Natural Ordermage

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  Rahl almost swallowed. Magister Thorl had only told him to be very careful and scrupulous in obeying the laws. “Is there anything else that I’m likely to stumble into through ignorance?”

  “The Hamorian Codex is based on that of Cyador.”

  Rahl didn’t have the faintest idea what Tamryn meant, but before he could say so, the magister went on.

  “That means that once you’re taken into custody by patrollers or by the mage-guards, you’re assumed to be guilty, and you have to prove that you’re not. That’s a very good reason not to even look like you’re breaking the laws.”

  To Rahl, that didn’t sound all that different from Land’s End.

  “How do they look at use of order- and chaos-skills?”

  “If they’re used as the Emperor wishes, that’s acceptable, and those who serve him directly are respected. Only outlanders or healers are allowed to serve others.” -

  Rahl wasn’t sure what else to ask, and Tamryn seemed reluctant to volunteer more on the rest of the ride down into the harbor area.

  The Merchant Association building was set slightly east and north of the main shipping piers, but on an avenue that ran along the seawall. The second-story windows were narrow but tall, while those on the ground level were high and narrow. The oiled door was of dark oak, a gold so deep it was almost brown. Tamryn eased the cart to a halt, vaulted off the seat, and tied the mare to an iron post painted black. “We won’t be long, lady,” he said to the mare.

  Then he walked toward the door, which he opened, and stepped inside. Rahl followed and closed the door behind himself. They stood in an open area bordered on all sides by oak counters as old and as oil-polished as the “front door.

  Two clerks sat on high-backed stools behind the counters, whose surfaces were just slightly higher than a dining table, one on the right, the other on the left.-Beside each were various stacks of paper. The stool at the counter opposite the door was vacant. Farther to the rear of the open chamber was a paneled wall, and in the center was an archway, off which at intervals were several doors.

  From one of those hurried a tall but round-faced man so . bald on top that his remaining silver-blond hair formed a furry ring around a tanned and shining scalp. Handlebar mustaches filled the space between his upper lip and nose and flowed out almost to his ears. “Magister Tamryn… you caught me checking a cargo reconciliation.” ‘

  Tamryn nodded politely. “We did not mean to interrupt.” He inclined his head. ‘This is Rahl, Ser Varselt. As we explained, he was trained as a scrivener and has a good head for neatness and is capable with figures. He knows High and Low Temple, as well as having a working and speaking knowledge of Hamorian.“

  “He’ll be most useful here for now, but Master Shyret in Swartheld will be most pleased. A scrivener with a good and working knowledge, of Hamorian—we don’t see many of those. No, we don’t.”

  Rahl could sense the veiled curiosity from the two clerks.

  “He’ll be available every afternoon, starting now until his ship comes in,” Tamryn said.

  “We’ll have plenty of work for him,” Varselt promised, “that we will.”

  “Then I’ll leave Rahl in your capable hands.” Tamryn bowed, turned, and departed.

  Varselt gestured toward the vacant stool. “For now, that will be yours, Rahl. Gorot and Wulff will instruct you on how each form is to be filled out Now in Swartheld, some of the forms—the ones that go to the Emperor’s tariff enumerators—must be filled out in Hamorian, but here the tariff declarations are done in High Temple. Not that there’s really much use of words—mostly figures, but they must be precise. No smudges. No… no smudges at all.” Varselt bobbed his head cheerfully, and his ample jowls shook as well.

  Rahl made his way to the stool, undecided about whether to climb onto it or wait.

  “Take a seat. Take a seat,” said Varselt jovially. “Look over the forms. You’ll get a smudged and crumpled one from the ship’s master or supercargo, and your task is to provide three fair copies, one for the ship, one for the association, and a final one for the tariff collectors. They’ll check the cargo against the copy the ship gives you, but they’ll want both the one they seal and a clean copy.” The managing director nodded to Gorot. “I need to get back to that reconciliation. Take him through the declaration first.”

