Mage-Guard of Hamor (20 page)

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 the 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.

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 have 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.”

“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.