Natural Ordermage

XCVIII

All through dinner, as he ate mechanically, Rahl kept thinking about the attack and all the pickle barrels on the Nylan Merchant Association wagons. It would have been better if the last bravo hadn’t been flamed, because they might have been able to find out who had been behind the attack. He frowned. That blast had come from Caersyn, but Caersyn wasn’t at the table, and neither was Hegyr.

“You’re looking worried,” offered Vosyn.

“More than that,” added Hewart.

“How often do attacks on mage-guards happen?” asked Rahl.

“Not that often, but they do happen,” replied Vosyn.

“Usually at night,” said Niasl. “I’ve had two in maybe ten years. Always with a renegade mage, like what happened to you. They know they have to distract or disable the duty mage-guard. It’s usually so that they can raid one of the ships while most of the crew is ashore.”

Rahl nodded. What had happened to him just didn’t feel like that. “How is Hegyr? Caersyn said he was pretty sick.”

“He’s better,” interjected Dalya from the women’s table. “He was hotter than burning cammabark this morning.”

Cammabark! Vinegar! Rahl almost froze in his seat. Why hadn’t he remembered sooner? Was that what was in the pickle barrels? Another thought struck him-he shouldn’t have been able to smell the vinegar in pickle barrels because they should have been sealed more tightly. So the pickle barrels had been opened recently. But why would Shyret be in league with the Jeranyi?

Rahl forced himself to finish his meal before excusing himself and heading in the direction of his room, but he didn’t enter it, but slipped out the side door and made his way through the dampish evening toward the main mage-guard station building.

Nyhart looked up from the duty desk. “Evening, Rahl. You’re not doing some evening duty, are you?”

“No. I was just thinking about something. Have you seen the captain?”

“No. He was supposed to meet with the undercaptain, but he never did. That’s what the undercaptain said. No one’s seen Captain Gheryk since midafternoon. He might be meeting the regional commander about the rebellion in the south. Do you want to leave a report for him? Or see the undercaptain? He’s around somewhere. He might be out on the piers.”

“I’ll see what I can do. Thank you.” Rahl smiled and made his way from the building. He didn’t want to talk to Craelyt, and he didn’t like the fact that the captain was nowhere to be found. Yet what could he do?

He couldn’t just report his suspicions, not after the captain had pointedly told him not to investigate anything to do with his past, and yet he didn’t feel that he could just let things happen, not the way he felt.

Finally, he turned toward Swartheld itself and walked southward through the darkness beside the road from the piers. When he neared the pier-guard station, he raised the light shield, keeping well away from Suvynt. The night mage-guard turned and studied the area along the wall from the pier gate, but when Suvynt turned away, Rahl climbed up the low wall, still holding his light shield. That wasn’t hard, since the wall had been designed far more to keep wagons out of the pier area than to stop single individuals from leaving.

Once on the other side, Rahl moved a good hundred cubits away from the piers before dropping the shield. Once he reached the section of the avenue where it divided into two sections, he crossed the pavement and took the walkway that ran down the middle, moving at a fast clip, truncheon in hand. Overhead, the leaves of the giant false acacias rustled in the slight evening breeze that brought a faint scent of cooking from somewhere.

He passed a couple on one bench, and neither more than looked at him. Two young men nodded politely as they passed him, and Rahl only sensed mild apprehension. Then, as he neared another bench closer to the boulevard, someone sprinted away across the far side of the avenue. Rahl did not follow him.

When he neared the Nylan Merchant Association, he could tell that Eneld’s cantina was still open, as much as from the boisterous voices as from the mixed odors of melted cheeses and fried meats.

…sailors are a fearsome lot but never fear,

A sailor’s gone so much he’s never here…

Laughter greeted the last line of the song.

Rahl shook his head. Even from across the boulevard, he could feel the diffuse white chaos, far stronger than the last time he had passed by, but he walked farther to the west before crossing the street, using a passing carriage as partial cover, and then headed back eastward.

