Outcasts of Order

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “Don’t move,” Beltur murmured. “Sense where I am.”

  After several moments, Taelya said, “You’re standing at the end of the bench.”

  Beltur did not reply, but moved toward the hearth.

  “Now you’re by the chair.”

  He dropped the concealment. “Good. I’m going to walk back out into the hall, under a concealment. Once I’m out there, you tell me where I am, and in which direction I’m moving.”

  “Yes, ser.”

  Beltur raised the concealment and left the parlor, moving into the hallway and toward the rear of the house.

  “You’re by the kitchen door…”

  He moved back.

  “You’re in the middle of the hall, beside the high little table.”

  Beltur moved again, easing several steps up the staircase.

  “You’re up … on the steps upstairs.”

  After two more moves, which Taelya also determined correctly, Beltur returned to the parlor, still under a concealment, but this time, under a complete shield.

  “You’re gone. I can’t sense you anywhere. Are you here anywhere?”

  “I am,” murmured Beltur.

  “Where are you?”

  Beltur dropped the concealment. “Here.”

  Taelya looked both surprised and annoyed. “I don’t understand. If you can hide from being sensed, why do I need to know that?”

  “There are two reasons. First, most people aren’t mages, and you can sense them in the dark. Sometimes, cutpurses hide in dark lanes or alleys. Sensing them will allow you to avoid them. Second, some mages can shield themselves from being sensed, but many cannot, and even those who can often will not because it takes much more strength to use a total shield like that.”

  “Oh … that makes good sense.”

  “I’m glad you think so.”

  Taelya paled. “I’m sorry, ser.”

  “You need to be very polite to all mages, Taelya. It’s not only good manners, but there’s little point in antagonizing people, particularly when you’ll likely be surrounded by blacks.”

  “Why don’t people like whites? I’m the same as I was before I turned into a white.”

  “I know. There are blacks who don’t like me because I was raised by my uncle, who was a white.”

  “That’s how you know about whites, then?”

  “That, and working and living with them from the time I was nine until I came to Elparta. Now … we need to get back to work on your shields.”

  “Yes, ser. Will you teach me how to shield myself like you just did?”

  “That takes a lot of time and effort. You have to have very strong personal shields against order and chaos before you can even think about shielding everything. Try to put a shield completely around yourself. One tied together with order knots. You have been practicing that, haven’t you?”

  “Yes, ser.” Her response was muted.

  “But not as much as you should have been.”

  “No, ser.”

  “Go ahead and do your best.” Beltur settled into the straight-backed chair.

  Taelya’s first attempt collapsed even before she had created a section a yard across.

  “Oh…”

  “Make the order knots smaller. Much smaller.” Beltur felt that the session was going to be long and frustrating for Taelya, and her comments as they proceeded indicated just that.

  “I can’t do what you want…”

  “It’s too soft and squishy … that won’t protect anything…”

  “The yards keep unraveling…”

  After close to three quints, Taelya finally managed a loose circular shield all the way around. She held it for possibly half a quint before she began to shake and the shield collapsed, order and chaos threads fraying and repelling each other. “I can’t, can’t, can’t…”

  “Taelya,” Beltur said gently. “You did just fine. You’ve done enough for today. Please sit down on the bench.”

  “Yes, ser.” Her tone was just short of sullen.

  “You don’t believe it, but you are doing very well. You’ve been working with order and chaos less than a handful of times, and you can do more than I could do when I was four years older than you are now.” That was unfortunately true, Beltur knew. “You can’t learn it all at once. But the reason why I’m pushing you to do more than you can do is because the more you try, with a mage watching so that you don’t try too much, the sooner you’ll get stronger. You can hold a fairly strong shield in front of yourself already. It’s strong enough to stop a thief for a while, and before long, you should be able to protect yourself against those kinds of people—that’s if you sense them in time to raise a shield.”

  “Oh…” sniffed Taelya, “that’s why you wanted me to learn to sense.”

  “That’s right.”

  “There’s so much to learn.”

  “There is, but you’re still young. Just keep practicing at what you did today. No more than you did today, but keep working on holding the shield longer. You’re also doing well at keeping your order and chaos levels separate.”

  “I’ve been working at that.” Taelya sniffed again, as if she’d been holding back tears, but was beginning to recover.

  “It shows. I’d guess you’re going to need something to eat.” Beltur stood, knowing that Lhadoraak was waiting in the hall until Taelya left. “I may see you again on eightday. We’ll see.”

  No sooner had Taelya headed for the kitchen than Lhadoraak entered the parlor and joined Beltur. “I don’t mean to pry, but when you were working with Taelya on sensing … you … just … disappeared.”

  Beltur shook his head. “It’s just another level of shielding.”

  “I couldn’t sense anything. It was like you weren’t even there.”

  “I was very much here. It takes a great deal of effort.” That wasn’t totally true. When Beltur had first tried multiple shields, it had tired him quickly, but practice had made carrying such order/chaos shields only slightly tiring, rather than exhausting.

  “What are you?” Lhadoraak’s voice was low, but intense.

