L. Modesitt - Mage-Guard of Hamor

"Over there," Drakeyt said. "You up to this?"

"I won't be very good," Rahl admitted. "Better than not having a mage-guard, but not much."

"We've only got another three kays until we're in town. I didn't know how you'd be feeling. So I sent scouts out. They didn't see any rebels, and no one attacked them."

Rahl walked to the gelding, then checked the horse, but he didn't see or sense any injuries. It took all of his remaining strength, or so it felt, to clamber up into the saddle.

He rode slowly forward toward Alrydd. When he reached the outrider, he said, "We're going as far as the town." That was a stupid statement, because the sun was low enough in the western sky that the company wasn't about to go anywhere else, and Helstyra was only a few kays away.

"Tried to save 'em all, didn't you, ser?"

"I wasn't strong enough to save everyone." Rahl supposed the trooper knew that, but he felt he had to make that clear.

The trooper nodded. Rahl could sense the man was not displeased, but merely accepting, as if Rahl had stated that the twilight would be coming.

The orchards had given way to smaller and meaner steads, with the winter-tilled fields barren, and no one out or about. But then, why would they be, when there was no field work to be done? Neither he nor Alrydd saw anyone who might be a rebel, just three older women, and one mother who scurried inside with a toddler when she caught sight of the riders.

Once they reached the outskirts of Helstyra, Rahl dropped back to ride beside Drakeyt, and the scouts were less than a hundred cubits ahead on the road that had become a main street that looked to be leading toward the river. Small dwellings interspersed with occasional shops flanked the street, but both houses and shops were small and of one level. Most were constructed with oversized bricks of a brownish gray shade. The roof tiles were a dingy yellow, as were many of the doors and shutters. The street had been paved, years before, and in places the stones were missing, with gravel and crushed stones filling the space. While there were no tall stacks suggesting distilleries, a sour odor hung in the air, one that reminded Rahl of a stagnant pond.

Rahl kept studying the streets, because he saw almost no one about. Yet the windows were not shuttered. As he turned in the saddle toward Drakeyt, the captain barked an order.

"Third company! Arms ready!" After a moment, Drakeyt added in a lower voice, "Too quiet."

Rahl nodded, then once more tried to relax enough to gain greater concentration, despite the soreness in his body and the throbbing in his head. His eyes and senses looked ahead to each side lane and alley.

Ahead was a taller two-story building, with windows closed by sagging brown shutters. The roof was almost flat, with a half-wall facade around the upper level that gave the impression of even greater height. The double front doors were boarded shut with two planks nailed to each side of the door casement. Part of the odor Rahl had smelled seemed to drift from the structure, or from behind it. Had it been a rendering yard or a tannery? A dyer's facility?

They were less than a hundred cubits from the structure when Rahl sensed someone-or more than one man-crouched behind the upper facade.

"Drakeyt," he hissed, trying not to alert the rebels, "men up on that roof ahead, behind the half wall."

"First squad, charge the building! With me!" Drakeyt urged his mount forward. "Second squad, third squad! Cover the rear!"

Rahl just tried to hold some sort of order shield as he followed Drakeyt. He was more than halfway to the building when the rebels began to loose shafts at Third Company. At least one struck his shield, rocking him back in the saddle, before he was next to the building where it was close to impossible for the archers to loose shafts directly down because the facade was set back from the natural wall lines of the building a cubit or so.

Two troopers dismounted and smashed open the doors, and the remainder of first squad followed Roryt inside. Drakeyt was the fourth or fifth man.

Rahl just sat on the gelding, holding the reins to Drakeyt's mount. There wasn't much else that he could do, not the way he felt.

In moments, the shafts stopped flying. Before long, a figure in khaki and maroon tumbled off the front of the upper level. The rebel did not move. Rahl could sense he was dead.

Shortly, Drakeyt hurried out through the ancient and shattered doors, took his mount's reins from Rahl, and vaulted back into the saddle.

"What happened?" asked Rahl.

"One of ours dead, two wounded. Six rebels killed, three wounded and captured. As many as ten might have escaped through the back alleys, because there's a wall close to the back that second and third squads couldn't get through."

Rahl turned the gelding to follow the captain up the side alley and around to the back of the dilapidated structure. Lying on the ground were five figures. From their position, they'd been tossed off the roof after they'd died.

Just in looking at the fallen rebels, Rahl could see the difference. Like the dead rebel who had fallen into the street, they were younger, far more fit, and even their uniforms looked crisper, and they wore maroon uniform riding jackets. He looked to Drakeyt. "Real rebels, this time. We'll need to send dispatches back-and about the causeway. It might be best not to mention casualties. They need to know that there are rebels in the area."

"I can't say I'm surprised. We're only a bit over a hundred kays from Nubyat. We had to run into real rebels sooner or later."

Rahl just nodded. He was having trouble just staying in the saddle.

"We're requisitioning whatever inn or inns this place has. We can do that in hostile territory, and a town that allows a rebel attack isn't friendly. You and the men need some rest. We'll re-form and take care of that."

Rahl couldn't contest that, not that he would have. He wasn't in shape to argue about much of anything.

The River's Edge was an old and rambling structure, an inn that might once have been the pride of the Awhut River, with its large and paneled public room, its wide porches, and its three stories. That had been years before, and now the porches sagged, ever so slightly, and all the years of oil and polish had only dimmed the luster of the golden oak paneling. The bed frame in Rahl's room had been sturdy enough, but it creaked every time he had shifted position, trying to sleep, and the mattress was worn and as tired as the inn itself. The place was big enough to hold Third Company, if in tight quarters.

Rahl was up early on fourday to see if he could get some breakfast. Besides, he was too sore to sleep any longer, black-and-blue as he was along most of his right side. While his headache had subsided to a faint throbbing, he was hoping that the combination of food and lager might help him feel better. He managed not to totter down the unlit narrow staircase to the public room and was mildly surprised to see Drakeyt was already there, sitting at a table in the predawn gloom that was scarcely dispelled by the single wall lamp that had been lit.

The captain looked worse than Rahl felt, and Drakeyt hadn't been hurled into the ground.

Rahl sat down gingerly across the square table from the older man. "You look like you had a long night."

"So do you."

"What happened?" asked Rahl. Had he been so exhausted he'd forgotten something? Failed at something else because he'd been put in a situation where no one mage-guard could do all that was expected of him?

"Dalcayn and Whebyt died this morning."

Rahl froze where he sat. He'd been so certain that Whebyt would recover. How could he have died? "Dalcayn?"

"He was one of those wounded yesterday. Khasmyr thinks that some of the shafts the rebels fired were poisoned."