Mage-Guard of Hamor (27 page)

Rahl and Drakeyt sat at opposite sides at one end of a long table in the White Chalice, a prepossessing name for a modest inn, Rahl thought. Breakfast was egg toast with honey-redberry syrup and thick ham slices, with spiced pearapples on the side. Rahl had to admit that it was far better than the fare at the Painted Pony had been.

The public room was far smaller, and held only four trestle tables, all of them flanked with backless benches. Second squad had already eaten, and Rahl could sense first squad forming up outside.

“Only hamlets and small towns from here to Dawhut?” asked Rahl, spearing the last slice of ham on the wooden platter.

“Mostly smaller than that.” Drakeyt took a swallow of his ale. “The next place even as big as Istvyla is Koldyrk, and that's a good hundred kays on. We'll see plenty of hamlets, and more than a few timber wagons, and probably more than a few spirit wagons. South and east of Koldyrk is where they brew Vyrna.”

Rahl had never heard of Vyrna. “What kind of drink is that?”

“Oh, it's smoother than polished lager and has twice the kick of leshak, and costs half as much. Most of it gets shipped to Austra. For some reason, they like it there.”

“Folks don't like it here?”

“Oh, they do, but way back one of the emperors—I think it was Dhanocyr—tariffed it to bring in golds. The tariff is levied at the ports—Nubyat, and I suppose, Sastak and Elmari. The wagons carry the kegs to the barge piers in Dawhut, and they go down the Awhut River to Nubyat…”

Rahl wasn't sure any of that made sense, unless the cost of using wagons to carry the kegs anywhere else was far higher than the tariffs.

“Less than a hundred kays from the farthest still to Dawhut, and some are less than a day's drive from there…It doesn't cost that much more to ship Vyrna to Valmurl than to Swartheld, and the Austrans will pay twice as much. So most of it goes to the drunken northerners.” Drakeyt shook his head. “They say that there are some places in Austra, like Vizyn, where the ice only melts for three or four eightdays a year. No wonder they like spirits.”

“How far is it from Koldyrk to Dawhut?”

“If…if the maps are right, close on a hundred fifty kays.”

“It'll be full winter before we reach Nubyat.”

“If then.”

Rahl and Drakeyt both looked up at the sound of voices. One was too high-pitched to be a trooper.

“There they are!”

Hyalf and a red-headed woman a good ten years older than Rahl walked toward the two officers. The two stopped short of the table.

“Sers, this is Edelana, and her Eskar was killed because you're here.” Hyalf inclined his head.

“Because we're here?” Drakeyt raised his eyebrows.

“Eskar…all he said was that Suvorn wouldn't listen and that it was your fault.” The woman's voice was rough and uneven, in keeping with her faded and worn blue trousers and the patched gray-wool jacket. Her eyes were red.

“Our fault?” asked Drakeyt.

“His fault.” Edelana looked to Rahl. “His fault. Eskar said it wouldn't have happened if the demon-cursed mage-guard hadn't shown up. He was bleeding bad, and then…he didn't say anything more.”

“Just a moment,” Drakeyt interjected. “Did this Suvorn stab your consort?”

“That's what I've been saying. Suvorn killed my Eskar,” replied Edelana. “We weren't as like properly consorted, but Eskar and me, we might as well have been.”

“Was Suvorn in town when we rode in yesterday?” Rahl looked to Hyalf.

“He was at the chandlery yesterday afternoon, but I couldn't rightly say if he was there when you showed up.” Hyalf did not quite look at Rahl.

Rahl had an idea what was involved, yet it seemed far-fetched. Still…“Is your stead near the old road to Kysha?”

Edelana looked at him blankly.

“The old back way through the woods to Troinsta?” he asked.

“Yes, ser. It'd be a mite bit quicker by that road from where we are, excepting if there be rain.”

“Did Eskar come into some coins, say, three or four eightdays ago?”

“Just a silver or two, ser. He did some work for Suvorn. Suvorn said he needed help to fix an axle for some travelers.”

“Do you know how many wagons they had?”

“He didn't say, ser. My Eskar…he wasn't one for a lot of words.”

Rahl looked to Hyalf. “How long has Suvorn lived here in Istvyla?”

