Recluce Tales

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  Once the public room was largely clear, Martenya walked outside into the entry hall to where Wrynn now stood. “I appreciate the help. You’d make a good patroller.”

  “No. I nearly killed two of them. I would have if you hadn’t been here. I don’t have your self-control in dealing with greedy, stupid men.”

  “This doesn’t happen often.”

  “I can see why,” replied the dangergelder. “But you were too easy on them.”

  “No, I wasn’t. They’ll spend the rest of their lives, if they live that long, knowing that mere women defeated them … and could have killed them. The trader will know that as well.” She paused. “Do you want to come with me and make sure that they leave in a glass?”

  “Why not?”

  The two women followed the trader and his guards out of the inn and into the darkness in which the Rational Stars blazed across the southern sky.

  VI

  After her report to Captain Tyana at the end of her shift on threeday night, Martenya wasn’t totally surprised on fourday morning, when she reported for duty, to see Captain Tyana standing in a corner of the receiving room of the patrol station, talking to Wrynn. She eased closer, trying to overhear the conversation without being completely obvious.

  “… aren’t you interested?” Tyana looked directly at the Recluce exile.

  “You’re all too calculating.”

  “Everyone with a brain calculates,” replied the captain. “If they want to survive and succeed.”

  Wrynn shrugged. “That may be. I had a friend who told me that…”

  “And?” pressed Tyana.

  “She’s likely now a captain for the Autarch. She’ll still be answering to men with half her skills and abilities—”

  “In Kyphros? I doubt it. If she is, it won’t be for long. Besides, this is Southwind.”

  “That Hamorian guard ripped that girl’s blouse off her and would have raped her right there on the floor if the innkeeper hadn’t intervened. The innkeeper could have been killed if your patroller had been a few moments later.”

  “And you wouldn’t have done anything?”

  “Oh … I would have killed the bastard right there. But then I’d likely have had to run. Or risked justice here. That’s the part I don’t like. He should have been killed on the spot.”

  “He didn’t rape the girl,” Tyana pointed out. “He got a broken wrist, and we’ve sent word that Kanazar is unwelcome in Southwind and may never trade here again … on pain of death.”

  “Kanazar?”

  “The trader. He lives for golds. We also sent his description with the dispatches.”

  “And you call that justice?” Wrynn shook her head. “It’s little more than a slap on the wrist.”

  “If we had killed the guard, we’d still have to have prohibited Kanazar from returning. Otherwise, he’d be back in Southwind with more guards, and we’d end up killing even more people … and we’d likely have at least one girl actually raped. And if we make a habit of killing guards and other Hamorians who’ve been stopped from serious violence, then before long, Hamor would likely turn its warships on Southport. We’d prefer not to give them that kind of excuse.”

  “You may be right,” conceded Wrynn. “So was Krys—my friend. I don’t have to like it, and I can’t be a part of something I don’t like.” After a pause, she added, “I appreciate your thinking of me, but I think I’d best be leaving.”

  “You won’t find anyplace better,” observed Tyana,

  “I won’t know that unless I see for myself.” Wrynn gave a stiff nod, then turned and walked past Martenya, not even giving the patroller a glance.

  Neither Tyana nor Martenya spoke until the Recluce exile had left the station.

  “She’ll be back,” said the captain.

  Martenya shook her head. “I don’t think so. She’s the type that will keep looking for what isn’t there because she doesn’t want to change what she believes. If her friend couldn’t persuade her, I don’t think we will.”

  “Too bad. It’s a waste of talent.” After a moment, the captain said, “You handled that well last night.”

  “It would have been worse without her.”

  “No. It would have been worse without you. You would have managed. Your shift today should be a lot easier.”

  Martenya hoped so as she signed the log, and then headed out on her first round of the day.

  VII

  A glass and a half later, on her second round, Martenya walked toward the women’s hostel. She wasn’t surprised to see the Recluce exile strapping her gear behind the saddle of her mount, but she didn’t say anything until she neared Wrynn.

  “I see you’re leaving. Where are you bound?”

  “I thought I’d go on to Southport. It’s a city. If I don’t like it there, I’ll get a ship to somewhere else.”

  “Back to see your friend?”

  Wrynn shook her head. “She’s like you.”

  Martenya didn’t say what she thought. She just nodded, then said, “Best of fortune.”

  Wrynn untied her mount and then vaulted into the saddle. She looked down at Martenya. “The same to you, patroller.” Then she flicked the reins and guided her horse onto the main street, heading south.

  The last aspect of Wrynn’s gear that Martenya noted was the worn wooden handle of what looked to be a spare dagger strapped across the brown pack behind her saddle.

  Martenya turned to see Eliendra standing by the hostel entry, under the signboard Wrynn had crafted, also looking at the departing rider.

  “She can cook well enough to have her own café. She puts most carpenters to shame. She even did some masonry repairs. She could be anything,” said Eliendra, “but she never will be. I don’t understand some people.”

