He’d only taken a bite or two when Rhiobyn dropped into the seat across from him, shaking his head. “How do you do it?”
“Do what?” Rahl had no idea what Rhiobyn meant.
“Sit down for report after report, copying each one without mistakes, without errors. After two or three reports, I want to blast something with chaos, or take a blade to it. And now, Thelsyn is telling me that, if I don’t improve, I’ll never be more than a clerk. I’m not a clerk, and that’s not where my talents lie.” Rhiobyn began to eat the battered egg toast, quickly and with precise rapid bites.
Rahl shrugged, and his shoulders twinged only slightly. “I was trained as a scrivener. That makes some of it easier. I also remember what it was like to be a loader. I’d much rather copy reports.”
“Yes… I can see that when you’ve -been lower-born and had to work drudge, copying would seem far easier, but don’t you want more?” Rhiobyn didn’t even look at Rahl as he took a swallow from his mug.
Rahl’s immediate reaction to the other’s unthinking condescension was anger, but he forced himself to take a sip of his ale before speaking.
“Don’t you?” persisted Rhiobyn.
“Of course I do,” Rahl said evenly. “But I need to be more careful than you. Being a lowborn outlander requires more patience, because I have neither family nor wealth nor position upon which I can call.”
“Oh… I hadn’t thought of that. Not really.” Rhiobyn frowned. “It must make matters terribly difficult.”
“Not any more than for you,” interjected Talanyr, settling into the chair beside Rahl and setting his platter and mug down. “It must be terribly difficult for you to evaluate matters in the longer run, since family, wealth, and position have so sheltered you from such considerations.”
Rahl barely managed to keep from choking, even as he admired Talanyr’s quick wit.
Rhiobyn looked startled. Then his face hardened. “You never did have much appreciation for the finer things in life, Talanyr.”
“What are the finer things in life?” Rahl managed.
“They’re…” Rhiobyn stopped and looked at Rahl. “Are you that naive? Or are you trying to be witty like Talanyr?”
“I couldn’t be witty in that fashion if I tried, not at your level,” Rahl replied, ignoring the sense of hidden amusement from Talanyr. “I wanted to know what you thought the finer things in life might be.”
“Exquisite music, such as performed by the Emperor’s orchestra; fine wines, such as those of Phaleria; beautiful women, such as those of Cigoerne or Ilyra…” ‘
“I thought as much.” Talanyr nodded.
“Rhiobyn took the last bite of his toast and ale and stood. ”I hope you both have a day filled with what you seem to enjoy.“ He nodded and turned.
Rahl took another mouthful before speaking. “He really believes all that. Couldn’t he sense what you were doing?”
“No. Most chaos types can’t. Unless they have their chaos under total control, it keeps them from sensing what people feel. They can detect order arid chaos, but not less obvious things. That’s one place where order-skills are an advantage.” Talanyr grinned. “You’ll notice that ordermages have prettier girls and more devoted consorts.”
At that moment, Taryl rose from the men’s table and walked toward Rahl and Talanyr.
“I see you two have been agitating the young chaos-mage. Exactly what did you say to him?” Taryl’s eyebrows rose in inquiry.
“He was asking me why I didn’t seem interested in the finer things in life, ser,” answered Rahl, “and I asked him what those might be.”
Taryl smiled faintly. “How are your bruises?”
“Healing, ser. The soreness is mostly gone.”
“Good. If you’re going to bait your chaos colleagues, you’ll need some more training. Meet me at the duty desk with your truncheon shortly. I haven’t finished eating, but I won’t be long.”
“Yes, ser.”
As Taryl turned away, Rahl wished he hadn’t joined in the verbal sparring with Rhiobyn. Taryl hadn’t seemed particularly upset, but… the last training session had been incredibly painful.
“He’s not upset with you,” Talanyr said quietly.
“He doesn’t have to be for the results to be uncomfortable.”
Talanyr chuckled. “True enough.”