From a good fifty cubits away, Rahl could see that the warehouse gates to the Merchant Association were shut. He could also sense two guards, and possibly three, stationed in the courtyard near the gates. While the warehouse doors were also closed, Rahl felt that there were more than a few people inside.

Before reaching the ironwork gates, Rahl raised his light shield, and then began to climb the brick wall, carefully, and as quietly as possible. Just before the top, his left trouser leg caught on a projection or a rough brick, and he almost lost his balance and nearly tumbled backward. Breathing heavily, he hung on and lowered his leg, eventually working it free and creeping upward. At the top, he peered over, but did not see or sense anyone nearby.

Climbing down was almost as difficult, because he did not wish to land hard enough to alert the guards. He finally stood in the shadowed corner between the warehouse and the outer wall, dropping the light shield and using his order-senses to survey the courtyard.

Two guards watched the gates, and three men were harnessing a team before the stables under a single lantern. Across the courtyard, the door to the Association building was open. As Rahl watched, two other men each carried two large buckets inside, then returned almost immediately with their buckets clearly lighter, only to fill them from the barrel set just outside the door. From what Rahl could discern, both men were Jeranyi.

He had to hurry, and he had no time to return to the mage-guard station. Girding his light shield around him, he moved quickly along the front of the first warehouse until he came to the door. He paused for a moment. There had been no light from the quarters above, and he didn’t sense any life there, and there should have been. Yasnela never left the quarters in the evening in the middle of an eightday, and Daelyt never left her. Rahl’s lips tightened.

The warehouse door was latched from the inside, but he could smell vinegar, an odor so powerful that it forced its way out through the narrow crack between the sliding doors. Rahl took another step, and his boot skidded off a rope that ran between the doors on the stone. He staggered but caught his balance.

His truncheon was too wide, but his small belt knife might be thin enough to reach the latch through the crack and lever it up. He eased the knife from his belt and slipped it between the timbered edges of the two doors. The tip just barely reached the metal latch bar, but skittered off the metal.

Could he somehow lengthen the end of the blade with order?

Rahl concentrated on that, but either the order-extension wasn’t long enough or strong enough because the blade tip still skittered off the iron. Then he placed the blade tip against the latch lever or plate, concentrating on linking the two with order, and slowly sliding the blade upward.

The latch unlocked with a muffled clunk.

Rahl froze for a moment, certain that someone must have heard, so loud had the sound appeared to him. But the men harnessing the wagon teams didn’t even look up. After a moment, Rahl slowly eased the doors apart, just wide enough for him to slip into the dark warehouse. He managed to avoid the rope as well. Quiet as he tried to be, his soft footsteps echoed slightly.

Even with his night vision, it was difficult to make out much in the dark space before him, but he used both vision and order-senses to survey the warehouse quickly. He did so a second time because all the racks were empty, and except for a row of barrels near the door, there were no signs of any goods anywhere. Not any goods…not a single barrel, bale, or crate. Not even a single amphora.

Why was it totally empty?

When he turned his attention away from the storage area, he realized there was a figure lying on the stone floor beside the barrels. Rahl stepped closer. The dead man was Chenaryl, and his body lay sprawled on his back. His throat had been cut. Rahl glanced upward. How many had the Jeranyi killed beside Chenaryl, Daelyt, and Yasnela? He paused only for a moment. He didn’t have time to dwell on that, nor did he want to. Not now.

Nine barrels beyond the body stood on their ends, the heads removed. The tenth smelled of vinegar and a long rope led away from it, the one that ran to the doors. Rahl inspected the nine quickly. All were marked as containing Feyn River pickles, but the staves inside were dry. One held a scrap of cloth caught between the edges of two staves.

He nodded. The barrels had held Jeranyi, but why had they wanted such concealment? The tenth held cammabark-the rope was a long fuse. He didn’t have the answers as to why the warehouse was empty or why Jeranyi wanted to fire the Merchant Association compound, and he wouldn’t find them in an empty warehouse.