  “No,” replied Martenya. “She’s the one who doesn’t understand people. Most folks are nice enough, but they expect others to do what they do without having to grovel or get out a whip to get them to do it. Wrynn wants everyone to be fair and honest, and to appreciate what she does before she does it, while she does it, and after she does it. That’s asking too much of anyone.”

  “Sometimes … we’re all like that,” replied Eliendra with a faint smile. “And sometimes we don’t appreciate others enough.”

  As the patroller thought about her own words, and those of Eliendra—and the fact that Wrynn had ridden away from her friend—Martenya vowed to tell Paemina just how much she appreciated everything her partner did … and to do so often.

  After a last look to the south, she turned and resumed her round.

  There are always endings … and this one also answers a question posed by several readers.

  FAME

  The boy paused at the low stone wall around the bronze statue that stood in the middle of the small square. He looked at the statue again, taking in the figure there, a man with some sort of tool in his hand, a wood plane perhaps. The statue was not particularly tall, just the height of a man, he thought, and the figure wore a crafter’s or tradesman’s leathers. There was a bronze plate at the base of the statue, he knew, but it was on the other side. He’d seen it often enough, but had never bothered to read it.

  He took the last bite out of the apple he held and started to throw it at the statue.

  “Don’t be doing that, boy!” snapped a voice.

  He turned to see a young woman wearing the uniform of the Autarch’s Finest, looking at him.

  “Take it with you, or put it in a rubbish barrel.”

  He just looked at her, but only for an instant as she started to ride toward him. He walked toward the rubbish barrel set against the north wall around the statue. He didn’t hurry, but he didn’t quite saunter. He dropped the apple into the barrel, then turned.

  The uniformed rider had reined up several yards away, her eyes on him.

  “It’s just an old statue,” he said sullenly.

  “That may be, young fellow, but we’ll not be having you or anyone else turning it into a rub
bish heap. If everyone did that, all Kyphrien would stink, and the Autarch wouldn’t be liking that.”

  “Who was he, anyway?” The youth pointed to the statue, although he really didn’t much care.

  “One of the old heroes. He saved Kyphros. That was in the great war that changed the world and cleft Recluce in two. That’s what the plaque says. It gives his name, but I don’t recall it. It was a long time ago. They say he lived around here, but no one knows where.”

  “Oh.” The boy glanced at the statue. “Doesn’t look like a hero.” He shook his head and walked quickly across the street, feeling the rider’s eyes on his back and hurrying to avoid a tradesman’s wagon.

  Three blocks later, he walked through the front gates of his home and then through the side entrance closest to the kitchen.

  “You’re almost late for dinner,” said his mother, from where she sat in the small sitting room adjoining the dining room. “What took you so long?”

  “I stopped for a moment in the square. There was one of the Finest there.”

  “What was she doing there?” His mother paused. “You didn’t do something wrong?”

  He decided against mentioning the apple. “No. I wondered about the statue. She didn’t know much, though. Just that it was about an old hero. She couldn’t remember his name.”

  “Well … go wash up, and make it quick.”

  He hurried to the back washroom, not even minding the cold water, not too much, anyway, as he washed his hands and face. Then he walked swiftly back to the dining room, where he waited by the door.

  “How clean are your hands?” asked his father, coming to a halt in the archway. “Let’s see.”

  The boy extended his hands.

  “The other side.”

  The boy turned his hands over to show the backs.

  “Good. No grease or grime to get on the table or chairs. That’s if you eat carefully.”

  “Can we sit down?”

  “We’re waiting for your mother.”

  “What about Elysa?”

  “She’s at your aunt’s this evening. She’ll be back later.”

  Several moments later, his mother appeared, and the two followed her into the dining room, his father sitting at the head of the table and his mother at one side. He started to sit.

  “How many times have I told you not to lever yourself into your chair by putting your hands on the table?” asked his father sharply.

  “Yes, ser.” Before his father could say more, the boy quickly asked, “Where did we get the dining set from, Father?”

  “I’ve told you that before.”

  “I don’t remember. It must have been a while ago.”

  His father sighed. “From your mother’s great-aunt, and she got it from her aunt Antonia years before.”

  “It is a beautiful set,” said his mother, looking to her husband, “even after all these years. The cabinetmaker who made it was a master craftsman, one of the best in all Candar. Some say he was the best in the world, in his time. Some even say he did more than that … that he saved the Autarch…”

  “That’s just a story,” said the boy’s father.

  “It can’t be just that. Otherwise, there wouldn’t be the statue in the square.” She turned to the boy. “That’s the one you asked about. He saved Kyphros and maybe all Candar in the time of the great war.”

  “I didn’t ask…”

  “Don’t be impertinent,” said the father, setting down his goblet. “All you need to know about heroes is that they come and go, and no one remembers. In the end, he was just a cabinetmaker, nothing more, statue or no statue.”

  “You have to admit the dining set is still beautiful, dear, and almost without scratches after all the years.”

  “Too bad it started where it did,” said the boy’s father.

