Natural Ordermage

XCVII

On fourday, Rahl woke with a feeling of apprehension, yet outside his window, the sky was clear, the air refreshingly dry and cool. At breakfast, Carlyse was even more ebullient than ever.

“Rahl…when are they going to give you your own duties?” She laughed, loudly. “It’s got to be soon, because Myala just glared when I asked how you were doing, and if she couldn’t find anything to complain about, then there wasn’t much.”

“She was just in a hurry to leave,” Rahl countered. “She’s in a hurry all the time.”

“Can’t be all the time,” interjected Hewart. “She’s got two daughters.”

Both Dalya and Carlyse shook their heads.

Caersyn howled with laughter. “If anyone could hurry that, she could.”

Zachyl, alone at the juniors’ table, looked up wide-eyed.

Rahl still had the feeling it would be some time before the captain or the undercaptain would let him do much in the way of true mage-guard duties without supervision, and he still rushed through his breakfast.

Once he was on the piers with Myala that morning, her matter-of-fact attitude and marginal instruction and information seemed to confirm that feeling. Her only truly informative comment did not come until close to midday on pier one, when she gestured toward a heavyset man wearing a loose and cheap cloak of thin material.

“Cutpurse or thief, if he gets the chance. Thin fellow under the cloak. He may drop the cloak on someone, and like as not, he’ll jump into the water and dodge out to one of the fishing boats. Not a real fishing boat, but it’s hard to tell.”

“Then he’s going after a lot of coin.”

“Exactly. Not worth the trouble otherwise.”

“Do we…”

Myala laughed, softly but harshly, because the man turned and walked back off the pier. “He won’t be back today. He knows we’d recognize him. He might come here for days before he acts. Good thieves aren’t hasty.”

Rahl hadn’t thought of using the harbor water as a way to escape chaos-bolts, but it certainly made sense.

After that, the rest of the morning was quiet, although Rahl could still detect the miasma of white chaos every time he and Myala passed any one of the three Jeranyi ships. All three maintained their armed guards at the top of the gangways, and there was no sign of any cargo loading or unloading.

Slightly after midday, for the first time since he’d been a mage-guard in Hamor, he saw a wagon platform with slaves being sold-two lithe women and three youths, and all were dark-haired. According to the Codex, slavery was not allowed, but permanent indenture was. Rahl didn’t see any difference in that, except that children of those permanently indentured could not be indentured for the debts of their parents-or by their parents.

He glanced to Myala. The older mage-guard said nothing, although Rahl could detect greater tenseness in her as they passed the wagon.

“…look at those bodies…strong and agile…look close now!”

Rahl couldn’t help the flashback to Fahla and her brother, nor the rush of anger at Puvort and the magisters. To enslave or indenture children because they had not turned in their father? That still struck him as wrong, no matter what the magisters said.

“Some of them have no memories,” Myala said quietly.

“Why?” asked Rahl in a low voice.

“The harlots who drug men and steal from them are heavily dosed with nemysa and indentured. They say that’s because they wouldn’t last in the quarries.”

“And the children?”

“They’re cutpurses and thieves. It’s kinder than working them to death.”

Rahl had his doubts, and he couldn’t help but wonder how much choice any of them had had. He almost laughed bitterly when he considered how little choice he’d really had. Those in power, and those who drafted rules like the Codex, seemed to think there were more choices in life than there were. What choices did an urchin child have? Being indentured to who knew what kind of owner? Begging? Stealing? Or starving to death?

Thankfully, for the next several rounds of the piers, Rahl didn’t see any other indenture wagons.

Slightly after midafternoon, as they left pier one and headed for the base of pier two, Rahl caught sight of two empty Nylan Merchant Association wagons just ahead of them moving through the crowds to pier two. Since there weren’t any Recluce ships tied up, he suspected that they would be unloading from one or both of the Jeranyi ships.

Fhasyl, the juniormost mage-clerk, was hurrying through the crowd, looking this way and that-until he caught sight of Myala and Rahl and trotted up to them.

“Sers!” The young man stopped short and inclined his head. “Mage-Guard Rahl, the undercaptain has requested that you join him and the armsmaster in the exercise area.” He turned to Myala. “He should be back by late afternoon, ser. That’s what the undercaptain said.”

“Patrolling might be easier,” Myala said dryly. “Only come back if you can still walk.”

“I’ll manage.” What he might manage was another question. He turned to Fhasyl. “Lead on.” Part of that was because he’d only seen the arms exercise room once, and he’d had the feeling it wasn’t used that much. Fhasyl was likely to get him there more directly than he might on his own. Even so, he kept his eyes and senses alert, and that was difficult because he didn’t like the idea of the Merchant Association’s wagons heading toward the Jeranyi ships.