Rahl slipped out through the narrow opening in the doors and, once more under the concealment of his light shield, made his way toward the rear warehouse. He slowed and flattened himself against the rough stone wall in the alcove between the two warehouses as he sensed Jeranyi carrying wooden buckets with covered tops through the open doors of the second warehouse to the two wagons waiting in front of the stables where the teams were being hitched.

“Move it!” hissed someone. “Think we got all night?”

“You took your time with that woman upstairs…”

Rahl pushed away the sickening feeling.

“Keep the buckets away from the lanterns!” snapped another voice in a sibilant order.

At that, Rahl remembered what he’d been told about cammabark-that it was even more unstable than black powder and no longer used in most places, especially in munitions and explosives, because the slightest spark could set it off. For all that, he edged forward, concerned about quiet, and around the front corner and toward the warehouse doors.

As Rahl eased toward the doors, he listened, struggling to understand the thick Jeranyi accent of a language that seemed half Low Temple and half Hamorian.

“Zebal…your group hits the warehouses to the southeast. Make sure the first one goes up with double the bark. That’ll get everyone moving that way. Then get as many others as you can. You know how to get back to the ships. After places start going up in flames, no one’s going to question sailors hurrying back to get their ships clear of the harbor.”

Rahl just stood there for a moment, less than ten cubits from the open warehouse doors. Once the Jeranyi left the Merchant Association warehouse, no one could act in time-except him, and there were almost a score of Jeranyi in a courtyard lit by a single lantern.

At that moment, Taryl’s caution flashed into his mind-don’t use your abilities to break the laws trying to set things right. But…if he didn’t…

“That’s it!” came a voice from within the warehouse. “Last bucket’s coming out, except for what we’re leaving.”

Rahl moved forward, using his senses to determine how many Jeranyi remained in the warehouse. There were two.

Holding the light shield in place, he slipped inside, letting the sailor with the bucket pass him. Then he moved toward the heavyset figure who had affixed the fuse to the last barrel.

Rahl slammed the truncheon across the other’s temple, using both order and force. The sailor hit the stone like a heavy flour sack, and Rahl expanded the light shield to cover them both. The sailor with the bucket glanced back, trying to see into the dimness, then turned and continued out the door.

Rahl hurried after him, catching the man five paces outside the warehouse. Holding his light shield tight around himself, he struck again with the heavy truncheon and cloaked them both with the shield.

The heavy wooden bucket clunked on the stone. The sound of the sailor’s fall was more like a scraping muffled thud.

“Where’s Boreat? He was just here.”

“Check the warehouse. Make it quick.”

Rahl jammed the truncheon into its holder and ran toward the lantern hanging on the outside bracket. When he lifted it, the outcry was immediate.

“Who doused the lantern?”

“Arms out!”

Rahl forced himself to walk back to the bucket, still sitting on the stone. Then he pulled out the lantern’s reservoir plug and carried both lantern and bucket to the nearest wagon. Between hauling the bucket even that short distance one-handed, avoiding the sailors who could not see him, and holding the light shield, he was beginning to feel light-headed. He set the bucket on the tailgate, then began to pour the lamp oil into the bucket, leaving a trail to the side of the tailgate where he puddled more. Then he wicked up the lamp and smashed the mantle against the side of the wagon. Flames licked up.

Rahl sprinted the twenty cubits to the stone wall at the rear of the courtyard, hurling himself over the rear wall, coming down so hard on the alleyway pavement that arrows of pain shot from his boots up through his legs. He dropped the light shield at the impact.

Two figures in gray looked at him, and one raised a crooked staff, then saw the mage-guard uniform and backed away.

Another Jeranyi tumbled over the wall and started to run.

Rahl threw up full shields and dropped to the base of the wall.

CRUMMPTTT!