“He was born here, ser.”

Rahl could sense that wasn't exactly the whole truth. “So he left for a while.”

“Ah…yes, ser.”

“When?”

“Mayhap, three, four years ago.”

“And when did he return?”

“Close to a season ago,” admitted the clerk.

“He have anyone with him when he came back?”

“I couldn't say for sure, ser.”

“So you never saw anyone but him, but he bought more food and other things than one man probably ate?” Rahl pressed.

“That might be, from what I heard,” replied Hyalf.

Rahl looked to Edelana.

“Could be, ser.”

“I think we need to take a look at your place and Suvorn's.” Rahl took a last swallow of lager from the earthenware mug, then stood.

“I don't know where Suvorn's place is, except it's back in the woods off the old road.”

“Does Suvorn have a horse?”

Edelana nodded.

“It still can't be far. Wait out front for us,” Rahl said.

Hyalf and Edelana had barely left when the troopers of first squad began to enter the public room.

Drakeyt stood. “You think this Suvorn was sent here just to help the rebels?”

“It's possible,” Rahl hedged. “That's what I want to find out.”

“You take second squad,” said the captain. “Quelsyn and I will scout around the rest of the hamlet while you're gone. Send a messenger if you'll be longer than noon.”

“I can do that,” replied Rahl, heading to gather his gear.

Even though second squad had eaten first, it took a while to muster the squad, but before long, Rahl and Khasmyr, the second squad leader, were riding along the lane headed north out of Istvyla. Edelana was riding double behind one of the troopers. The clouds to the north had thickened again, and Rahl had the feeling that they would be in for more rain before the day was over.

Rahl had ridden no more than a few hundred cubits past the last scattered dwellings when he found that the road narrowed to a lane barely wide enough for two riders abreast—or one wagon, provided it was not a large one. Over the next kay, the squad rode past three small holdings carved out of the woods.

“There's our place!” Edelana called out.

Eskar's cot was more like a hut, with log walls chinked with mud and moss, and crude plank shutters, although the pair of windows flanking the door were glassed. One pane was cracked. The roof looked to be made of planks covered with shake shingles green with moss.

Rahl turned in the saddle. “Khasmyr, while I'm looking here, have your scouts study the lane north for either hoofprints or boot prints, but don't have them travel out of sight of the cot.”

“Yes, ser.”

For several moments, Rahl studied the ground outside the hut, but the welter of old and new hoofprints only suggested that Suvorn—or some riders—had visited often. Rahl dismounted and tied the gelding to a single post. Then he turned to Edelana, who had been set on her feet by the trooper. “Who else rode to visit Eskar?”

“Lots of folk. Anyone who needed a strong back.”

Rahl turned and walked to the cot door, still ajar, and looked inside. Eskar was lying on a soiled braided rag rug just inside the plank door. The front of his tunic was stiff with blood.

After several glances around the two-room cot, Rahl doubted that he'd discover anything he needed to know. He turned to Edelana. Her eyes were bright, and tears oozed from the corners of her eyes.

“Eskar was the only one who was good to me…now…” She shook for a moment.

“I'm sorry,” Rahl offered.

The woman seemed not to hear him.

“How far is it to the back road?” Rahl waited.

“It's not more than a kay out the lane, but you'll have to ford the creek. The bridge wore out and washed out. The old road is just beyond that.”

“Is Suvorn's place that way?”

“I wouldn't know, ser.”

“Did he always ride here coming from the north?”

“Most times, unless he was coming from town.” Her words were distant.

“Do you have anyone else you can stay with?”

“No, ser.”

Rahl had no idea what to do next. He didn't want to leave the woman with a dead man, and he had few enough coins of his own left with hundreds of kays to ride on a campaign ahead of him.

“Do you have a spade or a mattock?”

“Oh, no, ser. Eskar wouldn't want that. Said he'd need to be buried by his sister. In the family place.”

“I'm sorry. I was just thinking…”

Edelana looked at Rahl. “You asked. Most wouldn't. I'll do it.”

Rahl wasn't certain about that. “Are you sure?”

“Hyalf said he'd send Aliva over in a bit. We'll do.”

