Mage-Guard of Hamor

XXXIX

On eightday and oneday, Drakeyt put his stepped-up surveillance and scouting plan into effect. On eightday, Third Company only traveled twelve kays across the low and rolling hills, scarcely more than low rises between ever-more-extensive bog meadows and the steads on the edge of each. A number of the bog meadows looked more like mining pits, stepped downward into darkness.

Oneday was a repetition of eightday, and they still found no sign of rebels, and no one who had seen any or any tracks or other traces. By late afternoon, they had begun to encounter carts and wagons heaped with bog meadow turf creaking southwest on the road.

Ahead Rahl could see another of the old kaystones. Not until he had ridden within a dozen cubits could he make out the name and distance: Fhydala — 5 k. As worn as the letters were on this, the "new" road, he had to wonder how much older the "old" road was.

The still and cold air carried a pungent odor. Rahl sniffed once, then again. He had no idea what the scent was. Even the gelding snorted slightly, and Rahl could sense he didn't care for the odor much, either. "Alrydd? Do you know what that smell is?"

"Can't say that I know, ser. I'd be guessing that it's from the stills. Feromyl said that was one of the reasons he left years back."

That made sense to Rahl, and, if that were so, he could see why Feromyl, whoever he was, had left Fhydala.

He rode past several oblong small lakes with dark water in them, appearing as though they had once been bog meadows that had been excavated until there was no more turf to be removed, then had filled with rainwater and seepage. After climbing another low rise, he could see the town ahead. Grayish smoke seeped from two tall brick chimneys, one almost immediately to the left of the road ahead and one more than a kay to the right. The one to the left was part of a neatly maintained brick structure. Rahl couldn't make out the structures around the chimney to the right, but he gained the impression that the structures were older and not as well managed.

Drakeyt rode forward and joined Rahl. "We'll ride into the town, and if they seem welcoming, and you don't sense anything, we'll find quarters for the men. We'll run patrols around here tomorrow and stay tomorrow night before we move on. The last eightday has been hard on the troopers and their mounts. I'm just glad you didn't find any more traps today."

"So am I," replied Rahl, "but I have the feeling that today was just a respite. What do you know about the town?"

"About as much as you do." Drakeyt laughed. "The scouts didn't see anything unusual. Did you?"

"Some of those bog meadows to the northeast looked like mining pits," Rahl said.

"They dry the best of the turf and use it to flavor the Vyrna. The rest they burn as fuel for their stoves and homes and the stills, of course."

"What will they do when it's all burned?"

"Dig it from somewhere else, I suppose," replied Drakeyt.

"Some have been abandoned for years. The ones that have become ponds don't look that good."

"That's their problem."

Rahl nodded, but he had to wonder. The vegetation around the bog-meadow ponds had looked sparse and weedy, anything but healthy, and the smoke from the distilleries wasn't exactly the most pleasant odor he'd ever inhaled.

As Third Company rode into Fhydala, Rahl concentrated on sensing anything out of the ordinary, but the folk on the road and the lanes only exhibited feelings and expressions ranging from matter-of-fact acceptance to mild surprise. Rahl could detect no signs of chaos beyond those normal for any town or hamlet.

When Third Company reined up in the town square, both Rahl and Drakeyt were pleased to see that there were actually two inns in Fhydala, on opposite sides of the square. The larger inn's signboard depicted a squarish building constructed of what looked to be enormous bricks or brown stones. The letters beneath the simple image read The Turf Inn.

"The Turf Inn?" Rahl wondered aloud.

"That's an old, old name," Drakeyt replied. "Centuries back, some of the poor folks built their huts from turf bricks. It's a way of saying it's an honest and modest place."

The smaller inn was narrower, and its signboard proclaimed it as The Red Coach. Both were without patrons, and both innkeepers were more than pleased to accept the script offered by Drakeyt for use of the rooms and the stables and sheds.

With all the arrangements for feed and food, and inspections of makeshift quarters, it was well past dark before Drakeyt and Rahl were finished with those details. After grooming the gelding and leaving the stable, Rahl went to the small upper-level room he had to himself-next to the one shared by three squad leaders. There was no shower in the Turf Inn, or any inn so far-but Rahl used two pitchers of water to wash up, and on his way down to meet Drakeyt in the inn's public room arranged for one of his uniforms to be washed and pressed. The captain had already settled at a corner table in the public room in the Turf Inn-and the troopers had already left after having been fed, leaving the two officers alone. A slightly smoky fire burned in the hearth as a thin servingwoman appeared.