Even within his shields, Rahl found himself being shaken. Stones and assorted other debris slammed against him, rattling him back and forth even more.

When the ground stopped trembling and objects stopped pelting him, Rahl staggered up, still holding his main shields, but not his light shield, because he could sense the inferno behind the remnants of the stone wall. He wanted to hurry away from the blazing heat, but had to make deliberate haste, given the scattering of stones and chunks of flaming roofing and wagons and other less attractive items.

At the end of the alley, he turned northward, moving at almost a run. Another explosion echoed through the night. Rahl thought that was most likely one of the warehouses…or the other wagon. A third explosion followed, and then a fourth, the last most likely the main Merchant Association building. Most of Swartheld was built of stone and tile. Rahl just hoped that would restrict the spread of fire, but the low clouds just east of him and overhead were beginning to turn a faint ruddy red.

Rahl forced himself to walk, quickly, but to walk.

A long whistle, with three short blasts, sounded. Bells began to clang. Because of the heat and falling flaming debris, Rahl had to go farther north to get on the avenue back to the harbor. He could only hope that those in Eneld’s cantina had survived and that not too many others were hurt, but what else could he have done?

As he neared the pier-guard station, Rahl could sense Suvynt’s agitation.

Rahl looked back once more. To the southwest, a low flickering of orange marked where the Nylan Merchant Association had been. Then he frowned. Why would Suvynt be so agitated?

Rahl used the light shield and the wall to get past the duty mage-guard, glad that most of the chaos-mages weren’t nearly so good with order-sensing.

Once he was near the mage-guard station, Rahl released the light shield and sat down on a shadowed bench near the tariff enumerators’ building. He just had to rest for a moment…and think.

No one would know what he had done-not until the captain returned and questioned him, and then he’d be in more than a little trouble. But what else could he have done? Better that the Nylan Merchant Association went up in flames than a half score or more of other trading houses.

The other question was what else could he do? What should he do?

He shook his head, then stood and walked toward the mage-guard station. He just hoped that the captain had returned.

The duty area in the mage-guard station held only the duty mage-guard, who looked up as Rahl entered.

“Has the captain returned yet, Nyhart?”

“No. No one’s seen him. Even the undercaptain was looking for him. Suvynt sent word that there’s a huge fire somewhere in the merchant area. Have you seen it?”

“You can see the flames from the piers,” Rahl admitted.

“The captain might be at the city station,” suggested Nyhart.

Behind Rahl, the main door opened. Both mage-guards turned as Undercaptain Craelyt strode into the building.

“Nyhart…see who’s available to strengthen the watches on the pier-guard station and have them report to me there,” ordered Craelyt. “You can leave the desk for a while. Get one of the mage-clerks to act as a messenger.”

“Yes, ser.”

“Rahl, you come with me.”

“Yes, ser.”

Craelyt turned and headed out, clearly expecting Rahl to catch up with him.

Rahl had almost to run for several steps before he drew abreast of the swiftly walking undercaptain.

Craelyt was taking the shorter-and darker-way to the pier-guard station, the one on the south side of the mage-guard building, where there were no lights and little beside refuse bins, pavement and the stone wall that separated the harbor and mage-guard buildings from the warehouses and other commercial establishments farther to the south.

“So…where have you been this evening, Rahl? You left the mess before I could find you.” Craelyt’s voice was almost jovial, but Rahl could sense the buildup of chaos around the undercaptain.

What could Rahl do? He still didn’t know where the captain was, or how exactly the Jeranyi and Shyret had been connected. “Where is the captain, ser?”

“He seems not to be around. It could be that he’s at the other station with all the trouble they’re having. That’s not your concern. Your concern ought to be following orders, and it’s clear that you haven’t been.”

Although Craelyt had not said anything incriminating, there was no one with him, and that alone suggested to Rahl that all was not as it should be.