  The thin-faced Gorot hopped off his stool and walked to where Rahl sat!

  The clerk set a partly filled-out printed form on the counter.

  At that moment, Rahl could definitely see a reason for the use of Magister Sebenet’s printing press,- especially with three copies for every vessel.

  “This is what the straight declaration of cargo looks like,” Gorot began. “Two sections, one for everything offloaded and one for everything on-loaded. There has to be one for every port the ship makes. Of course, we only have to do the ones here in Nylan, but sometimes we have to make copies for ports where there’s ho association representative. Purser or supercargo has to put down everything that has more than a token value. Captain has to sign it. Right now, a token value means more than a silver… but that doesn’t mean that a trader can get away with not listing a keg of nails or spikes because a single spike is less than a copper. Token value applies to the units in which a cargo is usually traded. Cloth-yards for fabric, kegs for nails, amphorae for oils… you get the idea. The cargo declaration is not the same as the manifest. The captain’s manifest is usually kept by the purser or supercargo, and it’s a listing of all cargo carried from port to port. There’s a separate manifest for each leg of a trading voyage, and at the end, we have to go through them and reconcile the declarations with the manifests. You probably won’t do many reconciliations in Hamor because the home port of all Association vessels is here in Nylan. If you do, of course, everything should-balance.”

  Wulff looked around and, seeing no one near, laughed. “Never does. Never. But Ser Varselt and the other directors don’t say anything if the difference is a few golds or less. More than that, they call the captain in. Bad business, that. Captains know it, too. Sometimes, they’ll sneak in with a different declaration.”

  “And?” asked Rahl cautiously.

  “You got to look at ‘em and decide. Was the original right, or is the one he holds right?”

  Rahl could see that might be a problem for most clerks, even if they could tell.

  “If it’s a lot, you just tell ‘em you can’t do it, because Ser Varselt or the directors bring in a mage. Most captains won’t try it unless they made a mistake on the original and-are just trying to set it right. Thing is, they got to make the coins balance, too.”

  Rahl hadn’t even considered this side of trading.

  XXXII

  Rahl followed the routine dutifully for more than an eightday, still trying to perfect Hamorian in the morning and working at the Merchant Association in the afternoon. Almost immediately, Wulff and Gorot had given him the job of making the second and third fair copies of the various forms. Even so, after just a few days, he had mastered the standard terms and usages in the most-used forms.

  What was far more difficult was the arms training with Zastryl and Aleasya. Some evenings, his entire body felt as though it were on fire when he collapsed into his narrow bed, even as he improved enough so that they only struck him infrequently. He did discover that the chaos-pain was far less if he only defended himself rather than attempting any sort of attack.

  He also finally got around to something else he’d been putting off, and that was writing a letter to his parents. He didn’t really want to tell them his exile was permanent, and there was a chance it might not be. So he just said that he was being sent as a clerk to Swartheld, and how he did there would determine what might happen next. He added that he’d been learning Hamorian and that he’d received more training with staff and truncheon, as well as. instruction in his new duties. He told them not to worry and that he would write as he could. What else could he really say?

  On and off, he loo
ked for Deybri at meals, but never saw her. Was she avoiding him?

  Even Anitra no longer plopped herself at his table in the mess, and it had been eightdays since he’d seen Khalyt around.

  Then, on sevenday, Kadara found him on his way to the evening meal.

  “The Legacy of Diev ported this afternoon. That’s the ship that you’ll be taking to Swartheld. You’ll report to Captain Liedra before midmorning tomorrow. As a clerk of the Nylan Merchant Association, you’ll be expected to help the purser in minor ways, copying manifests or cargo declarations. Nothing you shouldn’t be familiar with by now… You can take the gray trousers, but I’d leave the gray tunics. Those won’t be that welcome in Swartheld.”

  “What if I take one—just for the voyage? Not to wear in Swartheld.”

  Kadara actually grinned. “Might not be a bad idea. Especially since you’ve not been seafaring.” The grin faded. “Don’t be late.”

