Mage-Guard of Hamor

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  As if to punctuate Taryl’s words, the coach came to a stop outside a modest two-story stone structure with the usual red-tile roof.

  “One last thing,” Taryl said. “Keep working on using those personal shields, especially in the mess.”

  “Yes, ser.”

  From that point on, Rahl just followed Taryl.

  They were given quarters. Rahl was given a key and directed to a chamber on the main level, about as far as possible from the mess chamber, while Taryl was escorted up the stairs to true quarters—since the quartering clerk was apologizing that the senior officers’ quarters only had a sitting room and a bedchamber, along with an attached bathing and necessary chambers.

  At least, reflected Rahl as he unpacked his gear, he wasn’t far from the showers and jakes.

  After that, he stretched out on the bed and ended up taking a nap and then having to hurry to get to the mess. He hadn’t realized he’d been so tired.

  He reached the foyer outside the mess just as a single bell rang once, and the senior officer—who looked to be an overcommander, inclined his head to Taryl. “If you would, Marshal?”

  Was the title a reflection of Taryl’s effective rank? Rahl wondered. It had to be.

  Taryl inclined his head in return. “If you would join me, Overcommander.”

  Rahl followed the other officers into a chamber set up with a short table set cross-wise to two others, with a fourth table set below the two parallel tables. Just from looking at the officers, he could tell that the short table was for the senior officers, and the left-hand one was for majers—the half closest to the senior table—while the lower half of that table and the adjoining one was for captains, and the fourth table for undercaptains.

  From what Rahl could see of the score and a half of officers in the mess, there were perhaps five or six mage-guards, and all were chaos-mages. There were also three healers, two men and a woman, distinguished by the inverted green chevron across the shoulders of their khaki shirts. All but one were seated in the section of the tables with the captains—and Rahl.

  The captains around Rahl offered names quickly.

  “Sernyt…”

  “Bleun…”

  “Sevela…”

  Seated across the table to Rahl’s left was one of the mage-guards, an older man with streaks of gray in his hair. “Tilsytt, assigned to Second Cavalry.”

  “Rahl, assigned to Overcommander Taryl.”

  Tilsytt frowned. “The former Triad?”

  “The same one.”

  “You’re staff, then?”

  Rahl shrugged. “I think that’s temporary. He’s said I’ll be reassigned shortly.”

  “This isn’t your first assignment?”

  Rahl shook his head. “My third.” That was true enough, even if his previous assignments had been short.

  “You wear years well,” Tilsytt said with a trace of irony.

  “The second assignment was only about a season. The first was in Swartheld, in the harbor station.”

  “You involved with that mess caused by the Jeranyi?”

  “Most of us were, one way or another.”

  “I mean…really involved.”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re an order type. Ever kill anyone?”

  Rahl smiled politely, trying to keep his irritation behind his shields. “I couldn’t count the number.” He let the honesty of that response seep out from behind his shields, especially since it was true. He’d set the explosion that had destroyed the Jeranyi pirate vessel, and he couldn’t count how many had died, except he knew it had been more than a score, and that didn’t count the others.

  Tilsytt frowned. “Where’d you train, if I might ask?”

  “Luba. I spent time there as a loader, and then a clerk before the mage-guards found I had order-abilities.”

  Tilsytt paled, ever so slightly. “I see.”

  So the reference to Luba bothered Tilsytt. Rahl would have to ask Taryl about that.

  “Were the Jeranyi really going to blow up most of the merchant district in Swartheld?” asked Captain Sernyt.

  “Did you know that they were backing the rebels then?” followed Bleun, before Rahl could reply.

  Rahl took a sip of the lager, then nodded politely. “The Jeranyi raiders had stockpiled barrels and barrels of cammabark that they’d smuggled in. They did so under false pretenses, and then killed the trader whose warehouse they’d used…” Rahl gave a short explanation of what had happened, omitting the specifics of his action or the fact that it was the Nylan Merchant Association.

  During the meal he tried to find out more about the others, but the captains around him were far more interested in knowing about what had happened in Swartheld and what role the Jeranyi had played.

  Between being polite, holding his personal shields, and trying to keep track of who was who and attached to what, Rahl found dinner tiring, and he was more than glad when he could rise with the others and leave.

  In the foyer outside the mess chamber, several groups of officers remained, talking more informally and across ranks. Rahl spied Tilsytt speaking to a majer and began to drift in that direction without actually looking at the two. As he neared them, he stopped, turning to look at the portrait of an overcommander in a dress uniform hanging on the wall. Then he extended his order-senses, curious as to what the two were discussing.

  “…asked him, like you said…wagering he’s the closest thing to an order-type bravo you’ll see. Overcommander must have picked him out and trained him…”

  “…tell you how good he was?”

  “…avoided it, mostly…like the good ones…don’t have to brag…”

  “…confirms…sources say he’s armsmaster class with order weapons…any idea why he’s here…what he’s doing?”

  “…said he’s likely to be reassigned, doesn’t know where…that reads true…”

  “Could he be deceiving you?”

