Mage-Guard of Hamor

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  Rahl also realized that there was much more he did not understand. How could an entire administrative district larger than Recluce—or many countries in Candar—stage a revolt without anyone knowing it was about to happen? He shook his head. Obviously, people had known, but whoever had known had kept the news from reaching Mage-Guard Headquarters, the High Command, or the Emperor—or delayed it until the rebellion was in progress. That suggested to Rahl that at least some very talented mage-guards had to have been involved, perhaps even some in Mage-Guard Headquarters, and that Taryl thought so as well, although the angular former Triad had said nothing about that. Still, that was only a guess on Rahl’s part. He certainly had no knowledge or even any hints of such.

  There was little enough he could do about any of that at the moment, only watch and learn, and try not to reveal anything.

  Slowly, he sat down at the small writing desk and took out several sheets of paper and the small portable inkwell and a copper-tipped iron pen. What could he say? How much should he put to paper?

  He used several sheets of paper—and burned the discarded sheets in the small brazier that he suspected had been placed in the chamber for the use of chaos-type mage-guards—before he finally had a letter that satisfied him. He’d also had to light the lamp over the desk because composing it had taken so long. While he could certainly detect objects in the dark, so far his skills did not let him read in darkness.

  Finally, he read it silently, and carefully.

  My dear healer,

  I am now in Cigoerne. It might well be called another white city, with its white-stone walls and red-tile roofs. Even the streets are paved in a light-colored stone like a white granite. Many of the buildings are of two and three stories, and all that I have seen are well kept. When the sun reflects off the stone and roofs, there is a warmth to the light. There is also a warmth to the days and nights because Hamor is considerably hotter than Recluce.

  At the moment, I am staying in a comfortable room in the Mage-Guard Headquarters on the west side of the city. I was most surprised to discover that there are many order-mages here, and many of them would fit in Nylan—if the magisters did not know from where they hailed. I’ve also been reading a history of the mage-guards. They date back to the first emperors. I am continuing to learn, thanks in great measure to the teaching techniques of Senior Mage-Guard Taryl. While you did not meet him, he was the envoy I accompanied to Recluce, and he is the one who reclaimed me from the ironworks at Luba and enabled me to become a mage-guard.

  From what I have seen so far, Cigoerne is almost as neat and clean as Nylan, if far larger, and everyone appears well behaved and orderly. There are also similarities in the way in which senior mage-guards relate to each other and the way in which magisters relate to each other, although the mage-guards place a great emphasis on the development and application of practical skills by all mage-guards and not just upon those who fit a given mold.

  In the days to come, I will be leaving Cigoerne on my next duty, and I will write as I can. I cannot help but think of you, and dream of you, no matter how far apart we are. I know it may be some time before I will have any opportunity or time to return to Nylan, and I know how and what you feel about Hamor. For all that, the past that I found in Nylan does have a hold on me, and it always will. You are usually better at seeing such than I, but in that one particular, you were mistaken. That past—and you—hold me fast.

  This time, he did close the letter more affectionately, with the words, “All my love,” above his signature.

  Now that he had written the letter, he would have to keep it with him at all times until he found a safe place from which to post it. He couldn’t help but think about the ironies of life. When it had been perfectly safe to write Deybri, he hadn’t often had the coins. Now that he had the coins, he had to worry about where and when he posted the letter.

  He folded the letter and slipped it into the envelope, which he addressed to her in Nylan, then sealed.

  After that, he disrobed and climbed into his bed. As he lay there, his eyes not looking anywhere, he kept thinking about Deybri and her gold-flecked brown eyes, the soft waves of her brown hair, and the warmth that radiated from her.

  Finally, he got up and extracted the tiny iron cubes from his belt wallet. Then he sat down in the darkness before the writing table and set the cubes on the polished ancient golden oak. He closed his eyes and reached for the cubes with his order-senses.

  If nothing else, he could practice improving his order-skills until he was exhausted enough to sleep.

  XI

  Threeday afternoon found Rahl once more in a coach—this time headed to the Imperial Palace with Taryl. He was still warm. Cigoerne in the late fall was often warmer than Recluce in spring or early summer. He’d had to practice falchiona exercises with Khedren much of the morning, and he was happy to sit back and relax—until he realized that Taryl carried his satchel. Rahl looked at the black leather once, then again.

  “We do have some time. Sit on the other side as far from me as you can.”

  As Rahl reluctantly shifted his position to comply, Taryl opened the satchel.

  “This is a different kind of training,” offered the older mage-guard. “I have some darts in here. They look alike, but some are tipped with quill points, some with needles, and some with needles charged with chaos. In a moment, I will start throwing them at you. Your shields are certainly strong enough to stop all of them, but I want you to try to use only enough order to stop those with the needles and the chaos.”

  For a moment, Rahl wanted to protest. What difference did it make whether he stopped all the darts instead of just some of them?

  “In battle, you won’t have enough strength left to last a day if you can’t pace your use of order,” Taryl added.

  Rahl nodded. He supposed that was true.

  Taryl flipped a feathered dart, and Rahl blocked it with his shields, before discovering that it was just one of those with a quill tip.

