L. Modesitt - Mage-Guard of Hamor

Rahl understood that. He also understood why the Emperor had insisted on Taryl as overcommander, and he wouldn't have wished to be a disloyal mage-guard who fell into Taryl's hands.

After the cannon ambush on sevenday, and the delays caused by the counterattack and the interrogation of the prisoners, as well as the makeshift repairs to the Fyrador, it was late evening before the convoy resumed its progress upriver. The acting captain of the Fyrador had surrendered the lead to the Syadtar, given the awkwardness of piloting with makeshift arrangements, and Taryl had fretted the rest of the way, despite his earlier words to Rahl about the likelihood that no attacks would occur much closer to Kysha.

Rahl debated writing about the ambush in his letter to Deybri before signing and sealing it, but, in the end, only added a few words of affection-as well as the observation that the hold of the past was stronger than ever. He really didn't want to use the trite phrase that he missed her, much as he did. Then he gave it to the dispatch clerk, whose eyebrows lifted at the address-and the cost-four silvers.

The Fyrador finally steamed into the timeworn and battered timber piers at Kysha slightly before noon on oneday. The sky was gray, and the day was chill enough that Rahl wore his mage-guard cold-weather jacket, the first time that he'd needed to do so. From the upper deck, as the crew doubled up the lines, Rahl and Taryl surveyed the town, perhaps half the size of Land's End, if that.

From what Rahl could see, almost all the dwellings and buildings were of a yellowish brown brick, with gray-tile roofs, and none was of more than two stories. To the southwest, beyond Kysha, he thought he could make out areas of forest.

"How far does the forest go?" he asked Taryl.

"About halfway to Dawhut. From there on it's a mix of trees and grasslands that becomes more grass as you head southwest. It's all grasslands beyond Dawhut until you get near the coastal hills, and then you get trees again in most places."

Rahl surveyed the river piers, realizing as he did that they held only the stevedores and dockworkers-and several score armed guards stationed along a recently constructed timber fence separating the piers from the rest of the town. "They've blocked off the piers."

"That's because the local cutpurses were robbing the troopers, and the vendors on the piers were shortchanging them."

"There aren't enough mage-guards, then?"

"There never are," Taryl replied. "But with the troopers here, Kysha has more than twice as many people as it did a season ago. Fieryn doesn't want to move more mage-guards from other cities, because that will leave them shorthanded."

"And, besides," Rahl added, "you're now the Mage-Guard Overcommander of Merowey, and it's your problem."

"There might be a certain truth in that, but time will tell. We need to get to what passes for the campaign headquarters as soon as we can. Marshal Byrna's headquarters is located on the south side of Kysha, in what was the district army center. He's not here yet, and Submarshal Dettyr's in command for now."

Rahl could sense Taryl's disgust, even through the older mageguard's personal shield, but that might have been because Taryl wasn't that worried about Rahl, rather than because of any increased ability on Rahl's part.

"Most of the troops are to the west, in field bivouac." Taryl shook his head as he turned. "If the submarshal or the marshal doesn't get them moving, before long, we'll have sickness, then more sickness. It would already be a problem if it were still summer or early fall." He strode toward the ladder and the trooper who stood by all his gear.

Rahl had to scramble to pick up his kit. He didn't catch up with Taryl until they were both on the main deck. At least one company of troopers was formed up on the small forward section of the main deck, crowded together, each trooper with full gear.

Just before he stepped onto the gangway, Taryl said quietly to Rahl, "We may have to walk, and I'd suggest that you have your patrol truncheon in hand once we leave the piers."

"How far?"

"Close to a kay."

Rahl wasn't looking forward to that, but surprisingly, at least to Rahl, there was a tan wagon with a squad leader waiting at the end of the pier. "Overcommander! Here, ser!"

The trooper with Taryl's gear eased it into the back of the wagon, then climbed in with the equipment, taking Rahl's single bag and setting it alongside Taryl's. Rahl sat in the second wagon seat next to Taryl.

At the direction of a single mage-guard, two pier-guard troopers opened a turnpost gate that was little more than a long plank attached to a wheel on a vertical axle, and the squad leader guided the two drays and the wagon through the gate and into a crowd of vendors, who eased away from the horses and the wagon slowly and reluctantly.

"Make way or get run over!" called the driver.

Rahl didn't see that his words made much difference.

The first building Rahl saw on the far side of the pier road was a chandlery. The shutters and door were painted blue, but time had faded the color almost to a gray. Next to the chandlery was a tinsmith, and a thin line of gray smoke rose from the soot-covered bricks of the chimney.

At the second street into the town from the pier road, the driver turned the wagon south, and in less than four blocks, they had left the shops and trades places behind and were driving past small brick dwellings, with their gray-tile roofs. Unlike the dwellings in Swartheld or Cigoerne-or even Guasyra, the little town south of the ironworks of Luba-the dwellings were not constructed around a central courtyard but tended to have walled gardens in the rear.

Ahead, Rahl could see a compound of several brick buildings, surrounded by a brick wall little more than head high. There was no gate, just an opening in the wall to accommodate the paved lane leading into the compound.

"Headquarters just ahead, ser." The driver halted the wagon in front of a brick walkway, flanked by a scruffy knee-high hedge, that led to a two-story building, one only about forty cubits across the front and half that in depth. A narrow porch extended the entire width of the structure, its roof supported by six brick pillars. On the south side of the dying hedge was a paved area, where a group of troopers stood in loose formation, as if waiting to be mustered.

"I shouldn't be long," Taryl said as he climbed down from the wagon.

"Yes, ser."

Rahl swung down to the pavement after the overcommander, but only moved a few steps from the wagon before his attention focused on the troopers, sensing both chaos and danger from one man near the back of the score or so.

The single trooper was looking toward Taryl as the overcommander stepped onto the covered porch of the building. Then the man lifted a small crossbow.

Rahl boosted his own shields and stepped sideways to use them to block the shot, reaching for his truncheon as he moved.

Thunk!

Rahl staggered back from the impact against his shields, then straightened, and dashed toward the man who looked blankly at Rahl for several moments. Then the trooper reached for the short-sword at his belt.

Rahl's truncheon was faster, far faster, and the crunch of the iron-bound black oak told Rahl that the man wouldn't be using that arm anytime soon-even before he felt the chaos-pain from the trooper. Rahl yanked the trooper upright with his free hand. "Why did you fire that crossbow at the overcommander?"

"Don't know, ser." The words were mechanical.

"Did someone order you to shoot?"

"Don't know, ser."

Rahl could sense that the trooper truly didn't know. Then, suddenly, the man collapsed, his weight yanking the part of his uniform that Rahl had held right out of the mage-guard's hand. Rahl could sense that he wasn't dead, but why had he collapsed?