Outcasts of Order

by L. E. Modesitt Jr

When they neared the bakery, Beltur said, “I need you to wait here outside with the horses, while I gather my few clothes and things and say goodbye to Meldryn. I won’t be long. Not at all.” You can’t afford to be. He rode Slowpoke to a point midway between the door to the house and the door to the bakery. There, he reined up, dismounted, and handed Slowpoke’s reins to Jessyla.

  “I’ll be as quick as I can be.”

  “I’ll be here.”

  Beltur hurried inside, brushing past Laranya, who had come from the parlor.

  “Oh … you’re never here in the middle of the day.”

  “I’m usually not. I need to get a few things. I’ll be out shortly. Just get on with what you were doing.”

  “I wanted to tell you that Nykail is doing so much better. One of the black mages came to look at him. He had silver hair. He asked what you had done to heal Nykail. I told him I didn’t know, except that you had said he had too much order deep inside. He thanked me and left.”

  “Did he give his name?”

  “No. The one with him said he was a councilor.”

  Waensyn and Cohndar! But how did they know? Figuring that out would have to wait. “I see. Thank you for telling me.” Beltur managed a smile before heading upstairs.

  Once in his room, the first thing he did was to open the iron strongbox and take out the golds and silvers. The golds went into the inside slots in his belt, except for two, which he slipped into his pocket, and some of the silvers into his wallet. The rest stayed in the cloth bag that they’d been in, and the bag went in the duffel. You’ll have to do better than that, but not right now.

  He looked at the patrol mage medallion, then smiled wryly and put it around his neck. Why not? They’ll execute you anyway if they catch you.

  Quickly he gathered his toiletries and wrapped them in a towel. He also grabbed another towel, and packed all that in the duffel and tied it shut. Carrying the duffel, he hurried down the stairs and to the bakery, where he stood in the archway for a moment until he saw that no one was there.

  “Meldryn, you were right,” he said as he walked toward the gray-bearded mage. “Cohndar plans to charge me with chaos-wielding and indenture me for life, that is, if the Council doesn’t decide to execute me.”

  “And you’re still here?”

  “Not for long. Jessyla is outside with the horses, and we’re leaving.” Beltur handed over the two golds. “This isn’t even close to what I owe you in so many ways, but it’s all I can afford to spare.”

  “You don’t—”

  “I do. I owe you more than I can say, but if I don’t pay some of it, it will haunt me forever … as long as that may be.” Or at least as long as we manage to stay alive.

  “You’d better go. Your whole body says you’re just quints ahead of Cohndar and Waensyn.”

  “Something like that.” Beltur set down the duffel, then stepped forward and hugged the older man, strongly but quickly. “Thank you ever so much.”

  “I gained as much as you did.”

  Beltur doubted that.

  Meldryn hurried to the middle of the bakery, picked up two meat pies and wrapped them in a cloth, then handed the package to Beltur.

  Beltur decided to leave through the bakery. After picking up the duffel one-handed, he walked to the door, Meldryn beside him.

  As he neared the door, Beltur took a deep breath and was almost overwhelmed by how good the bakery smelled … and how much he was going to miss Meldryn … and had missed Athaal.

  He swallowed.

  “Just go,” said Meldryn gently, as he opened the door. “She’s waiting for you, and you don’t want anything to happen to her.”

  Beltur nodded and hurried toward Jessyla, handing her the wrapped meat pies.

  In moments, or so it seemed, the two of them were riding north on Crossed Lane.

  “What are we doing?”

  “We’re going to the smithy, where we’ll load our duffels on another horse, and then we’ll set out to catch up with Jorhan and the traders. If we hurry, they’ll only be a glass or so ahead of us, and we should be able to catch them by the end of the day.”

  “If the snow doesn’t get worse.”

  “Even if we don’t we have to get away from Elparta. I’ll tell you more when we get to the smithy.”

  “I have the feeling I know. Mother probably does also.”

  “But she doesn’t know for a fact, and that’s important.”

