Mage-Guard of Hamor (7 page)

Late on eightday afternoon, the
Khamyl
ported at the river docks in Cigoerne. As Rahl studied the gleaming white-limestone piers and the colon-naded walkways roofed in red tile that led to the transportation rotundas west of the piers, he wondered if there happened to be a word more appropriate than
dock
for such magnificent facilities. The structures he could see beyond the riverside area were also all of white stone, and many were three or four stories in height, all roofed with the same brilliant red tile.

“We'll watch from here while everyone leaves the ship,” Taryl declared from beside him on the upper deck. “It's always useful to see who's coming to Cigoerne. Just watch and try to pick out anything that feels noteworthy. Write it down, if you must, but don't say a word to me until I speak to you again.”

“Yes, ser.”

Rahl turned his attention to the gangways as they were run out to the piers. Cyphryt and his entourage were among the first taking the gangway from the upper deck. The red-haired mage-guard was the closest to Cyphryt, and while they did not hold hands, they might as well have, Rahl thought. As always, even those in shimmersilk and gold-embroidered fharongs deferred to the mage-guards. At the same time, Rahl noted that several of the gray-haired men stiffened as they watched Cyphryt. Two shapely women beside them looked away. Had Cyphryt taken liberties with them, or merely encouraged them? Or had he taken some action against their consorts?

The gray-haired men, attired as wealthy merchants, let a good score of well-dressed younger men depart before nodding to three husky young attendants. The servants, dressed in pale blue trousers and shirts, immediately picked up the heavy trunks and followed the two men and their consorts. After the merchants came several Imperial tariff enumerators, but their attire was of finer quality than that of those Rahl had seen in Swartheld. Each also wore a bronze collar insignia that Rahl could not make out clearly, although it looked to be something like a sheaf of wheat crossed with a staff.

Last to leave the upper deck were functionaries of various sorts. At least, Rahl presumed that they were because they wore khaki trousers and shirts, black belts and boots, and blue visor caps without the crimson of the mage-guards or the tariff enumerators. They also carried their own gear, all in black satchel-like bags. Two of them looked sideways at Taryl, and one woman murmured something to another. The second woman shook her head and moved down the gangway even more quickly.

Taryl nodded and straightened, then looked at Rahl. “We'll have to take a carriage-for-hire to the Mage-Guard Headquarters. If there happened to be a mage-guard duty carriage, I'm most certain that Cyphryt commandeered it. You can tell me what you saw later. Remember that in Cigoerne, even the walls have both ears and eyes.”

“Yes, ser.”

Carrying his tan canvas kit bag, Rahl walked down the gangway beside Taryl. The senior mage-guard set a brisk pace along the colon-naded walkway to the southernmost rotunda. There were no peddlers and no vendors anywhere—unlike the piers in Swartheld, but there was an older mage-guard patrolling the rotunda. When he caught sight of Taryl, he froze for an instant before bowing respectfully.

“Good afternoon, Salastyr,” Taryl said cheerfully.

“Yes, ser. Ah…there's no headquarters carriage here. Senior Mage-Guard Cyphryt…”

“I thought he might. We'll find a good hack.” Taryl inclined his head toward Rahl. “This is Rahl. He was the assistant envoy on our mission to Recluce.”

“Ser.” Salastyr inclined his head to Rahl.

Rahl was about to protest that he shouldn't be addressed so formally, except that the cool feeling and quick glance from Taryl stilled his protest. All Rahl said, stifling his irritation, after a silence that seemed too long, was, “I did what I could to assist.”

“Yes, ser. We all do. Have a good day, sers.” Salastyr bowed again.

Taryl continued across the polished white-stone floor of the rotunda to the right, where several hackers waited. As the two mage-guards stepped out onto the concourse, Taryl said in a low voice, “Nicely done. I'll explain later, if you need it.”

Why had Taryl warned him against explaining his relatively junior position? Because perception was important, and perception of position strengthened one's actual position? Or was it something else?

Rahl could sense something about the first hacker, but before he could say anything, Taryl bypassed him and gestured to the second, an older woman, whose rig and horse were immaculate, if older, Rahl felt.

