Outcasts of Order

by L. E. Modesitt Jr

  Beltur could sense that Johlana was definitely not displeased.

  Nor did Barrynt seem unhappy, either.

  “You’ve already been so kind,” offered Jessyla.

  “Too kind,” added Beltur.

  “Nonsense. You’ve rescued my brother and brought him here safe, and that will allow Ryntaar to do what he’s always wanted. It’s the least we can do. And there’s a good mattress in our cellar that will fit that bedstead. If it doesn’t, there’s a bedstead in the stable…”

  Beltur just listened as Johlana explained to Jessyla.

  XL

  On twoday, Beltur woke early. What have you done? You’re committed to setting up a household in a city where you’ve been for less than two eightdays. You know almost no one, and you’re not making enough to pay for everything, and the golds and silvers you have will only last so long.

  But what choice did he and Jessyla have? Without Barrynt and Johlana, things would have been far worse. Still, he couldn’t help worrying.

  “Are you awake?” asked Jessyla. “Are you all right?”

  And you’re consorted to someone who can largely sense what you’re feeling. “I woke up worrying, but other than that, I’m all right.”

  “You’re worrying too much.”

  “With what little we’re making?” Beltur turned toward her.

  “The cot costs four silvers a season. That’s a gold for an entire year. We’re each making a gold a season.” She paused. “I saw how many golds you have in the slots in your belt. We could live on those for several years, even without making anything, if we’re careful.”

  “I need to find a safe place—”

  “Right now, as long as you keep your trousers close, that’s the safest place.” She reached out and touched his cheek. “It really is.”

  They were the first into the breakfast room, except for, of course, Johlana. Almost as soon as Jessyla sat down, Johlana said, “You have the day off. So we can look over the furniture in the storeroom and see what suits you and Beltur best. I also have some linens in the back of the linen closet that should work…”

  Beltur managed not to smile in amusement, although he was also very glad that the merchant’s consort wanted to be helpful. Instead, he began to eat soon after Asala appeared with a platter of egg toast and ham strips—but after Johlana and Jessyla served themselves.

  Then Barrynt arrived, along with Ryntaar and Frankyr, and after several swallows of ale, he turned to Beltur. “I’ve been thinking…”

  “Yes?” replied Beltur politely.

  “I only saw a few sticks in the woodpile by the back door of your cot and nothing in the woodbox by the hearth. We can spare some coal for your hearth to get you started and get the place warmed up, but you’ll have to buy wood as well as coal. Most men line up their coal well before winter. You obviously couldn’t do that, but there are always young fellows with strong backs who have wood for sale. Don’t pay more than a silver for a cord, though, and not until it’s delivered and stacked.”

  “That’s part of the price?”

  “It is, but they’ll take you for an outlander. You’ll need to tell them that the price has to include delivery and stacking.”

  Beltur couldn’t help wondering just how many other unplanned expenses would crop up before they were even settled in the cot. “I appreciate the advice.” He grinned wryly. “What else should I know that I don’t? What about water?”

  “You’re not so fortunate. I paid to have a pipe run from the nearest water house to our cistern. That’s what the pump brings up.”

  “Water house?”

  “The little square houses set on corners every so often. Each one has a small cistern and a pump. Each cistern is fed by pipes from the reservoir. The pumps are designed so that when they’re not used the water drains out. That’s so they don’t freeze up. You’ll have to carry water to the cot.”

  Beltur imagined that carrying water to the cot could get old very quickly, but that would have been a problem anywhere that they could afford. “I didn’t see any buckets.”

  “Rhodos at the chandlery has good buckets. Tell him I sent you. It might help. He might even have a house cistern that doesn’t cost too much.”

  “Like a huge barrel?”

  “Barrels get dirty too easily. House cisterns are made of fired and glazed clay. It might cost a silver or two to get one delivered, but if you can afford it, they’re worth it. Much easier to clean, and they warm up the water to the same heat as the cot.”