  Before long they turned south on the east wall street. Beltur questioned whether to use a concealment in approaching the southeast gate, but decided against it, especially since he’d never used one around Jessyla and since he didn’t have a lead attached to her mount. “We’ll just ride out through the gate. I hope I don’t have to use containments on the guards, but they usually don’t care who’s leaving.”

  As they neared the gate, Beltur glanced in the direction of the Council building, wishing he dared to stop and pick up his last two silvers as a patrol mage. He shook his head. That was risking far too much for too little. Besides, what he’d taken from Cohndar and Waensyn more than outweighed two silvers. At least you’re not leaving Elparta coinless and with more than the clothes on your back.

  Beltur could feel himself getting tense when he turned Slowpoke east and rode through the gate. On the far side, one of the guards looked quizzically at Beltur, then smiled. “So you’ve finally got a horse, Mage?”

  “I do, indeed. He’s an old friend that I finally managed to get back.”

  “Don’t be gone too long. The snow’s getting heavier.”

  “We’ll likely be staying at the smithy where I’ve been working. Don’t expect us back tonight.”

  The guard nodded.

  Once the two were well away from the gate, Jessyla asked, “How did he know you?”

  “Just by sight. I’ve been walking through those gates for almost two seasons. Some of the guards recognize me by now.”

  “That’s good. They don’t see anything unusual about your leaving.”

  Beltur hoped not, although he seldom left the city so late in the morning, and he also hoped the guard hadn’t seen him leave the first time or didn’t recall it.

  As the two rode closer to the smithy, Beltur kept sensing to see if any blacks or anyone else was near the smithy, but while there were low spots in the snow on the lane where the snow had lightly covered earlier tracks, most likely from Jorhan’s sledge, there were no signs that anyone else had been there. Beltur rode right up to the stable, where he dismounted and tied Slowpoke. Jessyla dismounted as well, and the two entered the stable, Jessyla still carrying the meat pies.

  The first thing Beltur noticed was a small sack tied to the saddle of the second Council mount, with a note attached. He read the words and smiled.

  Provisions. Figured you might not have time for them. One sack by the door has grain for horses. The big one has hay. It’s not as heavy as it looks. The water bottle’s old, but it doesn’t leak.

  Beltur realized that there was a water bottle in an older leather holder on the other side of the saddle, and an old curry brush, thrust under the leather strap. He peered inside the sack. At the top was the package of acorn cakes he’d given Jorhan. He smiled, then turned to Jessyla. “We can put the meat pies here. Jorhan was thoughtful.” More than thoughtful. Much more.

  “What happened? It happened in the other building, didn’t it?”

  “Cohndar and Waensyn showed up before eighth glass. They came with a Council guard, but they sent him off as soon as they discovered no one was here but Jorhan and me. They told Jorhan that he’d been deceived by a renegade white mage, and they said they were going to return me to Elparta and that I’d be fortunate to spend my life as an indentured slave. Then they told me to drop my shields. That told me I’d never make it back to stand before the Council. They would have claimed that I tried to escape and that they had to kill me. I put containments around them both. I broke Cohndar’s shields, but Waensyn almost broke out of the containme
nt I had around him. While I was dealing with him, Cohndar tried to escape. Jorhan hit him with a big smithing hammer. It killed him instantly. I tightened the containment on Waensyn and held it until he died.”

  “Good! They both deserved it.”

  “Waensyn even more than Cohndar.”

  “I never liked him, but he made up to Auntie. The only reason he did that was to try to get me and get at you.”

  “You never said anything about that.”

  “I thought you’d get too angry and do something foolish. Then I saw that you were wiser than I thought, and it didn’t matter anymore.” She paused. “I still don’t see why they put you in a situation where you didn’t have any choice.”

