one very junior senior mage-guard.
“You think we’ll ever see a clear sun, ser?” asked Shanyr.
“Not until it’s hot enough that we won’t want to.”
The outrider laughed.
Rahl couldn’t imagine the revolt lasting into summer. But then, he reminded himself, he hadn’t believed Puvort had been capable of such treachery, or that Rahl himself could possibly have become a mage-guard, or—and he smiled at the thought—that Deybri would ever have admitted that he had brought a different light into her life. Still, that light might flicker out, and how and when would he ever be able to return to Recluce to see her, much less be with her for any length of time?
He pushed those thoughts away and concentrated on trying to receive order-impressions of everything around him…but nothing changed.
As Rahl rode past another shuttered stead dwelling several hundred cubits to the north of the road, just the faintest hint of a chill passed across him—the chill of a screeing glass. Now, even with full shields, Rahl was coming to sense when a glass was being used to view the area around him. Since the feeling did not linger, it was likely that his shields had been effective enough that the mage using the glass had not noticed him in passing. Rahl hoped so.
After riding another kay, Rahl began to feel something, but, still following Taryl’s orders, he did nothing in the way of extending an order-probe to discover what it might be.
Before long, ahead on a low rise in the road almost a kay away, three riders in maroon jackets reined up and watched Rahl and the scouts ride toward them.
“Ser…” murmured Shanyr from where he rode beside Rahl.
“I see them.” Following Taryl’s orders, Rahl did not attempt to reach out to them with his order-senses, although he could still feel that the three were not close to any rebel force. “They’re alone. Scouts, probably.”
One of the scouts riding a half kay ahead of Rahl turned in the saddle.
Rahl waved for him to keep riding.
After Rahl and the scouts and outriders covered another several hundred cubits, the three rebel scouts turned their mounts and galloped over the low rise and out of sight. Rahl almost shrugged. It couldn’t be exactly a secret that the Imperial forces were riding toward Nubyat, not after the battle at Selyma.
LXXVII
From the saddle of the gelding, Rahl surveyed the perfectly smooth paving stones of the highway leading down the wide and gentle slope into the circular valley that held Nubyat, its harbor, and the fertile land to the north bordering the delta of the Awhut River. Several kays behind Third Company was Commander Shuchyl’s Fifth Regiment, followed by the bulk of Second Army. As usual, Third Company was the point of the advance.
The terrain surprised Rahl. He’d expected steads with tilled fields, or even woods, or grasslands. Instead, the gentle slopes held orchards of the dwarf olives and occasional blue oaks interspersed in a few places with winter brown grass. The only croplands were to the north and east of Nubyat, along the river, and fed by irrigation ditches. Stretching everywhere else were primarily olive orchards, with occasional structures that appeared to be warehouses. A kay or so ahead, the orchards ended, and there looked to be dwellings on small plots of land between the olive orchards and Nubyat proper, where the dwellings were more tightly clustered.
The harbor area, according to the maps, was on the north side of the city, just south of where the Awhut River entered the bay. Rahl was relying on the maps because fog wreathed the harbor area, so that the lower sections of Nubyat were hidden under a gray-white blanket. Above the south side of the port city loomed a long, high ridge that came to a point above the bay, each side of the peninsular promontory a rocky cliff that offered a sheer drop, but whether there was solid ground or water under the cliffs, Rahl could not have said, fog-shrouded as the lower ground was.
Nubyat didn’t seem as large as Rahl had expected, and far smaller than Swartheld, although it was certainly larger than Nylan or Land’s End in Recluce. “It’s not all that big.”
“It wouldn’t be this big,” replied Drakeyt from where he had reined up beside Rahl, “except that it’s on the river and one of the few decent ports in the west. The best olive oil comes from here, though.” He looked to Rahl. “I don’t se
en any earthworks on this side of the city.”
Rahl pointed to the ridge that held the Administrator’s Residence. “I’d judge that they’ve withdrawn to the high ground.”
“That would make sense. No one really wants to destroy the town, and it’d be impossible to defend it.” Drakeyt laughed, a short bark. “But I’d be surprised if they hadn’t left some forces behind to give us trouble.”
