Outcasts of Order

by L. E. Modesitt Jr

  “No. Let me see what I can tell now.” Beltur frowned as he concentrated on sensing at a distance. He hadn’t been doing much of that since he’d been mustered out. Despite the light snow, he was sensing a mass of order headed along the Axalt road, the kind of order that could only mean a black mage. He kept working on sensing, until he could make out three riders, and two were mages. Immediately, he looked to Jorhan. “I don’t sense any traders, but there are three riders heading east on the Axalt road. Two are mages, and they just might be coming here.”

  “We haven’t done anything wrong,” snapped the smith. “That frigging proclamation said the first day of winter.”

  Osarus had hinted at something … “I have the feeling that Cohndar is up to something, and it likely concerns me. Why don’t you just keep getting ready?”

  Jorhan shook his head. “I’m ready as I need to be. We’re in this together.” He bent over the sledge and rummaged for a moment, pulling out a heavy hammer and thrusting it under his belt. “We’ll meet them at the smithy.”

  Beltur saw no point in saying that the hammer was likely to be either unnecessary or useless. He just nodded and turned. The two walked back to the smithy.

  Before that long, Beltur sensed the three riders, and then heard hooves on the stone of the lane, slightly muffled by the snow. He walked to the smithy door, then decided to open it and watch. There were just the three riders, two in black and one in Council blue. The one in blue was a Council guard, wearing a sword. The two in black were Cohndar and Waensyn. Both mages, Beltur observed, wore thick black wool overcoats and heavy black gloves. He would have wagered that their coats alone might have cost a gold apiece.

  The guard dismounted, tied his mount to the old hitching rail anchored in two mortared stone pillars, then walked to the smithy door. His eyes did not quite meet Beltur’s. “Is this the smithy of Jorhan?”

  “It is,” replied the smith from where he stood slightly back and to the side of Beltur.

  “I’m Beltur, and I presume the two mages are Cohndar and Waensyn?”

  “Mage-Councilor Cohndar and Mage Waensyn are here to inspect the smithy.”

  “By what right?” asked Jorhan.

  “By the right established in the proclamation of the Traders’ Council of Spidlar, Smith, dealing with the use of magery in the forging of metals.” The guard peered past Beltur into the smithy, then stepped back and turned. “The smith and the mage are here, Mage-Councilor. The smithy appears to contain no others.”

  “Excellent!” declared Waensyn, immediately dismounting and tying up his horse.

  Cohndar dismounted more deliberately and handed the reins of his mount to Waensyn, who tied them to the rail before turning to the Council guard.

  The guard stepped back from the doorway and glanced toward Cohndar, who waited for Waensyn to join him. Finally, the guard spoke again. “Sers?”

  “This is between mages, and a matter for the Mages’ Council,” announced Waensyn, turning toward the Council guard. “You’ve escorted us out here and announced the will of the Council. We can handle the matter from here.”

  Beltur stiffened at those words, but managed to keep a pleasant expression on his face.

  “Yes, sers. Thank you, sers.” The guard immediately moved to the railing and untied his mount. He mounted quickly and turned his horse down the lane.

  Beltur checked his shields. He had the feeling he was going to need them … and that he might have to shield Jorhan as well.

  “Might we come in?” asked Cohndar as he neared the door.

  “Might as well,” replied Jorhan, “seeing as you’re already here.” He glanced to Beltur, who gave the slightest nod and stepped back.

  “Snow isn’t that much different from rain,” said Waensyn conversationally. “It doesn’t affect order much, but it greatly hampers chaos.”

  “We do appreciate your welcoming graciousness,” said Cohndar sardonically. “Or perhaps you actually do recognize the authority of the Council. I did think we might find both of you here,” he added, as he stepped into the smithy, followed by Waensyn, who did not bother to hide the smirk on his face.

  Without speaking, Jorhan closed the door behind Waensyn.

  Beltur sensed the shields of both mages, although they didn’t seem especially impressive to him. But then, they might have hidden secondary shields.

