“The same one. I gave him a tiny pearapple tart. I made some of those for us since I had the pearapples out anyway.”
“That sounds excellent.” Beltur frowned. “Did Fosset tell you anything interesting?”
Meldryn shook his head.
“Something odd happened today.”
“What was that?” asked Meldryn.
“Osarus called me in to his study…” Beltur went on to explain exactly what the Patrol Mage had said, then added, “I have the feeling that it was definitely a warning, but I couldn’t tell whether he was suggesting I leave Spidlar or just that I don’t do anything more with smithing.”
“You don’t want to leave Spidlar, for rather good and obvious reasons, but I think it would be for the best if Jorhan leaves with all that finished cupridium as soon as possible. Otherwise, it’s possible that Alizant might insist that he be the one to sell it.”
“I wondered about that, and I think Jorhan is concerned as well.”
“He should be. Alizant isn’t the most honorable of traders.”
“I’ve wondered about that as well, but none of them seem to be what I’d call honorable.”
“It’s best you don’t say that too loudly.” Meldryn paused. “There’s something else to consider. For Alizant to sell anything, it would require that Cohndar inspect whatever it might be, and he and Waensyn might find a way to say that there was too much chaos in the metal.”
“I hadn’t thought about that,” Beltur confessed. “But how could they say that? The chaos is locked in order.”
“Only Cohndar gets to make that decision,” Meldryn pointed out. “Most of the other blacks won’t stand against him.”
“I don’t like the sound of that at all.”
“You shouldn’t.” Meldryn shook his head, then offered a cheerful smile. “We can’t do much about that now, but I do have a meat pie and those tarts. If you’ll carry them back to the kitchen, I’ll finish here and be there in a few moments.”
Beltur could do that, especially if there were pearapple tarts involved.
XXVI
Under a clear and cold green-blue sky on eightday, Beltur arrived at Lhadoraak and Tulya’s house just a single quint past noon, carrying a covered basket.
Tulya opened the door, glancing at the basket.
“That’s for Jessyla. I’m going there after Taelya and I are done.”
“When are you two going to be consorted?” Tulya smiled as she stepped back and motioned for Beltur to enter the house.
“I can’t say. That’s up to Margrena, right now.”
“I can see that. It takes more silvers than you think to start a household.”
“And it keeps taking them, from what I’ve seen,” replied Beltur as he closed the door. He set the basket on the side table and then took off his coat and hung it and his scarf up.
“You’re right about that,” said Tulya, immediately ushering him into the parlor, where Taelya, wearing light gray trousers and tunic, sat on the bench waiting.
Beltur noticed immediately both the strength of her chaos/order presence, and the clear separations in the chaos and order around her.
“Good afternoon, ser.”
“Good afternoon, Taelya. You’ve been working, I can see.” Beltur moved the straight-backed chair and then sat down. “Let’s see what you can do with a shield around yourself.”
Taelya immediately created her knitted shield, with tiny order points reinforcing the junctures of order and chaos yarns. “Is that better?”
“It is. I’m going to apply pressure, but I want you to hold it for as long as you can.”
“I’ll do that.”
Beltur was pleased that she hadn’t said that she’d try, but that she would. He began to apply force with an order probe, jabbing first at different places, then at the order-linked junctures. Then he stood and picked up the chair by the back and thrust it at her shield. The shield held, but Taelya slid backward on the bench. Beltur thrust again, harder, watching as she stood up, leaning forward and bracing herself. The shield still held. “That’s good. You can drop the shield for a moment and sit back down. You had to work to hold it, didn’t you?”
“Yes, ser.”
“What happened when I thrust the chair at your shield?”
“I got pushed backwards.”
“Do you think that always happens to other mages?”
“I don’t know. Does it?”
Beltur smiled. “Unless they’re very big and heavy, or unless they anchor their shield to something that won’t break or move. Would you like to try to learn how to do that?”
The girl nodded.
“To anchor a shield, you have to link part of your shield to either the order or chaos embodied in something strong around you. Outside, it’s usually the ground. Order anchors usually work better because order stays together more easily, but some whites anchor their shields with scores of tiny pieces of chaos.”
“What does an anchor feel like?”
“It’s different for everyone. For me, I think of it as a link in a chain that I close around other order. I’ve heard others say their anchors are like hooks. I like the link idea because hooks can tear loose, but you’ll have to decide what works for you.” Beltur paused. “Do you want to try?”
“Yes!”
“It’s not as easy as it sounds. You may have to work at it for a long time, perhaps seasons, if not longer, before you have really good anchors.” Beltur paused. “One thing. Don’t ever anchor your shields to a horse or a person or any animal. The anchors will fail, and you could kill the animal, and if you’re riding a horse, that could kill you.”
“I wouldn’t do that.”
“I didn’t think you would, but I wanted you to know that. See what you can do.”
Beltur observed while Taelya created her shield, but when she tried to anchor it to the floor, the small points of order holding the intertwined order and chaos yarns seemed to weaken, and the shield collapsed. Then she tried setting the anchors first and building the shield up from them, but the anchors seemed to vanish when she finished the shield.
