L. Modesitt - Mage-Guard of Hamor

"I'll have the fowl pie," replied Taryl.

"So will I," replied Rahl. The cream burhka might indeed be good, as might the cutlets, but he'd had more than enough burhka and mutton, especially mutton, since dried mutton strips were part of the field rations.

"Good choice."

Neither man spoke until she had left.

Rahl took a sip of the lager. If not the best he'd ever tasted, it was close, and he had to wonder what it might cost.

"I take it that you've found no rebels and no traps near Dawhut," said Taryl, taking a small swallow of his ale. "This is rather good, surprisingly so for a backcountry city bistro."

"The lager's good, too."

"Rebels?" prompted Taryl.

"Not a one. I did see some barges at the piers as I rode in. They were all empty."

"We'll be able to use those to move supplies," Taryl said. "That will save some of the horses and speed things up."

"Only downstream. There aren't any tugs. Golyat must have kept them in Nubyat to help defend the port."

"I'm certain he has. He may even have mounted cannon on them."

"That's another reason for a land attack?"

"Another reason?"

Rahl offered an embarrassed smile. "I forgot to mention something else. When I was talking to the holder's consort at the stead where we're quartered, she told me that one of her neighbors whose family runs the barges was in Nubyat at the end of spring or early summer. The neighbor said that they were building walls all around the harbor."

"We'd thought something of the sort, but if Golyat had already begun to build walls then, he had to have planned the construction far earlier. I'll pass that on to Jubyl and the Emperor. Anything else you forgot to mention."

"No, ser, except that it does seem we're taking a long time to travel across the part of Merowey that doesn't have many rebels."

The proprietress appeared with two white-china platters rimmed in blue, setting one before each man. "Here you go, sers."

Taryl took another swallow of his dark ale. "The submarshal and marshal believe in deliberation, very great deliberation, in fact."

"There's a difference between deliberation and stupidity, ser, begging your pardon. The other day, Drakeyt pointed out that with all of us jammed up in the square and on the boulevard, we were as vulnerable as grounded geese. We were fortunate that there were only a few men crazy enough to attack."

"And that you were prepared to act, something I've already noted in my reports." Taryl cleared his throat and went on. "Even that caused a score of injuries, because some of the horses were spooked. We lost at least four mounts, and another half score are likely to be lamed for eight-days, if not permanently."

"Why did the submarshal think we all could even get into the square? We weren't allowed to scout the city proper. What purpose did putting all those troopers in the square serve, especially in a city that's loyal?"

"I'm sure that Submarshal Dettyr will have answers for those questions when the marshal or the Overmarshal requests an explanation."

Rahl noted Taryl's certainty that the questions would be asked, as well as the implication that Dettyr's responses would be inadequate.

"Now… tell me your impressions of the road as far as you've scouted."

Rahl also understood that Taryl had said what he would say about Dettyr.

When the submarshal's forces left Dawhut on sixday, by that midmorning Third Company was already some thirty kays farther southwest along on the road from Dawhut to Nubyat after having spent two days on the road already.

Ever since the night of his dinner with Taryl, for which the overcommander had paid, Rahl had attempted to get back to practicing the order-skills he had used but seldom on the scouting missions, particularly his attempts at using a mirror to scree places away from him. He'd paid Khasia four coppers for an old framed mirror, little more than a span square, and wrapped it in fleece and rags and stowed it on top in his saddlebags.

His efforts with the glass had resulted in some images, but mostly of places where he had already been-although from the scenes displayed mistily in the glass what he saw were events that were taking place as he watched-three servants straightening up the Triad's quarters in the Palace and the Empress walking through the empty receiving room. She looked worried and sad for the few moments that Rahl could hold the image. He had no success in calling up an image of Deybri, although his head felt as if it were splitting when he finished.

He had had more success with strengthening shields, and in using order to move small objects. His efforts in shifting the balance and position of order within those small objects were limited at best. That was an area where he needed more practice. It was just that it was all so tiring after a full day of riding and using order-skills to seek out possible traps and rebel ambushes-even when he found none.

Rahl was riding forward with the scouts. The road was lumpy, but not badly rutted, if nothing to compare to the highways near Swartheld or Cigoerne-or the great highway of Recluce. He was glad that the clouds and blustery weather of the past days had been replaced by clear and sunny skies. That had resulted in clearer and colder nights, and frost by morning, but Rahl preferred frost to damp and rain. Some of the others didn't, he could tell by the murmured complaints he could overhear.

The boglands had given way to country with more hills and trees as well as with more steads and fields-except for the stretch before Third Company, which was rockier and more desolate, with trees more widely spaced on the hillsides. The road had begun to rise gradually toward a tree-lined gap between two hills more than a kay ahead. The stream on the right of the road had cut its path downward so that while the roadbed followed the slope up, with each cubit that Rahl rode, the gully looked as though it would get comparatively deeper. The hill on the right looked to have a low bluff rising almost from the side of the road.

"Scouts! Halt!" Rahl projected his voice with a slight touch of order.

"Yes, ser."

Even the scouts a half kay ahead reined up.

Rahl looked more closely at the hill on the right. The bluff was cut from red sandstone, with some small pines clinging to the sheer stone. He couldn't tell exactly, but the bluff was no more than perhaps fifteen cubits high and flat on top, overlooking the road. Something didn't feel right, and the last time he'd ignored that feeling… that had been the flood.

He dismounted, then handed the gelding's reins to Shanyr, the other outrider, and carefully opened his saddlebags and took out the small framed glass. He could certainly try to see what was on the hill ahead. If it didn't work, then he'd have to get closer, perhaps scouting through the trees on the far side of the stream.

He looked down at the glass, concentrating on chaos and on the hillside ahead.

The glass, which had been reflecting his face and the green-blue sky overhead, began to show a swirling white mist, then figures-men sitting on boulders beside trees. Resting against the trees were horn bows. The men looked to be wearing jackets of various colors, but khaki trousers. A thin piercing line of agony ran from the mirror to Rahl's skull-that was the way it felt-and it grew stronger with every moment. His eyes watered so much that he could not make out the details in the glass, and he released the image, rubbing his temples with his free hand.

Slowly, he straightened, then rewrapped the glass and replaced it in the saddlebags.

"Ser?"

"Archers ahead, on the hillside." Rahl took the reins back and swung up into the saddle. "Hold here. I need to ride back and talk to Captain Drakeyt."

"Yes, ser."