  “Thank you.” Beltur had never heard of a house cistern, but the idea made sense to him.

  “I’m sure you’ll have more questions, especially after our consorts go through the storeroom.”

  “I wouldn’t wager against that.”

  Beltur finished the last of his egg toast and the amber ale, then rose. “Thank you, again, for such an excellent breakfast. I need to hurry off, unhappily.”

  “It still seems strange for a mage to be working like a healer,” said Ryntaar.

  “I’ve never heard of a mage-healer,” added Frankyr.

  “There are very few,” said Jessyla. “My mother knew one years ago.”

  “What happened to him?” asked Frankyr.

  “She didn’t know. He left Fenard when she was very young. She didn’t know why.”

  Beltur looked to Jessyla, trying to keep his jaw in place. “You never…”

  “I didn’t remember until Frankyr said ‘mage-healer.’ I couldn’t have been more than five or six.” She offered an embarrassed smile. “You’ll be late. I’ll tell you this evening.”

  Beltur could sense both the honesty and embarrassment. “I look forward to hearing it all.” He smiled back at her, then inclined his head to Johlana. “Thank you, again.”

  Once he left the breakfast room, Beltur had to hurry, but he still managed to arrive at the healing house just before seventh glass.

  When he stepped into Herrara’s study, she looked up at him.

  “You’d better look at Poldaark first.”

  “Wound chaos?”

  She just nodded.

  “Where is he?”

  “In the room where Stullak was.”

  Beltur hid a wince, thinking of the man he hadn’t been able to save. After a moment, he nodded and then took one of the oblong baskets that held cloths, spirits, and a few implements, and then headed up the stairs. The small room still had four beds, but only one was occupied.

  Poldaark looked up from that bed. “It still hurts. It’s getting worse.”

  “I know,” said Beltur. “I’m going to see what I can do for you.” He stood over the youth and let his senses explore the long puncture wound and the area around it. While there were quite a number of small and angry-feeling bits of wound chaos, a handful of which had a yellow-greenish tinge that he definitely didn’t like, the chaos was restricted to or immediately touching the wound, unlike with poor Stullak, where it had been everywhere. But there were close to a score of those small chaos bits.

  He took a deep breath and then sat down on the side of the bed closest to Poldaark. “This might take a little while.”

  “I don’t think I’m going anywhere, ser mage.”

  Not if I can’t get rid of most of that wound chaos inside you. Beltur just nodded and began to focus on channeling bits of free order at the largest clump of the greenish-tinged chaos, then moving his efforts to the next one. After removing five or so of the greenish clumps, he could also sense that the wound and the area around it were getting warmer, but he had the feeling that he needed to deal with all of them, if he didn’t want the wound to fester.

  “Are you feeling feverish?”

  “Where the pole went through me feels warmer. That doesn’t feel bad, though.”

  “Good. You may feel feverish before I’m finished.”

  Beltur continued, working from the larger clumps to the smaller ones, bit by bit. When he finished, he had a slight hint of a headache. He took a deep breath and
looked at Poldaark. Sweat was beading on the youth’s forehead. “How do you feel?”

  “Hot, and it’s sort of sore. Sorer than it was.”

  “You should cool down in a while. The soreness should pass after a while.” You hope.

  Beltur stood. “I’ll stop by later.”

  After looking in on three others on the upper level, he went back to see Herrara.

  “What do you think?”

  “I took care of the wound chaos.”

  “So far. How long can you keep doing it?”

  Beltur shrugged wearily. “For now. If I can keep it down, he’ll have a chance.”

  “Until those other two throw him around again,” replied Herrara.

  “Has something like that happened with him before?”

  “Not with him. I’ve seen others come in several times until they didn’t make it. Even if he doesn’t come back, in the next eightday or so, sooner or later, there will be another incident.”

  “It happens that often?”

  “More often as winter drags on. By spring, more of the beds will be filled.”

