L. Modesitt - Mage-Guard of Hamor

"Seems strange to be riding here, Alrydd." Rahl paused, then asked, "How long have you been a trooper?"

"Near on twelve years, ser. Was a butcher's apprentice in Sylpa. Figured being a trooper couldn't be any bloodier, and it'd get me out of consorting to the renderer's daughter."

"Did it?"

"Aye, yes, and that I never regretted."

Rahl could sense there were other regrets, but did not press. "I was a scrivener, and trying to avoid being consorted to a young woman led from one thing to another, and I ended up a trader's clerk in Swartheld, and then a mage-clerk in Luba."

"Women, ser… when you're with 'em, you can't do without 'em, except when you wish you could and can't."

Rahl wasn't certain he followed that line of thinking, but he laughed softly. "They can be a puzzle." Absently, he reached up and massaged the back of his neck, with his left hand. His head was already aching, and it was only midafternoon.

A low stone wall, no more than waist high, formed a neat border around a small orchard ahead on the left side of the road. With the almost-furled gray of winter leaves, Rahl couldn't tell the type of fruit trees, except that they weren't pearapple or apple.

He stiffened. Was there a hint of chaos there? He reined up the gelding and said to Alrydd, "Hold up."

The trooper complied without speaking.

"There's something about that orchard, or the wall in front of it." Rahl eased the gelding forward, but slowly, extending his order-senses.

The grass and weeds in front of the stone wall appeared and felt undisturbed, and so did the orchard, but an area a good ten or fifteen cubits wide behind the stone wall, on the end farthest north and closest to Rahl, had clearly been touched by chaos, if faintly.

"There's something here!" he called back. "Pass the word to the captain."

"Yes, ser."

Rahl inspected more closely, but still from a good ten cubits away. Loosely covered with leaves and grasses was an oblong two cubits in width and four cubits in height or depth. He guessed that it was similar to the earlier arrow traps.

He shifted his attention back to the road itself, trying to discover what mechanism the rebels had devised to set it off. There was a wide and flat space in the middle of the road, dustier than the area around it, and without any tracks across it. That had to be the cutter plate that severed the trip rope.

He turned in the saddle as the same pair of older troopers who had disassembled the first trap appeared. "The quarrel plate is behind the wall. It's fairly large." He gestured. "The spring plate is there. You can see the outline in the road. The rod is still in place. I wouldn't fiddle with it until you disarm the quarrel trap."

"No, ser. We wouldn't want to be doing that."

Rahl offered no more direction, but continued to watch as the two went to work.

What the troopers finally lifted clear of the ground between the trees and the walls was a wooden throwing plate with tubes for sixty-four quarrels, and all the tubes were filled. Once they had the plate uncovered and clear of the weighted throwing links, Rahl could sense chaos around the plate more strongly.

"There's a paste smeared on the tips," said one of the troopers.

"Poison, most likely," added Drakeyt, who had ridden up shortly before the two troopers had eased the throwing plate away from the mechanism.

Rahl almost nodded. "Why would they use poison on the quarrels?"

"To kill more of us." Drakeyt's words were dryly sardonic.

"No. The poison would still only kill a few more troopers than the quarrels without poison, but it takes more time and effort, and it's more dangerous for whoever's assembling the device."

"And it's likely to make the troopers more angry," Drakeyt added. "You're suggesting that these traps aren't being set by regular troopers or officers. They're either trying to save their troopers for actual battle, or they have something else in mind."

"Or both." Rahl had no idea what other idea might be behind the actions of the mages and crafters-it had to be a combination of both-who were setting the traps.

"That sort of treachery doesn't speak well of Golyat or those supporting him. Mythalt's been a good emperor, as emperors go," replied Drakeyt. "Why would anyone want to support someone who would poison everyday troopers? It says they don't think much of the rank and file."

"Or they think that poisoned quarrels will make the men less determined in battle."

Drakeyt shook his head. "Word about the poison gets around, and most of the troopers won't want to give quarter-especially to rebel officers."

Rahl thought it might just show the arrogance of the rebel mageguards-and that they were the ones who felt they were above rules, decency, and being accountable for what they did. His lips quirked. They were-until or unless the Imperial forces and mage-guards defeated them.

Drakeyt turned in the saddle to the two troopers breaking up the quarrel-throwing trap. "Wrap up the poisoned quarrels. We'll want to give them to the submarshal when they join forces with us."

Whenever that might be, Rahl thought.

Then the captain looked at Rahl. "From here on in toward Dawhut, we'd better check every stead and structure near the road, and all of the side lanes or roads with tracks."

"I think that's a good idea," Rahl replied. For many reasons.

On eightday and oneday, Drakeyt put his stepped-up surveillance and scouting plan into effect. On eightday, Third Company only traveled twelve kays across the low and rolling hills, scarcely more than low rises between ever-more-extensive bog meadows and the steads on the edge of each. A number of the bog meadows looked more like mining pits, stepped downward into darkness.

Oneday was a repetition of eightday, and they still found no sign of rebels, and no one who had seen any or any tracks or other traces. By late afternoon, they had begun to encounter carts and wagons heaped with bog meadow turf creaking southwest on the road.

Ahead Rahl could see another of the old kaystones. Not until he had ridden within a dozen cubits could he make out the name and distance: Fhydala — 5 k. As worn as the letters were on this, the "new" road, he had to wonder how much older the "old" road was.

The still and cold air carried a pungent odor. Rahl sniffed once, then again. He had no idea what the scent was. Even the gelding snorted slightly, and Rahl could sense he didn't care for the odor much, either. "Alrydd? Do you know what that smell is?"

"Can't say that I know, ser. I'd be guessing that it's from the stills. Feromyl said that was one of the reasons he left years back."

That made sense to Rahl, and, if that were so, he could see why Feromyl, whoever he was, had left Fhydala.

He rode past several oblong small lakes with dark water in them, appearing as though they had once been bog meadows that had been excavated until there was no more turf to be removed, then had filled with rainwater and seepage. After climbing another low rise, he could see the town ahead. Grayish smoke seeped from two tall brick chimneys, one almost immediately to the left of the road ahead and one more than a kay to the right. The one to the left was part of a neatly maintained brick structure. Rahl couldn't make out the structures around the chimney to the right, but he gained the impression that the structures were older and not as well managed.

Drakeyt rode forward and joined Rahl. "We'll ride into the town, and if they seem welcoming, and you don't sense anything, we'll find quarters for the men. We'll run patrols around here tomorrow and stay tomorrow night before we move on. The last eightday has been hard on the troopers and their mounts. I'm just glad you didn't find any more traps today."