Outcasts of Order

by L. E. Modesitt Jr

  He wanted to say something to Jessyla about what Dallket had said, but he’d barely finished grooming and watering Slowpoke when Korsaen returned and promptly helped Taelya to groom her mount, although that meant that Korsaen did most of the work.

  Then the lord said, “Maeyora has worked out what rooms you’ll all be in. So follow me with whatever you need. The guest rooms are all on the second level of the east wing. That’s because she thought our guests should appreciate the sunrises, since she does not.”

  Although Korsaen did not smile, Beltur sensed the humor in his voice.

  The lord led them to an entry on the east end of the mansion and then up a stone staircase to the second level, stopping in the foyer at the top of the stairs. “There’s another staircase at the other end of this wing that leads down to the center hallway, and the library, dining room, and all the other function rooms. The water taps in the washrooms only offer cold water,” said Korsaen, “but one of the house porters will be up shortly with large kettles of boiling water for each washroom.” He gestured to the first door on the left and then looked at Lhadoraak and Tulya. “I thought this room might be best for you. It shares a washroom with the adjoining room, and it seemed that would allow Taelya to have her own room while still being close to you.”

  “That is most thoughtful,” said Tulya. “We thank you.”

  Korsaen opened the door and stepped back. “Dinner will be at fifth glass, but feel free to come down to the parlor any time after fourth glass.”

  Taelya immediately carried her small duffel into the room, and her parents followed, with Tulya closing the door behind herself.

  Korsaen walked to the next door, across the hall and several yards farther along, and opened that door. “Maeyora thought this would suit you. It has an adjoining washroom and jakes.” He paused, then said in a lower voice, “After you get washed up and ready for dinner, settled, I think we three should have a brief meeting so that we can go over some matters of interest to you, and perhaps all of your group. Perhaps at a quint past four downstairs in my study?”

  After glancing at Jessyla, Beltur said, “We’d be pleased.”

  “Good. Oh … one other thing. If you’ll leave anything you want washed outside your door this evening, we can take care of that as well. Please let Lhadoraak and his family know that as well.”

  “We can do that,” said Jessyla. “That’s most thoughtful.”

  “If you have any other questions about the room or the facilities, you can ask the porter when he arrives, or me when we meet.” Korsaen smiled. “I had thought I might see you, and I’m very glad that you came. Until later this afternoon.” With a nod, he turned and walked down the corridor to the center of the mansion.

  When Beltur and Jessyla entered their room, for several moments she just looked around, taking in the bed, which was wide enough for three, covered with a cream and blue quilt, and four pillows with matching shams. The headboard and footposts were of a dark wood that Beltur didn’t recognize, as were the two wooden armchairs with seats upholstered also in blue, and the small writing desk, and the armoire set against the wall.

  “This is what I would think a room in a palace looks like,” she finally said. “They must want you to do something very badly.”

  “He kept referring to both of us. I don’t think that was just a courtesy.”

  “It might be a courtesy to me so that I’ll be more amenable to what he has in mind.”

  That’s very possible. But somehow Beltur hadn’t gotten that feeling. “I didn’t have a chance to tell you earlier. Dallket—the stableboy—he called Korsaen ‘Lord Korsaen,’ and said Korsaen was looking for a war mage. Well … he didn’t say that. He asked whether I’d been a war mage, and when I said that I had been, very reluctantly, he asked if I was going to be a war mage for Lord Korsaen.”

  “Not if I have anything to say about it! Seeing you almost die twice was enough.”

  “I don’t think that’s quite what he has in mind. He’s made a point to include you and not Lhadoraak.”

  “He wants me to persuade you to do what he wants.”

  “Or he thinks you’ll be more sensible than I am.”

  “I doubt that.”

  At that point, there was a knock on the door. “Ser … Lady…”

  Beltur opened the door to find two porters in dark blue livery outside, each carrying a large and steaming copper kettle.

  “The hot water for you.”