Taelya tried a third time, and then a fourth.
Finally, she looked at Beltur. “I can’t do all of it at once. I just can’t.”
While Beltur could hear the frustration in every word, he just asked, “Why not?”
“I can do the shield, but when I try to anchor it, the shield falls apart. When I start with the anchors, they fail by the time I get the shield right.”
“Then what you need to do right now is to work on creating a strong shield that holds together without your having to think about it. That might mean trying different kinds of shields, or different order locks, or maybe using the free chaos in a different way. You also might find something that works better for you.”
“What do you mean by different?”
“Try weaving the chaos in different ways, or making the yarns thicker, or thinner…”
Taelya tried thinner strands of chaos, more like threads. The shield immediately collapsed. Then she tried larger threads, but the shield wasn’t as strong. She looked to Beltur.
“It stays together, but it’s not as strong.”
“That means you need to find a way to arrange the thicker chaos threads so that they are stronger.” Beltur stood. “That’s something you can work on yourself … after you rest a little.”
“Couldn’t we work longer?”
“It’s been almost a glass,” Beltur pointed out, “and you’re getting tired. You need to rest before you try more ways of working with the chaos threads. That’s the way you get stronger. Work until you’re tired; rest; and then try again.” Time after time, until you’re sick of it, always knowing that you still have to keep trying.
“You make it sound easy. It’s not.”
“No, it’s not,” agreed Beltur. “Practicing a skill, working to make it just a little bit better each time, doing it time and time again—that’s hard work. It’s also the
only way to become a skilled mage. Magery’s like any other skill. It takes work and practice.”
“Do you still practice?”
“I still practice, and I’m still trying to learn new things.”
“What?”
“Right now, I’m working on knowing more about healing.”
“Mages aren’t healers, and healers aren’t mages.”
“That’s what people say, but there’s no reason why mages can’t also be healers.”
“Have you healed anyone?”
“I have. I had to try, because there weren’t any healers around.”
“Father says you’re different from other blacks.”
“All blacks differ from each other. I’m just a bit more different.” And getting to be even more different. “Now … your lesson is over, and it’s time for you to rest or to get something to eat.”
“It is indeed,” said Lhadoraak, stepping into the parlor.
“Yes, Father.” Taelya’s voice was resigned, but not sullen. She turned to Beltur. “Thank you. I will work on getting a stronger shield that won’t ever fall apart.”
“That’s good,” replied Beltur cheerfully.
After Taelya left, her father said, “She’s working hard. I never thought a child of mine would be a white.”
“If she keeps working, she’s likely to be a strong white.”
“You’re not working with her on throwing chaos bolts.”
“There’s no point in that until she has strong shields, especially here in Spidlar.”
“There is that,” replied Lhadoraak ruefully. “When can you come again?”
Beltur was about to suggest twoday, but then realized that he might be tied up in finishing things with Jorhan, and threeday was a City Patrol day. “After the next few days, I may have more time. What about fourday afternoon?”
“That shouldn’t be a problem. If it is, we’ll send word to Meldryn.” Lhadoraak smiled. “Are you headed to see Jessyla now?”
Beltur smiled back. “Where else?”
The two walked to the front door, where Beltur donned his coat and reclaimed his basket. “How are things going for you?”
“Slow. They always are at this time of year.”
“Late fall and winter seem to be harder for everyone.”
“Everyone who lives where it’s cold enough for snow and ice.” Lhadoraak followed his words with a short bitter laugh.
Beltur opened the door. “I’ll see you or Tulya around midafternoon on fourday.”
“Until then.”
Beltur stepped out into the cold and headed north.
It was close to half past first glass when he knocked on the door of Grenara’s house.
This time, Jessyla opened the door.
Beltur handed her the basket. “Bread, a meat pie, and four pearapple tarts.”
“How…?” Jessyla took the basket.
Beltur entered the house and closed the door. “Meldryn had a special order, and there were extra pearapples available. We had some last night. They’re good.”
“Everything he bakes is good.”
“He’d claim that some things are just acceptable.” Beltur hung up his coat, glanced around, and seeing no one but Growler, perched as he often was on the staircase, immediately threw his arms around Jessyla.
“I think you missed me,” she murmured, holding him tightly with her free arm for a moment before easing from his embrace. “Mother’s coming.”
While Beltur had sensed Margrena moving toward the doorway from the kitchen to the front room, he’d heard nothing, and Margrena wasn’t yet in sight. “You sensed her coming?”
“I can, a little. I’m getting better at it.”
“I’ve told you before. You’re more than a healer.”
“You’re more than a mage.”
While Beltur had his doubts about being even a fully capable mage, he just replied quietly, “You’re kind, but I have a lot to learn.”
“I’m not kind, and I hate that word. It suggests being more generous in judging people than they merit, and I don’t ever do that. If anything, I’m hard on people.”
“She’s being very truthful about that,” added Margrena as she approached. “She tends to be direct and truthful, even when kindness might be more appropriate.”
