L. Modesitt - Mage-Guard of Hamor

Rahl dismounted at the side of the dwelling and tied the gelding to a hitching rail.

"Rahl! Over here," called Taryl from a roofed and railed side porch.

Rahl had to vault the railing because the porch had no steps down to the side yard. He glanced past Taryl at the etched-glass window beside the door into the dwelling. The image was that of two roses with crossed stems-a thorn rose and a white rose without thorns.

The overcommander followed his eyes. "Submarshal Dettyr has requisitioned this dwelling as his temporary headquarters while he assesses the situation in Dawhut. It belongs to one of the leading citizens of Saluzyl, one Shawyn. He owns the larger distillery."

"He's not around? Or he doesn't object?"

"Would you, in his position? He's wealthy and in a rebellious district, and he has offered no support to the Emperor."

Rahl just nodded.

"You look good," observed Taryl. "Your reports to me have been helpful and will prove more so in the future, but that isn't why I sent for you. I wanted to talk to you briefly before you meet with the submarshal. He has a few words for you and Captain Drakeyt. The captain arrived just before you and has been waiting. I would like to caution you to say nothing to dispute what the submarshal has to say. He is in a foul mood, and he will not be kind. After he dismisses you, you and I will discuss matters. Is that clear?"

"Yes, ser." Rahl didn't like what Taryl was telling him, but the overcommander had always been fair before, and he had reasons for everything.

"Good. We shouldn't keep the submarshal waiting." Taryl opened the door into the mansion and stepped through the doorway.

Rahl followed. The parlor inside was not much warmer than outside, but the lack of wind made it feel far less chill. Rahl glanced around the chamber-a good fifteen cubits by nine or ten. A polished rose marble mantel graced the hearth, centered on the wall opposite the door to the outside porch. To the right of the hearth, in which a fire was laid but not burning, was an archway to a center hall. The parlor held two maroon-velvet settees, set at right angles to the hearth and facing each other, several fruit-wood armchairs with seats and backs upholstered in the same maroon velvet, and a small writing desk in the corner formed by the front wall and the outside wall. Under the two large front windows, whose base was some two cubits above the floor, was a low bookcase, on which rested two bronze sculptures. One looked to be a Cyadoran mirror lancer. At least, it looked like a drawing of such a lancer he'd seen in one of the histories. The other was a man in garb Rahl did not recognize. The floors were polished but worn dark oak, and a large oval rug covered most of the parlor floor.

Rahl had expected opulence in the Imperial Palace, but the casual display of such wealth in a town in the middle of Merowey somehow unsettled him.

"Rahl… this way," Taryl said firmly, but in a low voice.

"Oh… yes, ser."

Taryl crossed the center hall to the door on the other side and knocked, then opened it. "Submarshal, Captain Rahl is here."

Rahl crossed the hall and waited.

"Thank you, Overcommander. If you would have both captains join me. This will not take long."

Taryl motioned for Rahl to enter, then stepped back, leaving the door open. Rahl took three steps into the library and waited. The chamber was the same size as the parlor, but held little furniture except an ornate carved desk and chair, two wooden armchairs without upholstery, and a polished dark oak library stool stepladder. The fireplace mantel was of green marble, and floor-to-ceiling bookshelves of dark oak covered the walls-except for the area of the two front windows and an outside door to another porch. The window hangings were of dark green velvet and half-drawn. Neither the wall lamps nor the one on the desk was lit.

Before the submarshal could speak, Drakeyt arrived, and Taryl shut the door on the three, remaining outside.

The submarshal's uniform was spotless, and his boots shimmered, as did the balding patch in the middle of his thinning brown hair. His watery green eyes were cold, and he radiated displeasure. Rahl was getting the feeling that the man was never pleased with anything, and that he wouldn't know what to do if he couldn't find fault with something, if not everything.

The library remained silent as Dettyr glared at the two captains. Finally, he spoke, his voice hard. "Third Company was sent out to scout the roads and report on any enemy activity." Dettyr looked at Drakeyt. "Was this not so, Captain?"

"Yes, ser."

"And you, Captain Rahl, were supposed to detect difficulties before they escalated into major problems. Was that not so?"

"Yes, ser."

"Yet…" Dettyr drew out the word. "… all your dispatches only reported that your efforts created more problems, rather than resolving them. You killed one out of three rebels you captured, and the other two were worthless as sources of information. You triggered an avalanche that partly blocked the road, killed several troopers, and delayed our progress. You tripped an arrow trap that killed a scout, and you lost half a squad in a flood you should have stopped, and that flood destroyed the only bridge across the sole sizable river on the entire line of march. You seemed unable even to avoid a mere flood. Again, the one additional prisoner you managed to capture was drowned in the flood, and we gained almost nothing from that, except your sketchy reports on what he reputedly said." Dettyr's eyes went first to Drakeyt, then to Rahl. "Have I omitted anything, Captains?"

He'd omitted the arrow traps that Rahl had found that hadn't killed anyone, and he'd totally mischaracterized almost everything.

"I don't believe so, ser," replied Drakeyt evenly.

Rahl could sense a combination of anger and resignation from the older captain, and he forced himself to say, "No, ser." He also managed to keep his shields in place and his face pleasant, although holding an impartial expression was difficult.

"As scouts and as Imperial officers, you are supposed to act to preserve the roads and bridges of the Empire, not to facilitate their destruction. I cannot tell you how displeased I am that I have been forced to employ troopers and fighting engineers to repair structures and highways that should never have been destroyed." Dettyr paced back and forth in front of the cold hearth, not looking at either officer.

Rahl waited.

"Your performance, Captains, has been marginal at best, and in that evaluation, I am being most charitable. Do you understand?"

"Yes, ser." What Rahl understood was that the submarshal was even less competent than the marshal, and that someone had planned for it to be that way. He couldn't imagine that either the High Command Over-marshal or the Land Marshal could have chosen an idiot like Dettyr as the best qualified senior officer to be Marshal Byrna's deputy. Then again, Rahl hadn't been all that impressed with Land Marshal Valatyr on their one brief meeting.

"Good!" snapped Dettyr. "I trust I will never have to remind you of the need for better performance and accountability again."

"No, ser."

"You may go."

"By your leave?" asked Drakeyt.

Belatedly, Rahl echoed the words.

"My leave, Captains. Close the door after you depart."

Rahl turned and followed Drakeyt, closing the library door quietly, but firmly.

Taryl motioned to Rahl from the archway to the parlor, then led Rahl out onto the side porch, while Drakeyt headed down the center hallway in the direction of the front entry foyer.

"I didn't say anything," Rahl said quietly. "Except agree."

"It took a great deal of willpower not to object, didn't it?" asked Taryl.

"More than a little."

"I'd like you to think about what he said for a bit. What did he say that was true, and what was not? How did you link them together?"