“Where to, sers?”

“Mage-Guard Headquarters. East entrance.”

“Yes, ser. We'll be on the way once you're settled.”

Taryl gestured for Rahl to enter the coach first, then followed. No sooner had the older mage-guard closed the door than the driver flicked the leads, and the coach began to move.

“This is the Northern Boulevard,” Taryl said, once the hired carriage headed away from the mounting blocks in the rotunda concourse and across another avenue that ran north and south. “The avenue we just crossed was the River Road. The Northern Boulevard runs due west from the river piers and eventually becomes the west highway. Some twenty kays beyond the city, it becomes a minor road, paved but narrow. Oh, roads and avenues run north and south, and boulevards and streets go east and west. Lanes and ways go where they will.”

Rahl tried to take everything in, but not to gawk as he did. If Nylan were the black city, then Cigoerne was a city of white stone, but not of stark white, as some said Fairhaven was, but a warmer white, perhaps because of the reddish light reflected from all the bright tile roofs and the brightly colored awnings. The other thing that he noticed was that while he could smell various odors and scents, none of them were unpleasant, and in that respect, the city was much like Nylan.

At one intersection of an avenue and a boulevard, Rahl made out five different eateries, all with awnings or overhanging roofs, but otherwise open to the light breezes that swirled around the city—and all were nearly deserted. In Land's End or Nylan, so late in the afternoon, there would have been some patrons. Clearly, people in Cigoerne ate far later.

Warm as it was, Rahl was more than glad that the side curtains of the coach windows and door were tied back.

“What did you notice?” Taryl asked.

“The red-haired mage-guard with Cyphryt is very close to him, perhaps a lover, or one who would be. Two of the wealthier men—they looked to be merchants—do not like him at all, and their consorts share that dislike. Two women who were some sort of Imperial functionaries that I did not recognize noted you and made some comments. Oh…and everyone is wary and respectful of mage-guards.”

“That is acceptable. The two you noted are actually landowners as well as holding the controlling interests in several factorages with facilities in most of the major cities in Hamor. They are reputed to owe some of their success to Cyphryt's indirect influence. Undercaptain Craelyt was a distant cousin of Cyphryt, by the way.”

“Is it possible—”

“It's more than probable that Craelyt's involvement in the events in Swartheld and his relationship to Cyphryt are less than coincidental,” Taryl said dryly. “It would have been interesting to see which trading houses in Swartheld might have been spared from the Jeranyi attempts to burn them, but the cost of discovering that would have been far too high.”

“You know this? Don't others?” asked Rahl.

“I suspect it, but there is no proof, and one cannot act on suspicion alone.” Taryl laughed ironically. “If the Emperor and the Triad did, a score of senior mage-guards would be dead, you and I among them, as well as most of the wealthy landowners and factors in Cigoerne. That is how those such as Cyphryt survive and prosper. There is never any proof, and the advantages accrue to those who have no interest in pursuing matters to develop such proof.”

“But…” Rahl wasn't quite sure what to say. “Cannot the mage-guards find such proof?”

“Only if it exists. Often it does not, not by the time it comes to anyone's attention.”

“You make it sound…”

“Hopeless?” Taryl shook his head. “The mage-guards, particularly those of the order persuasion, have one advantage, and that is that all schemes are chaotic at heart, and thereby hold weakness. Consider this. If a plan, whether in administering or in commerce, benefits all, and creates profit, there is little need to scheme. Whoever begins may need secrecy before he or she implements such a plan, but once implemented, such a plan does not have to be kept secret. Since something that must be kept secret has weaknesses, and since effort must be spent to keep it secret, sooner or later, the weaknesses will do in such plotting. The one problem is that, often, such weaknesses appear so late that great damage is done.”

“Like this rebellion?”

Taryl nodded.

“You're not saying that the rebellion would fail even if the Emperor did nothing, are you?”

