Mage-Guard of Hamor

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “Shereena…it’s time to come inside.”

  The girl rose, timidly. The mother extended her hand and took her daughter’s hand firmly, but not roughly. Rahl watched as the two reentered the building. Neither looked back.

  Finally, Rahl turned and continued toward the Painted Pony.

  What else could he have done? He had the feeling that the child had been hurt, but no chaos had been involved, and he hadn’t sensed any overt physical injury. The mother hadn’t broken the Codex, not that he knew. Also, he wasn’t a mage-guard assigned to Troinsta. Yet…he still worried about the girl.

  As he neared the inn, his eyes took in the signboard—a flat piece of wood some two cubits by three on which was painted, almost crudely, a pony standing on its hind hoofs with a beaker set on a front hoof. The pony’s coat was depicted in irregular splotches of faded color—maroon, black, white, yellow, and blue. Looking closely, Rahl could see that someone had tried to paint over an original signboard, using the old work as a base, but the more recent painting had been far less skillful.

  The same small girl who had served breakfast led him to the corner of the public room.

  “Here you are, ser.”

  “Thank you. The other captain will be joining me shortly.”

  “Yes, ser. Would you like two ales? They come with dinner.”

  “Yes, we would.”

  “I’ll bring them.” She turned and hurried toward the kitchen.

  Rahl repressed a smile at her seriousness, even as he mentally compared her to the child he had encountered outside the stable. The inn girl might have to work, but she had a confidence that bespoke a far more settled life.

  He glanced around the public room. Unlike at breakfast, there was a scattering of others in the room. He did note that neither of the adjoining tables held patrons, and he doubted that was by coincidence. Nor was the fact that the girl served them. The child could not reveal to a mage-guard what she did not know.

  Rahl wondered what, if anything, the innkeeper was hiding, or if he was operating out of caution. Rahl suspected caution, but one never knew. He also realized that there was a great danger in sensing too much. All too many folks had secrets they did not wish disclosed. That had to be one reason why the mage-guards were tasked with maintaining order and minimizing chaos under a simple Codex. More than that would have been impossible for the limited number of mage-guards.

  Rahl was still waiting for the ales when Drakeyt eased into the old straight-backed chair on the other side of the square table. “We have ales coming. I don’t know what the fare is yet.”

  “Whatever it is will be better than field rations.”

  “How was your visit with the administrator?” asked Rahl.

  “He didn’t like the idea of feeding prisoners, maybe for eightdays. I asked him if he wanted to upset the Mage-Guard Overcommander of Merowey. He decided that feeding them wasn’t so bad after all.” Drakeyt laughed.

  Before either man could say more, the inn girl returned with two of the earthenware mugs filled with ale. “Here you are, sers. Tonight the fare is mutton pie, and it’s three coppers for you, and that includes one mug of ale.”

  Both men nodded. Rahl put three coppers on the table. So did Drakeyt.

  “It won’t be long, sers.” She left the coppers and turned back toward the kitchen.

  An older woman emerged from the kitchen archway carrying two platters. She set them on the other corner table, before two white-haired and heavyset men who could have been brothers from their appearance.

  “I was thinking,” offered Drakeyt. “If we check out the steads to the west tomorrow and leave first thing on fiveday, we can send back a messenger then, and he can get back to us quicker. Also, the field rations will go farther. There’s no place to quarter, not really, until we get to Istvyla, and that’s a good three days’ ride, even without scouting.”

  “Just little hamlets?”

  “If that. The northeast of Merowey has the fewest people. There aren’t that many large towns until you get near the coast….”

  Rahl mostly listened as Drakeyt talked, and the two ate. He still thought about the girl by the stable.

  XXX

  Third Company’s patrols on fourday discovered no recent signs of rebels, nor did they on fiveday, sixday, or sevenday. On fourday, and on the following days during the ride southwest, Drakeyt had the company patrol separately by squads. Rahl led first squad along the narrower and more ancient old road. In more than a few places there were still remnants of deep wagon tracks, although the continuing light drizzle on fiveday and early sixday blurred those even more. After questioning more than a score of steadholders near the back road, Rahl found some who had noted the tracks but none who had actually been aware of the rebels’ passing. With the heavily forested areas bordering the old road in most places, Rahl could understand how some of the holders might not have seen the wagons. But none of them hearing the wagons?

