Outcasts of Order

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “Trade isn’t something I had to worry about. Maybe I should have.”

  “It doesn’t hurt to know about it … as we’ve both found out. Anyway, you might do whatever you do to discover people who aren’t in plain sight.”

  “I’ve been doing that, but I’ll be even more on guard.”

  “Sometimes, they come up behind and start loosing shafts … and there’s another group up ahead waiting.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind as well.”

  “Might never see any. Then, again, we might.”

  “I’ll keep a close watch,” promised Beltur, slowing Slowpoke and the packhorse to drop back so that he was once more riding beside Jessyla. “Jorhan says we might see brigands. Even if we don’t, we might end up caught in a northeaster.”

  “I noticed they’re carrying bows. They weren’t yesterday.”

  “They travel on skis—long wooden slats—”

  “I know what skis are.”

  Beltur frowned. “How come you know and I don’t?”

  “Dear, I just might know a few things that you don’t. Isn’t that possible?”

  Beltur winced. “It’s more than possible. You know more about healing, and most likely other things that I know nothing about. But how did you know about skis? I never heard about skis in Fenard.”

  “I read about them. The women of Westwind use them. They have for hundreds of years.”

  “It’s not in The Book of Ayrlyn.”

  “It’s in The Book of Saryn.”

  “There is a Book of Saryn?”

  “There is. I read part of it when I was younger. There was an older healer named Helyea. She visited Mother once. She came from Sarronnyn. I don’t know where she went after she left, but I remember the part about skis because it seemed so amazing that you could glide along over the top of snow.” She gestured toward the side of the road. “Seeing all this, it makes sense.”

  “It does.”

  “Let me lead the packhorse. That makes more sense, too.”

  Beltur almost objected, but then realized that she was right, and leaned toward her, handing her the lead. Then he slipped the lead over Slowpoke’s head and reined up. “Switch the lead to your right side.”

  Once the packhorse was on Jessyla’s right, he urged Slowpoke forward so that he was riding on her left. He couldn’t have said why, but he felt that any attack, if there happened to be one, would likely come from the north side of the road.

  Another glass passed before Beltur sensed the presence of people ahead. At first, he thought that they might be traveling traders on the road itself, but after riding another few hundred yards, he gained the definite impression that they were on the slope above the road around the next curve. He also could sense, not quite so clearly, at least one or two people moving swiftly down a slope behind them, but from high on the slope and at an angle that would eventually intersect the road, if just out of eyesight. He rode ahead and eased up just behind Jorhan.

  “There are people on the slope of the next hill around the curve ahead, and there are some behind us on the right.”

  “Sounds like brigands to me. Ride ahead and tell Vaenturl.”

  Beltur urged Slowpoke forward, past Jorhan and up beside the bearded trader, where he repeated what he’d told Jorhan.

  Vaenturl nodded, then called out, “Time to rest the horses!”

  Karmult immediately turned and yelled back, “It’s too early.”

  “Just rein up!”

  The Lydian did so.

  Vaenturl kept his mount and sledge moving until his sledge horse was within a yard of the rear of Karmult’s sledge.

  The Lydian turned in the saddle. “You’re making us easy pickings.”

  Vaenturl shook his head. “The mage says there are people on the slope ahead, around the curve. There are some more behind us.”

  “They can’t catch us if we keep moving.”

  “They’re high on the slope, aren’t they?” asked Vaenturl.

  “Yes. They’re coming downhill at an angle.”

  Karmult took a deep breath. “Frigging brigands.”

  “I wanted to rest the horses now,” said Vaenturl, “because once they’re on the level with us, or close to it, we can move faster than they can.”

  “If we’re not too full of arrows,” snorted Karmult.

  “I can help with that,” said Beltur. “I can block the arrows for a while. That’s if you keep the sledges and horses close together.”

  “Then we should be able to outrun them,” said Vaenturl. “The road’s faster than deep snow. Beltur, you and the healer and your mounts should be right behind Karmult. That way you’ll have the best chance of looking forward or back.”

