All of them except Deybri.
His whole body shuddered.
After a moment, he took a long and deep breath. He had to get control of himself. He had to. He looked up to see that Hasyn continued to back away from him. The older man kept glancing over his shoulder as he distanced himself from Rahl.
Rahl shook his head. “I’ll be fine, Hasyn.”
That didn’t seem to reassure the steam mech, who turned and hurried out of sight down the corridor.
Rahl stood alone in the reading room. That seemed somehow apt.
Now… he had no choices, and no allegiances—except to those few who had honestly tried to help him. He could only do what he could, whatever that might be, in whatever fashion he could.
If he could do anything at all.
For much of the night, Rahl did not sleep. First, he tried to call up each one of the order-skills he recalled, but he had no use or even awareness of any of them, no matter what he tried. Then, exhausted, when he tried to close his eyes and summon sleep, one memory after another emerged, each jolting him back into wakefulness.
Beyond all the memories was a single question. If Shyret had been so worried that Rahl might reveal something, why hadn’t he just killed Rahl? There had to have been a reason. Was murder too risky? Because he’d registered with the mage-guards, and if he turned up dead, someone would be unhappy? Except Shyret wasn’t supposed to know that Rahl had order-skills, and he didn’t know that Rahl had registered. Or did he? Or was it that if anyone from Nylan looked into his death, the investigation might reveal too much? Or that the magisters in Nylan might send an ordermage to inquire?
The latter was the most likely, and that irritated Rahl. His death might get someone to look into things, but his life and his questions wouldn’t. He could feel the rage seething, and not that far beneath, but he blocked it away. Rage was not something he could afford. Not in Luba, and not if he wanted to get any sleep.
In the end, he dozed, fitfully, if that, trying to ignore yet another concern, that of how he could find a way out of Luba, a way that would get him out with both mind and body intact—even if he no longer could call on his order-skills.
He was ‘awake with the first chime of the morning bells, a chime that splintered like miniature knives in his ears.
As he washed and dressed quickly, another thought re-occurred to him. Taryl had already discerned something because he had asked if Rahl had remembered wearing a bracelet on his wrist. And if Rahl didn’t tell the mage-guard…
Once again, he was in an impossible position. He hadn’t done anything really wrong, certainly not since ending up in Luba, but sooner or later Taryl would ask again, and if Rahl waited, that could do him no good at all. Rahl didn’t want to tell Taryl, not in the slightest, but like it or not, he did remember the problems waiting had caused him with Puvort, and in Swartheld, and Taryl was likely to be even harder on him.
Apprehensive as he was, he made his way to the guard station.
“What do you want, Blacktop?” asked a guard that he did not know.
“The mage-guard Taryl, he said to leave a message with you, or whoever was on duty, if I remembered anything that he was asking me about.”
“Yes?”
“I have,” Rahl replied. “I’m just following his orders. That’s why I’m telling you.”
“I’ll pass it on.”
“Thank you, ser.” Rahl inclined his head politely, and then made his way to the dining area. As he filed toward the servers, tin plate and cup in hand, several of the checkers looked in his direction, and then looked away even more quickly. By the time he had been served, no one would meet his eyes.
Why? Because Hasyn or someone had heard about how he’d acted in the reading room the night before? Or because word had spread that a mage-guard would be seeking him out? Or because he appeared different—even if he hadn’t seemed so to himself when he had looked in the mirror earlier that morning?
Rahl found a corner at one of the tables and ignored the way the checkers closest to him edged away. The egg and quinoa breakfast casserole seemed far less edible than on previous mornings, but that might have been because he’d had no basis for comparison from before he’d come to the ironworks. Still, he ate it all, and drank every last drop of the beer, bitter as it also tasted.
When he left the dining area, the guard by the door avoided looking at him, and he stood by himself while he waited for the morning wagon to the loading dock. He sat next to Hasyn in the last row of seats. Two of the hoist sling-men sat in front of them.
“You all right?” murmured Hasyn.
“I had a hard night,” Rahl admitted. “I’m better this morning.”
“Guards say the mage-guards want to talk to you.” Rahl nodded.
“Best of fortune.”
“Thank you.”
Neither spoke for the rest of the ride to the plate-loading dock, where, as usual, Rahl helped the steam mech with the coal and firebox before washing the coal dust off his hands and arms and taking his place in the checker’s kiosk. Also, as usual, neither Moryn nor Chylor said anything to Rahl, except to call out the hoist loads being set into the hauling wagons.
“Two half plates, ship cut, full span…”
“Three of the quarter plates, ship cut, full span…”
Rahl hadn’t thought about it before, but the thicker ship-cut plates had to be for warship hulls. The amount of iron being produced and shipped dwarfed anything he’d seen or heard of on Recluce. Why were the Hamorians using so much iron? Because it could withstand chaos, and they used more chaos?
Whatever the reason, he was careful to keep his tallies neat and his sums correct, but, while the work was far easier than being a loader or a slogger, he soon found it boring, and he had to concentrate on not letting his mind wander.
In between wagons, when Chylor was not looking, he tried to order-sense things, but he could not exercise any of the skills he had once possessed. Even after trying to recall what he could from
The Basis of Order
, he had no success. That raised another question. Had Shyret discovered the book among his possessions as well? Or had Daelyt just taken his coins and disposed of his personal gear without really going through it?
The day dragged on, and Rahl dutifully entered plate types and quantities on the forms. By midafternoon, despite the shade provided by the roof of the kiosk, Rahl’s shirt was splotched with sweat.
Although the sling-men were rigging another load, Rahl saw a two-horse team and a wagon approaching the loading, dock. He watched as the wagon stopped: Taryl stepped down and walked toward the supervisor.