"We saved chops for you gents. That be all right, with a bit of burhka on the side, and some late pearapple sauce?"

"That would be fine," Drakeyt said. "And to drink?"

"Just dark ale or gold lager… there's Vyrna… but…"

"That doesn't come with what we paid for," finished Drakeyt.

"No, ser."

"Dark ale," said the older captain.

"Gold lager," added Rahl. He didn't care much for drinks he felt he should be chewing rather than swallowing.

"Be right there, sers."

Rahl glanced around the public room. While the old tables were oiled and clean, and the floor swept, the wood of both was worn, and a sense of age and tiredness permeated everything. He'd sensed age in the buildings in both Land's End and Nylan, but not the tiredness. Did order keep tiredness at bay? Or was it chaos constrained by order that did that?

"You're deep in thought, Rahl."

"The place feels tired."

"I feel tired," replied Drakeyt, "and we're not even halfway to Nubyat. We've not seen a rebel force, and we've already lost nearly half a squad to traps and floods."

The servingwoman reappeared with two large mugs. "Your ale and lager. Be just a moment more for your dinner."

"Thank you."

Drakeyt waited until she was well away from the table before continuing. "It's less than fifty kays from here to Dawhut, but we'll have to take it slower from here on in." He took a long pull of the dark ale. "That's because there are all sorts of back roads and hamlets between here and there. According to the maps, anyway, and the old road joins the one we're following some fifteen kays southwest of here. Folks don't think about it, but there are more places to hide when there are more steads and hamlets. In a place where you've only got a score of families over ten kays of road, everyone notices a stranger and whether something's missing. You can't get supplies and food if there's no one around to grow them, either."

"That makes sense." Rahl sipped the gold lager. He was famished, and he wasn't about to drink much on an empty stomach. "You think there are many rebels or supporters in Dawhut?"

"There'll be some. It's big enough to have some people who weren't happy with the way things were going. How many?" Drakeyt shrugged. "That's why the submarshal sent us."

"It would be helpful if we had some idea how far behind he is."

"Far enough to let us flush out the trouble and not close enough to help if we get in too deep. That's what recon in force is all about." The captain looked up as the servingwoman carried two platters toward them.

Neither man spoke for a time once their food arrived.

Rahl ate everything on the platter. He was hungry enough that it all tasted good.

As they were finishing, Drakeyt took a last swallow of ale, then said, "I'm going to run over to the other inn and check how things are going."

"I could check here," offered Rahl.

"I'd appreciate that."

"I need to get into more things with the company." Rahl was tired, and he wanted to write a bit more on his letter to Deybri since he had no idea when he might have another chance, but he also needed to be visible to the troopers as well, and Drakeyt could use another set of eyes.

"I'll meet you back here in the front hall, and we can talk over what you saw." Drakeyt stood.

"I'll be here." As he stood, Rahl noticed the copper on the table, and he added one of his own.

Once outside, Rahl moved across the courtyard and through the darkness toward the end of the stable and the hayloft where second squad was billeted. The door was ajar, and he slipped inside. Ahead, he could sense four men in the corner of the barn, the corner barely lit by a wicked-down lantern. He raised a sight shield around himself and eased forward quietly.

"… never make your point, Cheslyn…"

"… know when to throw and when not to…"

Rahl could sense the chaos around the knucklebones-except it wasn't exactly chaos-and he took several more steps until he was within a few cubits of the gamers. After watching for several moments, he realized that one of the troopers had two sets of bones and switched them when he took the bones for his throws.

"Whose bones are those?" Rahl's voice was quiet, but firm, as he dropped the sight shield.

All four troopers froze.

"I asked whose bones they were." Rahl kept his hand on the truncheon at his belt.

"Ser… we were just having a friendly game."

Rahl waited in the dimness, but no one spoke.

"Are they yours, Cheslyn?"

The burly bearded trooper did not speak, but Rahl got the clear sense of fear that he would be discovered.

"I think you'd better hand me the bones in your hand," Rahl said.

Cheslyn whirled and jumped to his feet, his hand on his dagger.

"Don't even think about it." Rahl's voice was like ice, and he projected order-force behind the words. He extended his left hand. "The bones."

The trooper froze. Then the hand holding the weighted bones moved back toward the slot in his jacket that held the unweighted cubes.