“Ser? Exactly how have I not been following orders? I’ve been exactly where I’ve been ordered to be. I’ve been tested for my arms skills, and I’ve stood duties under instruction.”

Craelyt stopped and turned, facing Rahl. “You were told not to snoop around the Nylan Merchant Association. You kept doing that. You were told to report to the captain. You didn’t. Those failures alone are enough to send you to Highpoint, if not worse.”

“There wasn’t anything to report, ser.” Not until today, Rahl added to himself. “I never even entered the Nylan Merchant Association building, and I’ve never seen or talked to anyone who I worked with or talked to.” All that was certainly true.

“You know, Rahl, you’re one of those types I dislike. You follow the letter of the rules and ignore their spirit. That’s as much insubordination as outright disobedience.”

Rahl tried again. “It’s not against the Codex or the Manual, ser, to walk the streets of Swartheld and to try to recall the memories someone stole from you.”

Craelyt smiled, coolly. “Always blaming someone else, aren’t you. They stole your memories. Why can’t you admit that you forgot? They wouldn’t explain things so that you could understand, but you never made any real effort. They insisted that you take responsibility for your actions, and you just accused them of failing to understand. I know your type, always blaming others. It’s too bad you never could really control your abilities, Rahl. You’d never be more than a half mage, if that. You know, the magisters on Recluce were right to exile you. You’re the kind that always wants someone else to explain. You’ve never really worked that hard. Taryl was wrong. He always is.”

Rahl could feel the rage surging through him. Just who was Craelyt to make such statements? He certainly hadn’t been a loader in Luba.

“The mage-guards don’t need whiners like you.”

Whhhstt!

The force of the fire-bolt threw Rahl backward, almost into the wall. He staggered, both at the force of the chaos-bolt, and at the suddenness.

Whhsst!

Rahl’s shields barely held back the second blow. Why was he having such trouble? Craelyt’s chaos-bolts weren’t that strong. He dodged to one side, behind a stone refuse bin.

“Coward. You always were.”

For a moment, Rahl’s rage surged. Then he swallowed. Anger! That had been what Craelyt was doing. Taunting Rahl enough to get him angry without Rahl’s totally realizing it so as to weaken him. The chill of that realization drained away all fury, and Rahl concentrated on feeling everything around him, letting himself take in the order that was everywhere.

Whhsstt!

Chaos splashed around Rahl, but with his shields gaining strength every moment, he stepped out from behind the stone and walked toward the undercaptain.

For the first time, Rahl caught a sense of uncertainty as he approached the other man, but Craelyt barely hesitated as he drew the shimmering falchiona. Rahl quickly pulled out his truncheon.

“Exercise rooms are for boasting. Let’s see how you are when it counts, whiner.” The undercaptain’s blade flashed toward Rahl.

Rahl slid the heavy blade away, twisting the truncheon just slightly so that the falchiona’s edge would not bite into the dark oak and catch, then used an upward stroke to knock the undercaptain’s blade away.

Whsstt!

The chaos sleeted away from Rahl’s shields, and Rahl moved forward, again deflecting the falchiona, this time downward.

Craelyt went into a crouch for an instant in order to keep control of his weapon.

Rahl slammed the truncheon down on top of the heavy blade, then stepped on it. Without hesitation, he let order flow into the truncheon as he slammed the truncheon into the side of Craelyt’s face. The order flow staggered the undercaptain just enough that he hesitated, if fractionally, as he dropped the falchiona and lunged toward Rahl with a long dagger.

Rahl swung to the side and brought the truncheon down on Craelyt’s forearm.

With the snap of bone, the undercaptain paled, but he mustered enough chaos to fling more at Rahl, enough to stop Rahl for an instant. Craelyt swayed on his feet, and Rahl struck-this time across the undercaptain’s temple. Even before the older mage-guard’s body toppled toward the stone pavement, it began to disintegrate.

Rahl’s mouth dropped open. Had the undercaptain been that imbued with chaos?

