He was halfway through copying the second page of the declaration, with more than a few unvoiced questions, when Director Shyret appeared from his study.
“You’ll have those ready first thing in the morning?”
“With Rahl here, ser, we’ll have them finished tonight and waiting for you in the morning.”
“Good. You’ll show Rahl how to lock up?”
“Yes, ser.”
Shyret nodded and turned without another word. Rahl returned to copying. When he finally finished, he looked up.
Daelyt was working on something else, but the older clerk immediately closed the leather folder. “You’re done?”
“I am. Where do I put these, now that they’re done?” asked Rahl.
“Oh… I’ll take them. They go on the director’s desk. Once he approves them, and the enumerators get their copy, he’ll file the other one in the wall cases in his study.” Daelyt rose and took the declarations Rahl held.
“Daelyt… I’m confused. The ship’s master does a declaration, and then we do another in Hamorian. Are they filed together? Or separately? Is the difference just that we need one in Temple for the Association, and we need the other one in Hamorian for the tariff enumerators?”
“That’s about it. We also have to remove spoilage, because we’ll get tariffed on it,” replied the clerk. “We need the declarations in Hamorian because the enumerators make a practice of not reading Temple. So we need both sets.” He walked toward Shyret’s study.
Rahl was more than confused. He was worried. He’d remembered clearly that there had been ninety-three bales of black wool, not the ninety on the Hamorian declaration he’d just finished. There had also been twenty kegs of scarletine, rather than nineteen, and sixty kegs of Feyn indigo, not fifty-nine. And Daelyt had been lying. Not about the Hamorians not reading Temple, but about the reason for the two sets… or something about it. Chenaryl and Daelyt had talked about spoilage, and Chenaryl had noted the “spoilage” on the original declaration that Rahl had written out for Galsyn, but Rahl knew he would have sensed such spoilage when the cargo had been unloaded. Not only that, but Daelyt hadn’t answered his question about the separate files, either. Rahl wasn’t about to ask twice. Not at the moment. “Seems like a waste.”
“It probably is, but who listens to clerks?”
Rahl offered a laugh, then waited for Daelyt to return.
It was only a few moments before Rahl heard a second click, and Daelyt was walking toward the clerks’ desk.
“I’m ready to head back to Yasnela.”
“Your consort?”
“She’s the one. Now… let me show you what to do in locking up. First, we check the back outside storeroom door. It should be locked, but you still check. It doesn’t need a bar or bolt.” Daelyt laughed. “It has three locks, and none of us have the keys. Only Director Shyret does.”
That was another lie that Rahl tried to let pass without reacting.
“You don’t have to worry about his study, either. I locked that after I put the declarations on his desk. We try to keep his study locked whenever he’s not here. One of your other duties is sweeping and mopping the floors and polishing the‘ brass and the wood. You don’t have to do that tonight. It’s late as it is, but it’s up to you to take care of all that.”
Rahl nodded. That made sense, but he hadn’t exactly expected it.
“Let’s finish up,” Daelyt said.
Rahl followed the other clerk through all the checks, and they ended up at the front door.
“Just slip the bar through the iron brackets, and you’ll be set”
“I will.”
After Daelyt departed, Rahl immediately slid the iron bar into place. Then he slowly walked back to the long desk, where he snuffed the lamp and made his way to the narrow alcove that was his space.
Once he disrobed, lying on his back, with the light cover over his legs that he really didn’t need, except that he had never been able to sleep without at least a hint of covers over his legs, Rahl looked up at the sand yellow bricks of the walls that enclosed his sleeping alcove, then at the aged brown planks and beams of the ceiling. He order-sensed them more than saw them, but he could feel the age and the strangeness.
He was in Hamor.
Hamor. Thousands of kays from Nylan. A place where even the teamsters wanted slaves. Where one of the cooler days of summer was hotter than he’d ever experienced anywhere. Where people were crowded everywhere, and yet Daelyt was telling him that the city was empty. Where no one thought much about mage-guards destroying voices, and where he already felt, that matters were not right in the way the Association was being run. But who could he tell, and what real proof did he have? He could only claim he knew what was happening through his order-skills, and his past experiences suggested that making a claim based on them was anything but wise.
Beyond that, there was something about the clerk, not just the touch of chaos, or the fact that he had clearly given half his dinner to his consort… but something else that he couldn’t identify.
Hamor—he was here, doing something that looked to be drudgery, both of mind and body, all because Magister Puvort hadn’t wanted to explain anything. None of the magisters had, not really. He’d learned more from Deybri and Zastryl than from any of the magisters—and neither of them was even a “mage.
He tried to calm the seething feelings within, but sleep was a long time in coming.
Chaos-mages have the ability to focus destruction and fire. Such abilities range from lighting a fire to incinerating portions of armies and melting quantities of lesser metals. Those abilities are based upon their mastery of such magery in unbinding the elements of the world that most would see as fixed and firm.
An ordermage can strengthen those- bonds that a chaos-mage would sever, often to the point where the chaos-mage can do nothing. Likewise an ordermage can bind a white mage, if their strengths are equal.
An effective ruler must command both order and chaos, for he must be able to hold that which must be held and destroy that which would thwart him. Likewise, he must know where every mage of more than minor ability is located in Hamor, and each and every mage must serve the ruler, either directly or indirectly.
Failure to be registered as a mage is an offense against the land and its ruler, and must be punished severely, either by a term at hard labor or by execution, depending upon the circumstances. Ignorance of this requirement provides no excuse, except for those mages who are still children, and those must become immediate wards of the ruler, to be educated and trained to administer and carry out the wardings and duties necessary to assure that order and chaos are governed so that Hamor will be prosperous and peaceful within its . borders and so that no other land can employ either order or chaos against Hamor and its peoples.