  Beltur stepped back and watched as the two proceeded to the washroom, where one put a stopper in the bottom of the narrow tub, then turned on the single tap, waiting until the cold water in the bottom of the tub was several digits deep. Then he poured most of what was in the kettle into the tub and set the kettle on the rack next to the tub, beside the second kettle.

  Without another word, the two porters left.

  “I think that means you get to take the first bath,” said Beltur. “You don’t want to waste that hot water.”

  Somewhat more than a quint later, Beltur was bathed and fully dressed, wearing his mage-healer tunic, and watching Jessyla as she finished putting up her hair.

  “It’s still damp, and I can’t do anything else with it.”

  Beltur wasn’t about to argue about that. “You look wonderful.”

  “I look presentable. Mostly.”

  “Are you ready to see what Korsaen has to say?”

  “I’ll listen.”

  Beltur kept his wince to himself.

  A few moments later, the two stepped out into the hallway, where, Beltur noticed, a small table had been placed by the door, and the door to Lhadoraak and Tulya’s chambers.

  Beltur gestured. “They meant it.”

  “I intend to take full advantage of their offer.”

  The staircase in the center of the mansion, which ran up a level and down to the main floor, was far more ornate than the one at the end of the east wing, and had creamy marble balustrades and banisters, and a dark blue carpeted runner over the marble steps. At the bottom of the steps was a wide hallway, also tiled in the creamy marble, that extended to the front entry and then back to a set of double doors.

  Beltur was still looking around when Korsaen stepped out of a side door. “I thought I heard steps. If you’d join me here in the study. I just got back less than a quint ago.”

  The two followed Korsaen into the study, a comparatively small chamber perhaps four yards by five, paneled in the same dark wood as the desk and the circular table and chairs set in the middle of the maroon carpet. Korsaen moved to one of the chairs at the table and gestured for them to take a seat.

  “As I recall,” said the lord, looking to Jessyla, “you prefer smooth dark lager.”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  “And pale ale for you?”

  Beltur nodded.

  Korsaen did not appear to have spoken or signaled to anyone, but in moments, a server entered through the still-open door and placed the beverages on the table before each, as well as a pale ale before the unoccupied seat.

  “Maeyora will be joining us in a moment.”

  Even as Korsaen spoke, the study door opened, then closed, and Beltur managed to keep his mouth in place as Korsaen’s consort walked toward the table. While Korsaen was dark-haired, thin-faced, and about the same height as Beltur, Maeyora was a good head shorter than Jessyla, compact and wiry, with silver hair. Beltur had read about the silver hair of Nylan, but he’d never seen anyone with that kind of silver hair before. She also had a strong black aura, and wore healer greens.

  At that, Beltur almost nodded.

  Korsaen smiled. “As you can see, I am outnumbered.”

  “Outnumbered, but never deceived, I think,” replied Beltur in what he hoped was a humorous tone. “I’ve read about silver hair, from the dark angels, but I’ve never seen someone with it.”

  “It comes from my mother’s time with a bard who turned out to be a druid,” replied Maeyora openly. “My mother worried about it when it sho
wed up with me. How do you find your quarters?” That question was addressed to Jessyla.

  “They’re lovely, more like a palace. But then, this is a palace, isn’t it?”

  “I would hope not,” replied Korsaen, with a laugh. He lifted his beaker. “To your safe arrival here.”

  The others lifted their beakers as well, then drank, although Beltur noticed that Maeyora only took a tiny sip.

  “I’m sure you’re wondering why I asked you to meet with us,” said Korsaen as he set his beaker on the table. “As you must have guessed, I’m a bit more than a trader. I do trade, but I use the trading to look for people who have certain abilities and who would be happier in Montgren than where they are or have been. You and those with you are looking for a place where you can settle down and gain some control over your lives. We may be able to help you find a place from which you’ll never have to move again and where you’ll have the opportunity to arrange matters much more to your liking.”

  “There’s a price to any offer like that,” replied Beltur warily.

