“It’s…different…” Rahl hadn’t expected comparative lushness around Guasyra. He also realized that the air was clearer and smelled fresher.
“That’s why it’s good to come here when we can.”
As they descended toward the town, the wagon passed through a stand of evergreens, and over a bridge that spanned a stone canal less than three cubits wide. On both sides of the road, below the canal were orchards. Dirt lanes led from the main road to steads among the orchards, but Rahl had no idea what the fruit trees were.
“Olives,” supplied Talanyr.
At the northern edge of the town was a temple, one that, except for its smaller size, was identical to the one Rahl had seen near the park in Swartheld-a tall one-story structure with a gently peaked and tiled roof, with the dissimilar pair of spires on the end away from the road. The straight and narrow southern spire shone silvery in the morning sun, while the curled and twisted, and somehow feminine, northern spire shimmered a warmer bronze.
“What’s that?” asked Rahl quietly.
Oh…that’s a temple to Kaorda-the almighty god and goddess of both order and chaos…”
“God and goddess?” Rahl had trouble dealing with the idea of gods anyway, but the idea of one that was both order and chaos and male and female all simultaneously made it even harder. “How can he or she be both?”
“They don’t have an image-that would be blasphemous-but the Kaordists say that his face is half of unworldly beauty and half of demented passion, and that the beautiful half is male and the passionate chaotic half is female.”
“Oh…”
“I’m not sure I believe that, but it makes as much sense as the one-god believers.”
Rahl nodded dubiously, his eyes taking in the outskirts of the town, which looked to be larger than Land’s End. All the dwellings, outbuildings, as well as the shops, were constructed of the red sandstone blocks, and roofed with curved pinkish tiles
He saw women with children, and other women with laundry piled in baskets on their heads, and a youth pushing a handcart with a wooden cage filled with some sort of plumpish rodentlike animals. Two other young men were leading lambs.
“Eightday is market day-except for the Kaordists,” said Talanyr.
The wagon slowed to a stop on the north side of a square, a good two hundred cubits on a side, each side flanked by the road. The square itself was raised a cubit above the surrounding sidewalk and contained by two courses of sandstone block and paved as well. In the middle of each side was a stone ramp leading up from the street to the square. As in the market square in Nylan, the space was filled with carts and tents and booths, and the sounds of haggling and selling easily reached Rahl, as did the odor of burning wood or charcoal. He scrambled off the wagon and walked around it to rejoin Talanyr. His fingers dropped to his belt to check the truncheon, but it was firmly in place.
He noticed that none of the other mage-guards headed for the market square. “Where…” He decided not to finish the question.
“Some of them have consorts or mistresses who live here. They can’t live near the ironworks or in Luba.”
That made sense to Rahl. If he’d had either, he wouldn’t have wanted them to live near the ironworks.
“I thought we’d go through the market square first.” Talanyr grinned boyishly. “We’ll also avoid the women’s quarter-at least until you’re…more familiar…with the town. They certainly won’t hurt a mage or a mage-clerk, but…it could be costly.”
Rahl understood the unspoken message about the order-skills that had not returned-and might never. He followed Talanyr up the stone ramp to the market square.
“Who’s your friend, Talanyr?” The mage-guard who walked toward them didn’t look that much older than either of the two mage-clerks.
“Chovayt!” Talanyr turned. “I thought they were transferring you to Sylpa.”
“Not until fall. That’s when it rains all the time there.” The broad-faced mage offered a hangdog smile.
“Oh…this is Rahl. He’s new to Luba station.”
“I’m pleased to meet you,” Rahl offered.
Chovayt laughed. “Trust Talanyr to find someone else he can guide to the finer pleasures in life.” He shook his head. “Just don’t trust his taste in leshak and dovarn, or you’ll have a headache for days.” Abruptly, he turned. “There’s trouble in the corner. Silverwork and gems.”
Since Talanyr followed the mage-guard, Rahl ran to keep up with the other two. He didn’t want to be left alone in a town where he’d never been before, especially when he had no order-senses.
Chovayt sprinted around a pile of baskets, and past a rack on which folded colored blankets were displayed, and down a space between stalls toward a cart painted a faded green. Talanyr was right behind him. A woman dragged her children out of his way, and several loaves of bread bounced on the paving stones. Seven handcarts were arranged to form an aisle, with four on the right and three on the left. The last cart on the right was painted a faded orange, and displayed what looked to be silver boxes and pins on an inclined board covered with black cloth.
An older gray-haired man sagged against the side of the cart, while a matronly woman stood in front of him and a girl perhaps eight or nine years old. She held up a wicker basket that she jabbed toward a bearded man who was scooping the silver items into a bag. “Thief! Mage-guards! Help!”
Another stockier man vaulted from behind the cart, brandishing a sabre. The other sellers were nowhere in sight, probably hiding behind their carts.
Chovayt had his falchiona out of his scabbard and Talanyr had a truncheon out as they engaged the thieves.
Belatedly, Rahl drew his truncheon, doubting that he could help much in the crowded quarters.
A third man, with a bag in his hand, darted from between two carts after Talanyr and Chovayt had passed those carts and began to sprint away from the mage-guard. Rahl stepped forward to block his escape.
In a single motion, the thief stuffed the bag into his shirt and came up with two long and sharp-edged daggers, one in each hand. Rahl dropped to one side, then came up and back with the truncheon. Hard as he struck, the man did not wince, but only paused, before jabbing the dagger toward Rahl, who jumped to one side, then slammed his truncheon down into the man’s arm just above the wrist. That dagger clattered on the paving stones of the square.
The other knife slashed toward Rahl’s unprotected side, but Rahl stepped inside, elbowing the knife arm away, and drove the truncheon straight up under the point of the attacker’s jaw. This time, there was a crunching sound and a strangled scream. Still, the man staggered back, pulling away, trying to bring the dagger to bear on Rahl.
Rahl side-kicked the man’s weight-bearing knee, then knocked the dagger out of his hand. The assailant collapsed into a shuddering heap. Rahl turned, keeping an eye on the downed thief, but trying to see what was happening with Talanyr.
One of the other attackers half sat, half sprawled against the side of a cart, his hands around his bloody forearm.
As Rahl watched, Chovayt’s blade touched the shoulder of one of the other thieves, and chaos-fire charred the arm. The thief did not surrender, and a second chaos-fired slash charred his other shoulder, and he pitched forward.
Talanyr was fighting a taller bearded man who was clearly a better blade than the mage-clerk, but Talanyr held his own with the truncheon, despite retreating slowly. Rahl wondered where the fourth thief had come from. As Talanyr moved back, the bigger man grinned and darted forward.
Whsst! A small bolt of chaos-fire turned the bearded man’s head into a charred mass, and he pitched forward onto the redstone pavement.
Rahl stood watching the thief he had stopped, not certain of what he was supposed to do next, and wondering why he had had so much trouble in dealing with the man.