Outcasts of Order

by L. E. Modesitt Jr

  As he walked from the stable to the healing house on fourday morning, Beltur couldn’t help but worry how the Axalt Council might react to the deaths of Barrynt, Emlyn, and Sarysta … and not only what they might do to Beltur and Jessyla, but whether there might be more trouble for Johlana and Ryntaar.

  When he stepped into Herrara’s study, the ledger on her desk was closed, and beside it was a thick square of folded black cloth. She asked immediately, “Have you heard anything else from the Council?”

  “Nothing new. No one’s approached me since oneday. If I hear anything else, I’d think it would be after the Council meets on sixday.”

  “That’s most likely. Before you start today, we need to take care of one thing.”

  Beltur felt both worry and puzzlement immediately.

  “It’s not anything to concern yourself with,” added Herrara, “but it will make matters much simpler for both of us.” She pointed to the folded black cloth on the side of the desk. “You need to wear this when you’re here. You can certainly wear it elsewhere if you wish, but you need to wear it here.”

  Frowning, Beltur stepped forward and picked up the heavy but fine woolen cloth to discover that he held a black tunic with two wide green bands at the end of each sleeve.

  “That seems appropriate for a mage-healer, don’t you think?”

  Beltur couldn’t argue that, but … “You didn’t pay for this, did you?”

  She shook her head. “I do have a budget for supplies. Elisa’s tunics are paid out of that budget. Later, I should be able to obtain another set of greens for Jessyla, but since you only need a tunic, I thought I’d start with you. Also, because I can’t pay you what you’re worth, you can call this a different form of pay. At the least, your wearing this will limit questions. It also might allow your other black tunics to last longer.”

  “Thank you.” Beltur was grateful, given that his blacks were indeed limited. “Are the green bands something you’ve seen or read about?”

  “Something I recalled from when I was a child. Even if I hadn’t, the idea makes sense.” She smiled. “Try it on.”

  Beltur did so, and found himself smiling. “It fits well.”

  “I’m a good judge of that, usually.”

  “Is there anyone new that I should know anything about?”

  “There’s another casualty from the Traders’ Bowl upstairs, next to Klaznyt’s room. Far too much ale or lager, and a broken arm. If the swelling’s gone down, we’ll cast the arm this afternoon and send him off. It wouldn’t hurt for you to look in on him. He was still dozing it off when Elisa saw him before she left this morning.”

  Beltur nodded.

  Herrara opened the ledger, and Beltur left the study, first taking his old solid black tunic and hanging it up under his coat before heading upstairs to check on Klaznyt and the others.

  As soon as he walked in, Klaznyt said, “You’re wearing a different tunic.”

  “The head healer decided that I should have one that showed I was both mage and healer. It seems right to me, and I wasn’t about to argue.” Not that Beltur had even thought about that.

  “You’re a mage, and you don’t mind deferring to her?”

  Beltur smiled. “I need to know more about healing in some areas.” More than a few, but he didn’t think admitting that was the best thing to say. “She’s teaching me that. She’s also paying me. Why would I mind deferring?”

  “But … you were an arms-mage, a strong one.”

  Beltur wondered where Klaznyt had heard that, because he’d taken pains never to mention that to the gambler. “I don’t recall saying anything about that.”

  “The other healer did—the redheaded one. She said that you’d saved Elparta. Healers don’t lie.” Klaznyt grinned. “You don’t, either, but she might have been mistaken. So … I’ll ask you. Was she right?”

  Beltur smiled in return, not quite sardonically. “The black mages of Elparta were conscripted into the fighting. I was assigned to a reconnaissance company at first, and then later to assist a senior officer—”

  “You were a conscript as a mage?”

  “No, they conscripted mages as officers. I was an undercaptain. I did what was necessary, as did the other mages. If we hadn’t done what we did, the Prefect would have taken Elparta. So … yes, I was part of the small group of mages that helped save Elparta.”

  Klaznyt laughed. “I think I believe her version more. Why don’t you want to talk more about yourself?”