  “I’m a black who has a great deal of skill at sensing even small bits of order and chaos, and a fair amount of skill with shields, and only if those shields are fairly close to me, as you well know … and very limited abilities beyond that.”

  “I … hadn’t thought of it that way.”

  “I can help Taelya with sensing and shields. Others, later, once she has strong shields, might be best to broaden her abilities.”

  Lhadoraak’s mouth opened. “You think she could shield herself the way you did … so…”

  “I can’t say. It’s possible, but it likely won’t be for years. She’ll need more purely physical strength. I’m trying to give her the tools she’ll need.”

  “You ought to be running a school for mages.”

  Beltur shook his head. “I don’t know enough. There’s so much I don’t know.”

  “That might be, but I couldn’t have taught her what you did.”

  Beltur smiled. “Of course not. But that’s because you’re her father, and children seldom want to learn from their parents. You could probably teach other mages’ children.”

  “You’re kind, Beltur, but I know better. Can you come on eightday? Any time?”

  “Early afternoon, if it doesn’t snow.”

  “That’s fine.”

  The two walked to the front door.

  Lhadoraak was about to open it when he turned. “I can’t tell you how much we appreciate this.”

  “I’m happy to do it.” And, as Beltur donned his coat, he realized that he was.

  “We’re glad you are.” Lhadoraak opened the door.

  When Beltur stepped outside, he realized that a light snow was falling, although less than a digit covered the paving stones of the street.

  He was still thinking about how few silvers most of the blacks in Elparta seemed to make, but he also recalled what either Meldryn or Athaal had
said some time back—that very few men who relied on just the skills of their mind or body ever were wealthy, and that true wealth came from trade or from the use of other people’s skills. At least, that was how he recalled it. And that’s what Alizant is trying to do with you and Jorhan.

  He also still felt ashamed … and selfish … about thinking that he’d been doing badly in what he earned. Compared to Lhadoraak or Margrena or many of the blacks, he’d been paid handsomely over the past season. Very handsomely … even if future earnings like that are about to disappear.

  Working all day with Jorhan, and then with Taelya, had left him feeling very hungry, and he was looking forward to whatever Meldryn might have fixed. Even what the older mage called leftovers were better than some people’s best dinners.

  Beltur smiled and kept walking.

  XXV

  Beltur was up early on sevenday, because he had patrol duty and because he hadn’t slept as soundly as he might have, worrying not only about whether the snow might be deep, but also about Taelya and how long before Cohndar discovered she was a white, about what he could do to make a living in Elparta once Jorhan left … or whether he was being foolish not to accompany the smith. But you can’t leave Jessyla … and even Meldryn needs the silvers you provide.

  He fixed breakfast, ate with Meldryn, cleaned up, and then finished dressing. When he stepped outside, the snow was still falling, almost lazily, and only a few digits’ worth covered the stones. Meldryn had already cleared the area around the bakery, and people were walking on the streets, much the same as they had been on previous days with no snowfall.

  Beltur reached City Patrol headquarters and was signing the duty book when the duty patroller said, “Ser, the Patrol Mage would like a word with you before you head out.”

  “Thank you.” Wondering what Osarus wanted, Beltur opened the door from the duty room and made his way to Osarus’s study, where the door was open. “Ser?”

  “Come in, Beltur. Close the door, if you would.”

  That worried Beltur, but he complied.

  Osarus’s pale blue eyes immediately focused on Beltur. “As I recall, in the past you worked with a coppersmith to forge cupridium.”

  “Yes, ser. I still do.”

  “Then you are aware of the Council proclamation dealing with the making of objects either wholly or partly through magery?”

  “I am. Mage-Councilor Cohndar made a personal visit to me and to all blacks in Elparta, I understand. He explained the provisions of the proclamation in detail.”

  Uncharacteristically, the Patrol Mage’s hand brushed away a nonexistent strand of the black hair that was slicked back and perfectly in place before he spoke again. “You’ve been an excellent patrol mage. The City Patrol could not have asked for better. I understand very well that the proclamation will make your life far more difficult. I am not a trader, nor was I informed as to why the Council has chosen to do this. Unwise as the decision seems to me, it is now the law of Spidlar.” Osarus paused and cleared his throat.

  Beltur had noticed the very slight emphasis the Patrol Mage had placed on the word “now.” He doubted it was accidental.

  “Because the proclamation deals with trade,” Osarus went on, “should any violations occur, they will be dealt with initially by Council guards. If any overt violence occurs, of course, the Council can call upon the City Patrol. The Patrol will then determine whether the Patrol should take action. I regret having to spell this out in detail, but in view of your excellent service, I thought you should know the consequences of violating either the spirit or the letter of the law as it now stands.”

  “I appreciate your making that clear, ser.”

  “I very much regret the situation. It’s too bad that you can’t continue forging cupridium here in Spidlar without forgoing considerable income, but that is the law as of now.” Osarus paused again. “Do you have any questions?”

  “No, ser. Thank you.”

  “Thank you for your service, Beltur. You’ve done well.”

  “By your leave, ser.”

  “Of course.” Osarus offered a smile that could only have been described as sad, not even regretful.

  Beltur hurried back to the duty room, where Laevoyt was waiting, and the two immediately stepped out onto Patrol Street and headed toward the main market square.