"You've got them in your hand," Rahl said coolly. "Just hand them over. In the morning, you can talk to the captain and me." He could sense fear and fury within the trooper. "Don't make it worse, Cheslyn. Just hand them over."

"Yes, ser." The trooper's words were even, but the rage behind them was barely held in check. He dropped the bones in Rahl's hand.

Rahl sensed that they were the weighted bones. "Very wise, Cheslyn. Come see the captain and me first thing in the morning after muster."

"Yes, ser. I certainly will."

"Good." Even in the darkness, Rahl could sense that, had Cheslyn's eyes been crossbows, Rahl would have been spitted to the wall behind him. He stepped back, then raised the sight shield.

His disappearance cooled some of the trooper's rage. Some.

"Cheslyn… you're an idiot… he's killed officers… think he'd hesitate a moment to put you down?"

"… man's got a right to game on his own time… can't take that way…"

Rahl found no other problems with the other troopers in second squad or with third and fifth squad, but he also did not see Khasmyr-the second squad leader-or Quelsyn. That concerned him as well.

Drakeyt was waiting in the small front foyer of the Turf Inn. "How did it go?"

"I didn't see any of the squad leaders, and we had a little trouble," Rahl admitted. "Some of the troopers in second squad were gaming bones."

"You didn't see any squad leaders because Quelsyn had gathered them together over at the other inn, and gaming isn't really a problem, so long as they're quiet."

"The gaming wasn't," Rahl said. "But using loaded bones and switching them isn't something that ought to be going on."

Drakeyt looked at Rahl, almost expressionless. "So what did you do?"

"I asked to see the bones-when Cheslyn had the loaded ones in hand. Then I said that I thought I'd better keep them, and that Cheslyn could talk to us in the morning."

"Why not right then, if you were so intent on stopping the game?"

"The game didn't matter. Cheating your mates with loaded bones does. But if I called him then, there would have been trouble, and we'd lose another trooper, one way or another. This way… if you agree… I can tell him quietly that if I ever catch him cheating his mates again, he'll be the one investigating the rebel traps."

Drakeyt laughed. "For such an innocent-looking fellow, you have a devious way of thinking, Rahl. What if you catch him again?"

"I wouldn't say a word. I'd just send him into every nasty situation around, and when he finally didn't make it, I'd give the bones to one of his mates, and tell him that Cheslyn had to pay off on his wagers."

The smile drained from Drakeyt's face. "You mean that, don't you?"

Rahl shrugged. "I haven't been a mage-guard as long as a lot have, but one thing I've learned is that the people who don't heed the first warning don't heed the second… or the third-not unless they get slammed upside the head, and hard." As he finished speaking, he realized that he sounded cold, and that his words could have been applied to himself.

"What if you were Cheslyn?"

"I was," Rahl replied. "That's why I know. That's why I'm a mage-guard."

"A crooked gamer?" Drakeyt was incredulous.

"No. One of those people who didn't listen to the warnings. Once upon a time, I was a scrivener in Recluce…" Rahl ran through a quick summary that left out more than a few things, but wasn't misleading, he hoped, ending with, "… and once I got my memory back, they made me a mage-clerk in Luba."

"I thought Recluce only exiled chaos-mages."

"I'm a different kind of ordermage-the kind they didn't know how to train. So they decided I'd be better off elsewhere."

"Sounds like they thought they'd be better off if you were elsewhere."

"That, too," Rahl replied.

Drakeyt shook his head slowly. "You could have fooled me. You speak so well I just thought you were one of those Atlan merchant heirs whose family discovered he was a mage and bought him the best training possible."

"It would have been nice to have that kind of coin behind me," replied Rahl with a laugh, "but it didn't happen that way."

"We'd all like coins, but we're just poor captains of the Imperial High Command." Drakeyt paused. "Or poor mage-guards drafted to help poor captains." He yawned. "It's been a long day. I'm about to turn in."

"That was my thought," Rahl said. "Good night."

"Good night, Rahl." Drakeyt's smile seemed warmer, although Rahl couldn't have said why.

Rahl turned and climbed the creaking stairs to the second level slowly. Tired as he was, he still wanted to write at least a few lines to Deybri. Writing made him feel closer to her, and at times when he wrote, he felt she was just around a corner or beyond a door. That had to be his imagination, but it felt that way all the same. He tried not to dwell on the impossibilities of any future with her. He'd worry about that after the campaign against Golyat was over.