After the moment or so it took Rahl to compose himself, he looked down where Craelyt had fallen; but there was little enough left of the undercaptain but his falchiona and a few other metal items. Rahl left them, backing away, and hurrying to the pier-guard station.

Now…what could he do? The captain was missing, the undercaptain dead at his own hand, and Rahl had no idea whom to trust among the senior mages-or who was even around of the few he thought he might be able to trust.

As Rahl hurried toward the pier gates, Suvynt turned and took several quick steps toward the junior mage-guard. “Rahl! What’s happening?”

“There’s a big fire in Swartheld. The undercaptain ordered Nyhart to gather up the available mage-guards and send them out here. He wanted to put more patrols on the piers and to back you up. I came ahead, but he was supposed to be right behind me.” Rahl glanced back over his shoulder.

“He’ll be here, then.”

Rahl looked toward Swartheld. From what he could tell, the fire didn’t seem to be spreading. He sincerely hoped not.

After a time, he looked to Suvynt. “Did the undercaptain send anyone out before me to patrol the piers?”

“No.”

“I’d better start that. Tell the undercaptain that’s where I am.”

“Are you sure?”

“That’s what he said he wanted done. There should be more mage-guards coming, but I’m not a chaos-mage, and there should be at least one of you here.”

“True enough.” Suvynt nodded.

“I’m going to check pier two, where the Jeranyi ships are. If anyone had anything to do with that fire, they might have.” Rahl turned and walked swiftly toward the base of pier two, not waiting for any response from Suvynt.

One of the Jeranyi vessels was already moving away from the pier, her concealed gun ports uncovered. The other had two guards at the foot of the gangway, and another pair on the quarterdeck. The vessel still reeked of whitish chaos.

As he neared the ship, but far enough back so he could not be seen clearly, he once more raised the light shield and used his order-senses to make his way toward the guards, angling in from the side. Then he used the truncheon to tap one on the calf.

“What…” The guard jumped.

“I didn’t see anything,” answered the other sailor. “Stop being so jumpy…”

“…feels like someone’s here…”

“…imagining things…”

Rahl slipped behind the two and eased his way up the gangway, moving slowly so that his weight did not flex the gangway. Just short of the opening where a section of the railing was swung back, he slipped onto the railing and moved aft along the narrow flattop for close to five cubits before setting his boots on the deck.

“…wish they’d get back…” came from one of the quarterdeck guards.

“…you can see one fire…”

“…thought there should be more…”

A long hiss of steam issued from the stack above the superstructure and aft of Rahl, confirming his suspicions that, despite the quiet appearance, the ship was ready to steam at any moment.

He moved silently across the deck toward an open hatchway, then, sensing no one in the darkness inside, entered. He tried to sense the chaos of powder or cammabark, but within the iron of the vessel, his order-senses were more limited. Another passageway intersected the one he had taken, and it headed aft. Rahl followed it to a ladder leading down. At the base of the ladder, the sense of chaos was stronger…and someone was headed his way.

Holding the light shield tightly around himself, Rahl flattened himself against the bulkhead. The crewman turned his head from side to side, paused, but then continued forward past Rahl, so close that Rahl could feel the faint breeze of his passing. At the next passageway, Rahl turned outboard. After less than ten cubits he stepped through a hatch into a gun bay.

Directly to his right was a heavy cannon. Set inboard and to the left of the cannon was a metal powder locker. Since he could sense no one nearby at the moment, Rahl released his light shield and looked around the gun bays, lit by a single safety lantern set within a metal bracket on the inboard bulkhead. Aft of him was another cannon, also with a locker. There was another cannon forward, but all the lockers were secured with heavy padlocks.

What could he do?

He could hear the massive steam engines beginning to turn over. The Jeranyi captain wasn’t about to wait much longer, and then crewmen would appear to man the guns.