Rahl gulped down the last of his breakfast, then rose. “Have a good day copying.”
“I almost wish I were doing whatever you’ll be doing.” Talanyr grinned. “Almost.”
Rahl shook his head, then hurried toward his chamber. At least, he no longer had to worry about his meal dishes, as he had as a loader and checker. He reclaimed his truncheon and made his way back to the duty desk.
“Rahl…” said Rymaen. “Your letter’s on the first wagon to the piers. It might even make the morning barge.”
“Oh… thank you, ser.”
“Just thought you’d like to know.”
Rahl continued to wait by the duty desk, but when Taryl walked toward him, the mage-guard was accompanied by Khaill as well, and the arms trainer- carried a practice falchiona, while Taryl carried a dark truncheon.
“Shall we go?” asked Taryl.
Rahl followed the two mage-guards out to the waiting wagon. Taryl sat with Rahl in the second seat, while Khaill sat in the seat behind the driver. No one spoke for a time after the wagon pulled away from the station building and headed toward the ironworks. The morning, like all the summer days in Luba, or so it seemed, was already hot and hazy, and light winds swirled grit from everywhere around those in the wagon. Rahl had to blot his eyes several times before they were off the lower section of the mesa road.
When they turned westward, past the coking furnaces, Rahl finally turned to Taryl. “Might I ask where we’re going, ser?”
“To one of the mill buildings. It’s a good area, to practice certain things and learn about what can happen.”
Inside, Rahl stiffened. He just hoped this session wouldn’t be as painful as the last. Before he could ask more, the angular mage-guard had turned to look at the road ahead. Rahl could sense from Taryl’s action and the coolness that surrounded him that he was to ask no more questions.
When the wagon stopped before the same mill in which Rahl had followed Dymat through his inspections, Khaill did not get off the wagon but turned to Taryl. “I’ll wait outside until you need me.”
Taryl nodded, then gestured for Rahl to follow him along the stone causeway into the mill.
As Rahl walked beside the mage-guard, he looked around, but did not see either of the massive steam tugs, but when he stepped inside the large open portal, he glimpsed the one on the south side of the mill, a good quarter kay away and moving slowly westward.
Taryl kept walking until he came to an open section of stone floor on the south side of the rollers that connected the hammer forge to the cogging mill. There he stopped and lifted his truncheon, nodding to Rahl. As far apart as they were, even shouting would have been lost in the sound-chaos of the mill.
Rahl raised his own truncheon, concentrating on Taryl with his eyes, rather than order-senses. With the struggle between order and chaos that surrounded him, and the thundering roar that melded the hammer forge, the cogging mill, and the plating mill, not to mention the hot chaos from the regenerative furnace, Rahl found it . difficult to order-sense anything.
The mage-guard circled, then moved in, tapping the end of Rahl’s weapon, then moving back and to his left. Rahl countered by edging to his right and moving , then trying a slight undercut.
Taryl parried and almost caught the edge of the iron band beneath the handguard’s ridge, pulling Rahl forward.
Off-balance, Rahl jerked his truncheon free and danced back, momentarily disoriented by a reverberating thud from somewhere.
In a flash, Taryl struck Rahl’s shoulder.
Rahl pivoted away, circling and trying to get a better feel for what Taryl was doing.
At first; Rahl was completely on the defensive, but slowly, ever so slowly, despite the distractions all around, and despite Taryl’s skill, Rahl began to stop most of the mage-guard’s attacks and even mount a few of his own.
Finally, Taryl stepped back, then motioned for Rahl to follow him out of the mill.
Rahl gratefully lowered his truncheon and, breathing heavily, walked after the mage-guard.
Even under the full morning summer sun, and without the slightest hint of a breeze, the unshaded causeway was far cooler than it had been in the mill.
Standing close to Rahl, Taryl said loudly, “You can rest for a few moments, but after that, you’ll go against Khaill and the falchiona.”