  That thought disturbed Beltur, but if the chief healer said that, he didn’t doubt it. “I looked at the others upstairs. There’s nothing else I could do there now.” He paused. “You seem to be the only healer here. How many are there in Axalt?”

  “I am. The Council only pays for two. That doesn’t count Elisa, since she’s in training.” Herrara smiled tightly. “If you must know, I am grateful that you and your consort came.”

  “I’m grateful for the experience.”

  “Now that’s out of the way, you might as well come with me.”

  Beltur spent much of the morning preparing wound dressings, until more injuries filtered into the healing house, when he returned to dealing with an assortment of injuries.

  Just after fourth glass, he left the healing house and walked back through the cold to Barrynt’s, where he found that the only person there was Asala, busy working on dinner.

  “Where is everyone, Asala?”

  “Your consort and Mistress Johlana are at your cot. So’s young Frankyr. Master Barrynt’s likely at his factorage with the smith and Ryntaar.”

  “Thank you.” Beltur turned and made his way from the merchant’s small mansion, walking the half kay to the cot.

  There he found Frankyr readying what had to be Barrynt’s wagon to leave the cot.

  “They’re inside, ser mage.”

  “Thank you.”

  Beltur opened the front door and stepped into the front room of the cot … and just looked.

  There were two oak armchairs, each with a dark green cushion, flanking a matching oak bench, with two side tables. The bench that had been in the cot had been placed against the inside wall underneath the wooden coat pegs near the front door.

  “Beltur? Is that you?” called Jessyla from either the kitchen or bedroom.

  “It’s me.” He slowly shut the door.

  Jessyla burst through the archway from the kitchen, a broad smile on her face. “How do you like it?”

  “I can’t believe it.”

  “Neither can I, and Johlana insists it’s really all ours.” Jessyla turned and gestured to the older woman.

  “It really is,” affirmed Johlana. “We have no use for it, and there’s plenty more for Ryntaar and Frankyr.”

  “We can’t thank you enough,” said Jessyla.

  Johlana offered what Beltur could only describe as a mischievous smile. “I can’t tell you how happy helping you two has made me. Now that Beltur’s here, I’ll ride back to the house with Frankyr. You can show Beltur everything.”

  Johlana was gone in moments, and Jessyla ushered Beltur into the kitchen, where there were four straight-backed chairs, which consisted of two matched pairs of different styles and slightly different heights, and a much older corner cupboard. The table that had come with the house remained, as did the bench, which had been moved underneath the small side window. There was also a stool that could seat someone at one end of the table, if necessary.

  In the bedroom, the ancient bedstead had been replaced by one of golden oak, with a thick mattress, and a tall dresser and armoire that matched the bedstead.

  “What did you do with the old one?” asked Beltur.

  “Johlana persuaded Rohan to take it back.”

  Beltur frowned. “She did that?”

  “She can be … quietly forceful.”

  “Sometimes not even quietly so,” replied Beltur. “I wonder why. That sounds like she wanted us to have the bedstead.”

  “I’m sure she did. She wanted it out of sight.”

  “Then it had to have been…” He shook his head. “Barrynt couldn’t have been consorted that long when…”

  “I can’t believe that he just turned to Johlana right after his first consort’s death.”

  “I don’t think he did. Jorhan said that Barrynt had been widowed for a while and was forlorn when he first met Johlana. He courted her for over two years.” Beltur fingered his chin, thinking. “Still … Johlana seemed happy to help you. It wasn’t as though she was just getting rid of reminders of a past she didn’t share.”

  “She was very happy.” Jessyla paused. “I don’t think she had much say in what happened in Halhana’s household or how it was set up,” said Jessyla. “I don’t think she cares much for Eshult’s parents.”

  “Emlyn and Sarysta?”

  Jessyla nodded. “Johlana said that they’d picked out all the furnishings in Halhana’s house. That might have been why she’s so pleased to be able to help us.”

  “Help you, I think.”

  “She’s enjoying it, and so am I … except…”

  Beltur could see the sudden brightness in Jessyla’s eyes. “You wish your mother were here doing that, don’t you?”

