Outcasts of Order

by L. E. Modesitt Jr

  So when, shortly after first glass on fiveday, the road carried them around yet another hill and the land opened up into a wide valley with few trees, except a few woodlots, Beltur let out a deep sigh of relief.

  “I’ve never heard so much sighing from you,” said Jessyla. “It’s been a pleasant ride, and the people here are much friendlier.”

  It’s all the same, and it’s warm and sticky, and we’re only in early spring. Except, Beltur realized, that it was far closer to midspring, and he really didn’t want to count the kays they’d traveled. He was also worrying about Slowpoke’s shoes, which he’d reinforced with a little order, but before long the gelding, as well as most of the other horses, would need to be reshod.

  Perhaps in Vergren.

  XCVIII

  After reaching the more open valley on fiveday, Beltur had hoped that Vergren would not be that far, but the valley was far longer than he had anticipated, with more wooded areas than he’d initially expected, and that night they ended up staying at an inn in the small town of Glenaar, no more than half a day’s ride to Vergren, according to the innkeeper.

  On sixday, the group set out, once more through a cool and misty morning that would likely turn into another warm and moist day that would leave Beltur sweating heavily by midafternoon. He kept thinking about Relyn’s words, and wondered if Relyn had stayed in Axalt because it really had been the most hospitable place. Except we really didn’t have that choice.

  He rode quietly for almost a glass, looking at the meadows, and the few fields that had been recently tilled and planted, and others showing sprouts of green. But he had said very little, when Jessyla drew her mount closer to him and asked, “You’re wondering if coming to Montgren is such a good idea, aren’t you?”

  “Is it that obvious?”

  “Yes, if you’re looking, but I’m the only one doing that.” She waited.

  Finally, he said, “It’s not as though we’ve had that many choices. To stay in Elparta we would have had to fight both the Council and Caradyn and most of the blacks. We’d have had to fight the Axalt Council. I can’t help worrying about what we’ll find out in Vergren.”

  “We might not find out a thing. Vaenturl didn’t promise anything. He only said we’d be welcome.”

  “That’s a promise of sorts. Besides, we have to start somewhere.” But Beltur hadn’t yet seen any place in Montgren that looked as though it needed healers or anything else he and the others could do, and that worried him as well.

  Another glass or so passed. The mist burned off, and the warm spring sun beat down on Beltur. Then, ahead, he saw a keystone. As he rode closer, he made out the crisp letters cut in the square gray oblong rising from the green grass at the side of the road: VERGREN—5K.

  “The innkeeper was actually right.”

  “You’re getting even more skeptical,” returned Jessyla.

  “Not more,” he replied with a slightly forced smile. More like hot and impatient.

  He turned in the saddle and announced, “Just another five kays to Vergren.”

  “What if you can’t find Vaenturl?” asked Lhadoraak.

  “We find an inn and start looking for other possibilities,” Beltur said with a cheerfulness he didn’t feel, knowing that Jessyla could sense what he felt … and didn’t, but that Lhadoraak might not.

  Beyond the keystone, the road widened slightly, and while it was not paved, it was definitely heavily metaled, the gravel forming a relatively smooth and firm surface, the apparent result of years of careful upkeep.

  About a kay farther along, Beltur saw a well-kept small house beside an orchard that was not only leafed out but with a hint of white flowers. More important, an older man stood not far off the road, replacing stones in the wall that bounded the trees. The man looked up as Beltur approached and then reined up.

  “Will this road take us to the main market square in Vergren?” asked Beltur. “Without turning off it?”

  “Aye, and all the way to Weevett and beyond, even Haven or Lydiar,” replied the white-haired man.

  “Thank you.”

  “My pleasure, Mage.”

  Beltur had thought about asking about Essek’s Factorage, but had decided against it. The last thing he wanted was Lhadoraak and Tulya worrying even before there was something to worry about. There would be plenty of time to worry if he couldn’t find Vaenturl.

  As he eased Slowpoke forward, he overheard Tulya saying to Taelya, “You see. The people here are friendly.”

