Mage-Guard of Hamor

XLVIII

When the submarshal's forces left Dawhut on sixday, by that midmorning Third Company was already some thirty kays farther southwest along on the road from Dawhut to Nubyat after having spent two days on the road already.

Ever since the night of his dinner with Taryl, for which the overcommander had paid, Rahl had attempted to get back to practicing the order-skills he had used but seldom on the scouting missions, particularly his attempts at using a mirror to scree places away from him. He'd paid Khasia four coppers for an old framed mirror, little more than a span square, and wrapped it in fleece and rags and stowed it on top in his saddlebags.

His efforts with the glass had resulted in some images, but mostly of places where he had already been-although from the scenes displayed mistily in the glass what he saw were events that were taking place as he watched-three servants straightening up the Triad's quarters in the Palace and the Empress walking through the empty receiving room. She looked worried and sad for the few moments that Rahl could hold the image. He had no success in calling up an image of Deybri, although his head felt as if it were splitting when he finished.

He had had more success with strengthening shields, and in using order to move small objects. His efforts in shifting the balance and position of order within those small objects were limited at best. That was an area where he needed more practice. It was just that it was all so tiring after a full day of riding and using order-skills to seek out possible traps and rebel ambushes-even when he found none.

Rahl was riding forward with the scouts. The road was lumpy, but not badly rutted, if nothing to compare to the highways near Swartheld or Cigoerne-or the great highway of Recluce. He was glad that the clouds and blustery weather of the past days had been replaced by clear and sunny skies. That had resulted in clearer and colder nights, and frost by morning, but Rahl preferred frost to damp and rain. Some of the others didn't, he could tell by the murmured complaints he could overhear.

The boglands had given way to country with more hills and trees as well as with more steads and fields-except for the stretch before Third Company, which was rockier and more desolate, with trees more widely spaced on the hillsides. The road had begun to rise gradually toward a tree-lined gap between two hills more than a kay ahead. The stream on the right of the road had cut its path downward so that while the roadbed followed the slope up, with each cubit that Rahl rode, the gully looked as though it would get comparatively deeper. The hill on the right looked to have a low bluff rising almost from the side of the road.

"Scouts! Halt!" Rahl projected his voice with a slight touch of order.

"Yes, ser."

Even the scouts a half kay ahead reined up.

Rahl looked more closely at the hill on the right. The bluff was cut from red sandstone, with some small pines clinging to the sheer stone. He couldn't tell exactly, but the bluff was no more than perhaps fifteen cubits high and flat on top, overlooking the road. Something didn't feel right, and the last time he'd ignored that feeling… that had been the flood.

He dismounted, then handed the gelding's reins to Shanyr, the other outrider, and carefully opened his saddlebags and took out the small framed glass. He could certainly try to see what was on the hill ahead. If it didn't work, then he'd have to get closer, perhaps scouting through the trees on the far side of the stream.

He looked down at the glass, concentrating on chaos and on the hillside ahead.

The glass, which had been reflecting his face and the green-blue sky overhead, began to show a swirling white mist, then figures-men sitting on boulders beside trees. Resting against the trees were horn bows. The men looked to be wearing jackets of various colors, but khaki trousers. A thin piercing line of agony ran from the mirror to Rahl's skull-that was the way it felt-and it grew stronger with every moment. His eyes watered so much that he could not make out the details in the glass, and he released the image, rubbing his temples with his free hand.

Slowly, he straightened, then rewrapped the glass and replaced it in the saddlebags.

"Ser?"

"Archers ahead, on the hillside." Rahl took the reins back and swung up into the saddle. "Hold here. I need to ride back and talk to Captain Drakeyt."

"Yes, ser."

Rahl's headache had only subsided slightly by the time he neared first squad and Drakeyt. He glanced back over his shoulder, then nodded. The bluff was not in sight, and that meant that the archers most likely hadn't spotted the main body of the company. He turned back to the captain.

"What is it?"

"We've got a bunch of rebel archers up ahead. They're somewhere on the hill up there, probably in the trees just behind the flat area back of that low bluff on the other side of the stream. I couldn't sense how many, but I don't think there are more than a score."

Drakeyt glanced from Rahl to the bluff, then nodded. "Up there, the ravine's too wide and deep for us to cross. What do you have in mind?"

"I'd like to try to take them, at least capture a few, without too many casualties. Once they see the company is holding position, if we don't move after a while, they'll back off. I'd suggest that I take fourth squad and fifth squad. We'll backtrack just down there where we can cross the stream. Then we'll move through the trees-the undergrowth isn't very heavy here-and circle the hill, then move up from the southwest. If first squad crosses the stream with us, but just follows the slope above the stream, if any of the archers try to flee, they'll be moving toward the squad."