  “Do you sense chaos here, Waensyn?” asked Cohndar conversationally.

  “I certainly do, Councilor,” replied Waensyn. “There’s a white residue just about everywhere.”

  “Only in your imagination,” suggested Beltur mildly.

  “That is just what I’d expect from a renegade white mage posing as a black,” commented Waensyn.

  Cohndar turned to Jorhan. “You must be the smith deceived by this chaos wielder. You should have known better than to try to avoid the will of the Council. You’re preparing to flee. That’s obvious. The smithy is cold, and you’ve recently bought two more horses.”

  “The Council proclamation isn’t effective until the first day of winter,” Jorhan said, an edge to his voice.

  “The Council proclamation deals with both the sale of goods made with chaos and with their making,” declared Waensyn. “The proclamation also provides the Mage-Councilor of Elparta with the authority to root out chaos at any time.”

  “I’ve read the proclamation,” replied Jorhan. “It says ‘the first day of Winter.’ It won’t be the first of winter for another seven days.”

  “That applies to the sale of such goods, not to their production.” Waensyn smiled.

  “So you see,” said Cohndar smoothly, “we are acting within the scope of the proclamation. We are here to require you to turn over all chaos-tinged objects, to take the renegade mage into custody.”

  “You’ll not be doing that,” said Jorhan. “That’s theft.”

  “Oh, but we will. It’s what the Council wants.”

  “Only because you’ve persuaded them by promising golds to Alizant,” said Beltur, checking his shields.

  “Really. Do you think the senior mage would bother himself with mere golds?” asked Cohndar scornfully.

  “Just if they served a purpose.”

  “You will drop those shields, Beltur, that is, if you don’t want others to suffer.”

  “Then what?”

  “You might get off as an indentured worker … if you’re very, very good and obedient,” suggested Cohndar.

  Waensyn just smirked, an expression that suggested far worse than Cohndar’s implied promise.

  At that moment, Beltur slammed containments around both mages, containments with shields blocking all order and chaos. He knew he couldn’t hold them for too long, but hopefully that wouldn’t be required.

  For long moments, both of the intruding blacks struggled against Beltur’s containments. When Beltur felt Cohndar’s shields yielding, he pressed that containment harder.

  Abruptly, the older mage’s shields failed, and Beltur lessened his containment on Cohndar, concentrating on Waensyn, who was on the verge of breaking through Beltur’s containment on him.

  “So … you’ve contained Waensyn and broken my shields,” said Cohndar. “Now what? Murder us both? Or can’t you bring yourself to do that? Or is it taking all your strength to hold Waensyn? He’s stronger than you are, you know.”

  At that moment, Waensyn mustered more order and pushed back on the containment Beltur held. Beltur struggled to hold Waensyn, but couldn’t risk moving. Then Cohndar made another effort and broke through the lighter containment, bolting toward the smithy door and seemingly forgetting that Jorhan stood there.

  The heavy hammer that the smith had carried rose … and slammed down on Cohndar’s skull.

  “You’re not going anywhere, black bastard!” snapped Jorhan.

  Cohndar dropped like a sack of grain onto the stone floor of the smithy, and black mist flared from his form.

  Waensyn hesitated, clearly stunned.

  Finally able to
focus all his strength on Waensyn, Beltur took that moment of hesitation to tighten the containment around the other mage so that it was skintight. Waensyn tried to force back the containment, but Beltur held firm, thinking that without all his past efforts at mastering multiple containments, he would have been the one being restrained. Moments passed, followed by more moments. Struggling vainly against the containment, Waensyn turned red, then bluish, and then another black mist chilled Beltur. He dropped the containment, and Waensyn’s body pitched forward onto the stones.

  Beltur shuddered, then took a deep breath. “I … didn’t … want to do that.”

  “Good thing you did. They would have done the same to you. You’d best be coming to Axalt with me,” said Jorhan.

  “We’ll have to catch up with you.”

  “We?”

  “I promised her I wouldn’t leave her.”

  “First sensible thing you’ve said in eightdays. What about the two of them? The traders’ party is going to be here in less than a glass.”

