Outcasts of Order

by L. E. Modesitt Jr

  “He’s going to be weak for a while,” Beltur said.

  “I’m … thirsty.” Nykail looked at his mother.

  Meldryn hurried off again, returning with a mug of water.

  Beltur just sat there, exhausted.

  The boy drained the mug.

  Beltur could already sense a better balance between Nykail’s order and chaos. He reached out and took the mug of ale, finishing it off in two quick swallows.

  “I think Nykail should stay here with you today,” said Meldryn. “Beltur needs to go to work, and there’s not much else he can do.” He looked at Beltur. “Is there?”

  Beltur shook his head. He had the definite feeling he’d done all he should have. He just hoped he hadn’t done too much.

  “Go get something more to eat, and then be on your way.”

  “Have you eaten?” Laranya asked Meldryn.

  “Ah…”

  “Both of you go eat. I will stay here with Nykail.”

  Once the two men were in the kitchen, seated at the table and eating, Meldryn looked to Beltur and asked in a low voice, “Do you want to explain?”

  “He was literally order-bound,” said Beltur quietly. “It was a little like what happened with Taelya, but with Nykail, all the extra order was choking off his natural chaos.”

  “Will it happen again?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never seen or sensed anything like it.”

  “I couldn’t sense any of that, just that there was too much order everywhere within him. Athaal said you could sense order and chaos in the tiniest increments.”

  “I don’t know about that. I do seem to be able to sense either in smaller bits than many mages can.”

  “Than most, I suspect.”

  “I’m sorry to leave you with all this.”

  “Laranya will be here anyway. She can clean it up in between watching Nykail. He’ll likely sleep some, and I’d like him nearby for a while in any event.”

  With that reassurance, Beltur finished dressing and hurried off, under another clear sky, although, as he’d suspected, the air was colder than it had been on fourday. Surprisingly, at least to Beltur, it was only a little past the half glass when he reached the smithy and stepped inside.

  “I’m sorry I’m a little late. I had to do some healing. I can work later, though.” Beltur had his coat and scarf off in moments and hurried toward the forge.

  Jorhan nodded. “Didn’t know you were a healer.”

  “I got pressed into doing some healing when I was a mage-officer, and I’ve been working on that when I’ve had free time. I’ve been doing some healing at the Council Healing House. There was a boy. He was close … he was very ill. I think I was able to get him on the way to being much better.”

  The smith offered a sad smile. “You do too much for too many people, Beltur, and before long, none of ’em will be easy around you, especially as young as you are.”

  “I don’t think many will ever hear about this child.”

  “Things always get around, sooner or later. If you’re fortunate, it’s later.” Jorhan picked up the crucible with the tongs and nodded.

  Beltur moved to the bellows. “What’s first?”

  “A long dagger. Then a platter.”

  By half past fourth glass, Jorhan insisted that Beltur had done more than enough and that he needed time to do more finishing work on some of the pieces cast earlier.

  “How long before you’ll be ready to leave?” asked Beltur, with some trepidation, after taking his daily silver.

  “Hard to say. Hontyl’s still looking for a horse for me. Looks like we’ll be able to finish off the copper and the casting by next oneday, maybe twoday. I figure I’ll need to be in Axalt before the first day of Winter, just to be safe. Be my luck not to make it and run afoul of Council guards outside of Axalt.”

  “You think they’d send guards after you?”

  “They might, and they might not, but there’s not much point in tempting fate or the Rational Stars. In bad weather, it could take close to an eightday to get there. I’ve talked to some outland traders. Two are leaving on twoday, threeday at the latest. One’s from Tyrhavven and the other from Vergren. They’ve got guards, and they’re happy to have company—and another sledge. I’m not carrying that much, except food, my tools and some clothes, and what we’ve forged.” Jorhan shrugged.

  Just listening, Beltur got a very sinking feeling in his guts. Jorhan’s departure, and what that meant to him, wasn’t just something that might happen. It was going to happen, in less than an eightday.