  Unfortunately, as Beltur well knew, friendliness didn’t necessarily mean that they’d be permanently welcome, and he definitely didn’t like the idea of forcing people to accept them.

  With each few hundred yards that they rode, it became more obvious that they were nearing a more populated area. The land around each dwelling dwindled until the houses were side by side and extended back in each direction farther than Beltur could see. Unlike the houses of Axalt, those in Vergren appeared to be constructed of brick and timber, the brick being a rusty color, with massive timbered supports. But then, we’ve ridden past a lot of oaks.

  Before that long the larger houses gave way to smaller houses crowded together, and then to shops and crafters’ buildings. Up ahead Beltur saw an open space—or one without any buildings—that just might be the main market square. As they drew closer, he saw a number of vendors and some people browsing or shopping, if not as many as he might have expected. The square was about twice the size of the one in Axalt and less than half the size of the main market square in Elparta. As Beltur looked around, he wondered, far from the first time, if there was even an Essek’s Factorage … and if he could find it.

  Except that was scarcely difficult. On the east side, facing westward onto the square, was a large two-story structure. There was a name on the front set in large black letters—ESSEK. That made Beltur feel even more uneasy. Anyone who’d ever been in the square could scarcely have forgotten that name.

  “There’s the factorage!” said Jessyla.

  “I see it. Anyone in the city would know that name.”

  “He didn’t show chaos when he said it,” Jessyla observed.

  Beltur guided Slowpoke around the edge of the square, then reined up, dismounted, and handed Slowpoke’s reins to Jessyla. “I don’t even know if he’ll be here.”

  She smiled encouragingly. “He wasn’t lying. I could have told.”

  For all that, Beltur was still uncomfortable as he walked into the factorage. A great deal could have happened over the course of winter and early spring.

  “Can I help you, ser?” asked a young man, stiffening slightly as he saw the blacks.

  “You might be able to. I’m looking for a trader named Vaenturl. He said to ask for him here.”

  The youth looked surprised. After a moment, he said, “You’d best talk to my father, ser mage.”

  The factorage was even warmer than the square, and Beltur blotted his forehead as he followed the young man to the counter at the back.

  “If you’d wait here, ser…” The youth turned away quickly, as if he might have offended Beltur in some fashion.

  As he stood there, Beltur glanced around the space, twice as large as Barrynt’s factorage, and with bolt after bolt of cloth in neat racks on one side, and with assortments of rope, twine, even what looked to be cables on the other.

  “Ser…”

  Beltur turned to see a man with a polite and warm smile, and receding sandy hair.

  “My son said you had a question. Rather, that you were seeking someone. I’m Essek the younger. The factorage was named for my grandsire.”

  “I’m Beltur, and I’ve come from Axalt. Most recently, that is. I’m looking for a man who gave his name as Vaenturl.”

  Essek nodded. “Can you tell me more about this?”

  “We traveled together from Elparta to Axalt in the last days of fall and the first day of winter. He told us that if we ever came to Vergren to ask for him at Essek’s Factorage. I hadn’t thought we�
��d be here any time soon, but certain matters … didn’t turn out as we had hoped.”

  “Who might ‘we’ be, if I might ask?”

  Beltur was getting the definite feeling that matters were not at all as he’d anticipated, but there was certainly no secret to the fact that Jessyla was with him. “My consort, Jessyla. She’s a healer.”

  Abruptly, Essek smiled broadly, almost as if in relief. “I don’t know that you’ve come to the right place, exactly, but you’re more than welcome. I’ll have to send word for … Vaenturl that you’re here. He said you’d likely arrive in late spring, if you came at all.”

  “Where would you recommend that we stay?”

  “I wouldn’t wish to speak for … Vaenturl. I’m certain that, if you can wait a glass, he’ll either be here or send word. I wouldn’t want to speak for him,” Essek repeated, “but where you decide to stay might depend on what he says. His word is always good. You’re welcome in here, although I’m afraid we don’t have much of interest except large lots of cloth, rope, twine, and the like.”