  “Maybe … she can come to see us in the summer. I know it’s a long trip … both ways … but…”

  “We’ll just have to see. There ought to be someone we can send a letter with sometime in the next few eightdays. It wouldn’t be good for her to travel here in the winter anyway.”

  “No. You’re right about that.”

  Beltur didn’t even have to strain to sense the resigned acceptance behind her words. “We’ll get word to her as soon as we can.” He immediately added, “You never did tell me about the mage-healer that your mother knew.”

  “She said that when she was a child, she met a mage-healer, and that he was silver-haired, like the dark angel Nylan, and that he was returning home to the forest.”

  “The Great Forest of Naclos?”

  “She never said. I didn’t ask, but I’m sure I didn’t even know what the Great Forest of Naclos was. I don’t know why I thought about that. For some reason, when Frankyr said ‘mage-healer,’ I remembered what she said.”

  “He was probably a druid, then.”

  “I don’t know. She never said much more than that.”

  “And you never asked her about him?”

  Jessyla gave Beltur a look of exasperation. “How could I ask her when I didn’t remember what she said until now?”

  “You really didn’t remember?”

  “Would I have said I didn’t remember if I didn’t?” Jessyla’s voice sharpened.

  Beltur winced. “I’m sorry. It just … seemed strange.”

  “Just because it’s strange doesn’t mean that it didn’t happen that way.”

  “You’re right.” Beltur had to admit that, but he still wondered why she hadn’t recalled what had been said at some other time.

  “Was that so hard?”

  Beltur winced again.

  “Beltur…”

  He just offered an embarrassed expression that wasn’t quite a smile.

  She shook her head, but with an expression of almost rueful amusement. “We need to walk back to Johlana’s. You can clean the cot up tomorrow while I’m at the healing house.”

  Beltur just nodded.

  XLI

  T
hreeday morning came too early so far as Beltur was concerned, but both he and Jessyla were in the breakfast room well before sixth glass, lit by two lamps in brass wall sconces.

  Johlana immediately appeared. “I do so like having people who are up as early as I am.” Her eyes went to Jessyla. “You’re at the healing house today?”

  “I am.”

  “Good.” Johlana looked to Beltur. “No chores around here today except for the stables. You need to get that cot ready.”

  Beltur glanced questioningly toward Jessyla.

  She smiled. “I didn’t say a word.”

  “She didn’t have to,” added Johlana.

  Beltur took momentary refuge in taking the pitcher and filling Jessyla’s mug and then his … and immediately taking a long swallow.

  “I’ve already readied a basket with rags and some soap scraps,” said Johlana. “You come back here for that after you’ve gotten a bucket from the chandlery. Two buckets would be better. One for soap and one for rinse.”

  “I think you two have planned my entire day.”

  “Not all of it,” replied Jessyla.

  “You two meet me here after you finish at the healing house,” Johlana went on cheerfully, looking at Jessyla. “By then, I’ll have sorted through the linens and cloths, and we’ll go over what might prove useful.”

  “We couldn’t…” began Jessyla.

  “You can, and you should,” replied Johlana forcefully.

  “Whatever it is,” said Barrynt as he entered the breakfast room, “when she gets that insistent, it’s a good idea to agree.” The merchant smiled, an expression both fond and rueful.

  “I’m just trying to keep a pair of very good healers here in Axalt,” responded Johlana. “And my brother, who’s likely to drink too much if he can’t work.”

  “I’m working on getting a space for his smithy.”

  “Good. Now, you all should eat. I’ve said enough for now.”

  Beltur was more than happy to dig into the scrambled ham and eggs, along with the warm bread. Once they finished breakfast and Jessyla had left the house, Beltur cleaned the stables. When he finished, he washed up again and then made his way to the chandlery under a gray sky from which scattered snowflakes intermittently fell. He didn’t even have to ask for Rhodos, because the chandler appeared before Beltur had taken three steps inside.