  He was still thinking about that as he walked back toward the southeast gate, wondering just how long his stock of silvers would last once his patrol duty was over … because he didn’t see much other work coming his way, unless he could persuade Klarisia to pay him as a healer, and he had real doubts about that. And then there was Nykail, and he worried about the boy more and more as he approached the house.

  He opened the door gingerly, stepping inside quietly, and trying to sense who might be in the parlor as he took off his coat and scarf and hung them on the wall peg.

  “Beltur?” called Meldryn from the kitchen.

  “Yes?” After a moment, he asked, “How’s Nykail?”

  Meldryn appeared in the hallway, smiling. “He’s a bit weak, still, but he’s eating, and he’s healthier than he’s likely been in seasons. Laranya took him home around third glass.”

  “Was there any sign of more order building up?”

  “Not that I could tell.”

  Beltur could feel some of the tension leaving his shoulders. “I still worry about whether that will reoccur. I don’t understand why it happened.”

  “You need an ale, and dinner’s ready.” Meldryn motioned toward the kitchen. “How was the smithing … and Jorhan?”

  “He’s fine. He did say that I was doing too many things that would upset too many people once they found out, as if they haven’t already.” Once he was in the kitchen, Beltur took the mug from his place at the table and filled it from the small keg. He took a long swallow and, after Meldryn’s gesture to seat himself, did just that.

  “He’s right, you know, and he doesn’t even know about Taelya.”

  “I know. What makes things worse is that he’s really leaving Elparta.”

  “You said he might.”

  “He really is. He’s fixed up his sledge, and he’s got someone looking for another horse. He’s lined up some outland traders to travel with…”

  “What about what he owes you?”

  “He paid me for my share of everything that’s been sold. He says he’ll send my share of whatever he sells things for. He feels like he’s telling the truth.”

  “It might be better if you told him to keep the silvers for you in Axalt, and you’ll come there to collect them.”

  “Why?”

  “Because if Alizant found out about it, he might demand all you made, and the Council would likely support him.”

  “How could he do that?”

  “Has Jorhan sold any of those pieces he’ll be taking to Axalt? Doesn’t the proclamation state that anything made with magery and sold after the first day of Winter must be sold through Alizant and approved by Cohndar?”

  Beltur didn’t reply for a moment. “That means, even if we forged it before the first day of winter…”

  “You didn’t sell it before then. That’s likely why Jorhan is leaving as soon as he can.” Meldryn set two platters on the table, one at each place, then sat down.

  “And if I want to get paid, I’ll have to go to Axalt.”

  “It might be worse than that. If Jorhan takes the unsold cupridium to Axalt and later sells it there, no one here can prove when it was sold, but if you go to Axalt and return with silvers, or even if the silvers are sent to you, assuming that they arrive safely, that suggests that you are knowingly violating the Council proclamation because the goods were made in Elparta before the first day of Winter and sold after that date elsewhere
. But the proclamation states that goods made here…”

  “Frig!” After a moment, Beltur added, “And Cohndar would like nothing better than to declare I broke the Council’s law. So … if I want to stay here and not get in trouble with the Council, I can’t get paid for anything that Jorhan sells after he leaves Spidlar?”

  Meldryn nodded. “You might be fortunate, and Cohndar and the Council might not find out, but that’s a risk. Since Jorhan is the seller, if you don’t get anything, they can only blame him, but if you do…”

  “Cohndar will say it’s proof I was also part of the plan to keep the most honorable Trader Alizant from obtaining his lawful extortion … and penalize me sixty golds I can’t pay and turn me into an indentured slave.”

  “That’s very possible.”

  “But … why? I doubt that Jorhan has made that many golds, especially compared to what traders make.”

  “Power. Cohndar’s power, not Alizant’s. Alizant will likely go along because he’ll be irked that Jorhan denied him the opportunity to make a few more golds. The Council won’t back you because they always back a trader.”

  “Will Cohndar come after you? Just because you’ve helped me?”