  Beltur nodded, although he suspected that Vaenturl also didn’t want Jessyla any more exposed than necessary.

  After resting the horses for about a quint, during which time the brigands did not move closer, Karmult eased his sledge forward. “We’ll move at a restful pace until they attack.”

  Beltur urged Slowpoke along, right behind the Lydian. Just before they came around the last part of the curve in the road, Beltur heard a rushing roar from somewhere ahead that soon died away. Even when they reached the point where the road straightened out, Beltur saw no signs of the brigands. He could sense the bodies on the slope, but all he could see were scattered pines and firs, with occasional rocky outcrops protruding from the deep snow.

  Then some of the snow began to move, and he realized that the brigands were all in white, with even their scarves or head coverings white as well, and those white shapes began to move down the slope, spraying snow from their legs. Beltur couldn’t make out their boots or the skis that supposedly carried them.

  Then, only about a hundred yards from the road, from a point still some five yards higher than the road, the half score or so of brigands stopped and produced bows—also white. The moment the first shafts were loosed, Beltur expanded his shields.

  At the same time Karmult urged the sledge horse into a faster walk.

  Beltur kept sensing the brigands, discovering, to his surprise, that several of them, possibly half, were women. But then, he realized that it made perfect sense. No one was going to be able to close quickly with them through the deep snow, and anyone who tried would be a better target the closer they got.

  The brigands were good archers. That Beltur could tell by the impacts on his shields.

  “Beltur! Ahead!” called out Karmult.

  Beltur looked forward. The brigands were just about abreast of them, if a hundred yards off the road, but ahead of the travelers was a low wall of snow across the road. A wall not all that high, possibly only slightly over a yard deep, but deep enough to block any passage by the sledges and enough to slow the horse to a crawl. So that even if we escape, our goods are left behind?

  Beltur smiled grimly, not appreciating terribly the cleverness of the brigands.

  Briefly, he wondered how they had managed it, until he glanced to the north and the steep slope, now through which ran a swath of rubbled snow that extended to the road, if in an ever-narrower path. That was what you heard.

  Even so, he had to do something about the barrier. What about a shield with warm chaos on the front? Beltur glanced back. The nearest brigand was a good hundred yards away from Jorhan and the last sledge. “Come on, big fellow, we’re going to see about pushing snow.” He could also sense that the sledges were slowing down as they saw the low wall of snow.

  “Karmult! I’m coming past you on the left! Just slow down a little. We’re going to try something.”

  Beltur knew that snow was heavy, especially packed snow, but what if he and Slowpoke pushed away the top half yard or so? He concentrated on shaping his shield into an angled front, hoping that the shield would put a wedge in the middle of the road, and that a thin line of hot chaos would help.

  When the shield hit the wall of snow, Beltur could feel the pressure, but while Slowpoke slowed he kept moving—for about three yards.
Beltur let the gelding stop and studied the snow ahead. They were almost through the barrier, with less than a yard to go.

  He turned Slowpoke and guided him back to before the beginning of the wall, as fast as he dared, looking back toward the closing brigands, then noticing that he’d left a good fifteen to twenty digits of snow above the level of the snowpack on the rest of the road. Probably too much for the sledges. He pushed that thought away and urged Slowpoke ahead once more, worrying about the time his makeshift plowing was taking. This time the gelding broke through the barrier.

  Beltur immediately turned Slowpoke back and made another snow-shield run through the remaining snow before turning back to where the snow barrier had begun and gesturing to Karmult, as he edged Slowpoke to the side of the snow-packed part of the road. “Get moving. I’ll keep shielding you. But move!” The snow was deeper than it had been on the road before, but Beltur knew he couldn’t clear much more, not without lowering his shields, and the arrows were still coming.

  Part of that urgency was because Beltur knew he was on the verge of light-headedness. Carrying wide shields while pushing snow with his shield, as well as shielding himself from the free chaos he’d drawn from somewhere, had definitely been an effort.