  Was it just that most folk were so wrapped up in their own lives that little else penetrated unless it affected them? But then, he recalled wryly, he certainly hadn’t paid that much attention to his parents’ warnings about Jienela.

  By late on sixday, the soreness in Rahl’s legs and thighs had abated, and he could actually ride at more than a walk without feeling that he’d be pitched out of the saddle. At the same time, he was all too conscious that he was a long way from being a good rider, but he was able to get a better sense of what the gelding would do and how he responded to Rahl. Order-senses did help there.

  Slightly after midafternoon on sevenday, the patrols re-formed into the full company on the main road northeast of Istvyla and then rode into the town. Rahl counted dwellings on the way, and came up with only two score or so along the road on the north side of the hamlet before they reached the square. Of those locals near the road, none fled, but all moved back and watched the mounted infantry warily.

  After riding into the center of Istvyla, the company drew up in formation in the square—little more than an expanse of packed reddish brown earth somewhat more than a hundred cubits on a side. Rahl surveyed the buildings—a small two-story inn that had doubtless seen better days even a century before, a chandlery with a wide and shallow porch supported by a mixture of crude stone and brick pillars, a shuttered smithy, a small brick structure that probably held the town administration and gaol, another building that looked to have a potter’s kiln in the rear, and several others whose function he could not discern because they lacked signboards or because the lettering and images on the existing signboards had faded so much.

  A square-bearded and graying figure walked deliberately from the town building toward the front of the formation. He stopped and looked at Drakeyt.

  “What can we do for you, Captain?”

  “We’re the advance party for the Emperor’s forces. Are you the town administrator?”

  The man shook his head. “We don’t have an administrator. I’m Hyalf. I get three silvers a season to act as town clerk. Course…haven’t gotten the silvers for summer yet. You couldn’t do anything about that, could you, Captain?”

  “We can send word to the Emperor, Hyalf.”

  “If you would, Captain, I’d be much obliged.”

  “Have you seen any rebels around?”

  “I can’t say as I have. Can’t say as I’ve heard of anyone else who has, either.”

  “Has anyone had any large amounts of anything stolen, or any horses?” pressed Drakeyt.

  “If they have, they’ve not told me, and I’d likely have heard. I haven’t.”

  Rahl could sense that Hyalf was telling the truth, at least as he saw it. So, as Drakeyt continued to talk to the town clerk, Rahl continued to take in his surroundings.

  A small group of men gathered on the front porch of the chandlery, less than fifty cubits from where Rahl had reined up slightly back of Drakeyt. Rahl studied them quickly, with both eyes and order-senses. One of the men near the back of the group glanced at Rahl,
then froze for a moment.

  Rahl could sense both the man’s recognition of his mage-guard uniform, even under the cold-weather riding jacket, and the immediate fear that followed that recognition. The man eased toward the back of the group, then stepped off the side of the unrailed porch and vanished into the shadows between the chandlery and the neat-but-weathered stable of the inn.

  Rahl wondered exactly what the man had done that he so feared the appearance of a mage-guard. Most probably someone who had committed an offense in one of the larger towns and fled before being caught. Still…that much fear suggested more than a minor offense. Since the man had been accepted by the others and since he was attired neither shabbily nor extravagantly, Rahl suspected that he’d been living in Istvyla for at least a while.

  “…we’ll need quarters of some sort,” Drakeyt added, “and food and fodder. We can pay.”

  “In the Emperor’s script, no doubt.”

  “Captains do not carry golds,” replied Drakeyt, “and the Emperor’s script is always good.”

  “But not immediately,” Hyalf pointed out. “One must often wait for a season until a disburser arrives.”

  “You can trade it among yourselves,” Drakeyt responded.

  “There’s some that won’t take it, beggin’ your pardon, ser Captain.”