  “I just did,” replied Beltur with a smile. “Except for what I learned about healing during the fighting, what I did as an arms-mage doesn’t have much to do with what I do here.”

  “You’re a strange one, Mage.”

  Beltur shrugged and concentrated on sensing Klaznyt’s hands. “Your fingers are beginning to heal now.”

  “They itch and hurt. They’ll never be the same. You know that.”

  “But you’ll be able to use them.”

  “For what? Holding a spade? Loading wagons?”

  “That’s better than dying or not being able to use them.”

  “We’ll see, won’t we?” Klaznyt turned his head away.

  Beltur eased out of the room, walked down the hall, and stepped into the small chamber where two men lay in adjoining beds.

  The one who was awake was an older man found freezing in the square, according to Jessyla. He looked at Beltur. “You must be the mage-healer. Your magery won’t help me.”

  “Why do you think that?” From his quick sensing, Beltur suspected that already, but was curious as to why the man had spoken so.

  “I’m old and tired. I have no place to go, but there’s nothing wrong with me except being old and not having enough to eat for too many eightdays.”

  “How did that happen?”

  “How does it ever happen?” The gray-faced and white-haired figure shrugged. “One son went to Vergren. The other went hunting last fall. He never came back. His consort died trying to have a child. I was a loader, got too old to keep doing it. Never able to save much. Finally the coppers ran out. It didn’t help that I drank a shade too much.” He glanced to the somnolent figure in the other bed. “Not stupid enough to drink that much. It doesn’t seem to matter in the end. Neither you nor the other healer will be able to keep me here that long. Then what?”

  Beltur didn’t have anything to say that wouldn’t have sounded like false comfort. The best he could do was: “You can likely stay for a few days, if not longer. It’s not that long before winter’s over.”

  “You’re an optimist, but I appreciate the thought.”

  Beltur nodded and turned his attention to the second man, the one whom Herrara had mentioned. In addition to the chaos around the broken bone in the arm, he could sense tiny bits of dull red chaos on the man’s skin everywhere, suggesting that the man had suffered frostburn on more than a few occasions recently. He removed the worst of the chaos around the break, and then left the room.

  He had the feeling that the rest of the day would be about the same.

  LXXI

  Another light snow dusted Axalt on fiveday, although it mostly stopped before Beltur left the smithy to return home. Jorhan called it a day after casting just one small decorative vase, not only because they were running low on copper, but because obtaining more was likely to be difficult as a result of Barrynt’s death, especially because they had already used most of the small stock that had been in Barrynt’s warehouse. Since he left early, Beltur went to the stable, saddled Slowpoke, and took him for a modest ride, then rode one of the other horses for a time.

  Sixday passed without incident at the healing house, although Beltur half expected Naerkaal to appear, and late in the day, Jorhan stopped by the cot to tell Beltur that he didn’t see much point in forging much more until he could locate and purchase more copper and tin. So Beltur tended to the stable and spent time working with Taelya late on sevenday morning.

  At a quint past second glass, there was a knock on th
e door, and Beltur immediately sensed a black presence, far stronger than that of Lhadoraak, who was doing some work for a cabinetmaker. As he walked to the door, he had few doubts about who it had to be. When he opened the door, he saw the man he expected—Naerkaal.

  “Please come in, Councilor.” Beltur motioned toward the front room, since Tulya and Taelya were in the kitchen.

  “Thank you. I rode out to the smithy, but found no one there.”

  “We’re not doing much smithing right now. Copper and tin appear to be in short supply, at least for us at present.” Beltur gestured toward the wooden armchair.

  Naerkaal seated himself and asked, “Do you find that surprising in late winter?”

  Beltur took the bench and turned to face the councilor. “I don’t find it surprising, but I doubt that it has much to do with the season.”

  Naerkaal merely nodded, then said, “The Council had a closed meeting yesterday.”

  “I’ve heard from no one until you showed up.”

  “There was no need to summon you, or anyone else. I just came for a visit.”