Rahl inclined his head, then stepped back to the post, where he untied the gelding, then mounted. He rode out to the lane to meet Khasmyr.

“There's one set of fresh prints,” the squad leader reported, “coming down the lane and heading back out.”

“Those would be Suvorn's. We might as well follow them and see where they take us.”

“You think he's one of the rebels?”

“I don't know, but we'll want to check the old road for those heavy wagon tracks anyway.”

“Second squad! Form up!” Khasmyr barely waited before ordering, “Forward!”

Fording the creek wasn't difficult, not with the water level as low as it was, and the hoofprints continued on the far side. Where the old lane, even more overgrown, ended at the old road, the tracks turned westward, running between two far older and deeper traces of heavy-laden wagons.

As far as Rahl could judge, they rode another half kay before the hoofprints turned up a weedy trail. He reined up and studied the road. From what he could tell, the rider had gone up the trail, then come back before riding west.

“Ser!” called Khasmyr. “Over here.”

Rahl eased the gelding over to join the squad leader.

“Someone replaced the axle tree on a heavy wagon, and tossed the broken stuff into the brush. Looks like you were right, ser.”

“I don't think Suvorn's anywhere near here, but I'd like to take a look at his place up that trail.”

“You want the whole squad, ser?”

“Just two or three men.”

“First two ranks, follow the captain.”

The four troopers rode in single file behind Rahl along the narrow trail for less than two hundred cubits before they emerged in an overgrown clearing.

From the outside, the hut looked more like a hovel, and one that had not been occupied for years, if not longer. Rahl's order-senses told him that no one was inside or nearby, but he had the feeling that the place had been lived in far more recently than appearances would have indicated. The nearly fresh hoofprints leading practically to and from the door reinforced that feeling.

Rahl gestured to the nearest trooper. “Look around behind here, follow the prints, and see if there's a shed or a barn concealed behind some of that underbrush.”

“Ah…yes, ser.”

Rahl reined up short of the doorway, dismounted, and handed the gelding's reins to the next trooper who had been riding behind him. “I doubt I'll be long.”

The plank door was crude, but had been recently crafted, and the single room behind the door was neat and swept. The pallet bed was also new, and the interior walls had been hurriedly patched and repaired. A worn workman's tunic had been thrown across one end of the pallet, as had a pair of patched trousers, and a set of nearly worn-out work boots remained by the door. The ashes in the small hearth were warm, but no other garments or personal items remained.

Suvorn had definitely departed, and in haste.

Rahl stepped back out into the cool and raw morning air. All four troopers and their mounts were drawn up outside the hut, waiting.

“Sir, there's a shed out back, just big enough for a single mount. It's been used recent-like.”

“Thank you.” Rahl swung up into the saddle, not quite so awkwardly as he first had, but still with a lack of grace. “We'll head back and join the rest of the squad. Then we'll be riding back to town.”

There wasn't much point in chasing Suvorn, but he would need to write a more detailed report for the messenger to take to Taryl. He could only hope that the rest of the campaign forces would start to follow them. Otherwise, Third Company would have to stop sending messengers before long because they'd have more troopers carrying messages than scouting.

He didn't like the way matters were going. Not at all. He and Third Company were something like eighty kays from Kysha, with almost three hundred to go left on the way to Dawhut, and he was already discovering more planning by the rebels and less knowledge by the locals of what was happening around them.

Eightday morning found Rahl and Drakeyt riding southwest once more, through a mist that had not yet developed into rain, and might not, Rahl realized. Ever since they had left Kysha, and especially over the last few days, he'd been using his order-abilities to track the water in the air to the north, but a southerly wind he had never even sensed coming had sprung up and had met the cooler clouds from the north and, instead of rain, they had mist.

As he brushed water droplets off the oiled leather of his tan riding jacket, he wondered how any mage ever became much good at forecasting the weather. There were so many things to consider.

The night before, he'd written a few paragraphs in his narrative letter to Deybri, trying to explain to her his feelings about being unable to do much for Edelana and how the effects of one prince's greed or wish for greater power ended up in the death of a man whose only connection was that he'd accepted a silver to help fix a broken axle. What he hadn't written was his fear that incidents such as those in Istvyla would be trivial once actual battles were joined.