The mage-guard looked at Chylor. “I’ll need some time with Blacktop.”
“Ah…yes, ser. If we could finish this wagon… ?”
“I’ll wait.”
Taryl’s patience impressed Rahl. The mage-guard seemed far less imperious than the magisters of Reduce—or even the Council Guards.
“Hoist on the way!”
Rahl checked the form and his pen.
“Three of the quarter plates, half span…”
Rahl made the entries for the remaining two loads, then waited.
“Wagon away!” called Chylor.
Rahl stepped out of the kiosk and moved toward the mage-guard.
Chylor took the seat in the kiosk. His look at Rahl was not particularly friendly.
Taryl motioned for Rahl to follow him, then turned and walked to a spot shaded by a stack of plate, where he stopped.
“You left Word with the guards,” said Taryl. “What do you remember?”
“Most everything… I think.” Rahl smiled apologetically. “If there’s something small I don’t recall, how would I know I didn’t remember it?”
Taryl just waited.
“My real name is Rahl. I was sent from Nylan to be a clerk at the Nylan Merchanting Association, and I’d been working there for most of the summer season until close to the beginning of fall. I was noticing some irregularities in the accounts, things being declared as damaged or spoiled in shipment, and some I was sure weren’t. Someone tried to break into the Association one night, but I stopped them, and the bravo ran off. I never found out who it was. I was even thinking about leaving the Association and seeing if I could become a mage-guard, but then someone drugged me—it must have been Daelyt—and I can remember getting really sleepy and being unable to move, and someone rolling a carpet around me.” Rahl stopped.
“Why did you think you could become a mage-guard?” Taryl didn’t sound particularly surprised.
“I didn’t know if I could,” Rahl admitted, “but the mage-guards where I registered said that anyone who had order or chaos talents could apply.”
“Is there any way you can support what you told me?”
“I was a clerk at the Merchanting Association. Shyret and the others there might say that I was there. They might not. I always ate at Eneld’s across the street. Seorya might remember me. I did register with the mage-guards in Swartheld, at the place off the main piers, but I don’t know what happened to the registry bracelet.” Rahl laughed bitterly. “It doesn’t matter now, though. I don’t have any order-abilities. At least, I can’t find them or use them.”
Taryl smiled. “You’re lucky. When they use nemysa on someone without order, or chaos-abilities, that person almost never recovers his memory. With mages, a handful die, but any who live will eventually recover everything. It will be days, or eightdays, or longer. Generally, the more powerful the mage, the longer it takes.”
“But… I wasn’t that powerful.”
“You’re still young… it’s Rahl, isn’t it?”
“Rahl, that’s right.”
“Rahl… powerful mages start showing traces of ability young, but they keep getting stronger long after those with less ability—if they work at it properly.”
Rahl was silent. Did he actually have a chance of regaining his abilities?
“We will have to send to see if they have any records remaining in Swartheld.”
“With my luck, ser, those will have vanished as I did.”
“That may be, but we will see.”
“Ah, ser. What do I do now? Keep on as a checker at the loading dock?”
“That would not be wise for anyone, but particularly for you. The mage-guards can always use clerks, especially here in Luba, and being around mages might help you regain your abilities. Besides, that’s where all mage-guards start in any case.” Taryl paused. “You didn’t say exactly, except about order-skills, but you were considered a black mage?”
“Of sorts. The magisters in Nylan said that I was a natural ordermage, and that I’d amount to little because, while I had skills, I was unable to learn others. I could either do things or not, but I never seemed able to learn what I couldn’t do.”
“There is a place for every level and type of mage in Hamor.” Taryl’s voice turned wry. “It may not be what one expected, but mages are not wasted or turned away here.”
Rahl could hear the irony in the older man’s voice, and couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. Taryl had certainly not planned to be a mage in Luba.
The mage-guard turned and walked down the dock to the checker’s kiosk and Chylor.
Rahl followed, hoping he hadn’t upset Taryl.
“I’ll be taking… him… with me,” announced the mage-guard.
“Yes, ser. Ah… did he do something wrong?”
“No. Something wrong was done to him, we think.”
To Rahl’s eyes, the supervisor looked almost disappointed, but Rahl was more than glad to follow the mage-guard to the wagon.
On fiveday evening, Rahl sat at the junior’s table in the mage-guard’s mess, with two others—Rhiobyn and Talanyr. He’d been issued two sets of khaki garments, similar to those worn by the mage-guards, except without any insignia, and a pair of heavy black boots that matched his new belt. His hair had been cut short, and the mages’ barber had shaved him. He’d been given a kit with a razor as well, and was sharing an actual room with Talanyr, not a bunk room. He’d even been given a truncheon, although it was of oak, rather than lorken. It had been provided with the caution that weapons were not worn inside the station, but always outside.
While Rahl still could not order-sense whether mage-guards were ordermages or chaos-mages, he realized that all he had to do was look at their belts. Those who wore clips for a falchiona scabbard were chaos-mages, and those who wore the short retaining harness for a truncheon were ordermages.
Before him was a meal on a crockery platter—biastras, with pan-fried flat bread on the side. The beverage was not leshak, but a heavier ale. In the mage-guards’ mess, in addition to the juniors’ table, were two long tables for the mage-guards. One held seven women, and the other eleven men, although Rahl could hear comments back and forth between the tables.
He wrapped the bread around the biastra and took a modest bite. Spicy as the marinated meat was, it was not as hot as what he had tasted in Nylan. Either that, or he had gotten better used to the more highly seasoned Hamorian fare.
“How did you get here?” asked Rhiobyn, a youth who looked younger than Rahl and was more than a head shorter. “You sound like you come from Atla, except you speak better.” His black eyes darted from Rahl to Talanyr.