“I won’t lie to Beltur. That wouldn’t be right. He needs to know that.”
Margrena looked at Beltur, her words gently wry. “I trust she’s made that clear.”
Beltur turned to Jessyla. “I appreciate the honesty. In turn, I must say that I believe you overestimate the range and strength of my abilities.”
“I didn’t say you were the strongest mage. I said you could do more than just a mage.”
“She’s right,” declared Margrena. “Now that you two have cleared that up, how are matters coming with the smithing and Cohndar?”
“Jorhan is planning on leaving on twoday, but no later than threeday. He’s arranged to travel with some outland merchants.”
“Has Cohndar approached you again?”
“No.”
“He likely will. He’ll try to provoke you into doing or saying something for which he can then approach the Council to demand your exile … or some form of extreme penance.”
Jessyla handed the basket to her mother. “He’s brought gifts again.”
“I don’t like imposing on you without lessening the burden.”
“Grenara appreciates that, and Jessyla and I are grateful.” Margrena turned to her daughter. “Is that truthful enough?”
“Yes, Mother.” Jessyla’s reply was demure.
“But we can all enjoy an early dinner.”
“Not too early,” declared Jessyla.
“Sometime shortly after third glass? Would that be acceptable?”
“It would.”
“Good. You two can enjoy yourselves in the front room. Within reason.” With a smile, Margrena turned and carried the basket into the kitchen.
Beltur didn’t need any encouragement to sit beside Jessyla on the bench.
“Cohndar and Waensyn are looking for a way to force you to leave Elparta.” Her voice was calm and matter-of-fact.
Beltur didn’t even sense any chaos that would have revealed conflicting feelings about what she said. “I’ve had that feeling for some time.”
“I won’t stay here if you leave.” She looked at him openly, warmly.
He could sense the depth of feeling, and he wanted to hold her—and a great deal more that would not have been at all in reason. Instead, he leaned forward, intending to kiss her gently.
Except … her response was far more fervent, and the kiss and embrace lasted much longer than Beltur had intended or expected. Finally, he murmured in her ear. “We’re not consorted. We haven’t even said much about—”
She straightened. “I don’t care. Don’t you dare leave Elparta without me. That wouldn’t be right for either of us.”
As he again looked into Jessyla’s green eyes, he had to agree, but it wasn’t likely to be anywhere that easy. “Your mother…”
“She doesn’t have to live my life. Besides, I can take care of myself.” She offered a crooked smile and added, “Not that I’d have to with you.”
“You’re awfully confident in me.”
She shook her head. “You’ve given me almost a gold in silvers, and you wouldn’t have done that if you didn’t have it to spare. I could sense that. Outside of a new tunic and trousers and a few shirts, you’ve bought almost nothing for yourself, but you’ve been working for the Patrol and the smith for over a season. You must have saved several golds at the least.”
“I have saved a few.”
“And didn’t you say that you’d been offered a place of sorts in Axalt?”
“Of sorts. I’m fairly sure I’d be welcome for at least a time.”
“If you’d be welcome, I’m sure that your consort, who is a healer, would also be welcome.”
“Likely more welcome than an out
cast black mage, because that’s what I’d be.”
“Then it’s settled. If you leave, so do I.”
“It may be settled between us—”
“I’ll take care of Mother. And Auntie.”
The way Jessyla said those words, Beltur had no doubts that she would. He just hoped that it wouldn’t come to that, but he wasn’t about to voice those thoughts. “How has it been at the healing house?”
“Does talking about leaving bother you that much?”
“It bothers me some. I worry about having already been forced from one land, and then possibly being forced from another.”
“If it comes to that, we’ll find the right place. You’ll see.”
Beltur could almost sense the black iron behind her words, but he just nodded.
Jessyla put her arms around him and drew him to her for several very long moments, before easing back slightly and whispering, “Do you see now?”
XXVII
When he woke on oneday, Beltur was still in what felt like a warm haze, despite the chill in his chamber. The two glasses or so that he’d spent with Jessyla had passed far too quickly, as had the supper, and before he’d known it, he’d been walking back along Bakers Lane in the late-afternoon cold, not that he’d really noticed it. Except that, when he rolled out of bed, the cold in his room, and the realization that he only had a day or two more of paid work from Jorhan, struck him almost with the force of a blow, leaving him standing beside the bed for several moments, immobile, the warm glow stripped away, before he finally forced himself to begin his morning routine of washing, shaving, and dressing.
Then he hurried downstairs and fixed breakfast, trying just to concentrate on what he was doing at the moment. When the egg toast was ready, and the cider hot, he called Meldryn.
“Are you all right?” asked the older mage when he stepped into the kitchen.
“I’m fine. Just a little worried. I got to thinking.”
Meldryn laughed. “Unlike last night.” He sat down at the table.
“Unlike last night,” agreed Beltur, seating himself. “I’m worried about Jorhan’s leaving. I’m worried about what Alizant and Cohndar and Waensyn might do. I’m worried about not earning anything at all in another two eightdays.”
“You’ve got a fair bit put aside, I imagine.”
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