  “…been reading mage-guards a long time, majer. If he’s that good, then he’s more like a senior mage-guard, maybe even an overcaptain, but he’s too young for that…looking this way…”

  Rahl turned and slowly moved away. Why did the majer want to know about Rahl? More likely the question was to whom the majer reported who wanted to know.

  “Captain?”

  Rahl turned to find himself face-to-face with one of the healer mage-guards, a square-faced older woman closer to his mother’s age than his, he suspected. “I’m still not used to being called ‘captain.’”

  “You don’t look like it will take long. I’m Xerya.”

  “Rahl. Is there anything…” He smiled politely.

  “Not really. I heard that Taryl had brought one assistant, and I wanted to meet you.”

  “I hope you’re not disappointed. I’m just a former patrol mage from Swartheld.”

  Her smile was broader and more open, and Rahl could sense the same type of warmth that Deybri and the healers in Nylan had shown. “I doubt anyone who accompanies a former Triad who is now a marshal is just a former patrol mage.”

  Rahl shrugged helplessly. “I’m fortunate, then.”

  The smile faded. “I wouldn’t say that. Being around Taryl offers great opportunities and great dangers.”

  Rahl had already gotten that impression, but he just nodded.

  “The other reason I wanted to talk to you was that I’d like you to come to the infirmary when you can. You’re an order type, and while you’ll never be a true healer, there are some techniques that any ordermage can use, and they can be helpful in battle or in case of injuries. We can show you some of those.”

  “I’d be happy to learn what I can.” Rahl paused. “Where is the infirmary?”

  “One block south of here and two blocks toward the river. It’s the only building with green doors and shutters.”

  Rahl nodded politely. “I’ll be there when I can.”

  “We’ll look forward to it…Captain.”

  Rahl realized that she had
been the one at the majers’ table. “Yes, Majer.”

  “Save the rank for public use, Rahl.” The words were warm, if brief, and Xerya nodded and turned.

  Rahl kept a faint smile on his face as he moved across the foyer and toward the doors to the outside. He needed some fresh air, and some time to think.

  XVII

  On sixday morning, even before Rahl could cross the foyer and step into the mess for breakfast, Taryl appeared and drew him aside.

  “What do you have to report?”

  “Last night, one of the mage-guards—that was Tilsytt—met with a majer I don’t know and reported on what I said. They were concerned that I might be some sort of bravo.”

  “That won’t hurt, so long as it’s limited to that. What else?”

  “A healer majer named Xerya asked me to visit her at the infirmary so that she could give me some instruction on field healing.” Rahl smiled wryly. “The sort that any ordermage could do. I didn’t tell her that in some areas I was less capable than any ordermage.”

  “Not anymore,” Taryl said. “What do you think all the exercises were for? Go meet with her after breakfast and spend as much time with her as she’ll give you. Learn and listen. After that, I want you to walk as much of the post as you can—slowly. Take in everything. Be friendly and talk to any officer who shows an interest. We’ll meet on the weather platform after dinner. If I’m not there immediately, you can work on studying the weather.”

  “Yes, ser.”

  With that, Taryl was gone, and Rahl had the feeling that the overcommander had eaten very early and had just been waiting for Rahl. Just what had Taryl been doing? Rahl wished he knew.

  Breakfast was far less formal, with officers coming and going, and all eating rather quickly. Rahl sat with some captains he had not met before and asked general questions, just trying to get a feel of what they and their units did, but not probing too intently, except with his order-senses.

  After he ate, he left the mess and stepped outside, into a breeze, almost chill, and certainly the coolest he’d experienced in Hamor. He walked briskly southward, and then east. As the majer had said, with its bright green shutters and doors, the infirmary was hard to miss. He made his way through the main doors.

  A woman younger than Rahl and wearing a plain trooper’s uniform, except with the green healing corps chevron, looked up from the table in the infirmary’s entry foyer. “Yes, ser. Might I help you?”

  “Captain Rahl here to see Majer Xerya, at her request.”

  “Yes, ser. This way. She said you might be by. She’s on rounds at the moment, but you’re to accompany her.”

  Rounds? Of injured troopers? Rahl didn’t ask, but followed the trooper along a narrow corridor, then around yet another corridor. The walls were smooth white plaster, and the stone floors shimmered.

  Ahead of them was the healer majer. She smiled as she caught sight of Rahl, but addressed the trooper. “Thank you, Seshya.”

  Rahl’s escort slipped away.

  “You’re prompt,” noted Xerya. “I thought you might be. The overcommander isn’t known to favor laggards. This way, if you would. We’re fortunate that we don’t have many injuries here at the moment, but I would have liked to show you a wider range.” She turned into a larger room with three beds on each side. Four were occupied, with the middle one on each side empty.

  A young trooper lay on the end bed, his back propped up with leather pillows and a bulky leather-and-iron splint around one leg.

  “Can you sense what happened here?” asked Xerya.

  “I don’t know,” Rahl admitted. “Let me try.”

  The trooper glanced from the healer to Rahl and back to the healer, puzzlement warring with pain on his face.

  Rahl extended his order-senses, finding wound chaos, of a sort, in the splinted leg. He turned to the healer. “There’s a spot where things don’t quite meet, a broken bone, and there’s still wound chaos there.”