  “You have to be faster.” Taryl raised his eyebrows. “Much faster.”

  By the time the coach pulled up in the functionaries’ rotunda of the Imperial Palace, Rahl was both tired and frustrated. He hadn’t done well at all with Taryl’s exercise, either blocking darts that he shouldn’t have blocked or not blocking those he should have and getting mild chaos-jolts. Near the end, he had improved, but not nearly to Taryl’s satisfaction. Not only that, but Taryl had been so insistent on the exercise that Rahl hadn’t had a chance to ask about finding a place to post his letter to Deybri.

  Taryl left the satchel in the coach and stepped out onto the wide white-stone mounting block, then moved aside and waited for Rahl.

  The younger mage-guard stepped down, trying to mask his frustration and irritation behind personal shields.

  Taryl gestured around the exterior courtyard. “What do you think?”

  The white-stone walls surrounding the Palace grounds and gardens extended a full kay on each side, and rose fifteen cubits from the ground to the base of the crenelated parapets. While Rahl did not see any guards, he could sense their presence. The exterior of the Palace itself was also of glistening white stone, three levels above its foundations, with three arched domes rising above the highest level of the triangular building, a dome in the center of the front section of each of the wings that surrounded a central courtyard garden. The tall-but-narrow exterior windows were set in clusters of three, and the glass bore a greenish tint. The roofs were of red tile and gently sloped.

  “Beautiful and impressive, ser.”

  “It’s meant to be.” Taryl started up the low steps to the columns that flanked an entry rotunda. “While I meet with Triad Jubyl, you’ll be entertained and educated in some fashion or another by his principal assistants. Just be pleasant and friendly, but listen and watch carefully. Assume that all you do not know, and perhaps some you do, are as trustworthy as your former undercaptain.”

  Rahl had already come to that conclusion. Was it th
at way among all who held power?

  When the two mage-guards stepped through the arch into the entry hall, two young women, scarcely more than girls, stepped forward. They wore identical garments, flowing trousers of pale green, long-sleeved blouses of the same shade, and vests of a deep maroon. They also wore shimmersilk scarves of pale green, clearly able to be used as head coverings. Their garments suggested that they were not indentured slaves.

  “Honored Mage-Guard Taryl,” offered the brunette, “I am to escort you to Triad Jubyl.”

  “Honored Mage-Guard Rahl,” added the redhead, “I am to escort you to Mage-Guards Serita and Klassyn.”

  Taryl inclined his head to Rahl. “I’ll send someone to get you when we’re done.”

  “Yes, ser.”

  Rahl’s guide did not say more, but turned and led the way toward a vaulted arch that opened onto another corridor. The columns that supported the arch were of a rose marble, as were the polished floor tiles. She walked less than fifty cubits down the corridor before turning right and starting up an open staircase, whose steps and balustrade were also of the rose marble. At the top of the steps was another foyer.

  From down the corridor came the sound of music, not just a single harp or a guitar, or even a lute or a few violins, but a sweeping melody carried by many instruments. Rahl paused to listen, then looked to his guide. “The music?”

  “Those are the Emperor’s players, his personal orchestra.”

  Rahl had never heard of such, but he just nodded.

  The guide turned and escorted Rahl to the third door on the left, which was open, where she announced, “Mage-Guard Rahl.” Then she gestured for Rahl to enter.

  He did.

  A short hallway of three cubits opened into a larger square chamber with three sets of three floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked a garden courtyard. The room was furnished as if a parlor in a great house, with settees and armchairs, but with two desks set against the opposing inside walls. Standing in the middle of the thick-piled square mauve carpet that was bordered in gold were two mage-guards.

  Serita was small and wiry, and her black hair shimmered in the light from the windows. Klassyn was taller, but shorter than Rahl, and slightly stockier. He offered a broad and practiced smile.

  “Welcome,” said Serita, with a trace of shyness in her voice that Rahl found more appealing than Klassyn’s big smile.

  “Thank you.” Rahl inclined his head to them. “I appreciate your hospitality.”

  Klassyn returned the gesture with the slightest head bow and a phrase.

  “When words spoken come from the soul,

  all praise to the man who is whole.”

  Rahl wasn’t quite certain how to respond, but finally replied, “The most honest ones do.”

  “Please…” Serita gestured in the direction of one of the settees. “We don’t see too many other mage-guards often.”

  Rahl took the wooden armchair closest to the settee, because there was a small side table between the settee and his chair. Serita took the place on the settee closest to Rahl.

  Klassyn remained standing. “We’d like to offer you something to drink. A coach ride even from headquarters can be thirsty. What would you like? We have almost anything. That’s one of the perquisites of being an assistant to the Emperor’s Triad.”

  “That sounds wonderful,” Rahl replied with a smile. “Just a pale lager, if you would.”

  Klassyn inclined his head to Serita.

  “That actually sounds good. I think I’ll have one, too. Have Vernya make sure it’s the light amber, though. That’s the better lager.”

  “I can manage that.” Klassyn’s smile was slightly strained. “I might even have one, too. It will make things easier.”