  “We’ll need to hide the bodies, someplace where they won’t be found until spring … and not on your lands. After that, I’ll take one of the horses with me, and leave the other in the barn until I come back here with Jessyla. Then we’ll use it to carry gear.”

  “Is it that safe for you to go back to Elparta?”

  “It’s still snowing, and I can stay hidden when I need to. Besides, I promised I wouldn’t leave without her.”

  “We’d better get moving, then. Saddle that big gelding of yours. Mine’s already saddled.”

  In less than a quint, the two had their mounts outside the smithy, where Jorhan held the reins of both. Beltur lifted Cohndar’s body up and threw it over the saddle of Jorhan’s mount.

  “Don’t forget his wallet,” said Jorhan. “No sense in leaving silvers.”

  Beltur found two golds, three silvers, and eight coppers in the dead councilor’s wallet. When he hoisted Waensyn’s still form over his own shabby saddle he found a gold and eight silvers. So much for them looking out for other blacks. “Where are we going?”

  “Down to the road, and east to the next lane. Just a hundred yards or so on the road. Up the lane a bit is a gully. Vorgaan dumps everything there, and everyone else does and everyone knows about it. If the snow keeps up, they won’t be found until spring. Maybe not even then.”

  Since Beltur didn’t have a better idea, he walked Slowpoke down the lane, sensing through the still-falling light snow, but finding no one near. Disposing of both bodies was as simple as Jorhan had indicated. Beltur would have preferred a more remote disposal location, but given that he had to ride back and get Jessyla, tell Meldryn, and get well clear of Elparta before people started asking about Cohndar and Waensyn, the less time it took, the better.

  Once back at the smithy, they stabled one of the two mounts Cohndar and Waensyn had ridden, both Council horses, Beltur suspected, which would add another crime to his rapidly growing list. Then he turned to Jorhan. “I can’t see what I need to do taking less than two glasses. We’ll do our best to catch up.”

  “I can stall them a bit.”

  “Not too much. You don’t want to be here too long, either.”

  “Nasty pair like that, no one’s going to hurry if they don’t show up.”

  Beltur could only hope that was the case, but all that mattered at the moment was getting Jessyla and getting on the way to Axalt.

  “Beltur…”

  “Yes?”

  “There’s a way station some thirteen or fourteen kays east, maybe three kays beyond Reiks.”

  “Reiks? Is that a village?”

  “More like a hamlet, but no one there will host folks they don’t know. It’s just after a long ridge on the south.”

  Beltur nodded. He remembered that ridge from the invasion campaign, but he didn’t recall a hamlet, just a few houses set well back from the road.

  “If you don’t catch up to us, stop at the way station. It’s got a covered well, and it’s more snug than most. And don’t run the horses. You don’t want them to get sweaty in this weather. Better that you take a day or two more to catch up than your horse gets his coat damp down to his skin. The other winter way stations are about fifteen kays apart.”

  “Thank you. That’s very good to know.”

  Beltur mounted Slowpoke and rode back down the lane, with the other horse on a lead beside him. He was about halfway to the southeast gate when he made out two sledges heading east out of Elparta. He eased off the road, raised a concealment, and waited, although he was fairly certain that the group were those Jorhan was waiting for. Once they passed, he continued on. When he neared the gate, he waited, well back, until there was no one near, then raised a concealment, and, after easing the Council mount close to Slowpoke, rode through the gate. One of the guards peered around, but said nothing. After he was inside the walls, he turned north on the wall street and headed for the Council Healing House.

  As he rode, his eyes and senses alert, he couldn’t help wondering whether there had been any other way to deal with Cohndar and Waensyn. Maybe … if you’d toadied up to Cohndar early on … He shook his head. That wouldn’t have worked, either. Cohndar would have detected the deception unless Beltur had kept total shields around himself all the time when he had been near Cohndar, and that would have told the senior mage that Beltur was hiding something.