  Karmult’s sledge horse struggled with the deeper snow, slowing to almost a snail’s pace, before breaking through, followed by Jessyla and the packhorse. Vaenturl’s passage was easier, largely because he kept his sledge in the traces Karmult had created. Jorhan didn’t slow down that much.

  Beltur swung in behind the smith’s sledge, struggling to keep his expanded shields in place, until the brigands stopped loosing shafts. That happened after they had covered another hundred yards beyond the snow barrier, and Beltur dropped the shield back just to cover himself. As Beltur passed Vaenturl, the trader said, “Thank you. We’d likely be dead without what you did.”

  “You could have gotten over the snow barrier, I think. But you would have lost the sledges.”

  “We still might not have made it. They’re good archers. I saw where you stopped the shafts.”

  “They are good.” Beltur smiled ruefully and moved forward beside Jessyla, expanding his shields just a bit to cover her. He’d worried about that, but he just couldn’t have held the larger shields that much longer.

  He kept sensing, but so far as he could tell, there were no other brigands anywhere near.

  After a deep breath, he fumbled out the water bottle and took several swallows. The water, cold as it was, helped a little, but he could only hope that he didn’t have to do any more magery any time soon. Why did that take so much out of you?

  “Are you all right?” asked Jessyla.

  “I’m fine. As long as I don’t have to do anything more for a while. I think it’s all the snow and the order and chaos tied up in it … and that I had to use a little chaos in clearing it away.”

  “I could feel that.” Jessyla shuddered slightly.

  “I couldn’t think of anything else to do, not quickly.” Not wanting to dwell on his condition, he added, “Did you know that almost half of the brigands were women?”

  “I wondered about that. Some of them seemed smaller.”

  “They were still good archers, better than many armsmen, I think.”

  “You could have killed the brigands, couldn’t you, one by one?” asked Jessyla.

  Beltur almost froze in the saddle. “I didn’t think of that.”

  “That’s because you don’t think that way.”

  “I killed people during the invasion.”

  “I’m sure you did. Did you ever go out with the idea of killing them?”

  “Yes,” he admitted.

  “Who?”

  Beltur was silent for a long moment. “The only ones I went out intending to kill were white mages. But that doesn’t matter. I killed far more troopers than mages, even if I wasn’t trying to kill each of them. And I knew some of them would die from what I did.” More than just some of them. Many more.

  “It does matter. Unless you’re really threatened or trying to survive, deep inside you, you don’t want to kill people. Defeating the Prefect’s army was a matter of survival.”

  “I’m not so sure that’s always been true. Even if it is, that may not always be good,” reflected Beltur. “We escaped the brigands, but because I didn’t kill them, we left them to prey on other travelers and traders.”

  “That was because you weren’t really in charge,” Jessyla said. “Vaenturl was thinking like a trader. He wanted everyone and all the goods to escape. You accepted that and acted to make it happen.”

  “I didn’t even think of it in that way.” He managed a smile. “You’ve given me a lot to think about … again.” He kept sensing, but the brigands seemed not to have moved much. When he looked back, though, all he could see were trees, some few rocks, and a great amount of white snow, into which the brigands blended all too well.

  “How far to Axalt?” he called back to Vaenturl.

  “Another three glasses, maybe four, to the border gates. A glass beyond that to the city proper.”

  Beltur nodded, hoping no more brigands lay in wait.

  XXXIII

  Beltur looked ahead in the late-afternoon light. The slopes flanking the road were the lower parts of small mountains, with more rock and evergreens than earlier, evergreens that were largely snow-covered. He also realized that the road had been built up from the floor of a canyon cut through the land by a modest stream, but it remained a depression flattened deeply enough into the surrounding and seemingly endless snow that, even from the saddle, Beltur could barely see over the sloping sides that angled up from the layers of packed snow that covered the actual road. Beyond the right side of the road was an ice-covered stream.