  “Do you want to tell me what that was all about?”

  Beltur didn’t see any point in not doing so and gave a quick explanation of what that all meant, ending up with a paraphrase of what the Patrol Mage had said.

  “Sounds like he wants to make sure you understand how serious it could be. Also sounds like he doesn’t approve and can’t do anything about it.” Laevoyt shook his head. “Bastard traders’ll do anything for a few more silvers. Frigging shame, it is. What are you going to do?”

  “At the moment, I don’t know.”

  “Thoughtful of Osarus, but it sounds strange, somehow.”

  Beltur thought so, also, but just said, “I appreciated that thoughtfulness.”

  As the two neared the square, Beltur could see that the workhouse men had already cleared the new snow off the half of the square that they had previously cleared, and that the wagons and men were working their way north on West Street. There were already several vendors set up on the stone pavement.

  “Likely be the most folks we’ll see here until spring,” offered Laevoyt. “We’ll be patrolling River Street at least half-time from now on, I’d wager.” After a moment, he asked, “How much longer for you?”

  “If I’ve figured it right, three more eightdays after tomorrow.”

  “You’ll be seeing more of River Street.” Laevoyt laughed.

  After leaving Laevoyt, as Beltur patrolled the square, he kept thinking about what Osarus had said. First were Osarus’s references to the law as if it were already in effect. Was that his way of telling you that it is, at least in the minds of the Council and the traders, despite the wording that said “the first day of Winter”? The other was the hinted suggestion that Beltur might be better off forging cupridium outside Spidlar. Or had that been the older mage’s way of telling Beltur that he would never be able to do it inside Spidlar? Whichever way Osarus had meant it, it had been clear that he wasn’t happy with the Council’s action.

  But he’s not opposing it openly. Beltur smiled wryly, thinking, You’re not, either.

  By ninth glass, there were more people at the square than Beltur had seen in eightdays, possibly almost four score, between buyers and sellers, but although Beltur spent much of the time under concealment, he didn’t sense any chaos. None at all.

  Because most of those buying don’t have that many coins and are buying necessities of one sort or another?

  Roughly halfway between noon and first glass, Beltur made his way to Fosset’s cart, but waited until after Fosset served two others before asking for a hot cider. When Beltur took the mug, he asked, “How are things going with you?”

  “Cold. I hate standing around waiting. I suppose it’s better than lugging logs at the inn, or mucking out the stables there.”

  “You’d have to do that?”

  “I’m not the favored nephew. What do you do when you’re not on mage duty?”

  “I’ve been working with a coppersmith.”

  “You do? I thought mages made sure things worked, or inspected boats or piers, except Meldryn. He’s the only mage I know who’s a baker. But a mage as a coppersmith?”

  Fosset’s question surprised Beltur for a moment, but then he realized that he’d never mentioned smithing to Fosset. “More like his striker, right now, but I’ve been learning. Except now, the Council’s saying we have to sell to a trader.”

  “I’m surprised they didn’t do that earlier. Uncle was going to build a mill with a big hammer run by the wheel. Gave up on the idea when he found out he’d have to sell the nails he wanted to make through a trader. Council claimed they needed to maintain quality.”

  “Did someone else build th
e mill?”

  “Trader named Alizant.”

  Beltur managed just to nod. “I can’t say I’m surprised.”

  Fosset shook his head, then turned to his next customer.

  Beltur finished off his loaf and the cider, put the empty mug on the rack, and headed back to his patrolling.

  A quint or so later, he was passing along the line of produce carts when he came to the table of the woman with the acorn cakes. He was surprised to see her there, because he hadn’t seen her earlier. “Did you come later today?”

  “I did. A bit after noon. You noticed that. Most mages wouldn’t.”

  “I wasn’t sure, but I thought so.” Beltur smiled ruefully. “I take it that acorn cakes make a good travel food?” He wasn’t sure what prompted him to ask.

  “That they do, ser mage. For men or mounts.”

  “I have a friend who may have to travel before long. I’ll take two coppers’ worth.” Beltur handed over the coppers and took the wrapped cakes, which felt heavier than he thought they would be. He doubted that Jorhan would have acorn cakes, and if the smith didn’t like them, he could feed them to the horses, but he felt he ought to make some gesture to Jorhan that showed at least some thoughtfulness.

  Despite the larger number of sellers and buyers than in recent days, the square was almost empty by third glass, although the light snow had finally stopped, and the sky seemed to be clearing, and a light wind began to blow out of the north, a wind that promised a colder night to come.

  After signing out at Patrol headquarters, Beltur made his way back to Bakers Lane, now totally clear, and reached the house just about two quints past fourth glass.

  Since Meldryn was still in the bakery, Beltur went there after hanging up his coat and scarf. “You’re working a little later today.”

  “I had a special order from Comartyl.”

  “The innkeeper at the Traders’ Rest? What did he want?”

  “Two pearapple cakes. Good thing I had half a barrel of pearapples left in the cellar.”

  “Do we have to deliver them?”

  “No. His nephew picked them up just after fourth glass.”

  “Fosset? The one who sells cider and ale on the square?”