  Once he reined up outside the healing house, he didn’t see much alternative to tying the horses to the rail and putting a concealment around them. He hurried inside and walked straight to the chamber where Klarisia usually was. No one was there except a thin older woman in gray. “Where could I find Healer Margrena and Healer Jessyla?”

  “They might be in the main admitting room, the one—”

  “Thank you.” Beltur smiled and left, taking long swift strides down the main corridor.

  Even as Beltur stepped into the admitting room, Jessyla turned, then said to her mother, “I think it’s time to go.”

  Margrena stepped back and said to the woman she was tending, “I’ll be back in a moment.”

  When mother and daughter reached him, he said, “I have two mounts outside. We need to hurry. You’ll have to gather up everything quickly.”

  “It’s done,” replied Jessyla. “I already have everything packed.”

  “You do?”

  “She started packing as soon as you left on eightday,” said Margrena. “What happened?”

  “Let’s just say that, when Cohndar and Waensyn showed up at the smithy this morning, they made it clear that my life would soon be forfeit if I remained a day longer in Elparta.”

  “A day longer?” asked Margrena.

  “If that.” Beltur gestured and turned. “This way. We need to move quickly.”

  Margrena frowned, but said nothing.

  The three walked down the corridor. Jessyla hurried ahead and recovered her coat from Klarisia’s study quickly enough that Beltur didn’t even have to break stride.

  Once they were outside, Beltur saw two men near the concealed horses. One started toward Beltur, a club in his hand. Beltur struck him with a small containment, hard enough to knock the club from his hand.

  “Frigging mage…”

  But both men backed off, then hurried away.

  Beltur removed the concealment and stopped short of Slowpoke, turning to Margrena. “I’m sorry things happened this way. I did my best to avoid trouble, but that’s what Cohndar and Waensyn insisted on. The only way I can avoid execution or permanent indenture is to leave Elparta.”

  “Why?”

  “Cohndar insisted that I left free chaos in the cupridium, against the orders of the Council.” Beltur motioned to the Council mount. “This one’s yours, Jessyla.”

  Jessyla looked at her mother. “I’m sorry—”

  “Don’t be. When I was your age, I didn’t have the courage to follow your father. If I had, he might have lived. You’ll make your own mistakes, but I don’t want you making mine
. Besides, if I said no, you’d follow Beltur, and that would be far more dangerous.”

  Jessyla’s mouth opened, and her eyes brightened.

  “Just go. Every moment you spend here will make it harder, and I can tell from just looking at Beltur that you need to be away quickly.”

  Jessyla threw her arms around her mother. “Thank you.” After a tight embrace, she mounted the horse.

  Beltur mounted Slowpoke, then said, “Your aunt’s house.”

  Jessyla nodded.

  Beltur eased Slowpoke into a quick walk. “Is she home?”

  “She said she was going to spend the afternoon at Almaya’s, but she’ll be home now.”

  “Then I’ll wait outside with the horses.”

  Once they reined up outside the door of Grenara’s house, Jessyla dismounted and handed her horse’s reins to Beltur.

  Beltur waited, uneasily, but Jessyla was back quickly, after a time that seemed to drag as Beltur kept looking around, but was likely only a fraction of a quint.

  She hurried out, carrying a large cloth-covered cylindrical pack.

  Grenara followed Jessyla, but stopped in the doorway. “You can’t run off like this! What will I tell your mother? What will she say?”

  “She already knows. She told me to go,” declared Jessyla, struggling to balance the overlarge duffel over the front of the saddle before mounting.

  Grenara was speechless for a moment, before turning to Beltur. “The Council won’t let you get away with this. Waensyn will chase you to the end of Candar and beyond.”

  “If he does, it will be his undoing, and he’ll deserve that and more.” Seeing as he’s already gotten part of what he deserved. Beltur turned to Jessyla. “Are you ready?”

  “Go.”

  While they rode south on Bakers Lane, Beltur kept his eyes and senses moving, feeling that each of those they passed was looking at the two of them. And while they were, likely because very few riders were out in the snow, light as it was, none gave the mounted pair more than a passing glance.