"Second and third squads are to take their time moving toward the bluff on the road, I take it?" asked Drakeyt.

"After taking a break in plain sight of the archers, but well out of range of any that might have tried to sneak closer."

"That might work."

Rahl shrugged. "I'm ready for any better ideas."

Drakeyt laughed. "We could circle the hill and avoid them altogether, but somehow, I don't think the submarshal or the overcommander would be especially happy about that."

"No. We're supposed to find and remove all problems without casualties and without causing additional delays."

"And without any inconvenience to the most honorable submarshal," murmured Drakeyt in a voice low enough not to carry to the troopers reined up behind the two officers. "Your plan is as good as any, except that I'd suggest half of second squad accompany first squad. That will still leave a large-enough-looking force on the road, but give more coverage for any rebels who might flee."

"That's better," agreed Rahl.

After a short break, Rahl led his squads back down the road a good quarter kay to where the horses could easily descend the slope to the stream and then climb the other side.

Drakeyt followed with his squad and a half, while Quelsyn held the road with the remaining forces and the few pack animals. Rahl could sense the combination of doubt and puzzlement within the senior squad leader. While he did not know the actual reasons for Quelsyn's feelings, he was getting the idea that the senior squad leader was one of those men who had trouble accepting anything he could not see, touch, or experience. Since Quelsyn had no order-senses, the trooper had no understanding of why what Rahl did usually worked.

Rahl had ridden at the head of his squads through the low pine trees and up a slope that steepened gradually for almost a kay before his headache subsided into a dull ache. He did not begin to sense the archers with his direct order-senses until they were on the back side of the hill, less than half a kay from the bluff.

"Quiet riding. Pass it back," he ordered.

From what he could sense, the archers did not react or discover his squads during the entire time that they circled the back of the hill and turned back uphill.

Rahl reined up, lifting his arm to let the troopers know. "Squad leaders forward," he added quietly. "Pass it back."

Within a few moments, both squad leaders reined up beside Rahl.

He glanced from Fedeor to Fysett, then spoke. "There are less than a score of archers, but they all have horn bows at hand. They're watching the road, and, if we're quiet, we can probably get within a quarter kay without their noticing, maybe closer. The way we're approaching will allow us to ride about five across, roughly abreast. If possible, I'd like a few prisoners, but not at the cost of troopers."

Rahl's last words brought a nod from Fysett.

"We'll quiet ride uphill from here. I'd judge we'll get another hundred, maybe two hundred cubits before they notice. When they do, I'll signal, and we'll charge-as we can."

"More like a slow canter," suggested Fedeor.

"The best we can do," said Rahl.

They nodded.

Rahl waited for them to pass the word in low whispers, then started the gelding uphill once more.

They were within a hundred cubits of the nearest archer, when Rahl sensed movement among the archers. He dropped his arm and urged the gelding forward, although the pace was little faster than a quick trot, given the need to avoid the scrubby and wide-spaced pine trees. He and the other five troopers riding slightly before him were almost at the south edge of the narrow clear space above the bluff before the warning cries went up.

"Imperials! Imperials!"

Rahl had his truncheon out, but the troopers were more experienced than he was in the semimelee, and their heavy sabres were far more effective than the horn bows of the rebel archers. Within moments, the rebels were either dead or wounded or disarmed, but several had gotten off shafts-Rahl had felt them strike one or two of his troopers, but he had not sensed death.

He reined up and tried to order-sense any archers who might have fled to the north, but he could not sense anyone in the trees away from the small clearing at the edge of the red-sandstone bluff. He turned the gelding back toward the trees from where the archers had tried to defend themselves.

"We got 'em all. Don't think any of them escaped, ser," announced Fedeor, reining up short of Rahl.

"How about our men?"

"Two took shafts. Looks like they'll be all right."

"I'll need to look at them in a bit."

"Yes, ser."

Rahl looked over what remained of the rebel archers. Six lay where they had been cut down. Two were wounded, and from the fading order and chaos, one was dying. Two others stood silently, as their hands were bound. All wore the khaki shirts and trousers and maroon vests of the rebels, but each man's outer jacket was different. Each also bore the hint of chaos.

After tying the gelding to one of the larger pines, Rahl strode toward the nearest of the prisoners-a gaunt-faced man who just looked blankly at Rahl as he approached. One of fourth squad's troopers had bound his hands and stood with a sabre at the ready.