Rahl nodded, even while he wondered about the way the campaign had progressed. The Imperial forces had taken heavy losses, but they had prevailed in every skirmish and battle. Why hadn’t Golyat seen that would happen? Why hadn’t the rebels offered more resistance? Or was their strategy to withdraw and withdraw, all the time inflicting more and more losses on the Emperor’s armies until they could deliver a critical defeat upon the Imperial forces? Would First and Second Army have to fight their way in two directions from Nubyat, northward to Elmari and south to Sastak? Was that where the greater resistance might be?
He looked again to the rocky ridge, one of two promontories that flanked the opening to the harbor, then to the one to the north, which held what appeared to be a neglected fort, with scraggly vines climbing stones of the wall. He shook his head. “We still need to discover where the rebels are.”
“Lead on, Majer.”
Rahl laughed, then urged the gelding forward to rejoin Alrydd a good quarter kay ahead of first squad. The scouts had halted on the road another half kay beyond the outrider. Once Rahl rode up to Alrydd and kept riding, if at a cautious walk, the scouts resumed their progress.
The orchards stretched farther than Rahl had realized, and he rode close to two kays before he neared their end, where, several hundred cubits ahead, a stone wall ran perpendicular to the road, ending some twenty cubits short of the shoulder on each side. Beyond the wall there were no olive groves, just small plots with neat houses and miniature fields—or large gardens—behind each.
Rahl frowned. There was something about the wall, yet he could not see what it might be, and Taryl had been insistent about his not order-probing ahead. “Scouts! Back!” He order-boosted his words, just slightly, not enough for his use of order to be detected from any distance.
The two scouts had almost reached a point even with the wall: but, when they turned and started to ride back, arrows began to arch toward them from behind the wall. One of the troopers took three shafts and toppled from the saddle, a boot catching in a stirrup so that the mount started to drag him, then stopped. The other scout flattened himself against his horse and urged it into a full gallop.
“Frig!” muttered Rahl under his breath. He should have trusted his vague feelings. Should have…demons, he was getting tired of learning what he should have done too late to be as effective as he could have been.
The fallen scout was dead, but the remaining trooper rode beyond the range of the archers without getting hit, then straightened in the saddle as he neared Rahl and Alrydd.
Rahl studied the wall and the ground beyond. There was no real way to outflank the archers, not easily, because the wall ran at least a kay in each direction, if not more, and for all of that length it was bordered by the orchards filled with the dwarf olives. Trying to move a company through that was asking for even more trouble.
Drakeyt rode forward and joined Rahl. “What do you suggest, Majer?”
“Let me take a squad. I can shield that many from the arrows if they stay close to me.”
“We’ll move up just short of their range. If there are more than you can handle…”
“I wouldn’t think there could be too many rebels,” Rahl pointed out. “There’s no sign of any beyond the wall, and the wall can’t hide anything like a company.”
“Unless they’re hidden behind those dwellings in squads.”
Rahl nodded.
Drakeyt turned his mount. “I’ll send Dhosyn and first squad forward.”
As Rahl waited for first squad, he looked more closely at the wall, but he could see no sign of the rebel archers, although he could sense some men there, if only vaguely. The sound of hoofs on stone announced the arrival of first squad.
“First squad! Close up on the majer!” ordered Dhosyn.
Flanked by two troopers with their blades out, and with Dhosyn and first squad directly behind him, Rahl rode forward toward the wall. When they were within a hundred cubits, just past the mount of the fallen scout, the arrows once more lofted over the wall and sleeted down toward Rahl and the troopers. Rahl extended his shields. The arrows skittered off and onto the road and its shoulders. For a moment, the only sound was that of hoofs on stone.
Then another flight of shafts rose…and fell. But even before they skittered off Rahl’s shields, a good score of archers ran from behind the wall on both the left and the right sides of the road and sprinted toward the nearest dwellings, vanishing behind them. Several entered the small house on the northwest side of the road.
Rahl and first squad rode past the wall and toward the nearer dwelling, the one on the right.
A shutter popped open, and another shaft flew at Rahl. He reeled back in the saddle as it hit his shield. It had been a heavy iron cross-bow quarrel.