  “I’ll admit it. There is. I’ve been looking for people like you for several years. Not for myself, of course, but on behalf of someone else. I never hoped to see three mages…”

  “Four,” said Beltur. “Jessyla also has some skills there, and is improving daily.”

  “That’s even better.”

  “And the price?” prompted Beltur.

  “You’ll be the one setting the price. That’s something you’ll have to bargain out. Are you interested? At worst, you can refuse. At best, it might benefit all of us.”

  “Just who are we going to be bargaining with?”

  “My aunt.”

  “Who is she? The sister or cousin of the Duchess?”

  “No. The Duchess herself. She was the only surviving heir, and in Montgren, women can rule. She did and still does. Her consort died two years ago, and she’s not ready to turn the land over to her daughter.”

  Jessyla offered a faint smile and looked to Maeyora. “Are you…?”

  “No. I’m one of those people Korsaen found.”

  “It’s more like she found me,” admitted the lord.

  Beltur sensed the absolute truth behind both their statements. “All of this is … rather vague. Could you be a bit more detailed?”

  “My aunt is looking for someone, or a talented group, to whom she can give the charter to a small town, more like a large village.”

  “What sort of trouble is she having?” asked Jessyla.

  “I think that should come from her. I can say that it once was a lovely town, and could be again, but it will require a firm hand, or set of hands.”

  “You two doubtless have firm sets of hands,” observed Jessyla.

  “We aren’t mages,” replied Maeyora, “and Korsaen has his hands full with his duties as the largely unseen protector of Montgren.”

  “Montgren really doesn’t have that many people,” said Korsaen. “It’s said that we have more sheep than people. It’s more like twenty times more sheep than people. We can barely afford to maintain a single battalion of armsmen. The dukes and duchesses have always tried to keep tariffs on their people low.”

  Jessyla glanced around the well-appointed study.

  Maeyora smiled. “You’re thinking about this house … or you should be. I used to travel with Korsaen, and we did do a great deal of trading then. That is how we could afford to build the house.”

  Again, Beltur could sense the truth, and it also made sense, because, if Maeyora could sense people as well as Herrara or Jessyla could …

  “You see why Korsaen wanted you two and me here?” asked the silver-haired woman.

  Beltur did. “That’s why you have a white mage as a border guard at the post outside of Bortaan?”

  “Exactly. He fled from Hydlen some ten years ago. He wanted to live in whatever part of Montgren was farthest from Hydolar.”

  “You recruit mages from everywhere so that you don’t have to pay armsmen?”

  Korsaen shook his head. “Not just mages. People. We may only have one battalion of armsmen, but they’re paid twice as much as any battalion anywhere, and they’re probably three times as good.”

  “So why aren’t you the one making whatever this offer is?” asked Beltur.

  “The Duchess is the only one empowered to make the offer, and for something this important, she wouldn’t delegate the decision. Maeyora and I will be at the meeting, of course.”

  Of course.

  “Are you interested?”

  “We’re interested,” replied Beltur, adding after looking at Jessyla, “but cautious.”

  “As you should be.”

  “We’ll meet,” added Jessyla. “Then we’ll decide.”

  “And if you want Lhadoraak, he and Tulya should be there as well,” added Beltur.

  Korsaen nodded. “Before we adjourn to the parlor to wait for the others, is there anything else of concern?”

  “There is one thing. We’re going to need a farrier sooner or later.”

  Korsaen smiled broadly. “That is something that is easy to provide. I can have one here in the morning. For all the horses?”

  “I’d like him to check all of them, but from what I can see, the mule is fine, and so is the mount that Lhadoraak’s riding. Slowpoke—that’s my big gelding—definitely needs reshoeing, and probably the others do as well.”

  “Now … I think we should enjoy our drinks, and then dinner.” Korsaen rose, lifting his beaker and moving to the study door, which he opened. “I trust you won’t mind if the children join us, since they seldom get to eat with company, and especially not with someone close to their own age.”

  “How old are they?” asked Jessyla.

  “Korwaen is nine, and Maenya is six,” replied Maeyora.