“Ser,” inquired Fhasyl, “is it true that you were once a laborer in Luba?”

“Yes. I spent a year there.”

“But…ser…?”

“I was an outland clerk here before that, and I had some small magely abilities. I was registered, but didn’t think I’d ever be a mage-guard. Then I lost my memories and ended up in Luba.”

“Did you really break a thief’s arm?”

“Yes. He had a pair of long knives.”

“And you did it with a truncheon?”

“I’m not exactly a chaos-mage, Fhasyl.”

“Oh…” The mage-clerk led Rahl past the quarters building and to a side door on the north side of the gaol. “Here, ser.”

“Thank you.”

Fhasyl vanished even before Rahl had the door open.

Inside waited the undercaptain and another mage-guard.

Craelyt smiled politely and nodded to the wiry man in the black of an armsmaster. “Ah…Rahl…I showed Boltyk your arms evaluation, and we thought it might be best to see how it compares with our standards. Then, there’s always the possibility that you might have something to teach us.”

Rahl pushed away his irritation at being pulled off the pier and smiled politely, inclining his head to both. “Sers, I will be most happy to help in any way possible.”

“I’d thought a series of sparring matches might be most illustrative,” suggested the undercaptain.

“Since your weapon is the truncheon, perhaps we could begin there,” added Boltyk.

Unlike Craelyt, the armsmaster’s shields were less than complete, and Rahl could sense the combination of doubt and contempt as Boltyk moved to the center of the exercise space and raised a golden oak truncheon slightly longer and thinner than Rahl’s black weapon.

Rahl laid his visor cap aside on the bench against the wall and slipped his truncheon from its holder before moving out opposite the armsmaster.

“Begin,” said Craelyt quietly.

On the possibility that Boltyk was letting the contempt show in order to make Rahl angry and careless, Rahl simply wove a defensive screen for the first several passes, getting the feel for the other’s moves and rhythm.

Craelyt did not depart but watched closely.

Rahl saw several openings, but let them pass, taking his time and measuring the other, realizing that Boltyk was not nearly so good as Taryl or even Khaill with the truncheon.

Then Boltyk lunged, and Rahl anticipated both the half feint, and the counter, and slashed the truncheon out of Boltyk’s hand. Then he stepped back.

Rahl could sense the astonishment, but Boltyk merely reclaimed the weapon. “If you would…another round.”

Rahl nodded. “As you wish, ser.”

The second time around, the armsmaster was more cautious, but, again Rahl disarmed the other and just tapped his shoulder blade and darted back before Boltyk could react.

The armsmaster stepped back and turned to Craelyt. “The report on his skills with a truncheon is more than accurate. At least, with truncheon against truncheon.”

“Let us see about staffs,” said the undercaptain.

Boltyk produced two staffs, padded, if lightly. Rahl took the one that was slightly shorter because he liked the feel and balance better. He set his truncheon on the bench beside his cap.

After two rounds, the results were similar.

“I’d like you to defend against a practice blade, next,” said Craelyt.

“In that case, ser, might I use a practice truncheon?”

“Take mine,” suggested Boltyk.

In the two rounds with the truncheon against the blunted practice falchiona, Rahl managed to keep the other’s blade from ever hitting him and disarmed Boltyk both times.

Rahl had to keep his emotions under shield and to avoid smiling in satisfaction as he inclined his head to the armsmaster. “Ser…if you require more…”

“I think you’ve answered any doubts the armsmaster might have had about your abilities, Rahl.” Craelyt smiled warmly.

Rahl caught the sense of consternation and dismay from Boltyk. The doubts, if there had ever been any, had not been those of the armsmaster, or at least, not primarily or exclusively his.

“If you have no further use for me here, sers, the piers are crowded today, and there are three Jeranyi vessels out there…”

“Oh…of course, you should return to duty,” said Craelyt.

“Thank you, ser.” Rahl retrieved his visor cap and truncheon and stepped outside, leaving the door just barely ajar. There was a slight breeze, one that felt more than welcome after the closeness of the exercise room. He paused, extending his order-senses, to see if either man would reveal anything.

“…better than any bravo on the streets with his weapons. No one here can touch him, except maybe Gheryk.”

“…still worry about his standing up to chaos,” replied Craelyt.

“…something that goes with being a mage-guard…”

“…later, then…”

Rahl quickly moved away from the gaol building and walked swiftly toward where the pier mage-guard would be stationed. He glanced to the west. There, the sun was barely above the hills behind the far side of the harbor, and the handful of warships at the naval piers were already in shadow.