  “I doubt that you visit without a purpose.”

  “There are purposes and purposes.” Naerkaal offered a pleasant smile.

  “I assume that the Council met to discuss the death of Barrynt and that of Emlyn.”

  “Assumptions can be dangerous, but, yes, you are correct in that. Also, the death of Sarysta.”

  “Of course, since she is the sister of a councilor,” suggested Beltur.

  “And the consort of a most noted merchant of Axalt.”

  “There is that.” Beltur paused. “Does Councilor Sarstaan have an accomplished healer as part of his various affairs?”

  “He does. She attends all public meetings of the Council, but not the private ones. That may be why he asked so many questions…”

  Beltur managed not to swallow. The woman who felt like a healer was one! And she went to the meetings so that she could tell Sarstaan if either councilors or witnesses were less than truthful, which was why Naerkaal had likely been so careful in his questioning.

  “That does not change the facts. As I told the Council, there was absolutely no sign of poison, or the symptoms of violence or even of excessive order when I was summoned after Sarysta’s body was found by her youngest son. She clearly died quietly in her sleep.”

  Beltur could sense that Naerkaal was telling the truth and making no attempt to conceal what he felt. That, in itself, was disturbing. “You and Sarstaan mentioned that she died in her sleep, but not that you had been summoned to examine her.”

  “There is one cause of death that is impossible to determine unless one is present when death occurs. As a healer and a mage, I’m quite certain that you know what it is.”

  Beltur shrugged, even as he felt a certain chill at Naerkaal’s words. “I see it occasionally at the healing house, usually in older men, when their natural chaos levels drop too low to sustain them. I imagine it’s far less common in people who are younger, but I have seen it in those of Sarysta’s age, occasionally younger.” If only once.

  “I thought you might have. Others might, as well, over time.”

  Particularly if a certain mage-councilor pointed out that possibility and that a mage-healer was present late in the afternoon before Sarysta died. “I doubt many people know that.”

  “At present, most likely only the two of us.”

  Beltur didn’t miss the slight emphasis on the words “at present.” “Do you think it should remain that way … or merely at present?”

  “That’s a very interesting question. I’d like to address that in a bit.” Naerkaal paused, looking at the hearth. “You know, I’ve watched Barrynt for years. He was extremely unhappy, wretched really, after his first consort died so unexpectedly. Many feared for his life. Unlike some, when I saw how happy Johlana made him, I thought that was a consorting that benefited both, and indeed benefited Axalt. The two raised three solid children, and young Ryntaar and Frankyr, I think, will prove to be credits to their parents. Halhana will also provide a more gentle guiding spirit for Eshult.” Naerkaal turned his eyes on Beltur. “What do you think?”

  “I haven’t known them as long as you have, but I’ve been impressed with the children.”

  “So have I, as I’ve said. I think it would be a great tragedy if any shadow persisted over them. You did mention that Jorhan was having difficulty obtaining copper and tin, I believe?”

  “That is what he told me, and he was telling the truth.”

  “I, too, am certain that he was.” Naerkaal fingered his chin. “There is also another complication, and that is the fact that you’re training a white mage. In time, some might even refer to her as a white witch. People’s perceptions change to match what they wish to believe, and, again, in time, they might connect that shadow I mentioned to her, as well.”

  Beltur had known, almost from the time Naerkaal had seated himself, that their “conversation” would likely head in the direction it had, but what he hadn’t anticipated was Naerkaal’s feelings, feelings that seemed to be of sadness and regret. “And what would raise this shadow?”

  “I would guess, and it is only a guess, that, in this instance, the shadow would become darker with the passage of time. Certainly not within eightdays, possibly not even within seasons.” The mage-councilor shrugged. “Who can say? It might only remain a vague and slightly troubling miasma, that is, if those possibly connected to it were seldom seen.”

  And that is most unlikely for two mages consorted to each other. “Your thoughts on this are most interesting,” replied Beltur. “You know, it’s been a bitter winter. At least, it seems bitter to those of us raised in warmer climes.”