  “That may well be, but that’s their problem, and it’s far better than in Candar, where there’s no payment for quarters or food and fodder.”

  Hyalf nodded slowly, and Rahl could sense his doubt—and Drakeyt’s concealed irritation.

  “As you say, ser Captain, late payment is far better than no payment, but unless you wish to take dwellings, the inn and its stable and holders’ barns are the only shelter available.”

  “We’ll put up as many as we can at the inn and its stables. Then we’ll use the largest and driest barns. You must know the largest barns, and you will disburse the script, except to the inn, but we will let the holders know that and how much they will receive. You will receive a small stipend for your trouble as well.”

  Hyalf was clearly not pleased with the arrangements laid out by Drakeyt.

  After loosening his riding jacket enough to show his mage-guard uniform, Rahl adjusted his visor cap with the sunburst and eased his mount forward beside the captain. “I understand you have done a good job as clerk for Istvyla.” Rahl smiled. “It would be a shame if the Mage-Guard Overcommander had to break in a new clerk.”

  Hyalf turned toward Rahl, his annoyance increasing—until he saw the uniform. “Ah…I’m certain that won’t be necessary, ser. No, ser.”

  Rahl said nothing for a moment and just continued to smile pleasantly.

  A thin sheen of perspiration appeared on the clerk’s forehead, despite the cool breeze.

  “I’m glad it won’t be, and I’m sure you’ll do your best to work matters out so that everyone is accommodated without upsetting the people here.”

  “Yes, ser.”

  “We’ll see what’s available at the inn, first for supplies,” Drakeyt said. “You should come with us. That way, you’ll have a better idea of what else we’ll need.”

  “Yes, ser.”

  Drakeyt turned in the saddle. “Quelsyn, first, third, and fourth squads remain here until we see what arrangements we have. Second squad comes with Captain Rahl and me.”

  The senior squad leader nodded.

  The captain turned back to the town clerk. “Over to the inn.”

  “Yes, ser.” Hyalf began to walk quickly toward the inn, giving the company formation a wide berth.

  Drakeyt eased his mount over beside Rahl’s so that they were almost stirrup to stirrup. “I knew that little bastard wanted to pocket script and coins, and he knew I knew,” murmured Drakeyt. “But he was still going to try to do it. That doesn’t make sense. I could have cut him down where he stood.”

  “You could have,” Rahl agreed, “but it was easier this way.”

  Drakeyt nodded slowly. “They’ve never seen a war.”

  “But they know a mage-guard can mete out justice on the spot,” Rahl replied.

  “You’re not a chaos type, though.”

  Rahl smiled. “The riding truncheon is the same length as a mage-guard falchiona. How would he know the difference?” He didn’t mention that the truncheon backed with order could be as deadly as chaos-flame. He just had to get closer.

  Drakeyt laughed.

  XXXI

  Rahl and Drakeyt sat at opposite sides at one end of a long table in the White Chalice, a prepossessing name for a modest inn, Rahl thought. Breakfast was egg toast with honey-redberry syrup and thick ham slices, with spiced pearapples on the side. Rahl had to admit that it was far better than the fare at the Painted Pony had been.

  The public room was far smaller, and held only four trestle tables, all of them flanked with backless benches. Second squad had already eaten, and Rahl could sense first squad forming up outside.

  “Only hamlets and small towns from here to Dawhut?” asked Rahl, spearing the last slice of ham on the wooden platter.

  “Mostly smaller than that.” Drakeyt took a swallow of his ale. “The next place even as big as Istvyla is Koldyrk, and that’s a good hundred kays on. We’ll see plenty of hamlets, and more than a few timber wagons, and probably more than a few spirit wagons. South and east of Koldyrk is where they brew Vyrna.”

  Rahl had never heard of Vyrna. “What kind of drink is that?”

  “Oh, it’s smoother than polished lager and has twice the kick of leshak, and costs half as much. Most of it gets shipped to Austra. For some reason, they like it there.”

  “Folks don’t like it here?”