  “No, magistra.”

  With that, Kadara was gone.

  After making his way to the serving table and filling a bowl and taking some dark bread, Rahl made his way to the unoccupied corner of a table in the mess. He sat down and looked at the fish stew over noodles. He ate one bite, then another, before taking a swallow of ale. He looked to the west-facing windows and the white-golden light slanting through them. Tomorrow?

  He’d known he’d have to leave Nylan, but he hadn’t expected it to happen quite so suddenly. He was being sent to Hamor all because he didn’t fit what the magisters expected of a beginning mage. Do it our way, or be on your way. That was what it amounted to, and it wasn’t as though he hadn’t tried. He had tried, but sometimes things just didn’t follow their precious Basis of Order. Of what use were rules and precepts when they didn’t apply? And what wisdom was there in denying mat sometimes the rules weren’t applicable?

  The problem was that it didn’t matter what he thought or what made sense. The magisters and the Council had the power to exile him, and he couldn’t do anything about it that wouldn’t make his own situation even worse.

  He slowly finished his meal.

  Then, after rinsing his dishes and washing up, in the light of early twilight, Rahl walked downhill, then eastward to Deybri’s small house.

  He hoped she happened to be there, although he saw no light behind the curtains in the front window. Still… he rapped on the ancient oak door, its surface golden brown and showing a tracery of age lines.

  There was no response, and he rapped again. He could ‘ sense someone there, and he thought it was Deybri.

  Finally, the door opened halfway, and Deybri stood there wearing trousers and a short-sleeved collared shirt. She was barefoot. “You would know that I was here.”

  “I came to say good-bye.”

  “When are you leaving?”

  “Tomorrow, I think. I have to be on the ship in the morning. It might be oneday or twoday. I don’t know how long it takes them to off-load and on-load.”

  “Usually a day, sometimes two, usually not more than three.”

  Rahl was puzzled by the combination of indifferent tone and the concern lying behind her almost flat words. After a moment, he said, “You’ve been interested in me, but you’ve kept me at a distance. It’s not just because I’m younger, is it?”

  “No.” Deybri smiled sadly. “It’s because you won’t come back.” She held up a hand to forestall any interruption. “If you fail to find what you need to. discover, you won’t be back. If you do, Nylan will be too small and confining for you, and you won’t be back.” She shrugged. “I’m not someone who does things by half. Or in smaller fractions. For some people, every small bite of life can be tasted by itself. For me, it can’t. So I pass on some sweet morsels because the memory of their taste would turn bitter.”

  Rahl stood there, thinking about what she said.

  “You don’t look back, Rahl. That’s not in your Nature. I’d wager you scarcely even think about the girls you liked or loved in Land’s End. I’m not blaming you. You are what you are. Each of us is. You live for the now and the future. I live from the past into the present and don’t dwell on a future that I can only experience when it arrives each morning. That’s also why you won’t be back. The past has no hold on you.” She bent forward and kissed him gently on the lips. “Perhaps this will remain with you for a time.” Then she stepped back. “Good night and good-bye, Rahl.”

  He just watched as she closed the door, so gently that it did not even click.

  Then he turned and headed back toward the training center… for his last night there, thinking about her words. ‘The past has no hold on you.“ No hold on him?

  XXXIII

  On oneday morning, Rahl was finishing breakfast at the mess—his last breakfast there, he reflected, when Aleasya stepped through the south door and walked over to his table. “I brought you something. It’s from Zastryl and me.” She extended a truncheon, along with a half scabbard for the weapon.

  Rahl stood, then just looked for a moment. The truncheon was of lorken, the hard black wood that resisted even black iron and steel, with a black-iron band just below the swordlike haft. Simple as it looked, Rahl could tell that the workmanship was outstanding.

  “Go ahead. Take it. It’s yours.”