He glanced to the lantern, then walked over to it. He couldn’t duplicate what he’d done at the warehouses, but there just might be another way. He didn’t try to think about it-thinking wasn’t the way for him to handle order. He just slid the retaining clips out, and lifted the lantern, carrying it and setting it down directly beside the powder locker. There, he turned up the wick, adjusting it for the most heat possible.

He studied the heavy lock, then attempted to use order to manipulate the tumblers inside.

Sweat was pouring down his face before he could open the lock and lift the locker lid, propping it open with the attached lever.

He repeated the process with the nearest two other lockers before returning to the first locker and the lantern, where he used his belt knife to help rip and cut a strip of cloth from his undershirt. He sheathed the knife and then pulled the filler plug from the lantern, then threaded the strip of cloth into the reservoir until he held just one end. Next he pulled the cloth from the reservoir and twisted it into a makeshift wick.

He lifted the lantern and held it over the powder bags in the locker, tilting it so that lamp oil fell on the bags, puddling slightly in one spot. He set the lamp on the powder bag next to the oil that was already sinking into the cloth. Then he ran his makeshift wick from the puddle to the reservoir and then up to the top of the lamp mantle, poking it just inside the mantle. Quickly, he wicked up the lamp and turned. While the passageway through the hatch was empty, he decided on caution and raised his light shield, even as he began to move at almost a run.

At the base of the ladder topside, he slammed into a crewman. As the sailor staggered back, Rahl scrambled up the ladder and along the upper passageway, and then out onto the main deck.

“Lines away! All hands to battle stations! All hands to battle stations!”

Behind him, Rahl could sense that his impromptu fuse was burning too fast. The gangway had been lifted, and even if he could jump to the pier, the pier was so wide he wouldn’t be able to reach the far side in time, and he’d be fully exposed to the blast or fire…or both. Yet the ship was so close to the pier that he might well get crushed between the hull and the solid stone wharf wall.

He tried to hurry aft, unseen, trying to follow one sailor, and then another.

“There’s a mage-guard on board…on the main deck aft!”

A whitish powder exploded, and Rahl kept hurrying along the railing, although he could sense that he was covered with something. He dropped the light shield and discovered he was covered with a luminescent powder, like glowing flour.

“There!”

“Get him!”

Rahl flung himself over the railing, scraping against the hull as he fell. He could barely swim, but he didn’t have much choice. The water was chill, despite the warmth of the air, and his entire body spasmed as he plunged under the surface.

A muffled explosion pressed the water around him, and momentary knives stabbed into his ears. Then both subsided, and he struggled to reach the surface.

Flame was everywhere, and he ducked back under the water, trying to struggle away from the ship. He kept paddling until he reached the smooth stone wall of the pier, which he could barely grasp, and pulled himself up just enough to get another breath before using his fingers to push himself under the water toward the base of the pier.

Another quick breath, and he ducked underwater and tried to keep moving toward the shore. He was so light-headed, but he couldn’t give up, not yet. Pull and breathe, and duck, and pull and breathe and duck…pull and breathe…

The water was so deep he couldn’t feel or sense bottom, and he had to keep half-swimming, half-pulling himself toward the base of the pier.

Finally, he was well clear of the flaming hulk that had been a ship, but there was no way he was going to be able to make his way much farther, especially since another vessel was tied up before him, with frantic activity on its deck. Stars pinwheeled across his vision, points of intolerable light and pain.

“There’s someone in the water!”

“It’s Rahl! I knew he was down here…”

“How did he…?”

“The blast must have thrown him into the water.”

“…have to get him out…”

“…not that far from the ladder…”

Rahl strained, trying to find the ladder, and finally seeing the niches carved into the stone, and the iron railing beside them. Slowly, so slowly, he tugged himself to it.

His fingers were raw, and he could hardly grasp the rough iron of the ancient railing. Somehow he managed to get his boots onto one niche, then another…

Hands pulled him up the last steps, and hot darkness swept over him.