  “We can wait outside.” At least for a time.

  “I need to send word. If you’ll excuse me…”

  “Thank you. We’ll be outside.” Beltur turned and walked back out to where the others waited.

  “Well?” inquired Lhadoraak anxiously.

  “We’re expected. The factor’s sending word to Vaenturl, except that’s apparently not his name. He’ll either be here or send word about what we should do within the glass.”

  Jessyla nodded.

  Tulya frowned. “Not his name? That doesn’t sound promising.”

  “The factor—Essek the younger—said that his word was always good. He was telling the truth.”

  “A mysterious trader whose word is always good,” mused Lhadoraak. “Who left word to expect you? I wonder what you’ve gotten us all into, Beltur.”

  Beltur shrugged. “We couldn’t stay in Axalt, and even if we could have, Tulya wouldn’t have been happy there.” He turned to her. “Would you?”

  “No … but this is…”

  “A little frightening?” asked Beltur gently.

  “Uncertain, anyway.”

  As they waited, Beltur studied the people who passed. Some nodded pleasantly. A few looked inquisitively, especially at Lhadoraak and Beltur, and even Jessyla. One small girl stopped and looked up at Taelya, who had decided to remain mounted, almost enviously, before her mother gently tugged her on her way.

  Less than three quints later, Beltur caught sight of three men riding up the street on the same side of the square as the factorage. Two were heavily armed, both with blades in shoulder scabbards, and lance-like spears in saddle holders. They wore matching blue coats, and rode closely behind the third, who was clean-shaven, but dark-haired, and it took Beltur a moment to recognize him.

  Vaenturl clearly recognized Beltur and Jessyla, most likely Jessyla, Beltur thought, because he smiled broadly as he reined up. “Beltur, Jessyla, I’m glad you’re here.”

  Beltur sensed that Vaenturl, or whoever he really was, meant those words. “It took a moment to recognize you. You had a beard the last time I saw you.”

  “It works better that way…”

  “And you’re not Vaenturl … or rather that’s a name you use when you’re posing as a trader.”

  “Actually, when I’m using that name, I am a trader. It’s not my birth name, though. You’ve gathered more people, I see.”

  “They’re one of the reasons why we’re here. Lhadoraak’s also a black, but his daughter, Taelya, is a white, and she wasn’t welcome in Axalt.”

  “She looks to be little more than a child.”

  “She’s still a girl. She’s only seven, but she can already do some magery. That made the Axalt Council uneasy.”

  For some reason, Vaenturl smiled. “So you have three mages and a healer?”

  Beltur nodded.

  “Five people … we can easily handle that many.”

  Beltur frowned. “Handle that many?”

  “As guests. Maeyora and I. I already told her to expect company.”

  Beltur could sense Tulya’s immediate relief. “According to Essek the younger, you’ve been expecting us, if a bit later than now. Might I ask why you thought we might be here?”

  “I hoped as much as thought. Axalt is perfectly fine for the normal black mage. Neither you nor your consort fit, and I doubt that your consort is a normal healer.”

  “No, she’s not.” Beltur wasn’t about to go into more detail, not until he understood much better exactly what was happening. He could sense that Vaenturl—for lack of a better name—was pleased, and wasn’t harboring any chaos.

  “Also, your friend is a black mage, and his daughter is a white. That, I suspect, is also not normal.” Vaenturl offered an amused smile.

  “By the way, since Vaenturl isn’t your name, at least it isn’t when you’re not trading, what is it?”

  “Oh … I’m sorry. You wouldn’t know. My given name is Korsaen. Are you all up to a short ride? It’s less than a quint.” Korsaen looked to Taelya. “You certainly look ready, young woman.”

  “I am, ser.” Taelya inclined her head politely.

  A broad smile crossed Korsaen’s face. “Then, we should ride…” He gestured.

  As Beltur mounted up, he did notice something else. Several people were watching, and their eyes were not on Beltur or Lhadoraak, but on Korsaen. He also could see that Jessyla had made the same observation as they exchanged glances. Korsaen is definitely someone, but who?

