L. Modesitt - Mage-Guard of Hamor

"Why do they use sabres, instead of falchionas?"

"In combat, except in the hands of a master blade or someone trained as a mage-guard, falchionas can be as much a danger to the wielder as the opponent. They're also much heavier. That means most lose their effectiveness sooner in a pitched battle."

"Is the Third Mounted Heavy Infantry onboard the Fyrador?" If Captain Drakeyt were on the steamer, Rahl might as well meet him before they reached Kysha.

"No. They're already in Kysha, and they'll be setting out almost as soon as we disembark. They've been part of the force protecting the city. They're ready to go. The heavy mounted companies on the steamers will need several days before their mounts are ready."

"Then I'll be setting out fairly soon."

"Yes." Taryl smiled. "And if you want to post a letter to your healer, you ought to write it and have it ready to go before we reach Kysha. The Fyrador can carry it back. After that, it could take eightdays for anything you write to get back as far as Kysha."

"Is there someone on the ship…?"

"All river vessels have dispatch clerks. Just ask."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome." Taryl paused, then added, "Oh… I also have something for you. It's with my gear. I meant to give it to you earlier. It's a black-oak truncheon that's about the length of a cavalry sabre. It might take a little getting used to, but that shouldn't be hard for you."

Rahl suspected that learning to ride well would be far harder than adjusting to a longer truncheon.

By midmorning on sevenday, Rahl was more than ready to get off the Fyrador. There was little enough to do on the river steamer, besides read the dispatches and keep checking the vessel for any chaos that showed up out of place-which was almost none. He had written several pages of a letter to Deybri, mostly telling her about what he had seen along the river, but he had decided not to finish it or seal it until they had almost arrived in Kysha.

The river had narrowed considerably, so that it was only about two hundred cubits wide, and the river steamer had to follow a narrower channel, marked with yellow-and-maroon buoys. The lands beyond the banks-when he could see over the low hills that bordered the river-were also hilly and mostly covered in browning grasses. On the hillside to the west, half a kay or so ahead was a stand of trees, certainly no more than a half kay in length on the side that fronted the river, and not much more than that in depth.

Rahl didn't recognize the trees, but there was something about them that bothered him. He turned and started forward to find Taryl.

At that moment, a column of water exploded skyward from the water less than fifty cubits from the midships area of the port side of the ship. Three short blasts of the whistle followed, and the ship swung starboard, as if the captain were going to run her aground.

"Cannon!"

Taryl scrambled out of the midships hatch and glanced around.

"It's coming from the trees, I think!" Rahl pointed toward the grove.

Taryl turned. "Can you tell how many men are there?"

Rahl tried to extend his order-senses, but he had trouble reaching that far. Still…

"How many?"

"I can't tell exact numbers, but probably not more than thirty, maybe only a score."

"Good!" Taryl turned and hurried forward.

Another column of water spouted, this time within a handful of cubits of the steamer, but still on the port side.

Three more whistle blasts followed. Rahl could tell that the steamer was heading for the shore. What he couldn't understand was why.

"Shore force! Ready on the bow! Shore force!"

Belatedly, Rahl moved forward. Troopers were forming up on the lower forward deck. He could see two distinct groups-archers and footmen. Taryl had just finished talking to a grizzled captain.

Already the Fyrador was nearing the shore, and from what Rahl could tell, the steamer would ground almost below the trees.

Suddenly, he sensed… something… and threw up full shields.

CRUMMPTT!

Rahl found himself being flung backwards and sliding along the railing, then bouncing against a bulkhead. Stars flashed in front of his eyes as he staggered to his feet.

The pilothouse and the front part of the crew deck was a shattered mass of wood, but the steamer stayed on course toward the shore, except he didn't hear the thumping of the paddle wheel. He glanced aft. It was almost still. Then, within less than a hundred cubits of where Rahl thought they would ground, it began to turn-in reverse, slowly at first, and then building speed.

Rahl grabbed the railing.

There was a lurching grinding and a long shudder as the steamer grounded.

After hurrying farther forward, Rahl was able to see that a bow ramp had been lowered and almost a company of infantry was charging uphill. The archers loosed wave after wave of arrows.

Another spout of water erupted, but it was a good fifty cubits out into the river.

Rahl tried to concentrate on finding where the rebels were, now that he was closer.

"Rahl!" yelled Taryl.

"Most of them are in a small clearing at the south end… a hundred cubits back on a rise!" Rahl bellowed back.

Taryl turned and relayed the directions to the archer captain, then to a messenger who sprinted down the ramp and through the knee-deep muddy water.

Another cannonball slammed into the water just off the bow of the Fyrador, close enough that spray rained down on the port side of the bow.

The shore force had vanished into the trees, and Rahl keep trying to sense what he could not see, occasionally glancing down at the forward main deck where Taryl stood, with two messengers. Beside him, another company was forming up.

Then an explosion and a font of flame rose from where the attackers had been, followed by the reddish white chaos and emptiness of death. Rahl guessed that the attackers had set off the remaining powder when the shore force had neared.

There were no more cannon splashes in the water, or impacts elsewhere, and another company of troopers followed the shore force into the trees. Rahl could sense the continuing chaos emanating from the trees as the number of dead and wounded mounted.

Then, as midday approached, that diminished, and the troopers from the second force returned to the Fyrador. Most looked unwounded.

Rahl could sense no more deaths, and he walked aft until he could see the channel downstream. The other four steamers had clearly backed down, awaiting the outcome of the skirmish on the shore.

Once the wounded started returning, Rahl made his way down to the main deck, where they were being treated by the healers-not order-healers, but those trained in dealing with wounds without using order or chaos. Remembering what he had learned from both Deybri and Majer Xerya, Rahl used his limited healing skills only where necessary, and applied as little order as was required. Even so, he had to retire from the area of the bow used as an infirmary after doing what he could for only about a score of troopers.

He managed to get some bread and cold mutton from the mess. Eating that eliminated the light-headedness, but he could still feel that he couldn't do much more order-work until he had rested more.

In midafternoon, Taryl found him sitting on a bench on the upper deck. "Majer Chevaryn said that you helped the healers for a while."

"I tried to be careful, but…" Rahl shrugged. "After about a score of them, I couldn't do any more."

"That score are fortunate, and I told the majer that. Most mage-guards don't have your abilities there, and true healers are in short supply. Majer Xerya and two of her assistant healers will be taking the next convoy to Kysha, but three healers for a force of more than ten thousand…" Taryl shook his head.