  “I doubt it. I’m just a not-very-powerful black who is a good baker.” Meldryn shrugged. “Everyone knows that. You, on the other hand, are a chaos-tinged renegade who, given time, might actually threaten both Waensyn and Cohndar.”

  “Me?”

  “You,” replied Meldryn, with a faint smile.

  How did it all come to this? Just because you and Jorhan wanted to do better for yourselves? Beltur didn’t feel all that hungry, but he still took a bite of the meat pie, and then another.

  XXIV

  Sixday morning was somewhat colder than fiveday, but the blue-green sky was clear when Beltur set out for the smithy, much earlier than the day before, so that he could do whatever Jorhan needed and still get to Lhadoraak’s house to work with Taelya before it got too late. He couldn’t help but think about the situation in which he found himself. While he had well over fifteen golds, mostly in silvers, in his hidden and protected strongbox, certainly enough to live on for over a year, as well as pay Meldryn, after what Cohndar and Alizant had done, he didn’t see much chance of being able to buy a dwelling, even the smallest, or to offer much of a future to Jessyla … and, given Waensyn, he had no doubts that more obstacles would be placed in his path.

  You could go to Axalt … or perhaps you should go to Suthya with Lhadoraak and Tulya in the spring. But he didn’t want to leave Jessyla, and at the moment, neither Margrena nor Grenara seemed in the mood to allow him to consort Jessyla immediately, not unless matters got really bad, and that was the last thing Beltur wanted.

  Beltur had choices, none of them exactly appealing, and he was still mentally wrestling with all the possibilities and their relative disadvantages when he reached the smithy.

  Jorhan looked up from the polishing wheel as Beltur shut the smithy door behind himself. “You’re early this morning. You plan to leave early?” His voice was terse and clipped.

  “Only if we finish what you need done, because I still have patrol duty tomorrow.” After shedding his coat and scarf, Beltur moved to the bellows. “What’s first?”

  “Another sabre. They pay well.”

  “How are you coming with copper?” Beltur tried not to frown, sensing that Jorhan was not pleased with something.

  “Might have a stone’s worth to take with me.”

  “Are you still planning to leave on twoday or threeday?”

  “I’d leave earlier, if I could.” Jorhan moved from the wheel to the workbench, where he picked up a sheet of paper. He walked to Beltur and thrust the paper at the mage. “Read this.”

  Beltur took the paper and began to read, his eyes scanning the words. He was shaking his head as he read.

  To: Jorhan, smith of Elparta

  From: Veroyt, Assistant to the Council

  It has come to the attention of the Council that you, in collaboration with a mage, are engaged in the forging of cupridium items and objects. By this notice, you are hereby informed that, in accord with the earlier proclamation of the Council, with which you were served, as of the first day of Winter, all items and objects forged in part or whole of cupridium, must be sold through Trader Alizant of the House of Alizant, whether or not such items or objects were forged prior to the first day of Winter …

  There was more, mostly about penalties for disobeying the Council edict, and offering the location to which all items should be delivered for sale.

  Beltur looked up. “Alizant must really want to get his hands on what we’ve forged.”

  “Just like those bastards to come up with something like this.” Jorhan snorted. “They must have got wind of all the forging we’ve been doing. I told you I’d need to get out of Spidlar well before the first day of Winter, didn’t I?”

  “You did.” Beltur handed the paper back.

  “They’ll be after you next, if you’re not real careful. You’ll have to avoid that Cohndar fellow all you can. You certain you want to stay around?” Before Beltur could even form a response, the smith went on. “I know. That healer. Just be careful.”

  “I’m trying, but no one is making it easier on either one of us.”

  “You can’t expect that. Now … the mold’s almost ready.” Jorhan laid the paper on the workbench and picked up the tongs.

  Beltur moved to the bellows as Jorhan moved the crucible into position.

  By half past third glass, two cupridium sabres lay in their molds, cooling, as did a mirror and a pair of bud vases.

