L. Modesitt - Mage-Guard of Hamor

"There was no way to stop him? I find that hard to believe."

"There may have been, but I saw no other way at the time."

"No other way? Are you so blind as to think that each situation has but a single possible resolution…"

The questions and insinuations seemed to go on forever.

Then, abruptly, they stopped.

"Raise any shields you require to defend yourself against a chaos-attack."

Rahl did so.

A moderately strong bolt of chaos flared against Rahl's shields, then a stronger one. At the same time order hammered at them so hard that he was almost knocked off his feet. Abruptly, the packed clay under his left foot began to disintegrate.

Rahl forced himself to check the ground on both sides, then jumped farther to left and squared his footing.

A chaos-bolt that was more light than flame seared his eyes, leaving them watering, but he sensed that something else was coming.

A dart of iron, propelled by chaos-force, slammed into his shields, and then a small ball of chaos seemed to come from it and began to unlink his shields. Rahl erected a second set of shields behind the first, then collapsed the first around the chaos-worm or — serpent.

The serpent exploded, lifting Rahl and throwing him backward. While he held his shields, he had to scramble back to his feet.

A soundless scream shivered his ears, so loudly that they rang.

He could sense fog growing between him and the two figures, almost a miniature storm of some sort, and a small jagged bolt of lightning flashed toward him. He managed to turn it away from him, although it passed through his shields.

He could sense another forming. Immediately, he used order to gather the heat from the chaos-forces used and create a hot breeze directed at the miniature storm. The storm dissolved into fog-although it was fog he could only feel and not see. Then the fog vanished under the force of his hot wind.

Then… there was silence.

Rahl tried to sense what might be coming next, but he could only feel a growing chill, an arc growing larger, an arc that was likely to surround him before long.

How was he supposed to stop chill? He couldn't generate heat from chaos the way a chaos-mage could.

How were they creating the chill?

Order. It had to be order, so structured that it was lifeless.

He could feel the heat being sucked away from him. What could he do?

Movement!

He recalled Taryl's exercises and concentrated on a patch of clay on the ground just at the inside edge of the arc, beginning to move bits of order around, tugging at the ground under the arc, then linking order. Abruptly, he realized that the arc was linked together in the same way as the black wall of Nylan, but not nearly so intricately. With a smile he began to investigate the linkages, probing their "hooks."

Light flared everywhere, and Rahl was flung backward. His shields cushioned him somewhat as he was shoved into the stone wall beside the door, but he had to take several gasping breaths.

He thought the explosion had knocked down both other figures, but by the time he could gather himself together, they were apparently standing where they had been.

"You may go, Mage-Guard." The words were cool but not cold, impersonal but not mocking or indifferent.

As he stepped out into the midday sun, Rahl understood that he had been tested on the limits of his abilities and personal control. That had been obvious. Why was another question.

Taryl was waiting, standing beside the coach.

Did he look relieved or worried? Or merely disinterested? Rahl wasn't certain.

All emotion was concealed behind impenetrable shields, as Taryl said calmly, "The driver will take you back to the quarters, then return for me and the others. We will meet in the library after the evening meal. It is much smaller than the one at headquarters, but it will suffice. It appears likely that we will embark on the lead river steamer before long, but I should know more by tonight. In the meantime, I would suggest your reading the manual on tactics for cavalry and other mounted units. I took the liberty of leaving a copy on the desk in your quarters. It is yours to use and keep for as long as necessary." Taryl nodded.

Rahl returned the nod, climbed into the coach, and closed the door.

As the coach pulled away from the bunker, he tried to think about everything that had occurred. First, Taryl had pushed and pressed him to develop every possible order-ability he might possess. Second, Rahl had been introduced to some of the highest officials in Hamor and been recognized by them. Third, he had been effectively examined twice, once in arms and once in order and chaos. Fourth, Taryl had pressed him to learn what he could about healing.

All of that suggested that Taryl was preparing him for something. Was it that the overcommander had deep concerns about what awaited the forces being assembled to deal with the rebellion? Rahl didn't know, but what he did know was that Taryl was being mysterious, and the longer they had been in Cigoerne, the more mysterious he had become.

Taryl clearly didn't trust either Triad Fieryn or Triad Dhoryk, but if he didn't, why had he been recalled from Luba? Or had he asked Jubyl to be recalled? Or was something else happening?

Rahl shifted his weight on the coach seat, realizing something else. He was going to be sore and stiff.

Following Taryl's advice, Rahl returned to his quarters and began to study Mounted Tactics. Because he had ridden little and had no military experience, he read slowly, and had only gone through two long basic chapters by dinnertime. He consoled himself that the reading had taken so long because he had actually drawn out some of the simple maneuvers to be able to understand them. He did wish the manual had more diagrams.

He brought the manual down to the mess but kept it tucked inside his uniform.

At the evening meal, Rahl looked to see Taryl, but the overcommander was not seated at the seniors' table, which held but a few officers, who appeared to say little to each other. Rahl sat across from the garrulous Bertayk and another younger captain named Uhlyr. To Rahl's left was Sevala. The place to his right was empty.

"Word is that you went off in a formal coach last night with the over-commander," Bertayk said cheerfully, spearing two slices of mutton marinated in firemint. "Word also is that you went to the Imperial Palace. What's it like?"

Rahl laughed gently. "Big. The halls are wider than the mess. The columns are tall and white, and there are guards in crimson everywhere."

"How did you get that lucky?" persisted Bertayk.

"When you're the assistant to an overcommander, you go where you're told and try not to be obvious."

"Did you see the Emperor?" asked Sevala. "What does he look like?" Her interest was genuine, Rahl felt, and she was less pushy than Bertayk.

"I only saw him in passing," Rahl replied. "I'm just a mage-guard. He wore black and white and a vest of some sort. He seemed to spend a little time with each of the senior officers. Both the Land Marshal and the Sea Marshal were there."

"You were with some powerful officers," observed Uhlyr.

"I was with one powerful mage-guard overcommander," Rahl said with a smile. "I wouldn't have been there if I weren't his assistant. I'm sure all of those officers knew that." Rahl helped himself to the mutton and to the laced potatoes, breaking off a section of the thin fried bread.

"This is your first tour in Cigoerne, you said the other night," offered Sevala, after a sip of what looked to be dark ale. "How does it compare to Nylan?"

Rahl grinned, thankful for the question. "There's almost no comparison. Cigoerne is far larger, and the buildings are far taller.." He went on to describe Nylan at great length and in extreme detail. By the time he finished, so was dinner.