  “Enough of that, dear. We don’t have to talk about Antonia. That was a long time ago. What’s important is that it’s beautiful and we have it and can enjoy it now.”

  “Who was he?” asked the boy. “The man who made it?”

  “I don’t recall his name,” answered his mother. “What’s more important is that he made beautiful pieces for the Autarch—the great-grandmother of the present Autarch. Most of them are still in her palace. We’re fortunate to have some of his work. Everything he did is so well-crafted and ordered that it will last forever.”

  “Or long enough,” said the boy’s father in a lower voice.

  “That’s why you need to take care at the table,” added his mother.

  “And he made this table … and the chair I’m sitting in?”

  “That he did. Now … settle down and mind your manners … and keep your hands in your lap when you’re not eating.”

  TOR BOOKS BY L. E. MODESITT, JR.

  THE IMAGER PORTFOLIO

  Imager

  Imager’s Challenge

  Imager’s Intrigue

  Scholar

  Princeps

  Imager’s Battalion

  Antiagon Fire

  Rex Regis

  Madness in Solidar

  Treachery’s Tools

  Assassin’s Price (forthcoming)

  THE COREAN CHRONICLES

  Legacies

  Darknesses

  Scepters

  Alector’s Choice

  Cadmian’s Choice

  Soarer’s Choice

  The Lord-Protector’s Daughter

  Lady-Protector

  THE SAGA OF RECLUCE

  The Magic of Recluce

  The Towers of the Sunset

  The Magic Engineer

  The Order War

  The Death of Chaos

  Fall of Angels

  The Chaos Balance

  The White Order

  Colors of Chaos

  Magi’i of Cyador

  Scion of Cyador

  Wellspring of Chaos

  Ordermaster

  Natural Ordermage

  Mage-Guard of Hamor

  Arms-Commander

  Cyador’s Heirs

  Heritage of Cyador

  Recluce Tales

  The Mongrel Mage (forthcoming)

  THE SPELLSONG CYCLE

  The Soprano Sorceress

  The Spellsong War

  Darksong Rising

  The Shadow Sorceress

  Shadowsinger

  THE ECOLITAN MATTER

  Empire & Ecolitan (comprising The Ecolitan Operation and The Ecologic Secession)

  Ecolitan Prime (comprising The Ecologic Envoy and The Ecolitan Enigma)

  The Forever Hero (comprising Dawn for a Distant Earth, The Silent Warrior, and In Endless Twilight)

  Timegods’ World (comprising Timediver’s Dawn and The Timegod)

  THE GHOST BOOKS

  Of Tangible Ghosts

  The Ghost of the Revelator

  Ghost of the White Nights

  Ghosts of Columbia (comprising Of Tangible Ghosts and The Ghost of the Revelator)

  The Hammer of Darkness

  The Green Progression

  The Parafaith War

  Adiamante

  Gravity Dreams

  The Octagonal Raven

  Archform: Beauty

  The Ethos Effect

  Flash

  The Eternity Artifact

  The Elysium Commission

  Viewpoints Critical

  Haze

  Empress of Eternity

  The One-Eyed Man

  Solar Express

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  L. E. Modesitt, Jr., is the bestselling author of more than sixty novels, encompassing two science fiction series and three fantasy series, including the Saga of Recluce. He lives in Cedar City, Utah.

  Visit him online at www.lemodesittjr.com, or sign up for email updates here.

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  CONTENTS

  The stories and vignettes are arranged in the internal chronological order in which they take place in the world of Recluce so that the earliest events occur in “The Vice Marshal’s Trial” and the last events in “Fame.”

  Title Page

  Copyright Notice

  Dedication

  Behind the “Magic” of Recluce

  The Vice Marshal’s Trial

  Madness?

  The Forest Girl

  The Choice

  The Most Successful Merchant

  Heritage

  The Stranger

  Songs Past, Songs for Those to Come

  Sisters of Sarronnyn, Sisters of Westwind

  Artisan—Four Portraits and a Miniature

  Armsman’s Odds

  Brass and Lacquer

  Ice and Fire

  A Game of Capture

  The Assistant Envoy’s Problem

  The Price of Perfect Order

  Black Ordermage

  Burning Duty

  Worth

  Fame

  Tor Books by L. E. Modesitt, Jr.

  About the Author

  Copyright Acknowledgments

  Copyright

  COPYRIGHT ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  “Behind the ‘Magic’ of Recluce” originally appeared in Black Gate, #13, Spring 2009.

  “Sisters of Sarronnyn, Sisters of Westwind” originally appeared in Jim Baen’s Universe, August 2006.

  “The Stranger” originally appeared in Speculative Horizons, Subterranean Press, 2010.

  “Black Ordermage” originally appeared in Viewpoints Critical, Tor Books, 2008.

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in these stories are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  RECLUCE TALES: STORIES FROM THE WORLD OF RECLUCE

  Copyright © 2016 by L. E. Modesitt, Jr.

  All rights reserved.

  Cover art by Matt Stawicki