  “Because they thought they were much stronger than I am. That was my fault, or my doing, anyway. None of them, not even Athaal, knew what I could do. At first, I kept what I was doing to make myself stronger from everyone because I thought I was weaker than the stronger blacks, and I didn’t want them to know that. Then, when I was forced into being an arms-mage, I didn’t want them to know because it became obvious that Cohndar and Waensyn were plotting to put me in situations where I’d be killed. You know that. I almost was several times, and without Slowpoke, it would have been worse. So I let them think I was much weaker than I was. A lot of them can probably do more, but I don’t think many of the blacks in Elparta are as strong with containments and shields, and those made the difference. I just wish they’d left us alone.”

  “Some people can’t do that.”

  Unfortunately, and that makes it worse for everyone. “We need to load up the other horse and be going. It wouldn’t be good to be caught here.”

  “In a moment.” Jessyla turned and pulled him to her, her lips on his in the chill stable. When she finally released him, she said quietly, “We are consorted. It may not be formal and with a party, but it counts.”

  While Beltur hadn’t expected the suddenness of her statement, he just said, before returning the kiss, “We are.” And a flood of bittersweetness swept over him, for all those who should have been there at that moment, and who would never know, for his uncle, for Athaal, and Meldryn and Margrena … all because of two jealous and bitter blacks.

  XXIX

  A little more than a glass after Beltur and Jessyla left the smithy, the snow began to fall more heavily, although the wind did not pick up, and the air seemed slightly warmer. Remembering what Jorhan had said about the horses, he hadn’t pushed them, but kept moving at a solid walk, riding with Jessyla to his right, and the Council mount that served as their packhorse on a lead to his left. The packhorse looked heavy-laden because of the sack of fodder, but the weight it carried was far less than the other two. The center of the road was packed snow, and by straining Beltur could follow the traces of the traders’ sledges covered by perhaps three digits of recently fallen snow.

  After two glasses passed, they stopped to stretch their legs, and to drink some of the water in the single bottle. Beltur also worried about watering the horses. He could use tiny bits of chaos to melt snow, but he didn’t have anything to hold the water. Another thing you didn’t think of.

  They remounted and resumed their ride. Before that long, there was enough newer snow on the road that Jessyla announced, “We can’t see the traces anymore. At least, I can’t.”

  “We’re still on the road,” replied Beltur. “There’s been enough travel that the snow is higher on the sides.”

  “I can see that. More like sense it, but it worries me, and we haven’t seen anyone.”

  “That’s probably for the best. Before long, no one will be able to tell if we came this way and how far.”

  “Where else could we go where we’re out of Spidlar any sooner?”

  Beltur laughed softly. “You’re right about that.”

  After several long moments, she spoke again. “You never said what you did with them … their bodies. I mean, you’re not a chaos mage.”

  “So I couldn’t have burned them to ashes? No, I didn’t do that. Jorhan knew a place. Even if someone does go looking, and we’re unfortunate, it will be a few days before they’re found, since they may not even be missed yet. With luck no one will ever find them, but I’m not counting on that.”

  “That’s why you didn’t tell Meldryn or Mother anything.”

  “They can truthfully say that they don’t know anything about it. The way I phrased what I did say suggested that I was fleeing to avoid Cohndar and Waensyn. That implied that they were still alive at that time. With their mounts also missing, some people might wonder if they got lost in the snow chasing us.” Unlikely, but possible. “Also, they’re likely to find out that Jorhan bought two horses when he already had one, and that might muddy the waters more.”

  “They can’t force Axalt to give you up, can they?”

  “First, they’ll have to discover that we’re there. Second, Axalt has never given up anyone or anything to either Certis, Gallos, or Spidlar.” Beltur brushed more snow off his coat and then off Slowpoke. “That’s where Relyn went to escape the Prefect of Gallos.”

  “Relyn?”

  “You don’t know about Relyn?”

  “I’ve heard of the Relynists. He must be the one they’re named after.”

  “He is. According to Meldryn, Relyn built a black temple of order in Passera. The Prefect didn’t like what he was telling people about order and put a price on his head. He fled through Elparta to Axalt. The Prefect had attacked Axalt before and had failed. I don’t think he tried again. Anyway, Relyn was safe in Axalt. Supposedly, there are a lot of Relynists there. Some in Montgren, too, I think.”