As far as Rahl was concerned, the respite was all too short, and he was all too soon standing back adjacent to the hammer forge and the cogging mill and looking at Khaill. From the side, Taryl watched intently, although Rahl had the feeling that the ordermage was watching Khaill more than Rahl.
Khaill moved slowly in toward Rahl, and Rahl half circled one way, and then back the other way.
Out of nowhere, the falchiona flashed toward Rahl, and Rahl could only block it, rather than parry or slip it, and the impact jarred his entire arm, even though he did manage to force the blade aside after the block.
From that moment on, Khaill pressed, and Rahl did his best to dodge, slide, slip, and deflect the longer and heavier weapon. Even though Khaill had managed to strike Rahl with the flatted blade several times, Rahl had managed to avoid a truly painful impact, and he was beginning to get a better sense of what the armsmaster was doing.
Suddenly, a chaos-probe jabbed at Rahl.
He deflected it—weakly—but he did manage to keep it from hitting him.
Khaill launched an attack with the blade, following it with another chaos-probe.
While Rahl managed to evade the blade, the jab of the probe threw him off-balance. Another probe followed, and Rahl managed to deflect it. Khaill was too strong for him to stop such an attack—but at least Rahl wasn’t totally defenseless.
The attack of blade and probe continued… and continued.
Rahl’s entire uniform was soaked, and his arm ached from evading and blocking an iron blade, and his body was sore in a few places from where the undefended or poorly defended chaos-jabs had struck.
Abruptly, Khaill stepped back, and Taryl moved forward, just enough to gesture for both to follow him out of the mill.
The wagon appeared, moving from a shaded overhang on the north side of the mill.
Rahl looked down at the truncheon, scarred, battered, and cut. If they kept him doing these kinds of exercises, he was going to need a new truncheon before long.
“You’re getting better,” Taryl said, “but you still get distracted when something unexpected happens.”
Rahl bit back the retort he felt. Who didn’t get distracted when something unexpected happened?
“We can’t do this often, Rahl. Do you know why?”
Rahl hadn’t even thought about something like that. He managed to keep his jaw from opening while he tried to find an answer. “I should, but I don’t.”
“Khaill is a chaos-mage.”
Rahl wanted to shake his head. He should have thought of that. “Was that why you watched so closely, and why he only used just chaos-jabs and not bolts?”
“Partly. Also, we didn’t want you burned if you failed to shield yourself adequately. As it is; by tomorrow those places where he got through will be twice as sore as the bruises you got from sparring in the dark. That’s another reason.”
Left unspoken, Rahl felt, was the point that training a so-called natural ordermage was far more work than other ordermages. Was that why Recluce had left him on his own? Or did they even know what he was?
After finishing the last of his breakfast, Rahl left the mess and began to walk toward the mage-guard duty areas… and the copying room, but he stopped beside the east-facing window because streaks of rain had created paths in the dust on the outside of the glass. He realized that he had seen no rain since early spring, not even the faintest of drizzles. The past eightdays since his sparring match in the mill had brought nothing new, just more copying, more rounds accompanying various mage-guards, more studying of the Manual and the abbreviated Codex, more questions from Taryl, and more and harder sparring with Khaill and others—although he had sparred only once more at the mill, and that had been with Taryl.
Outside, the rain was light, but it had dampened the dust and left traces of rivulets on the stone “paving. Rahl studied the barren landscape to the east of the mage-guard complex for a moment. Although it had rained in Swartheld, he preferred to remember the last true rain he’d seen in Nylan, perhaps because it reminded him of Deybri, even though he really couldn’t explain why he linked the rain to her.
Had he been too forward in his letter? Had she even received it? If she had, it would only have been in the past few days. He would like to have sent another, but he had only saved a little more than a silver from his less-than-modest pay since he had written her. He could but hope that she would find a way to let his parents know he was alive and well.
After a few more moments, he turned from the window and walked toward the copying room, nodding politely to the handful of mage-guards that he passed in the corridor.