  Two children who had been sitting on a settee in the parlor immediately rose as the four adults entered. Korwaen had light brown hair and his mother’s wiry build, although it appeared he would be taller, while Maenya had the silver hair and a narrower face. Both wore dark blue tunics and trousers.

  “Korwaen, Maenya,” said Maeyora. “I’d like you to meet Mage Beltur and Healer Jessyla. They’ve recently ridden all the way from Axalt.”

  Both children offered a polite head bow, then straightened, and said, almost simultaneously, “I’m honored to meet you.”

  “And we’re pleased to meet you,” replied Beltur and Jessyla.

  Maenya looked questioningly at her mother.

  Before Maeyora could answer, Beltur said, “Taelya is just a year older than you, and she’s coming down with her parents in a few moments.” Then he looked to Maeyora. “Your consort may have told you, but if he has not, Taelya is a white, and can do some magery already.”

  Maenya’s eyes widened.

  “Like you,” said Beltur, “Taelya is very well-mannered.”

  The six had barely seated themselves in the parlor when Lhadoraak, Tulya, and Taelya entered from the hallway.

  Lhadoraak and Tulya inclined their heads as they entered, but Beltur could sense that both were uneasy. Taelya smiled at Maenya, who offered a tentative smile in return.

  “Welcome to Montgren,” offered Maeyora warmly. “You’ve had a very long ride.”

  “It was very long,” agreed Tulya.

  Lhadoraak nodded agreement.

  In moments, the server had returned and supplied Lhadoraak with lager, Tulya with pale ale, and all three children with pearapple juice.

  “You’ve arrived just in time to see everything flower,” said Korwaen. “Spring and early fall are the loveliest and most temperate times of the year in Montgren.”

  From that single sentence, Beltur knew that nothing of import would be discussed in the parlor or at dinner.

  Nor was he wrong.

  A filling dinner was served—excellent mutton chops, laced potatoes, served with a piquant cream sauce, pickled and seasoned turnips, followed by a fried sweet pastry that Beltur had never seen—accompanied
by light conversation about the trip, the various cheeses and foods for which Montgren was known, and other informative and humorous tidbits.

  Almost two glasses later, the five travelers made their way up the steps and toward their rooms. Taelya hung on to her mother’s hand, more asleep than awake.

  “That was quite a dinner,” said Lhadoraak. “I didn’t expect something quite so lavish.”

  “They must want something,” said Tulya.

  “They do,” replied Beltur. “The Duchess is going to make an offer tomorrow. It may be difficult to refuse.”

  Lhadoraak frowned. “What sort of offer?”

  “I don’t know exactly. It has something to do with granting us a charter to a lovely town in return for our services. Korsaen wouldn’t or couldn’t tell us the scope of those services, but he wants all four of us.”

  “Has he said who he is?” asked Tulya.

  “His consort called him the largely unseen protector of Montgren, and his official title is Lord Korsaen,” said Jessyla. “He and Maeyora used to be traders. They made enough at it to be able to build this mansion. He’s also the nephew of the Duchess.”

  Lhadoraak and Tulya exchanged glances.

  “Beltur…” began Lhadoraak.

  “You don’t have to accept anything. All I’m asking is that you and Tulya come with us and listen.”

  “We can do that.”

  “Also, put any laundry you want washed on that little table there tonight. They’ll take care of that as well.”

  “Beltur…” After a moment, Lhadoraak went on. “Is he telling you the truth?”

  “He’s telling the truth,” said Jessyla. “There’s not a single hint of withholding, evasion, or untruth. He also expects us to be equally truthful. That’s why his consort is his partner. She can tell. She’s also got druid blood. She told us that when Beltur commented on her silver hair.”

  Again, Lhadoraak and Tulya exchanged glances.

  “Lhadoraak … we’ve been too many places where people didn’t want us,” said Beltur gently. “Someone here wants us badly enough to make quite an effort. It’s at least worth hearing out.”

  Slowly, Tulya nodded.

  Then she and Lhadoraak turned toward the door to their rooms.