“Forward!” He urged the gelding into canter. There was no sense in riding sedately against that sort of attack, and who knew what else might be hidden inside that cot—or others along the road. He turned in the saddle and called to Dhosyn, “We’ll move ahead and clean them out, house by house.”
The next quarrel was off target, but still tugged at his shields.
Rahl reined up outside the barred door of the cot, a dwelling no more than fifteen cubits by twenty, with but two windows facing the road, both shuttered.
“Feragyt! Take three and clean it out!” ordered the squad leader, tossing a metal pry bar to the trooper.
Four troopers dismounted and surged toward the cot. In moments, the door was off its hinges, and the troopers had disappeared inside.
Rahl could sense the deaths—and only three of the four troopers stepped back out.
“Nasty thing, this.” Feragyt held a massive iron crossbow. “There were three of the sows. They’re all dead. So’s Dermyt.”
“Just leave the crossbow for now,” Rahl ordered.
Another flight of arrows—as well as several crossbow bolts—flew toward the squad.
Rahl deflected them, then turned to the squad leader. “We’ll take the next one. This time, I’ll go first.”
“Ser…”
“They’re setting it up so that whoever enters gets shot,” Rahl countered. “We don’t need to lose a trooper for every dwelling we enter, and we can’t leave the rebels here, and if we burn them out, we might as well have lost Nubyat to Golyat.”
“Yes, ser.” Unlike some of the other squad leaders, Dhosyn seemed inclined to accept what Rahl had said, and without resentment.
Rahl waited for the others to mount, then strengthened his shields and rode toward the next dwelling. As before, both shafts and iron bolts flew toward him, but the combination of his shields and riding swiftly lessened their exposure. This time, a front shutter opened, but Dhosyn rode up from the side and slammed it shut.
Three troopers dismounted, and Rahl followed them, but stepped forward enough to keep his shields between them and the door. The trooper with the pry bar inserted it, and began to yank in quick powerful movements. The bolt on the other side gave way, and the door swung open.
Rahl moved forward, his truncheon in hand, as did one of the troopers with a sabre. Just when he entered the front room two arrows flew at him, bouncing from his shields. The two archers dropped their bows. Pulling long knives, they lunged toward Rahl and the trooper beside him.
Rahl’s truncheon slammed the knife from the hand of one archer, and the trooper evaded the other archer and ran the sabre through his neck. After grabbing a stool in his good hand, the wounded archer swung back toward Rahl. This time, Rahl brought the truncheon across the archer’s temple, and the man went down…dead.
&nb
sp; He hadn’t hit the man that hard, had he? Or had the archer been influenced by chaos? With so much death around, Rahl wasn’t all that certain. What was certain was that there were no other rebels in the small dwelling, and he hurried out and remounted.
After that, the pattern in the next three cots was exactly the same, and none of the archers even tried to surrender, but threw themselves at Rahl and the Imperial troopers. All the rebels died.
As he rode up to the next cot, Rahl could sense a difference. There had not been quite so many arrows, and he had the feeling that there might be others in the cot beside rebels. He dismounted, careful to hold his shields firm.
Rahl held his truncheon ready as the trooper wedged the pry bar in place, then heaved, once…twice…and on the third attempt the door broke away from the hinges. Before the trooper had barely stepped back from the door, it sagged to one side, then fell back into the dwelling with a dull thud.
One of the rebel archers stood there. He held a knife to the neck of a girl, not quite a young woman. “You come any closer, and I’ll kill her.”
Rahl could feel the girl’s terror, and the look in her eyes reminded him of Jienela. He hesitated.
“I mean it.”
“Why do you want to hurt an innocent girl?” asked Rahl, keeping his voice calm.
The rebel did not look at Rahl, but at the trooper with the pry bar. “You’re killing everyone else. I just want out of here.”
“Let her go, and you won’t be hurt,” Rahl said. The rebel might later suffer, but not now, not with the girl’s life at stake.
Abruptly, the rebel turned toward Rahl. His eyes widened. “No! Not one of you!” The knife slashed, biting deeply into the girl’s neck, so deeply that crimson spurted everywhere. Then the archer flung the girl at the trooper with the pry bar and darted away from Rahl.
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