  “Where?”

  Rahl pointed to a spot two spans below the knee.

  “That’s where the bone broke. It just happened last night. There will be wound chaos for several days after a fracture, even if the wound is clean and the skin’s not broken, but it should decrease some each day. The dangerous breaks are where the skin is broken, and the bone protrudes.”

  Rahl managed not to wince at that thought.

  “Thank you.” The healer nodded to the trooper, who still looked puzzled. She moved to the next occupied bed. The man lying there was barely breathing.

  “Brain fever. All we can do is feed him ale and lager and keep him cool. About half recover.” She crossed the ward to the next trooper. The man was missing his foot and his leg from just above the ankle. He was moaning, but not really awake.

  Rahl could sense a certain amount of wound chaos, but it was spread throughout the man’s body. He looked to the healer.

  “He stepped on a spike or something and didn’t tell anyone. The wound festered so badly we had to amputate his foot and lower leg. Almost any order-type mage-guard could have stopped or slowed the initial wound chaos. That’s something you can look out for in the field. The same thing is true of minor blade slashes, thorns, that sort of thing.” Xerya studied Rahl. “Can you concentrate order in a small space?”

  “For a time,” Rahl said.

  “That’s all it takes for some of the little wounds. Clean them out with something that won’t make the festering worse—like lager or strong brandy, but clear strong spirits are the best, then concentrate a small bit of order around the wound and dress it with something clean.”

  Rahl nodded and followed her to the next trooper.

  All in all, he spent the entire morning with the healer—and just hoped he could remember most of what she told him. Her warmth, although not directed at him especially, reminded him of Deybri, and he had to tell himself that it would be eightdays before she received his letter.

  After that, he embarked upon Taryl’s task, touring the post area, block by block, and taking in what he observed.

  He saw more than a few companies of fresh-faced recruits, most seemingly much younger than he had been when he’d been sent to Nylan, being taught to march, and to handle sabres, rather than falchionas.

  When he caught sight of two companies of archers launching arrows into skyward arcs toward distant straw targets, he moved closer, with an idea in mind. Could he create a small order shield, one strong enough to stop one of those long arrows? He moved closer, but stopped behind a stone pillar and began to try out his idea.

  He discovered that he could halt an arrow in midflight—but that continuing the effort for long left him light-headed. It also puzzled one of the instructors, a grizzled captain who began to look around.

  Rahl had discovered what he needed to know and slipped away under cover of a sight shield and headed toward the river docks.

  Rahl’s feet were sore and his boots dusty by the time he returned to the visiting officers’ quarters and washed up for dinner. He tried to say as little as possible in the mess, just smiling, and holding his shields, and asking a question now and again.

  Taryl wasn’t at the seniors’ table, and after Rahl left the mess, he made his way up to the weather platform. Surprisingly, someone else was there—a woman undercaptain. She turned, and Rahl realized that she was as tall as he was, and almost as broad across the shoulders. He’d never run across a woman that large.

  “Oh, ser,” she said. “I was just taking the evening observations.”

  “What observations, Undercaptain?” Rahl had to wonder because she was a troop officer, not a mage-guard.

  “Wind direction, clouds, mostly, but also if the air feels damp or dry.” She paused. “Begging your pardon, ser, but are you a weather mage?”

  “No. I have a few small skills.”

  “Is rain likely? Can you tell me that, ser?”

  “I can try. Is it important?”

  “If there’s a lot of rain south of here, it changes the ri
ver currents, and that will slow the freighters. It also means the cargo loaders will have to rig tarps over the hold hatches or some of the provisions will spoil—more, really—on the trip upriver.”

  “They were loading today.”

  “Yes, ser, but it will take at least two more days, and a day for troops and mounts. That’s without rain.”

  Rahl smiled politely. “I’m Rahl. You are?”

  “Oh, Undercaptain Demya, ser.”

  “I’m not a weather mage, but let me see if I can tell you anything.” Rahl concentrated on letting his senses range southward, toward what might be clouds just barely visible above the horizon in the last fading glow of twilight. There was definitely a touch more water in the air, but not much, and it was concentrated in two or three places, rather than in a broad sweep. He kept studying. Finally, he stopped. He wasn’t even light-headed. Was that because he’d just eaten? That made sense.

  “Ser?”

  “There are some clouds south of here, mainly on the east side of the river. I can’t say for certain, but it feels like there might be a few showers coming this way, but I don’t think there will be any continuing rain.”

  Her eyes widened. “You can tell that? Just from looking.”

  “I was doing more than just looking, Demya. It’s work. A true weather mage could tell you when any rain would arrive and how much. An air mage might even be able to move storms or clouds away from the river.”

  “You’re a different kind of mage, then.”

  “I’m a mage-guard.”

  “Begging your pardon, again, ser, but all mage-guards are mages of some sort.”

  “I was a patrol mage in Swartheld. I’m good with staff and truncheon, and I understand something about trade and commerce.” He smiled. “I was sent here, and I have no idea where I’ll be assigned.” Then he shrugged.

  “I’m sorry, ser. I didn’t mean…”

  “That’s all right.”