  “Most winters are like this. Some are worse. That’s one reason why no one really expects anyone to travel from Axalt, especially to the east, until winter wanes and the roads are clear.”

  “Certis isn’t the most friendly of places these days,” Beltur pointed out.

  “The north of Certis is much different from Jellico, and I’ve heard from those I trust that Montgren is most receptive to those with certain talents, such as healers. One can travel from Rytel to Montgren or Sligo without coming near Jellico.”

  “I doubt that even a most perceptive ruler would take a mere healer’s word…” Beltur raised his eyebrows.

  “They might not take a Council’s word, either, but the Council might regard lifting shadows favorably…”

  “In some form of document?” Beltur offered a laugh that conveyed amused disbelief.

  “One never knows. Axalt values being as fair as possible. Sometimes, though … tradition is valued more than fairness. Under such circumstances,” this time Naerkaal shrugged, “… accommodations may be possible. Assuming those shadows remain a mere miasma, that is.”

  “What if there are those on the Council who may not see it that way?”

  “It is now to their advantage not to see it any other way. In time, though…”

  “I am new to Axalt, so I must defer to your far greater understanding of the situation, and this will bear considerable thought.”

  Naerkaal nodded. “I would be surprised if it were otherwise. Some thought is called for, and given that it is still winter, there is time for thought.” He rose from the chair. “Those were the thoughts I wished to share with you.” He smiled almost sadly. “What we hope for cannot always be, I trust you understand.”

  Beltur stood and accompanied Naerkaal to the door. He definitely understood much of what Naerkaal had conveyed. He did wonder at what he might have missed, but he also understood that the conversation needed to be indirect, especially since Sarstaan would have an accomplished healer present when he talked with Naerkaal about his conversation with Beltur.

  After Beltur opened the door, Naerkaal stepped out and inclined his head. “I will assist you as I can, given my position.”

  “We do appreciate that.” Beltur nodded in return, then watched as Naerkaal walked to his horse an
d then mounted. Several moments later, he closed the door.

  Tulya walked from the kitchen, with Taelya behind her. “What did the councilor want?”

  “To convey a message.”

  “He seemed sad,” said Taelya.

  Tulya looked surprised. “You never saw him.”

  “I could feel him. Was he sad, Uncle Beltur?”

  “He was. He didn’t want to convey the message.” Beltur addressed Tulya. “I need to think about things. Once both Lhadoraak and Jessyla are back, we all need to talk over what he said.” And what he didn’t.

  “Lhadoraak shouldn’t be that long.”

  “He’ll be here before Jessyla, I’m sure.”

  That, in fact, was the case. Lhadoraak returned to the cot around third glass, but Jessyla did not arrive until almost two quints past fourth glass.

  Beltur waited until she had her coat off and was standing in front of the hearth warming herself before he said, “I’ve already told Lhadoraak and Tulya. Naerkaal came by today, and the rest of you need to hear what he had to say.”

  “If he came here, it’s not good.” Jessyla glanced at Lhadoraak and Tulya, who appeared in the doorway from the kitchen. “Especially with everyone gathering around.”

  “It’s not … but it could be worse. Let me tell you exactly what he had to say, at least as well as I can remember the very words he used.”

  “Taelya…” began Tulya.

  “She should stay,” said Beltur gently. “It affects her, too.”

  “You can listen,” added Tulya. “Not a word, no questions until after Uncle Beltur finishes.”

  Beltur forced himself to sit down in one of the wooden armchairs. He waited until everyone was seated before he began. “Naerkaal was calm and pleasant. He was directly indirect, and began by saying that the Council had a closed meeting yesterday. He avoided saying directly what the councilors discussed. Instead, he discussed, in very general terms, the deaths of Barrynt, Emlyn, and, especially of Sarysta. He pointed out that Sarysta’s death was of interest for several reasons…” Actually, Beltur had pointed out the first reason, but the way he had started he needed to segue into the actual conversation.