As he hurried along the side of the crowded road, peddlers and even teamsters moved or slowed to let him pass, but his progress was still slower than he would have liked. Ahead of him he could see a Nylan Merchant Association wagon moving past Caersyn rather than Hegyr. He looked farther south and thought he saw the other wagon. While he did not want to sprint after it, he moved even faster. From what he could tell the wagon held only barrels-pickle barrels; but they didn’t quite feel like pickle barrels, although he could smell the faint odor of vinegar long before he reached the pier-guard station.

There, he found Caersyn. “I didn’t know you had pier duty.”

“I don’t, not usually. Hegyr got so sick this morning that the undercaptain asked me to fill in.” Caersyn’s eyes remained fixed on the next wagon that was headed past him toward the piers.

“Have you seen any Nylan Merchant Association wagons?”

“There was one a bit ago. There may have been more, but I don’t pay much attention to whose wagon it is, just what’s on it.”

Rahl could sense the evasions behind the other’s words.

Whhsttt! A chaos-bolt flew from somewhere.

Rahl strengthened his shields, but, even so, was rocked back, and barely managed to avoid crashing into the stone pier that held the mage-guard’s chair.

Whhstt! Whsstt! Whsst!

For a moment, it seemed as though chaos-bolts were everywhere, and most of them seemed aimed at Rahl, although his shields held. Screams and yells added to the confusion, and the handfuls of people on foot near them scattered. The teamster who had just driven his wagon past Rahl and Caersyn struggled to keep control of his team.

The chaos-bolt attack ended as suddenly as it had begun, but by the time Rahl gathered himself together, he could detect no sign of free chaos…or of a chaos-mage. Either that, or the mage had such tight shields that he or she was effectively invisible to Rahl’s order-senses.

Caersyn held on to the chair in which he had been seated. He leaned to one side, looking dazed. Rahl glanced past the stone post that anchored one of the iron gates to the piers, not that Rahl had ever seen it closed, and along the wall beyond it. He thought he sensed something, but he was looking for the duty pier guards, and they were nowhere around, either, and that was unusual.

The faintest scraping sound alerted Rahl, and he turned to see six men in worn blue moving toward him from behind a donkey cart. Two had sabres, rather than falchionas, and one carried something like a billhook, while the other three had cudgels. Rahl glanced toward Caersyn, but the mage-guard lay sprawled in his seat, moving slightly. Rahl couldn’t very well leave, although that would have been the sensible thing to do had he been there alone.

Rahl had the truncheon out and immediately charged the man with the billhook before the man could lift the heavy weapon. Rahl got well inside both blade and hook. The truncheon went into the man’s throat, and Rahl’s knee into his groin. The billhook clattered on the stone.

Then Rahl dodged the wild swing of a cudgel and struck across the fellow’s forearm, reinforcing the blow with order.

He danced back, away from a wiry bravo with a sabre. Unlike the others, the man was at least a passable blade, and Rahl had to deal with him while trying to avoid the others as they closed on him.

The other blade darted toward Rahl.

Whssst! Whsst! Two chaos-bolts slammed into the second blade, and he went down.

A weaker chaos-bolt burned the shoulder of a cudgel-wielder.

The remaining blade danced to one side, as if to keep Rahl between him and whatever chaos-mage was coming to Rahl’s assistance. He moved again, and Rahl struck. The sabre went flying, but before Rahl could move to disable him, another chaos-bolt, one of the weaker ones, caught him full in the face, and he pitched forward onto the stone pavement.

Rahl turned.

Myala stood less than fifteen cubits away.

The man who had carried the billhook was dead. So were the two blades. The others had run off.

Myala looked at Rahl. “For an ordermage, you’re not bad.”

“I’m very thankful you arrived.” Rahl looked up the mage-guard chair, where Caersyn sat, still looking slightly dazed. “Are you all right?”

“I will be…” Caersyn shook his head. “That first chaos attack…it took a lot out of me. I could barely get those last two off.”

“Chaos attack?” asked Myala.

“I thought I’d wait for you here,” Rahl said. “We’ve always done that before. Just after I got here, someone fired chaos-bolts at us. Then, right after that, those six came in.”

“Against two mage-guards?”

“Caersyn was knocked out for a bit,” Rahl explained. “They must have sent most of the chaos against him. I don’t know where the pier guards went.”

“One had gone to relieve himself, and the other started running when the chaos started to fly,” Caersyn said. “I saw that.”

“We’ll take the pier,” Myala said, looking at Caersyn. “You’re in no shape to finish your duty. You go find the undercaptain or the captain and tell him what happened. Have the guards send out another pier guard.”

“Probably best that way,” Caersyn admitted. “You’re sure?”

“What else can we do?” asked Myala. “It’s getting toward sunset, and the piers are clearing anyway.”