  Rahl wanted more than anything to grasp it. “How can I? It’s too good for me. I couldn’t…”

  Aleasya smiled. “You have to. We had it made for you. Hamor is no place for an unarmed person.”

  Finally, Rahl took the weapon, turning it in his hand. “Thank you. I can’t tell you… how much… this means.”

  Aleasya beamed.

  Rahl could tell she was pleased.

  Then the smile faded. “Zastryl asked me to tell you something else. He said it was important, and that you should know it. First, don’t forget to take your copy of The Basis of Order.”

  “I won’t.” Even though he was often doubtful of the book’s usefulness, Rahl had no intention of leaving it behind.

  “Second, any references to a staff in the book also apply to truncheons. The book doesn’t say that, but they do. He said that it could be very important to you in times to come, but not yet, probably not for a year or so.”

  Rahl wondered why the armsmaster would have emphasized The Basis of Order, but he respected Zastryl. If Zastryl had said that, then it was important. He’d have to reread the book on the voyage to see if he could discover exactly why Zastryl had sent the message. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  Abruptly, Aleasya stepped forward and hugged him. ‘Take-care.“ She stepped back and was gone.

  Rahl stood there, holding the truncheon and sensing belatedly the concern she had expressed. Why hadn’t he noticed that before? Or was it something that had only become real to her once she’d heard he was leaving? Yet… much as he appreciated the warmth and the hug, he wished it had come from Deybri… who had told him that the past had no hold on him.

  He sat down slowly, setting the truncheon on the bench beside him. He looked at it once again before turning back to his platter. He finished his breakfast quickly, then belted the truncheon in place before making his way back to his quarters, where the canvas pack holding his few belongings waited.

  After taking a last look around the chamber, he picked up the pack, shrugged and left, closing the door behind him. Outside, the sun beat down through a clear green-blue sky, promising another hot day. As he crossed the grounds, none of the magisters or magistras appeared to wish him well, and that irritated him, but he turned downhill. He wasn’t about to go looking for them.

  Before reaching the piers, he stopped at the Merchant Association to say good-bye.

  Varselt was actually out in the front talking to Wulff.

  “… be especially careful these days in listing the declared value on goods coming out of Biehl and Jera…” He turned, and his eyes fixed on the pack Rahl carried. “Come to say good-bye?”

  “Yes, ser. I’ve been told to report to the Legacy of Diev this morning.”<
br />
  ‘That you have. That you have. Give my regards to Captain Liedra and my thanks to the magisters for your efforts here.“ Varselt’s jowls flexed as his head bobbed up and down. ”I’d wager you’ll be doing a fine job for Shyret in Swartheld as well. Now… best you be on your way and not keep the captain waiting.“

  “I wont, and thank you for the training, ser.” Rahl nodded. He could tell Varselt had other matters on his mind

  As he stepped outside, he could hear the few words from Gorot.

  “… poor bastard…”

  He almost nodded, but managed a wry smile as he headed for the piers. It might have been his imagination, but he thought that the harbor was more crowded than usual, with several ships at each of the piers, and parts of the avenue beside the seawall with carts, wagons, sailors, and tradespeople.

  The Legacy of Diev was tied up at the long pier closest to the market square. She was broad-beamed compared to the Nordlan vessel moored inshore of the Diev and on the opposite side. The Diev’s hull was of dark oak, and she had paddle wheels mounted aft of midships on both sides. The paddle-wheel housings were dark green, as were the painted surfaces of the ship above the main deck. She had two full masts for sail plus the bowsprit.

  Rahl hesitated short of the gangway, then squared his shoulders and walked up onto the main deck.

  A sailor wearing a short green vest over a gray shirt and trousers that were almost white turned from where he had been watching the cargo crane and stepped forward. His broad and square face was clean-shaven and weathered. “Welcome to the Diev. Who are you looking for?”

  “I’m Rahl. I’m supposed to report to Captain Liedra.”

  “News to me. I’m Gresyrd, bosun’s mate. Captain didn’t mention it.”