  He finally began to feel better after raiding the provisions sack when they finally stopped to rest after escaping the brigands. He had to admit that while acorn cakes did provide nourishment, they seemed a trace bitterer each time he ate one. He’d given part of one to Slowpoke, but the gelding had clearly enjoyed it. He also noticed that since they had escaped the bandits, their speed had slowed, perhaps because the road had a slight but definite grade that wasn’t that obvious until he looked back.

  “How much farther to the border gates?” Beltur called back to Vaenturl.

  “Less than a glass.”

  Beltur was certain that he’d heard that more than a glass before, but he just nodded.

  Little more than a quint later, as Beltur followed Karmult and his sledge around a tight curve, he saw a wall running from one side of the canyon to the other, a distance of a good hundred yards, if not slightly more. The road led to a gate on one side of the wall with an opening barely wide enough for a large wagon and most likely no more than three yards high. The gray stone blocks that framed the gate rose another twenty yards above the keystone of the square arch. The top of the wall was crenellated, with arrow slits on the level just below.

  At the base of the wall on the side opposite the gate was a narrow water sluice from which poured the icy waters of the stream into a narrow lake, some two hundred yards in length and half that in width, bordered by the canyon wall on the south, the stone embankment on the north, on the top of which ran the road, and a spillway on the west end of the lake from which the water tumbled down into the streambed. From what Beltur could see as they approached, the sluice was constructed to keep the water in the lake in motion, presumably so that the lake would not freeze over. He wondered if that actually worked in the depth of winter. The sky to the east of the wall looked to be much darker, as if heavy clouds were rolling in, but they were too far away for Beltur to sense what form of order/chaos lay within them.

  When they neared the wall, Beltur saw two guards waiting in sheltered stone niches at the side of the gates. While the heavy oak gates were recessed into slots on each side, Beltur could make out an iron portcullis suspended behind the gates. He had the feeling that there were other gates behind the obvious ones, suggestin
g one reason why no one had ever taken Axalt, especially combined with the narrow and twisting nature of the canyon.

  Karmult slowed and then stopped the sledge just short of the guards, both of whom wore dark gray uniforms and who immediately stepped forward.

  “Why are you coming to Axalt?” asked the taller of the two guards.

  “I’m a trader from Lydiar. I’m passing through on my way to Rytel, then Jellico. After that, I’ll go to Vergren, and then home.”

  “Through Weevett or Haven?”

  “Why would I go through Haven? It’s out of the way, and there’s nothing there anymore.”

  “Do you have a passage letter?”

  “I have one from going outbound.” The trader produced a document.

  The shorter guard read it and returned it. “What sort of goods do you have in the sledge?”

  Karmult produced another sheet. “This is a listing of everything that’s in trade.”

  After a few more questions the guards waved the trader on.

  Beltur eased Slowpoke forward, then reined up. Jessyla followed with the packhorse.

  The shorter guard looked curiously at Slowpoke and then at Beltur. “This is a warhorse and an old combat saddle. I see no weapons.”

  Beltur opened his coat, revealing his black tunic and showing the medallion. “I’m a black mage. I served during the invasion. The Council sold off my horse. I got him back.”

  “Why are you coming to Axalt?”

  “My consort and I were invited by Merchant Barrynt. She’s a healer.”

  “How do you know him?”

  “I’ve been working with Jorhan. He’s the smith with the last sledge. When the Council of Spidlar said that we couldn’t sell copperwork, except through a trader—”

  “You’re not the first to leave Spidlar because of the Council.” The guard paused. “How do I know you’re a mage?”

  “Try to hit me. I won’t hurt you. Just try.”

  The guard unsheathed his blade and thrust, if cautiously, at Beltur. When the tip struck the unseen shield, he almost dropped the sword. He then sheathed the weapon and rubbed his hand. “If you aren’t one, I’ve never seen one.” Then he looked at Jessyla, taking in her green trousers and her boots. “You two can wait for the smith inside the gate.”