Only after Caersyn was well away, and Rahl had dragged the three bodies and their weapons over to the gate pillar and laid them out, did Myala speak. “Weakassed excuse for a chaos-mage. And letting a guard go off…that’s inexcusable. Why was he on duty? Do you know?”

“He said he was filling in. Hegyr was too sick to stand duty. That’s what he said.”

“I don’t like it. The weakest chaos-mage in the station with an ordermage.”

Rahl had his own doubts, but he said, “They might not have known I was going to be here. They started the attack with chaos-bolts.”

“Hmmm…that’s true.” Myala gestured to the teamster moving southward and away from the piers. “Hurry it up. Time to clear the piers!”

The driver flicked the long leads, and the wagon, laden with bales of wool, began to move a trace more quickly. Behind him were two vendors, pushing carts.

“What about the Jeranyi crews?” asked Rahl.

“Some have been going ashore, but they’ve been going like most crews…that’s in groups of two or three, or sometimes all alone.” She gestured toward the three bodies. “They don’t look like Jeranyi. The others didn’t, either.”

“So what were they after?” asked Rahl.

“I don’t have any idea. That’s why I sent Caersyn to get the undercaptain.”

Just before the sun finished dropping behind the distant hills, three pier guards appeared with a cart. Two began to load the bodies onto the cart. The other took station by the gate.

Suvynt had accompanied them. “I’m here to relieve you. The undercaptain asked if you would meet him at the duty desk to brief him on what happened.”

“We can do that.” Myala’s words were clipped.

Rahl could sense her displeasure.

Neither spoke until they were a good fifty cubits from Suvynt.

“Would have been easier if he’d just come out and seen it,” was all that Myala said.

Rahl couldn’t help but feel that somehow the attack had been aimed at him, but how could he say that? He had not one shred of proof, only his feelings that it was all linked to the pickle barrels, the Jeranyi, and Shyret and the Nylan Merchant Association warehouses. The problem was that he couldn’t figure out any possible reason why the Jeranyi would want him dead. How did any of them even know who he was? And why would the Jeranyi even care?

Almost as soon as they stepped into the mage-guard building and neared the duty desk, Craelyt appeared, as if he had been waiting for them.

“I’m sorry that I couldn’t come out to see what happened, but the captain left word that I was to meet him here for something urgent.” Craelyt’s shields were even tighter than usual, and not a trace of any emotion escaped, but his voice was warm. “I heard that you both had a difficult time at the pier-guard station.”

“You could say that, ser,” replied Myala.

“Caersyn said that there was an attack on the pier-guard mage post,” Craelyt said. “I’d like to hear your account of what happened?” His eyes were fixed on Rahl.

“After I finished sparring here, ser, I returned to the pier-guard mage post to meet up with Mage-Guard Myala…” Rahl related what had happened from the chaos-bolt attacks onward. He did not mention the Nylan Merchant Association wagons or the pickle barrels. “…and then Myala sent Caersyn to find you. He didn’t seem in any condition to finish his duty.”

“He’ll have to have several days off,” Craelyt agreed. “Were you able to discover anything about the chaos-mage who attacked? Did you see who it might have been?”

“No, ser. There was almost no warning at all,” replied Rahl. “Then, as soon as Caersyn was staggered, the bravos and ruffians appeared.”

“Did they say anything?”

“No, ser. Not a word.”

“Did you notice anyone entering or leaving the piers while you were engaged?” Craelyt turned to Myala. “Did you?”

“I was close enough to see that no one did. The vendors and teamsters ran and stayed away until it was over.”

“Do either of you have any idea what this was all about…or what they might have had in mind?”

Rahl had an inkling of what might be involved, but nothing solid enough to be considered an idea, and he wasn’t about to tell Craelyt. Telling the undercaptain didn’t feel right, and Rahl in fact didn’t actually know. “I don’t know, ser. I thought it might have something to do with the Jeranyi ships, but Mage-Guard Myala has been watching them, and there’s nothing strange going on there.”

“Is that right?”

“I wouldn’t say quite that, Undercaptain,” replied Myala, “but we haven’t seen anything so far.”

“Why do you think they might be a problem?”

“Because, ser, we’ve never seen three of their pirate vessels in port for this long at any time since I’ve been a mage-guard,” replied Myala. “That suggests trouble.”

Craelyt kept questioning them until he had asked the same questions in different forms at least three or four times. Then he smiled and looked at Myala. “I’m sure your report, and that of Mage-Guard Caersyn, will cover everything. You both have had a long duty. Go and get some rest.”

“Yes, ser.”

Rahl followed Myala out of the station, but she did not even look back as she kept walking away, presumably to her home and quarters. Rahl could detect a mixture of both anger and apprehension.

He watched her for a moment, then looked toward the quarters building and the mess. Finally, he turned toward it. He was hungry.