Outcasts of Order

by L. E. Modesitt Jr

  “I’ve never seen that before.”

  “I don’t think Herrara had either.”

  THRAPP!!! THRAP!! THRAP!! The insistent pounding at the door sounded almost frantic.

  Beltur looked at Jessyla.

  “I have no idea.”

  He turned and opened the door. As the frigid air blasted past Beltur, he gaped at Frankyr, who stood there with his chest heaving. “Beltur! You have to come quick! Father’s going to do something awful! Maybe he already has.”

  “Where? What is it?”

  “Ryntaar’s saddling your horse and another. They’ll be ready by the time we get to the house. I’ll tell you on the way.”

  Beltur grabbed his coat, gloves, and scarf and followed Frankyr, not quite at a run, asking, “What’s he going to do?”

  “Something terrible … Sarysta returned the cupridium mirror you and Uncle Jorhan made to Johlana.”

  The mirror! Was that what she meant? “And?”

  “Sarysta said that the color didn’t match the décor of Eshult and Halhana’s house. That it had too much of a gold tint to it and that didn’t go with the silver and black…” Frankyr slowed somewhat and went on. “Father’d been out riding. He said that the horses needed the exercise before the northeaster hit. When he came in and heard what had happened, he didn’t say a word. He just walked out to the stable. Mother thought he had just gone out to the stable to calm down. He does that, you know. But when he rode down the lane, she sent me to get you. He has to have gone to Emlyn’s house.”

  Beltur had a very bad feeling about that, especially after what he’d heard on sevenday. “You’re worried about what he might say?”

  “You don’t understand, ser. Father’s in a rage. It doesn’t happen often, but when it does, nothing at all will stop him. Mother says this is the worst she’s ever seen.”

  “He’s that upset?” Beltur was afraid that Barrynt just might be.

  “That mirror was better than anything Halhana and Eshult have, and likely worth more. Halhana loved it. Sarysta either took it without Halhana knowing it, or Emlyn and Sarysta threatened to break the consorting … something like that.”

  “They can do that?”

  “Sarysta’s brother’s a councilor. Emlyn’s the wealthiest trader in Axalt. They can do anything they want.”

  That almost stopped Beltur dead. He could see that happening in Elparta … but the Axalt Council hadn’t struck him as that bad.

  Ryntaar and Johlana were leading Slowpoke and another mount from the stable as Beltur and Frankyr hurried up the drive.

  “Please get to him,” pleaded Johlana. “I know you can stop him without hurting him or anyone else. Jorhan’s told me about how you’ve done that when you were a patrol mage. Ryntaar will show you the way. Please hurry.”

  “I’ll do what I can. How far is Emlyn’s house?” asked Beltur as he mounted.

  “More like a grand mansion,” muttered Frankyr.

  “Less than half a quint’s ride at a walk,” said Ryntaar.

  Beltur almost suggested that Slowpoke could do better than that, but realized that, although the streets were cleared, there were more than a few patches of ice, and that a riding accident wouldn’t be helpful. “We can do a fast walk, maybe a trot.” He really didn’t like the idea of galloping over icy stone streets.

  Ryntaar immediately headed down the drive, but Slowpoke kept pace as they turned toward the market square. They stayed on that street only until the next corner, where they turned north. The street widened after some two hundred yards into what Beltur would have called a boulevard, flanked by dwellings that made Barrynt’s house look modest by comparison. The boulevard curved gradually westward, climbing slightly as it did.

  “The gray stone house with the dark green shutters and trim,” called out Ryntaar. “That’s Emlyn’s.”

  Beltur could see that Emlyn’s mansion, a good four levels high and still more than a hundred yards away, was surrounded by a stone wall not quite two yards high, but the gates were open, and there was no guardhouse. He followed Ryntaar through the gates. The drive made a circle around what was likely a garden in warmer seasons, but was merely a large snow pile at present. On the far side of the circular drive was the covered entry to the mansion.

  “That’s father’s horse tied there!”

  When Beltur reined up short of the hitching rail to the side of the entry, he saw that the front door was ajar, and seemed to be at a slight angle. He dismounted quickly and thrust Slowpoke’s reins at Ryntaar. “You stay here with the horses!”