“No. I'm saying that in the end, little would change for most people—those who survived. Even if the revolt succeeded, there would be an emperor, and sooner or later, he would be succeeded by another. If the new emperor did not retain the systems now in place, or devise others that accomplished the same ends, he would fail and be overthrown. The reason the revolt needs to be put down quickly is that both a revolt and a bad emperor create more chaos and more suffering, and Golyat will be a bad emperor.”

While what Taryl said made sense on the surface, Rahl needed to think about that. The same argument could be made about Recluce, and that suggested that his own personal revolt against bad magisters like Puvort was useless and meaningless, because he could do nothing to change the system.

“We've been traveling some time,” Rahl ventured after another period of silence.

“The Mage-Guard Headquarters is on a low hill on the western side of the city. The Imperial Palace is in the center of Cigoerne. Both the early emperors and the early Triads felt that some separation was desirable.”

“I suppose the High Command is well to the north?”

“A good five kays to the south, along the river. They have their docks, their own steam transports, and their garrisons there.” After a moment, Taryl added, “Our engineers design their equipment and train their mechanics.”

Rahl considered Taryl's last comment. While delivered offhandedly, the older mage-guard never spoke or acted without consideration. Finally, Rahl replied, “That's your way of assuring some control over the…military?”

“Call it our form of balance. The people need a single figure to respect and to hold accountable—that is the emperor. Hamor needs a single decision-maker as well. His power is balanced partly because the mage-guards screen out the most unsuitable heirs. The High Command is balanced because the number of troops in arms in Hamor is limited. Ships and crews are not, but the draft of most vessels is too deep to reach Cigoerne. The mage-guards are limited by their traditions and by the fact that there are never that many mages—and that people never truly trust mages.” Taryl took a deep breath. “The limited number of troops has now become a liability in dealing with Prince Golyat's rebellion. The Triad has acceded to expanding the army, temporarily, but it will take seasons before some of the new recruits are truly ready for battle, and we do not have seasons if we are to prevent total disruption.”

As the carriage drew up to a halt, Rahl peered outside. The building was of the same white limestone as most structures in Cigoerne, but was only two stories tall.

Taryl stepped out of the carriage, kit bag in hand, and tendered four coppers to the driver.

“Thank you, ser.”

As the hack departed, the older mage-guard looked at Rahl. “What do you think?”

“It's…rather modest.”

“What would you expect? It's very simple in layout,” Taryl said. “The building is a rectangle of four wings around a central garden courtyard. The front wing is for the Mage-Guard Triad and his staff and clerks. The west wing is for the Mage-Guard Overcommander and his staff and support. The east wing is the quarters wing, and the rear wing holds the kitchens, and the dining and banquet areas. Each wing has an outside entry, and there is no internal entry from the other wings to either the Triad's wing or that of the Mage-Guard Overcommander.” He motioned toward the square archway up three low stone steps from the mounting blocks.

Rahl followed.

Getting settled in Mage-Guard Headquarters on eightday evening went smoothly enough. Taryl had produced dispatch orders. The quartering clerk had assigned rooms, giving Rahl one on the far south end of the second level. Rahl had made his way there, where he hung out his gear, and then gone down to the mess.

Taryl was nowhere to be seen, and from the entry, Rahl glanced across the long tables. The two in the center bore white linens trimmed in crimson, while the two adjacent and outside of those had linens of a pale tan—or faded khaki—but also trimmed in crimson, if with a thinner banding. Two other long tables set perpendicular to the other four bore plain khaki linen.

“The center two are for the seniors, and the two at the base are for the clerks and juniors,” said the mage-guard who had appeared to Rahl's left. “I don't think we've met. I'm Laryn, or as all the seniors say, Laryn the younger. You new here or transient?”

“I'm new and probably transient. I've been assigned as Senior Mage-Guard Taryl's assistant.” Rahl could sense that the other was an order-type mage-guard, but one without particularly strong order-skills.

“Triad Taryl's back?”

“Not as a Triad, I don't think,” Rahl replied. “He says he's a senior mage-guard.”

“That's…interesting.” Laryn gestured. “We're a bit early, but we might as well sit down.” He walked toward the far table. “This is the men's table, for all those not seniors or juniors. You're not a senior, are you?”