  “You…actually stooping to lager instead of chewy ales?”

  “Sometimes, something lighter is good for a change, as you should know.” Klassyn turned and walked toward the center corridor.

  “You’re an ordermage,” Rahl said politely to Serita.

  Her thin lips formed a crooked smile. “Of sorts. I have some healing talents, and I’ve had some ability in discovering which plants are useful in speeding healing, especially of injuries and wounds.”

  “What about Klassyn?”

  Klassyn is a chaos air mage,” Serita added.

  “Chaos air mage?” Rahl had never heard of such.

  “He can use chaos and order to create storms—small ones anyway.” She glanced up as the other mage-guard returned.

  “It won’t be long,” said Klassyn, seating himself in a chair at the other end of the settee and moving it forward and sideways so that he could look more directly at both Rahl and Serita.

  “Is it true that you came from Recluce?” asked Serita.

  “I don’t think that’s any secret,” replied Rahl as genially as possible. “Recluce exiles a number of good people. The question isn’t whether they’re good but whether they fit.”

  Klassyn nodded, tilting his head slightly before quoting:

  “What holds the storm, suits well the sun,

  or even night, when day is run.”

  “Please, Klassyn,” said Serita. “We know you studied the classic poets.”

  “So few do.” Klassyn smiled politely.

  “So few need to,” she countered.

  “And you were a harbor mage-guard in Swartheld—as an order-mage?” asked Klassyn. “You must be good with weapons.”

  “I do all right with a truncheon.”

  “Why did they post you there?” asked Serita. “Do you know?”

  “I was a clerk for a factorage house when I was younger. I think someone liked the idea that I understood trade.”

  “Did you ever kill a Codex breaker?” asked Klassyn.

  “Mostly, I disabled them. The captain wasn’t displeased, I don’t think, because that meant we had offenders we could send to Luba or the quarries.”

  “Oh…I hadn’t thought of that, but then, I suppose, with your background,” replied Klassyn, “you would have.”

  “It’s more a practical thing,” Rahl said, ignoring the dig at his time as a loader in the ironworks. “Killing people shows power, but dead people aren’t much use. There are some people who aren’t of much use alive, of course, but I’ve found those everywhere, and not just on the docks. Usually, they think they’re far better and more important than they are.” He smiled. “What do you two do as assistants to the Imperial Triad?”

  “Emperor’s Triad,” corrected Klassyn.

  “Whatever Triad Jubyl wants,” replied Serita.

  A bell tinkled, and Klassyn rose. “That must be Vernya. I’d better check.”

  Within moments, he had returned, with a serving girl following him. The girl had a tray on which were three crystal beakers. She served Rahl first, placing the beaker on the low table between him and Serita, then Serita, and finally Klassyn.

  “That will be all, Vernya,” said Serita.

  Rahl lifted the crystal beaker, admiring the graceful lines of the Emperor’s initials cut into the glass. There was something about the lager. He could almost sense—he could sense—the unnatural sweetness. Where had he…? He tried not to freeze but smile pleasantly, as he realized that the lager held nemysa. “Beautiful engraving,” he said blandly, setting the beaker down on the side table. “Excuse me.” He wrinkled his nose, as if it itched. Could he exchange beakers? No…he could sense the same sweetness in the beaker that had been presented to Serita. Could it just be the type of lager? He had to trust his feelings that it was not, but what could he do? He’d asked for the drink, and not drinking it would certainly be unfriendly.

  Abruptly, he sneezed, violently, and his arm swept out, knocking his beaker into Serita’s, and both tumbled onto the stone tiles, shattering and spilling lager everywhere.

  “Oh…I’m so sorry.” Rahl managed another sneeze as he stood. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what happened.” He rubbed his nose, then blinked. “I do apologize. I don’t know w
hat set that off.”

  “Oh…these things happen,” Serita said, not quite dismissively, as she rose.

  “Upon rare occasion,” added Klassyn.

  “What rarer is to see than what can never be—”

  “My dear Klassyn,” interrupted Serita, “we all have found ourselves in similar situations. Please don’t suggest that we have not. I do believe Rahl has handled himself as well as possible. Let us just resume our conversation on the other side of the chamber. Vernya can clean it up later.”

  Rahl followed Serita, but found he had to sit on the other settee beside her. “Would you mind telling us about Recluce?” she asked.

  “What would you like to know?”

  “Why do they insist on exiling chaos-mages? Is it just because some ancient ruler didn’t like Fairhaven?” asked Serita. “That really isn’t a very good reason, is it?”

  “Creslin supposedly was stripped of his memories and put on a road crew by the white wizards, and they kept trying to kill him and Megaera. For him, I imagine those were very good reasons.” Rahl smiled politely. “Then that became a tradition, and it’s hard to change tradition. The black engineers in Nylan don’t care for chaos because they work with black iron, and they believe that chaos anywhere near would create a great danger.” He shrugged. “You don’t argue with them.”

  “Do they really have ships of black iron?”

  “Oh, yes. They also have an engineering works of some size.”

  “You’re not a chaos-mage. Why did you get exiled?”