  “What did he say that made the Prefect so mad?”

  “I don’t know. Some called him the Black Prophet.”

  “I never heard of a black prophet.”

  “I didn’t either, until Athaal told me about him…” Beltur paused. “Come to think, it was Laevoyt who called him the Black Prophet.”

  “Laevoyt? The city patroller you worked with?”

  “He was the one. Good man. I wish I could have said goodbye to him, too.”

  Another glass passed, and the road showed no recent trace or traces of mounts or sledges.

  Beltur was getting the definite feeling that they were unlikely to catch up with Jorhan any time soon—not unless the smith and the traders stopped at the way station beyond Reiks. He also wondered if he’d even be able to make out the few structures that comprised the hamlet through the gloom and still-falling snow.

  “How far do you think the way station might be?” Jessyla finally asked.

  “I haven’t seen or sensed the buildings that might be Reiks. We’ve only been gone for a little less than four glasses, and Jorhan said the way station was at least thirteen kays from the smithy, maybe fourteen.”

  “It will start to get dark in another two glasses, maybe sooner if the snow gets heavier.”

  Beltur was well aware of that. He was also conscious of the fact that his hands and feet were getting cold, almost numb. By the time another glass passed, he was feeling more than a little chilled, and worried. Had they somehow gotten sidetracked onto another road? All he could see was white in every direction … and he couldn’t sense anything standing out—or could he?

  He concentrated more, hard as it was through the snow, before he sensed what had to be a cot, to the north of the road and not that far ahead. Now … if there’s another …

  Before long, he sensed another, past the first, and when they were almost abreast of the first, he saw what had to be a path, if covered with new snow, heading north. He was afraid to smile, but when he sensed a third, he finally spoke. “I think we’re passing through Reiks.”

  “That means another glass before the way station?”

  “Maybe a little less.”

  More than three quints later, Beltur finally sensed, and then saw, the way station. It stood less than ten yards off the road, hard for Beltur to see in the dim light with the still-falling snow, essent
ially a timbered barn with a steeply pitched roof and two doors, one clearly for animals and the other for travelers. There were only two windows, and they were shuttered.

  “I was beginning to think we’d never get here.” Jessyla paused. “There’s no sign anyone else has been here, not in the last glass or two, anyway.”

  While a way several yards wide had been packed down in the snow in the not-too-distant past, the untouched snow above it was a good ten digits deep.

  Beltur rode Slowpoke right up to the door for the horses, or oxen, he supposed, but saw immediately he’d have to open that door from inside. So he rode back to the smaller door and dismounted, handing the lead to the packhorse to Jessyla. He had to pound on the door to break it free of the ice that had formed, but it gave way suddenly, so abruptly that he almost tripped and fell inside.

  The inside was pitch dark, although he could sense that the travelers’ side was little more than an open space with a small hearth in one corner. There was even wood in the woodbox. He turned toward the west side of the barn, looking for and finding a door, ajar, through which he hurried. Since the timbers that held the double doors shut were frozen to their iron brackets, Beltur didn’t hesitate to use several bits of chaos to unfreeze them so that he could open the doors. Jessyla immediately rode inside, and Beltur stepped out, only to find Slowpoke already moving toward him.

  “Good fellow!” Beltur led the gelding inside and then barred the doors. He frowned, then returned to the travelers’ side, looking for and finding a bar to the smaller door, which he quickly put in place.

  “Now, for some water.”

  “Beltur … it’s dark, and it’s hard to sense where things are. If we could get my bag down, I did bring two candles.”

  Beltur made his way to the packhorse and unloaded Jessyla’s overlarge cylindrical duffel, but carried it to the travelers’ side, where there was a very worn wooden floor, then set it near the hearth. He was surprised to see that a fire had been laid in the hearth. Does the Council pay one of the locals to keep the way stations ready?

  He smiled wryly. He hadn’t thought he’d ever again be grateful for anything the Council did. He didn’t bother with a striker, but used chaos to light the kindling. By then Jessyla had appeared and had dug out a candle, and she used the fire to light it.