  Then he checked his shields and hurried through the damaged door and into a large square entry hall. A door to the left opened into a parlor, which appeared empty. Beltur glanced into the room on the right, which appeared to be a study of some sort, where at least one chair lay on its side.

  Beltur immediately hurried into the study, only to see two bodies—with a woman in the corner and a tall man in dark green livery, a blade still in his hand, turning toward the door … and Beltur.

  The swordsman slashed at Beltur, his blade rebounding from Beltur’s shields.

  Beltur clapped a containment around the swordsman, quickly taking in the two bodies, one flat on his back in front of the ornate hearth and the other on the thick carpet beside a dark wooden desk. For a moment, Beltur did not recognize the man who lay on his back, his head at an angle that suggested his neck was broken. The blood pooled on the cream tiles below the hearth suggested that the back of his skull had been crushed. The well-tailored jacket, shimmersilk shirt, and tooled and polished boots, as well as the silver in his still well-groomed hair and beard, only confirmed that the dead man was Emlyn.

  Barrynt lay on his side, his face still contorted, either in rage or anguish. There was a single slash across his neck, and the darkness of blood on his jacket and the carpet.

  Beltur reached out with his senses, but he was already too late. Both men were dead.

  “Stop him, Mhorgaan!” snapped a woman—Sarysta—standing in the corner of the study, one side of her face reddened.

  “I cannot, Lady. The mage has me trapped.”

  “I’m not here to attack anyone. I was trying to get here in time to stop Barrynt from hurting someone.”

  “Likely story!” snapped the swordsman.

  “What are you doing here?” demanded Sarysta imperiously.

  “Trying to stop Barrynt, like I told you, Sarysta.”

  “Lady Sarysta to you.”

  “Ser, to you,” retorted Beltur. “You’re the cause of this mess.”

  “I did nothing, except exercise good taste.”

  For a moment, Beltur was stunned. While Barrynt had obviously attacked her as well as Emlyn, why was she talking about good taste? Except she’d been prating about that and décor to Emlyn the day before. Good taste?

  “And your presence is most distasteful. Nonetheless, as party to this … atrocity, you will remain until the city patrollers and the Council guards can be summoned.”

  Beltur repressed a sigh. There was no help for that. The last thing he needed was to flee a mess like the one he’d stepped into. He addressed the swordsman. “If I release you, will you set down that blade and do what’s necessary to summon the city patrollers, and, as Sarysta sees fit, the Council guards?”

  “I’ll sheathe the blade. It hasn’t done much good against you.”

  “No … lay it across the desk. Since you used it to kill Merchant Barrynt, it should remain.”

  “I’ll be unarmed.”

  “Just do as he says, Mhorgaan. He’s being sensible, if not terribly respectful.”

  At that moment, Ryntaar appeared in the doorway.

  Beltur released the containment, ready to reimpose it instantly. “Ryntaar, step inside and stand back from him.”

  Ryntaar did as Beltur directed, and Mhorgaan moved to the door before looking to Sarysta. “Who shall I send to assist you, Lady?”

  “Escaylt. He’s in the library. Dispatch Albard to summo
n the guards. Then return here.”

  Mhorgaan inclined his head and then hurried off.

  “You actually seem to be a mage,” said Sarysta. “I still can’t imagine what you had to do with that insufferable fellow Barrynt, except I suppose mages are useful for certain things.”

  Useful? “He did me several favors,” Beltur replied, finding himself both repelled by Sarysta’s coldness, and the cold-ordered chaos of her very being, and wanting to strike her down.

  “They must have been great favors for you to invade this house.”

  “I didn’t invade it. The doors were open, and I was trying to get here before Barrynt did something terrible.”

  “You must have known him well. Very well.”

  Beltur understood what she was trying to do.

  “Not that well, or I might have been able to do something much earlier. I met him only about a season ago.”

  “Still…” Sarysta drew the word out as she eased into the side chair closest to her.

  “You know,” Beltur said conversationally, “I’m always surprised when I run into people who use every word and every action to manipulate people, often into taking unwise actions that are designed to benefit the manipulator.”

