L. Modesitt - Mage-Guard of Hamor

" You did, but that won't stop Cyphryt from intimating that what did happen was a result of Fieryn's decision to make Gheryk the mage-captain in Swartheld."

"But… Craelyt did it all, and he killed Gheryk."

"Who can prove that?" asked Taryl. "When you're in command, no one cares when something bad happens even if you managed to keep far worse from occurring. In everyone's mind, it's still your fault that anything at all happened."

Rahl fell silent.

"It is most unlikely that Golyat will succeed in making Merowey independent of Hamor, but almost everyone in high circles of power-except Jubyl, the Emperor, and possibly Sea Marshal Chastyr-has an interest in fanning or prolonging the conflict." Taryl lifted and opened the satchel. "The darts that held chaos charges are exhausted, and I don't have the requisite abilities to recharge them. So you'll only have to decide which ones have quills and which needles. Block the needles."

"Ser…"

"You need practice, Rahl. Much more practice."

"Yes, ser." Rahl took a deep breath.

Fourday morning found Rahl once more walking into the arms practice area, as ordered by Taryl-after Taryl had upbraided him for not attempting to work on learning to read the weather, even though he had practiced with the iron blocks. Rahl was beginning to feel as though he couldn't do everything that Taryl required… and that he never would be able to meet those standards. He had remembered to wear an exercise jersey, though.

With Khedren was another mage-guard, one that Rahl had not met or seen before.

"Rahl, this is Elatyr. I've asked him to put you through a full workout. You'll begin with truncheon and staff, and then you'll don the plated jersey and do your best with a real, if blunted, falchiona."

Rahl inclined his head to Elatyr. "Ser."

"Let's see what you can do." Elatyr extended a practice truncheon to Rahl, then turned and walked toward the center of the chamber.

Rahl followed.

As soon as he took his position, the older mage-guard attacked, with moves nearly as fast as those employed by Khedren. Rahl was slower than he would have liked with the first parry-slide, but he immediately recovered.

After a time, Elatyr seemed to slip and falter, but Rahl sensed the ploy and feinted, as if to take the bait, then used an uppercutting back slash to disarm the other. He stepped back.

Elatyr nodded, but Rahl could sense a certain annoyance. "Let's try again."

The older mage was more cautious on the second round, but Rahl exploited an opening when Elatyr extended himself just a touch too much and managed to beat down the other's truncheon and pin it with his boot.

"Why don't you try the staff?" suggested Khedren from the side.

"We might as well," said Elatyr dryly.

Rahl stepped back and blotted his forehead. He'd had to work hard. Elatyr was almost as good as Khedren and somewhat sneakier.

Khedren appeared with a set of practice staffs and took the two truncheons.

Effectively, Rahl and Elatyr were evenly matched with the staffs, and neither managed a touch on the other. Both were sweating heavily when Khedren called a halt. Again, Rahl could sense a certain irritation behind the politeness of the older mage.

"Sit down and cool off while I get the plated jerseys," Khedren said.

Rahl walked back to the nearest bench and blotted his forehead, then leaned back and let the back of his head rest against the cooler stone of the wall.

Elatyr took the other bench but did not look in Rahl's direction.

Shortly, Khedren returned with two of the plated practice jerseys over one arm and two practice falchionas held together by a leather strap in the other hand. "Here you go." He laid one blade and one jersey on the bench beside Rahl, then carried the other to Elatyr.

Rahl straightened, then eased himself into the heavy plated practice jersey. He wasn't looking forward to what came next, not at all. Still, it would be interesting to see how effective the techniques Khedren had shown him might be. He just hoped that finding out wouldn't be too painful.

Slowly, he picked up the practice falchiona. Unlike the weighted blank with which he had practiced, the weapon felt ugly and reddish white to his order-senses. He glanced toward Elatyr, who stood waiting in the middle of the chamber. From just the way in which Elatyr handled the practice falchiona, Rahl could sense that he was very much at ease with the blade. Rahl just hoped that the plates in the jersey would prove adequate to keep him from getting too badly bruised.

He walked out to meet the other mage-guard.

"No leg cuts, now," Khedren reminded the two. "Just upper body."

Rahl nodded, then lifted the blade into guard position. Even before Elatyr moved his blade, Rahl began one of the patterns Khedren had shown him. For a moment, he sensed momentary surprise in Elatyr, but that didn't stop the other mage-guard from a feint that led to a sliding tip backcut.

Rahl's footwork kept him from having even to cross blades with Elatyr for several moments more, but before long he was having to slide and parry, in addition to circling to the side.

After that, each time their blades crossed, white lances of pain shot up his arm. He managed to avoid any direct hits, but one of Elatyr's cutting slashes angled off one of the jersey's hip plates, and Rahl staggered, then scrambled aside. He barely managed to block the next cut and beat aside the thrust that followed.

From that point on, through a haze of chaos-pain, and physical strain, Rahl had to rely on instinct and training.

"That's enough," Khedren called out loudly.

Rahl stepped back and lowered the falchiona, which he could barely even hold. He was just glad he'd survived without taking a major blow. At least, he didn't think he had.

He walked slowly toward the bench, where he set down the practice blade, glad to have it out of his hand, and slowly struggled out of the practice jersey, soaked with sweat, as was his own jersey under it. Rahl just sat on the bench. Bright flashes of light, like pointed darts, flared before his eyes, and his entire body ached.

Off to one side, a good twenty cubits away, he could see Elatyr gesturing. Despite the pain and effort it required, Rahl forced himself to extend his order-senses.

"… know he's an ordermage… can feel it… but no ordermage… do that…"

"… not gray… not a hint of white there…"

"… how could he…"

"… remember… loader in Luba… suspect he can handle more pain… look over there. He's not feeling all that good."

"… ought to be stretched out on the stone…"

"… could be, but that isn't what we were asked…"

"… approve his skills… no question there… awfully young, though…"

"… headed to Merowey…"

"That makes more sense…"

Whatever it was didn't make any more sense to Rahl, except that someone wanted someone else besides Khedren to assess his arms abilities. He just sat on the bench, trying to recover some strength. He wasn't certain how long he sat there, but he was aware that Elatyr had left and that Khedren was carrying a mug of something toward him.

"You look like you could use this." Khedren extended the mug.

Rahl sipped the heavy ale.

The armsmaster sat on the bench beside him. "You did well. Elatyr is the southeast regional armsmaster-that's in Sylpa."

"Even with everything you taught me," Rahl said slowly, "I couldn't keep him from getting through." Even after a few sips, he could tell that the ale helped, because the worst of the light flashes subsided.

"Only a few times," Khedren pointed out. "Most chaos types wouldn't have done that much better."

"They would have lasted longer," Rahl pointed out.

"Not much," replied Khedren. "You can't last longer if you've been knocked cold or you've been disarmed. Anyway, you've learned enough to stay alive for a while against a good blade. You could kill an average armsman with a falchiona if you had to."