  “That should do it for now.” Jorhan blotted his forehead, then handed Beltur a silver. “If you could come early on oneday…”

  “Unless there’s a deep snow. Then it might take longer.”

  “You’ll manage.”

  Beltur pulled on his coat and made his way from the smithy and down the lane that Jorhan always kept clear of snow and then onto the road. Although it wasn’t yet winter by the eightdays, the snow beyond the road covering the fields looked to be more than waist-deep in places, and even the road was covered to depth of six or seven digits with snow hard-packed by horses and sledges, and in places there were even patches of solid ice. And it’s still fall?

  Beltur glanced back toward the smithy, where a trail of smoke rose from the stone chimney, thinking that Jorhan would be pressing his luck in traveling to Axalt so late in the season. Yet, with the various blades and other cupridium pieces that the smith had finished likely able to fetch more than fifteen golds, possibly twice that, most of which would likely go to Alizant … or remain unsold, assuming Jorhan decided not to sell at all, Beltur could also see why the smith had decided to leave, snow or no snow.

  Beltur returned his attention to the sometimes uneven hardpack and walked carefully westward. When he reached the southeast gate, he nodded to the guards, and they nodded back as he followed a messenger on horseback through the wall gate. Then he took the east wall street north and made his way to Lhadoraak’s small dwelling.

  The fine-featured mage was the one to respond to Beltur’s knock. “I thought you might be later.”

  “I went to work earlier,” Beltur replied as he stepped inside.

  “How is that coming?” Lhadoraak frowned, closing the door. “I thought you weren’t working as much because Jorhan was short of copper.”

  “We’re finishing up with the copper he has.”

  “Does that have to do with that proclamation about magery? I take it he doesn’t want the traders taking most of what he makes, either.”

  Beltur was glad he didn’t have to explain. “That’s about it.”

  “Alizant? He’s the one? Cohndar didn’t mention names when he told me. They say he’s tighter than the bark on a red oak, and nastier than a mountain cat defending her kits. I can see why your smith doesn’t want to deal with him.”

  “So…” Beltur shrugged. “I’m going to have to find mo
re work before long.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. It’s slow for me now. Before long there won’t be any boats on the river.”

  “Do you inspect anything else?”

  “Wagons. That’s if the gate guards get suspicious.” Lhadoraak smiled faintly. “I still get a small stipend in the winter. It’s enough … if we’ve been careful the rest of the year.”

  Beltur managed to keep his sense of embarrassment and shame hidden behind his shields. You’re worried about coins, and you’ve probably got more saved in two seasons than Lhadoraak and Meldryn have at all. Or Grenara or Margrena. “Do any mages earn a good living?”

  “Quite a few do. Osarus makes half a gold an eightday, I’ve heard. Cohndar does well, but part of that’s because he works for his brother. Darcohn’s a trader. Caradyn provides services to several traders. He inspects their wagons, warehouses, that sort of thing. Shalaart works with a farrier and a wheelwright. The others, I couldn’t say.”

  “You know a lot more than I do. Is Taelya in the parlor?”

  “She is. She was reading a history. A child’s history. It was my aunt’s.”

  “Don’t tell her I’m here. I’m going to enter the parlor under a concealment and see if she can sense me.”

  “You want her to learn that now?”

  Beltur definitely felt Lhadoraak’s unease with that idea, but that mattered less than what was important for Taelya to know. “I do. She’ll need every possible skill.” And then some.

  After concealing himself, but not shielding the order and chaos of his presence, Beltur eased into the parlor, slowly, carefully, because a concealment wouldn’t block sounds, then stopped short of the bench where Taelya sat, the book in her lap, looking in the direction of the dying coals in the hearth. He was pleased that she was maintaining the order separation between her natural chaos and the free chaos that swirled around her even more strongly than before.

  She did not move.

  “Taelya,” murmured Beltur, his voice barely audible.

  The girl started, then grabbed the book to keep it from sliding off her legs, before standing and looking around.