L. Modesitt - Natural Ordermage

“Captain…undercaptain?” Rahl croaked.

“No one can find the captain. We think that he might have been killed by the blast on the Jeranyi ship. Someone killed the undercaptain. At least, it looks that way. All we could find were his blade and boots, and insignia and parts of his cap and uniform. It looks like a Jeranyi plot. You were just lucky.”

“Who takes over…in charge?”

“The regional commander is running things, but Jyrolt and someone from Luba are coming as well. The Jeranyi were up to more than what anyone knows happened, so far, anyway, but no one’s quite sure what happened. They think it might be tied into the rebellion in Merowey.”

“Rebellion…” Rahl tried to remember. He had known something about that, about the Emperor’s brother being behind it. How could that be tied to the Jeranyi? He didn’t know, and it was still hard to think, and his face burned, and his breathing was labored.

“You don’t have much order left in you, Rahl, but you should be all right before long.” Hewart lifted a mug of something. “Heavy beer. It’ll help a lot.”

Rahl had to swallow slowly, and his throat was more than a little sore, but he got all the beer down.

“Good.” Hewart smiled. “Now you need to rest.”

Questions swirled around in Rahl’s head, but before he could ask any more, the hot darkness rose and swallowed him once again.

The heat and fever continued, and Rahl drifted in and out of it for several days. The words and phrases echoing through his head became fewer, but the dreams more vivid-if scenes from his past were truly dreams, particularly those involving Puvort and Kadara. The dream-scenes were seldom pleasant. Even the dreams of Deybri included the time she had chastised him for trying to shield himself against nonexistent chaos in learning how to handle the falchiona.

In time, he did wake from the fever, on oneday morning, according to Hewart, who had hovered over him and clearly had some ability as a healer.

“Have I just lain here the whole time?”

“Hardly…you’ve eaten and washed and talked, but you weren’t really here,” replied Hewart. “You had as much of an order-loss fever as a real one, and there was some wound chaos in your throat and lungs. That was probably from being so close to the Jeranyi ship that caught fire and exploded. You talked some.”

“Ah…” Did he really want to know what he’d said? “What did I say?”

“Most of it didn’t make too much sense, especially at first when you mostly muttered and whispered, but you did keep saying that you tried to find the captain and tell him, and something about the Jeranyi getting caught in the fire of the Nylan Merchant place, but that made sense, because that was where the big fire happened.” Hewart looked embarrassed. “Did you have a girl named Deybri? You kept saying her name.”

“She’s a healer, but she was never my girl. I wish she were,” Rahl admitted.

“Rahl…what happened on the pier? Do you remember?”

How much should he say? Rahl took another swallow of the beer in the mug on the table beside the bed before answering. “I thought one of the concealed guns on the pier side of the ship exploded, and then there were more explosions. I felt like the whole ship would explode and there was nowhere to go. So I jumped into the harbor.” All that was true, if hardly complete.

“That was smart. It probably saved your life. Did you see the captain?”

Rahl shook his head. “I was looking for him, but I never saw him.”

Hewart looked to the infirmary door. “There are some important mage-guards here who need to talk to you. They’ve been waiting.”

Rahl could feel a chill go all the way through him. “Who?”

“The regional commander, Jyrolt, and a mage-guard from Luba named Taryl. I never heard of him, but both the others defer to him, and I never saw a regional commander ever defer to anyone except the Emperor, the over-commander, or the Triad.”

“I heard that he was once part of the Triad.” Rahl just hoped Taryl would understand and could help. Otherwise, he was likely headed for Highpoint or Luba, if not worse.

“Oh…” Hewart looked to the infirmary door as it opened. “I think they’re here.” He moved away from Rahl’s bed.

Taryl was the first one into the room, and he merely looked at Hewart, who immediately stepped back, then departed after Jyrolt and a third mage-guard entered.

“Rahl,” began Taryl, “you know Jyrolt, and this is Regional Mage-Commander Chaslyk.”

“Ser…” Rahl inclined his head to the tall and muscular figure, whose black eyes, olive skin, and angular face created a physically commanding presence. Even so, Taryl dominated the room.

“I have this feeling,” said Taryl, a slight smile upon his face as he looked at Rahl, “that you know far more than you’ve said about the situation here in Swartheld.”

Rahl noted that Jyrolt felt more than a little nervous. Chaslyk, despite shields at least as tight as Craelyt’s had been, was both concerned and angry.

“Before we begin, however,” Taryl added, “I’d like you to tell me honestly what you think each of us is feeling.”

Rahl didn’t want to, but Taryl had saved his life, and he owed the older mage-guard. After a brief hesitation, he said, “Yes, ser. You’re somewhat amused. Mage-Examiner Jyrolt is nervous and worried, and Regional Mage-Commander Chaslyk, behind his shields, is angry and most concerned.”

Chaslyk’s concern grew more intense.

“Do you know why I asked that question?” Taryl was still smiling.

“I don’t know, ser, but I would guess it might have something to do with Undercaptain Craelyt.”

“What happened to him?” Chaslyk’s voice was cold. “Did you have anything to do with his death?”

“Commander.” The coolness in Taryl’s one-word address froze the senior officer. “I think we need to hear what happened from the beginning. Then you can address specific questions to the mage-guard. If you would, Rahl…”

“Yes, ser.” Rahl cleared his throat. “It began even before I was drugged and sent to Luba. That was when I smelled the vinegar in the Nylan Merchant Association warehouse and saw the barrels of Feyn River pickles…”

“Pickles?” murmured Chaslyk.

Rahl paused, and Taryl looked at Chaslyk. Chaslyk, seething beneath his shields, closed his mouth.

“There was no reason to ship pickles…” Rahl went on to explain how he’d ended up in Luba, been discovered and trained, returned as a junior mage-guard to Swartheld, and then how he’d been reminded of the pickles and discovered the link between the pickles and the Jeranyi, and what had happened afterward. The only thing he omitted was his killing of Asmyd, the mage-guard who had tried to kill him back when he’d been a clerk. “…and when the ship was about to explode, I jumped in the harbor.”

“Why didn’t you tell anyone?” asked Chaslyk.

“I did, ser. I told Captain Gheryk that I thought there was a tie between the Jeranyi and Shyret as soon as I figured that out; but I didn’t know what it was except that they were shipping barrels marked as pickles, and that didn’t make sense. I probably should have recalled earlier that cammabark was always shipped damp in vinegar, but I just didn’t. He told me that was something serious and not to snoop around more, and that he’d take care of it. I didn’t snoop any more, but when I saw the three Jeranyi ships and all those pickle barrels headed for the Merchant Association warehouse, I realized that there might be a terrible problem, and I went looking for the captain. I never found him, and the undercaptain wasn’t there, either, or I would have reported what I discovered to him. But when I couldn’t find either one, after what had happened with the attack on the pier-guard station and the strange way Caersyn acted, I didn’t know who I could go to.”