  “She’s always done that,” said Ryntaar quietly. “Even before the time when Eshult and Halhana were consorted, she was doing that.” Tears streamed down his cheeks.

  “Better that consorting never happened. After this, it will be as if it never had. Even a mage can’t change that.”

  “I suppose that’s also a matter of taste?” asked Beltur sardonically.

  “All life with any meaning is a matter of taste. That’s something that … some people never understand.”

  Beltur glanced from Sarysta to where Emlyn still lay, wondering just how the woman could be so cold, then back to Sarysta, just in time to see her looking at Barrynt, with the hint of a satisfied smile, a smile that vanished as she looked away.

  At that moment, a young man, more properly a youth, burst into the room. “Mother!”

  His eyes went from Sarysta to Beltur and then to his father. He paled, standing there, almost swaying.

  “Gather yourself together, Escaylt. Going to pieces won’t change anything. The mage and I … and that other person … are waiting for the city patrollers.” Sarysta motioned for her son to join her.

  The youth stepped around Barrynt’s body and avoided looking at that of his father.

  Beltur didn’t feel like saying more, especially knowing that Sarysta would likely twist anything he said. So he stood and waited, shifting his weight from one leg to the other, trying to sense what might be happening beyond the study, but nothing appeared to be occurring anywhere near.

  Sarysta murmured a few words to her son, but did not address Beltur or Ryntaar. That was fine with Beltur.

  More than a quint passed before Beltur heard the clatter of hooves, and then the sound of men entering the mansion.

  “This way, sers, this way, in the study.”

  Beltur didn’t recognize the voice, although he thought it might be that of Mhorgaan, which suggested that Emlyn’s bodyguard had needed to go to the city patrollers himself. Beltur did recognize the first man to step inside the study. “Councilor Naerkaal … I’m glad you’re here.”

  “Am I going to be happy you’re here?”

  As Naerkaal spoke, another man appeared. While Beltur didn’t know his name, he recognized him as a councilor. Behind them stood several guards.

  “Were you a part of this?” pressed Naerkaal.

  “No. I arrived after whatever happened. Both were dead before I even entered the house.”

  Naerkaal looked to Sarysta. “The mage says that he arrived after the deeds were done. Is that correct?”

  “He arrived later. Very soon after Mhorgaan killed the intruder who had broken into the house.”

  “Have either of you touched anything?”

  “No.”

  Naerkaal turned back to Beltur. “How was it that you just happened to arrive so coincidentally? Please explain.”

  “It wasn’t coincidental. Barrynt’s family summoned me. I’d just returned to our cot from working at the healing house when young Frankyr appeared and pounded on the door…” Beltur went on to relate absolutely factually everything that had happened until Naerkaal had appeared. He did not relate his conversations with Sarysta.

  Naerkaal turned to Sarysta. “What do you know of what happened here?”

  Sarysta straightened in the chair, but did not stand. “I was in my study. The door was ajar. I heard some sort of noise at the door. Then several moments later I heard an angry voice. Emlyn answered the angry man calmly. Then he called out for me to stay out. But there was another crash, and I called for Mhorgaan. Then I ran from my study into the hall and in here. Emlyn was lying right where he is now. Barrynt turned to me and struck me so hard that I fell into the desk and then to the floor. Barrynt stood over me. He uttered despicable language. Then Mhorgaan arrived and immediately slashed Barrynt across the neck. I had just struggled to my feet when the mage rushed in. I thought he might kill me and Mhorgaan. Mhorgaan thrust at him, but his blade did not strike him. Then the mage said something about being too late to stop Barrynt, and he restrained Mhorgaan with magery.”

  The only part of what Sarysta said that didn’t ring quite true to Beltur were the words about despicable language. For the moment, he said nothing.

  “Then what happened?” asked Naerkaal.

  “I said the City Patrol and the Council should be summoned. The mage agreed and released Mhorgaan. Mhorgaan left. Escaylt joined me. The … other person there joined the mage. We waited. You finally arrived.”

  Naerkaal turned to Beltur. “Do Lady Sarysta’s words agree with what you saw?”