The life of any mage who lifts his abilities against the ruler or his duly appointed ministers and administrators or against those who bear arms in defense of Hamor and its peoples is forfeit…
Introduction
Manual of the Mage-Guards
Cigoerne, Hamor
1551 A.F.
Rahl stomach was rumbling even before first light, enough to wake him from a vaguely troubled sleep. He was up and washed and dressed in his clerk’s attire by shortly after dawn. Because the air outside was cooler, if not by much, he opened several windows. He also unbarred the door but discovered that only a key could unlock it, and he hadn’t been given one. He wasn’t really trapped, because he could have squeezed out through one of the windows, but where would he have gone?
From what he could tell, the cantina wasn’t open yet, and there were far fewer people on the streets in the early, early morning than there had been late in the evening when he had gone to bed.
For lack of anything better to do, he went through the side of the long desk that was apparently his and looked at the various blank forms. Then he checked the inkwell and the ink and cleaned the pen he’d been given. That didn’t take long.
After that, he went back to the storeroom and looked over what was there, but there was nothing out of the ordinary on the shelves, just copies of various forms, two large glass jugs of ink, several amphorae of lamp oil, and a small brass pitcher with a long and narrow spout designed to fill the lamps, some lamp wicking, brass polish, and rags. There was also a small jar of what looked to be a waxlike polish.
That reminded him of his duties, and he looked for a broom. He found both a broom and a mop, but he decided against trying to mop because he couldn’t find any water for washing floors. As he recalled, there were barrels or possibly a pump or tap out the rear door, but it was locked.
Instead he swept the front part of the building and the rear corridor, then used a rag and the wood polish— sparingly—on the woodwork. The brasswork didn’t look that bad. It could wait for a day or two.
He had just returned to the long desk when he heard and sensed Daelyt unlocking the front door.
The older clerk walked inside, then nodded. “You swept. Good.”
“I polished the wood, lightly.” Rahl paused, then added, “I should have asked, but I forgot about keys. I could have gotten out the window, if there had been a problem, but I didn’t want to try to lift a chamber pot through it or try to get water…”
Daelyt grinned. “I would think not. You should have asked. We tend to think you know things unless you tell us otherwise. For the keys to the front door, we’ll have to wait until the director gets here. He keeps the keys under lock. In the morning, you’ll have to use the front door.” Daelyt nodded. “Is there anything else?”
“You said we got two meals at Eneld’s, and one is dinner
“The other is midday. We take shifts for that. Director Shyret wants a clerk here all the time.” Daelyt laughed. “It’s been difficult at times since Wynreed disappeared.”
“Disappeared?” Rahl didn’t like the sound of that at all.
“He went out on an end-day night and never came back.
The patrollers and the mage-guards don’t have any record of taking him into custody or… disciplining… “him.” Daelyt settled onto his stool.
Disciplining him? That suggested that the mage-guards could just dispose of people. Despite a morning that was already getting warmer than Rahl would have liked, he managed to repress a shiver, but his stomach rumbled… loudly.
Daelyt shook his head. “That won’t do. You need to get a loaf of bread or some hard biscuits to- get you through the morning. Run down to the corner, on the side beyond the warehouse. Gostof usually peddles somes You can get a loaf of rye for two coppers, if you press. The director won’t be here for a bit, and he wouldn’t mind on your first morning. It takes a while to get settled.” The clerk’s smile was helpful and friendly.
Rahl didn’t sense any deception or chaos, not beyond the slight whiteness that apparently accompanied Daelyt all the time. “I’ll hurry.”
“That would be good.”
Rahl moved toward the door.
Outside, the sun had lifted over the hills to the east of the harbor and shone through an already hazy greenish blue sky. There were more people on the street, but still not so many as the evening before, and most looked to be older and graying. Rahl hadn’t taken three steps before he began to sweat. He hurried past the still-closed iron gates of the warehouse courtyard. Tyboran was standing inside the heavy iron grillwork. The guard looked at Rahl impassively.
Rahl smiled back and called cheerfully in Hamorian, “Good morning, Tyboran.” He didn’t feel all that cheerful, but that wasn’t the point.
Tyboran just looked at Rahl, but Rahl had the feeling that the guard was at least slightly glad to be recognized.
An older man, weathered and bent, stood in the morning shade of the northernmost warehouse, so close to the corner that Rahl had to come to a halt quickly to avoid running into him.
“Loaves, just a day old, good loaves!”
“How much?” asked Rahl.
“For you, young ser, a mere four coppers. For the rye. Five for the dark.”
“Old bread? Four coppers?” Rahl snorted. A half silver for a loaf of bread? Between his wages from the training center and what Liedra had given him, he had but three silvers. “A half copper is more like it.”
“You’ve been in Ada too long, where bread and women are cheap, young ser.”
Rahl grinned. “You’ve been in Swartheld too long, where even dung is sold as incense. Not more than a half copper.”
“For your fine tongue I might accept three.”
“Flattery is cheaper than coin. No more than one and a half.” .
“My bread may be a day old, but it is far fresher than most loaves, and of better quality.”
“Only the dark bread, and who can afford that?”
In the end, Rahl paid two coppers for a loaf of dark bread, the first he’d had since he’d left Land’s End. He could have gotten the rye for a copper and a half, and doubtless would have to settle for it in the days to come, but he had wanted the dark.
He walked back to the merchant association, only nodding to Tyboran as he passed. The guard did nod back.
“I see Gostof was there,” observed Daelyt, when Rahl walked toward the long desk. “Take the bread to your cubby and eat it there. The director doesn’t like crumbs or food out here.”