  “Oh, they do, but way back one of the emperors—I think it was Dhanocyr—tariffed it to bring in golds. The tariff is levied at the ports—Nubyat, and I suppose, Sastak and Elmari. The wagons carry the kegs to the barge piers in Dawhut, and they go down the Awhut River to Nubyat…”

  Rahl wasn’t sure any of that made sense, unless the cost of using wagons to carry the kegs anywhere else was far higher than the tariffs.

  “Less than a hundred kays from the farthest still to Dawhut, and some are less than a day’s drive from there…It doesn’t cost that much more to ship Vyrna to Valmurl than to Swartheld, and the Austrans will pay twice as much. So most of it goes to the drunken northerners.” Drakeyt shook his head. “They say that there are some places in Austra, like Vizyn, where the ice only melts for three or four eightdays a year. No wonder they like spirits.”

  “How far is it from Koldyrk to Dawhut?”

  “If…if the maps are right, close on a hundred fifty kays.”

  “It’ll be full winter before we reach Nubyat.”

  “If then.”

  Rahl and Drakeyt both looked up at the sound of voices. One was too high-pitched to be a trooper.

  “There they are!”

  Hyalf and a red-headed woman a good ten years older than Rahl walked toward the two officers. The two stopped short of the table.

  “Sers, this is Edelana, and her Eskar was killed because you’re here.” Hyalf inclined his head.

  “Because we’re here?” Drakeyt raised his eyebrows.

  “Eskar…all he said was that Suvorn wouldn’t listen and that it was your fault.” The woman’s voice was rough and uneven, in keeping with her faded and worn blue trousers and the patched gray-wool jacket. Her eyes were red.

  “Our fault?” asked Drakeyt.

  “His fault.” Edelana looked to Rahl. “His fault. Eskar said it wouldn’t have happened if the demon-cursed mage-guard hadn’t shown up. He was bleeding bad, and then…he didn’t say anything more.”

  “Just a moment,” Drakeyt interjected. “Did this Suvorn stab your consort?”

  “That’s what I’ve been saying. Suvorn killed my Eskar,” replied Edelana. “We weren’t as like properly consorted, but Eskar and me, we might as well have been.”

  “Was Suvorn in town when we rode in yesterday?” Rahl looked to Hyalf.
/>   “He was at the chandlery yesterday afternoon, but I couldn’t rightly say if he was there when you showed up.” Hyalf did not quite look at Rahl.

  Rahl had an idea what was involved, yet it seemed far-fetched. Still…“Is your stead near the old road to Kysha?”

  Edelana looked at him blankly.

  “The old back way through the woods to Troinsta?” he asked.

  “Yes, ser. It’d be a mite bit quicker by that road from where we are, excepting if there be rain.”

  “Did Eskar come into some coins, say, three or four eightdays ago?”

  “Just a silver or two, ser. He did some work for Suvorn. Suvorn said he needed help to fix an axle for some travelers.”

  “Do you know how many wagons they had?”

  “He didn’t say, ser. My Eskar…he wasn’t one for a lot of words.”

  Rahl looked to Hyalf. “How long has Suvorn lived here in Istvyla?”

  “He was born here, ser.”

  Rahl could sense that wasn’t exactly the whole truth. “So he left for a while.”

  “Ah…yes, ser.”

  “When?”

  “Mayhap, three, four years ago.”

  “And when did he return?”

  “Close to a season ago,” admitted the clerk.

  “He have anyone with him when he came back?”

  “I couldn’t say for sure, ser.”

  “So you never saw anyone but him, but he bought more food and other things than one man probably ate?” Rahl pressed.

  “That might be, from what I heard,” replied Hyalf.

  Rahl looked to Edelana.

  “Could be, ser.”

  “I think we need to take a look at your place and Suvorn’s.” Rahl took a last swallow of lager from the earthenware mug, then stood.

  “I don’t know where Suvorn’s place is, except it’s back in the woods off the old road.”

  “Does Suvorn have a horse?”

  Edelana nodded.

  “It still can’t be far. Wait out front for us,” Rahl said.

  Hyalf and Edelana had barely left when the troopers of first squad began to enter the public room.