L. Modesitt - Natural Ordermage

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.