  “I cannot say about what happened before I arrived. Everything she said about what happened after I entered the study is exactly as I saw it. I would be interested to know what sort of despicable words Barrynt uttered. I was told that when he was extremely angry he seldom spoke.”

  “Did you ever see him angry?” asked Naerkaal.

  “I never saw him angry enough to do something like this. There was one time when I went to see him and his family said he was in one of his moods and that I should talk to him later.” They hadn’t quite said it, but that had been the unspoken message.

  “Why did you need to see him at that time?”

  “When I came to Axalt, he helped us find and furnish the cot, and helped Jorhan the smith and me find the building for Jorhan’s smithy. I took care of his stable in return for being able to stable our horses there.”

  Naerkaal nodded and turned back to Sarysta. “I would also be interested to know if you heard anything that your consort and Barrynt said to each other, or what Barrynt said to you or you to him.”

  The other councilor stiffened slightly.

  Sarysta looked levelly at Naerkaal. “I only heard the few words Barrynt said before he killed Emlyn. He said, ‘You and your bitch consort won’t destroy my daughter’s happiness with your backbiting foolishness.’ I was just in the doorway when he picked up Emlyn as if he were nothing and threw him into the hearth. I ran toward Barrynt. I think I screamed. He turned and hit me. I fell, and he stood over me. He said that I was a bitch worse than any in Westwind and that I’d destroyed a good man…” Sarysta swallowed.

  “Go on.”

  “… that I deserved even worse than what happened to Emlyn.”

  “And?”

  “Mhorgaan rushed in and killed him.”

  “There’s only one wound on Barrynt,” observed Naerkaal.

  “Mhorgaan is very good. That’s why he’s been with Emlyn for years. We … never … expected someone to force their way into the house…”

  Naerkaal turned to the other man. “Councilor Sarstaan … they’ve both told the truth. They both agree on what happened. Considering their positions, it would appear that matters are exactly as the bodies and what they have said w
ould indicate. Do you have any questions for either?”

  Sarstaan immediately asked Beltur, “Did you have any idea that Barrynt meant to harm Emlyn or Sarysta?”

  “No. I knew that he felt that they were trying to interfere with his daughter’s life, but he never said anything that suggested he meant to do anything violent to them.”

  Sarstaan looked to Naerkaal, who nodded. Then he looked to Sarysta, “Did Emlyn ever say anything about fearing or worrying about Barrynt?”

  “No. Never. He said he was a bit of a buffoon, and that he was a tool of his consort.”

  Naerkaal motioned to the guards, who stepped forward. “The mage and the young man may remove the body of Merchant Barrynt. Nothing more.” Then he turned to Sarysta. “Your brother and I will be using your study for a short time. The guards will assist you in moving your consort’s body.”

  “Thank you.” Sarysta’s voice was even. “Escaylt and I will wait for a moment until the … other body is gone.” She glanced at Ryntaar, and Beltur could not only see anger and scorn, as well as condescension, but also feel it, as well as almost … vindictive joy?

  Still, he did not move until Naerkaal and Sarstaan were in the hallway and well away from the study. Then he stepped toward Barrynt’s body. “It’s time we took your father home.”

  Without even looking at Sarysta, he sent out his senses and withdrew a large amount of natural chaos from Sarysta, a very large amount that he let bleed into the air.

  So much for satisfaction and vindictive joy.

  Then he and Ryntaar lifted Barrynt’s limp form from the carpet.

  “The Council will deal with the likes of all of you,” declared Sarysta as Beltur and Ryntaar carried Barrynt out into the hall. “We will see to that.”

  Beltur did not reply, nor did Ryntaar. They carried the merchant out of the mansion and out to where the horses were tied at the hitching rail. Two Council guards watched as they neared, but said nothing.

  “We’ll put his body over his mount. I’ll lead his horse, and we’ll follow you. I didn’t pay much attention on the way.”

  Ryntaar only nodded.

  Once Beltur was convinced that Barrynt was securely in place, he took the other horse’s reins and mounted Slowpoke. Then he gestured for Ryntaar to head out.