  Once Korsaen led the riders, and the mule and spare mount, away from the square, they headed north on a wider paved avenue for almost half a kay.

  As they neared a lane that led off to the left, Beltur asked, “Where does the avenue go?”

  “To the estate of the Duchess. Our modest grounds are at the end of that ridiculously long lane we’re about to take.”

  That suggests he’s not an immediate relation to the Duchess, but wealthy and powerful enough to be someone of import.

  They rode along the lane, wider than most roads, with Beltur riding on one side of Vaenturl/Korsaen, and Jessyla on the other. Then came Lhadoraak and his family, with the two guards bringing up the rear.

  After several hundred yards, the lane curved back to the north, and at the end of the curve were two tall brick gateposts. The two iron scroll-worked gates were already swung open, and there was neither a guard nor a gatehouse. The lane continued, running through a meadow toward a long three-story stone-walled dwelling situated just below the crest of a rise some five yards higher than the meadow. A wall, little more than two yards high, enclosed an area perhaps three hundred yards on a side, and Beltur counted three substantial outbuildings, one of which looked to be a stable. There were gardens on both ends of the house. Beyond the open gates in the second wall, the lane was stone-paved and ran directly toward the center of the mansion, where it formed an oval around a small garden, with the north side of the oval going under the covered entrance. Off the rightmost curve in the oval another stone-paved lane led to the stable and to the outbuilding behind it.

  Korsaen guided them onto the side lane to the stable, where he dismounted, and led his mount inside, turning the gelding over to a stableboy, while the two guards led their mounts into the stable and to stalls.

  Beltur followed Korsaen’s example, dismounting and leading Slowpoke into the stable, a good fifty yards long with stalls for over twenty horses, although Beltur only saw about ten.

  “Most of our horses are in the north pasture, over the hill,” said Korsaen. “Dallket, here, will show you the stalls and where the hay and grain are … and the water pump and buckets. I need to check with Maeyora about some things, but I’ll be back likely before you’ve settled your horses.”

  Once Korsaen was walking back toward the mansion, Lhadoraak said quietly to Beltur, “Do you know what he is? He has to be powerful.”

  Beltur shook his head. “We traveled with him for c
lose to an eightday. Jorhan thought he was a trader, and he never gave any indication he was more than that.” He grinned. “It looks to me that it’s better than an inn.”

  “And it might cost us more in the long run,” said Tulya warily.

  “He hasn’t withheld or lied yet,” said Lhadoraak.

  “I like him,” declared Taelya. “He’s nice.”

  Tulya raised her eyebrows, but said nothing else.

  “We’re here. We might as well see to the horses,” said Beltur, turning and wondering where he should stall Slowpoke.

  “Ser,” offered Dallket, returning from stalling Korsaen’s gelding. “Your mount should have one of the bigger stalls. I’ll show you. After that, I’ll show the others where they can stall their mounts.”

  “Lead the way.”

  The youth turned and walked toward the north end of the stable, stopping some ten yards later and pointing to an open stall. When Beltur led the gelding into the stall, Dallket glanced from Slowpoke to Beltur and back again. “He’s a warhorse, isn’t he, ser? Your warhorse.”

  Beltur nodded.

  “I’ve never met a war mage before.”

  “It wasn’t my choice. The Prefect of Gallos attacked Elparta, and all the mages were required to beat back the invasion.”

  “Are you going to be a war mage for Lord Korsaen?”

  Lord Korsaen? Lord of what? “We haven’t talked about that,” replied Beltur, managing a pleasant smile.

  “I need to help the others, ser. There’s a bucket in the stall. The water pump is just outside the door that’s two stalls up, and I’ll bring hay and grain to all the horses after you groom them.”

  “Thank you, Dallket.”

  “My pleasure, ser.”

  As the youth left, Beltur couldn’t help wondering why Korsaen might be looking for a war mage. Was the Viscount threatening Montgren? Or was the Duke of Lydiar? Or did Korsaen have something else in mind?

  All of those possibilities made him uneasy.