"Why did you join the rebels?" asked Rahl.

"To fight for a real emperor, ser."

"Who sent you here?"

"The Emperor Golyat, ser."

"Where did you come from?"

"The Emperor sent us, ser."

"When did you leave Nubyat?"

"When the Emperor sent us, ser."

"How did you travel to get here?"

"I wouldn't know, ser."

Rahl kept asking questions, but the answers were much the same, either a variation on the Emperor or a variation on not knowing. Rahl could sense that the archer was not lying, and that the answers were the only ones that he had. Somehow, some sort of chaos compulsion or lock had been placed on him. Rahl would have to investigate that later.

He walked across the clearing to the second unwounded archer, beginning his questioning with, "Why did you join the rebels?"

"To fight for a real emperor, ser."

Every reply was almost identical to those given by the first archer.

He turned to the one wounded archer who was still living… and fared no better.

In disgust, he stepped back and looked over the surviving archers. He was missing something. Something so obvious… Then he shook his head. None of the archers were young. In fact, all were at least as old as his own father.

He walked over and began to check the bodies, including their hands.

"They're all graybeards, ser," offered Fysett from his mount. "Every last one of them."

Rahl also studied their hands. Several had welts and scars around the wrists, and the calluses on their hands and fingers were relatively light.

"Shackle marks, I'd wager," offered Fysett, looking over Rahl's shoulder.

After a moment, Rahl nodded. That would make sense. "I need to check our wounded. Then we'll head back."

"Yes, ser."

"Oh… did they have mounts?"

"Yes, ser. They were tied back in the trees. Most of them sorry sway-backs. They could carry packs, though."

"We can use them for that." Rahl walked toward the wounded troopers.

One man had taken a shaft in the shoulder, and another in the thigh. Neither wound had gushed blood, and there were only slight amounts of chaos. Rahl did his best to remove that chaos. The effort did return his headache from merely a dull ache to a more active and sharp-edged throbbing. He didn't know how Deybri and the other healers stood it, day after day. He smiled wryly. He did; he'd seen and sensed the pain and the exhaustion, and the determination to keep healing.

He looked at the last trooper he'd tried to help. "Keep the wound clean. You'll go back to the main force until you're stronger, but have the healers there keep checking it."

"Yes, ser."

Rahl remounted and rode to the front of the squads, now lined up in double file and ready to return to Third Company.

"Ready to ride, ser," offered Fedeor.

"You have all the prisoners and all the bows and quivers-and their horses?" He supposed he was being callous by not burying the dead, but the rocky sandstone wasn't suitable, and they didn't have more than a spade per squad.

"Yes, ser."

"Let's go." He urged the gelding downhill, back toward Drakeyt and first squad.

When they neared the other troopers, Rahl was careful to announce their presence. "Fourth and fifth squads returning!" he yelled, using order to boost the words through the pines.

"Squads returning," someone echoed.

Rahl still was wary until he could sense that the waiting troopers were ready with weapons but holding position. He rode through the last of the pines between him and Drakeyt. "Mission accomplished."

"Did any of them run this way?" asked the captain. "

No." Rahl reined up. That was another thing he should have noticed. "None of them tried to run at all, even when it was clear that we had them trapped."

"None?"

Rahl shook his head. "We have two of our men wounded. They should recover, but they'll have trouble keeping up with us. We'll send them back with the prisoners."

Drakeyt raised his eyebrows. "

There were three. But all of them were under chaos compulsions. They might even have been trained as archers under those compulsions. I don't know how it was done, but the overcommander might be able to find out. Also, they were all graybeards, or they would have been if they'd had beards."

"Why would…"

"Prisoners or roadworkers, I'd guess. Not many people in Merowey would really care if they disappeared, and those that would were probably told that the men were better off than if they'd been caught by a mage-guard."

"Would they have been?"

"By most mage-guards, probably," admitted Rahl. "Most who resist capture get flamed on the spot."

"Don't the Codex breakers know that?"

"Some do. Theft and battery and killing are all offenses against order. Everyone's taught that." Rahl shrugged tiredly. "I wasn't exactly the perfect child growing up, but even I knew that." Of course, a small voice within him pointed out, he'd still gotten away with killing a Jeranyi pirate in Land's End… but only because no one had cared that a pirate helping a dishonest factor had died.

"You don't sound convinced," Drakeyt said. "And you're a mage-guard."

"It's better than the alternatives," Rahl replied. Was it? Or was he just justifying things? "We'd better head back to the road."

Drakeyt nodded. "To the rear, ride! Back to the road!"