He also wished that he could just talk to Deybri. Would that ever happen again?

“You're quiet this morning,” offered Drakeyt.

“There's not much to say,” replied Rahl, “except that it's wet, and there's a long ways to go before we reach Dawhut.”

“That's war for you, a lot of travel and discomfort until you fight, and then there's no travel and even more discomfort.”

“That sounds like experience speaking.” Rahl didn't know how the captain would have gotten much experience.

“Only a little. I was with the force that the High Command sent to Worrak to rout out the pirate crew there. They said we'd be done in eightdays. It took two seasons, and we lost three men in ten.”

“I never heard about that.”

“Almost no one did. The High Command is always sending companies here and there, usually in Candar. My cousin Hautyl was part of the campaign against the Southern Quarter in Nordla, but that was almost ten years back. We lost half the force, and he was lucky to come back losing only one arm and getting a stipend.”

“Nordla? What did they do?”

“Oh, the local Lord of the Quadrant impounded some of our ships and claimed that our traders were cheating his traders. The Emperor thought letting him get away with it was a bad idea. So we assaulted Surien. I suppose it did the job. Between the fleet and the infantry, we destroyed most of the merchanters and their warehouses and made the harbor so impassable it was a year before they could use it.” Drakeyt snorted. “Golyat was in charge of the campaign. That was before he became administrator of Merowey. It only cost us a thousand troopers, but no one in Nordla messed with our traders. Not for another generation, anyway.”

“He was in charge of the campaign? Was he that good?”

“I heard that the High Command complained to the Emperor, but the Triad reviewed everything, and Golyat submitted a report on Surien's defenses.”

“Oh…”

Drakeyt looked sideways through the mist at Rahl.

“I wonder…” After a moment, Rahl went on. “We're going to ride some seven hundred kays, when the fleet could be outside Nubyat in an eightday or two. I couldn't figure that out. Someone had mentioned harbor defenses in one briefing, but…”

“You're thinking that Golyat studied how the Nordlans did it and has been fortifying Nubyat and Sastak?”

Rahl shrugged. “It's a thought, but no one told me anything.”

“As much as anything in war makes sense, that does.”

“Is that why Fairhaven might be supporting Prince Golyat? Because they want the revolt to go on and on?”

“Who knows—except that anything that ties up our fleet and raises our tariffs benefits their traders.”

“And the Jeranyi,” Rahl added.

“The Jeranyi just like trouble.” Drakeyt paused, then asked, “How did you figure out what happened in Istvyla so quickly?”

Rahl shrugged. “I suppose it was because I'd seen it before. When we rode into the square, and everyone gathered, one fellow—the one we didn't catch—was at the edge of the crowd. He looked at you, then at me, and he left, even before we said anything.”

“You thought…from that?”

“It wasn't his leaving, but the way he left,” Rahl replied. “You can't be a harbor or city mage-guard for long without seeing it. Most people can't hide the guilt at having done something. Istvyla's just a hamlet, too. Why would he leave in a guilty fashion just on seeing us?”

“You were city mage-guard?”

“A harbor mage-guard in Swartheld. Not for that long.”

“What did you do before that?”

“I was a mage-clerk in Luba.” Rahl didn't want to say that much more. “What bothers me about this is the planning.”

“You mean that someone sent this Suvorn out here more than a season ago, with enough coin, just to be able to help the rebels with the cannon? It wouldn't take that much coin,” replied Drakeyt.

“It's not the coin; it's that they found the one man whom everyone would accept without suspicion, or too much suspicion.” Rahl also suspected that the episode with the cannon had been designed to play on the marshal's caution, and he wondered how many other incidents there might be that were designed to slow the campaign without much cost in men and matériel to the rebels. “There have to have been some High Command officers backing Prince Golyat.”

“You think anyone's going to admit that or tell us?”

Drakeyt had a good point there. “It's not likely.”

“We'll find that out the hard way.” The captain frowned. “And we'll find more surprises. That's what we're here for—so that the main force doesn't find them.” He shook his head. “They will anyway, but the fewer they encounter, the better.”

Rahl agreed with that, but someone had planned the revolt for a long time, and they also had the help of mage-guards and some senior High Command officers.