Outcasts of Order

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “Not after the Council approves the smithy. Not unless you dump waste in the sewers or break the law.”

  “Do we have to write up some sort of document?” Jorhan glared into nothingness.

  “Nothing like that. You just tell the Council that you intend to build and operate a coppersmithing forge in the Widow Santhela’s building in south town, and you pay a silver.”

  “Another silver?” Jorhan sounded incredulous.

  “Every crafter pays a silver a year to the Council.”

  “Tell me about the Council,” said Beltur quickly, trying not to sound dubious, despite his experiences with the Traders’ Council of Spidlar.

  “We’ve always had a council, at least since the time of Relyn,” Barrynt said. “There are eleven members. That’s so that there’s always a decision. I suppose there could be thirteen or nine or seven, but thirteen gets unwieldy. Seven’s really too few because the Council has to have landholders, merchants, and at least two crafters. That had to be Relyn’s doing. He was always looking for balance, and balance is one of the things that holds Axalt together.”

  “Seems to me that with everyone in these two valleys,” said Jorhan with a snort, “it’d be hard to go very far.”

  “Axalt isn’t just these two valleys. There are at least a score of vales, not to mention the forests, to the east of the city. The city’s the only part that’s fortified, though. The winters would kill any invaders. So would some northeasters.”

  “You mentioned Relyn,” said Beltur. “I know he didn’t want a temple here. He said so in the book. But did he leave any other writings or a house where he lived?”

  “I don’t know of anything.”

  “Did he have any children?”

  “Oh … his daughter and granddaughter were the only ones left in the end, and they just rode off one summer night. They left thirty golds to build the Council House. They rode east. That’s what everyone says, anyway.”

  “They just let them ride away?”

  “She was a mage, just like you.” Barrynt laughed heartily. “I don’t see that anyone was able to stop you.”

  “Does anyone know why?”

  “The daughter left a note. All it said was that it was better that way, that what Relyn wanted was for his teachings to be followed, not his heirs.”

  “And no one knows what became of them?”

  “Oh … there are stories. Some say that the granddaughter consorted the Duke of Vergren. Others say she ended up in Westwind. Still others claim she returned to the Stars of Heaven.”

  Stars of Heaven? Beltur hadn’t heard that phrase before, but it made sense, and that made him wonder why he hadn’t heard it before.

  Neither Jorhan nor Barrynt said much more on the ride back. Beltur thought that was likely for the best.

  XLIII

  Just as Beltur was putting on his coat, ready to leave for the healing house on sixday morning, Jessyla stepped closer to him.

  “Beltur…”

  He could tell she was concerned about something. “What is it?”

  “I hate to ask … you know how I hate to ask for anything…”

  He smiled. “I know. What do you need?”

  “Four silvers … I know we have to be careful, and you’ve spent so much already…”

  “What don’t we have?”

  “Things for the kitchen. We’ll need flour and butter and salt, pepper, other herbs, cheese, potatoes. I was thinking I could start getting those kinds of things at the chandlery and at the market square … I still have two silvers, but they won’t be enough. None of what we need costs a lot … but we really need so much.”

  Beltur managed to keep an impassive expression. “I can’t give you four silvers.”

  Jessyla swallowed. “Are things that bad?”

  He smiled, fumbling for his wallet, and extracting a coin. “I can only give you this. See if Johlana can give you silvers for it.”

  “A gold? Can we spare it?”

  “For now. I know you’ll make it last as long as possible.” He grinned. “We aren’t that badly off.”

  “You! You know how I hate to ask for anything!”

  Beltur could see her flushing, and he quickly said, “I know. I wasn’t thinking about all the little things that go into setting up a cot or a house. And I likely wouldn’t have. Sometimes, you will have to ask. Sometimes, I’ll have to ask you.”

  “For a moment, you made me feel so guilty for asking. I feel guilty enough about everything that Johlana has given us.” She paused. “You really don’t have enough silvers?”

  “After buying buckets and the kitchen cistern? I only have two silvers and a few coppers, besides the golds, that is.” He shook his head. “I probably should have given Rhodos a gold for the cistern and buckets, but I didn’t.”

  “You don’t want people to know what we have, do you?”

  “I don’t want them to get the wrong idea.”

  “I’ll see if Johlana has enough silvers.”

  “If she doesn’t, Barrynt should—at his factorage.”

  “I’ll work it out. Just be careful at the healing house.”

  “I will.” You don’t dare to be any other way.

  Once Beltur was outside, he immediately looked to the north and east, but the sky was clear and cold, and the white sun shed very little warmth as he walked toward the healing house, thinking about his conversation with Jessyla. Are you being too cautious about silvers?

  He might be. Yet he’d seen just how quickly life could change, and how little choice he’d had when he’d had no coins to speak of.

  Once he reached the healing house and doffed his coat, scarf, and gloves, since no one was waiting with an injury, he made his way up the steps to the room that held Poldaark and three other empty beds. The young man was staring at the wall and didn’t seem to notice Beltur.

  “How are you feeling this morning?”

  Poldaark started. “Ser?”

  “I asked how you were feeling.”

  “About the same. My shoulder hurts. Sometimes I get hot. Sometimes, I’m shivering.”

  “Let me see.” Beltur’s fingertips touched Poldaark’s forehead. “You’re not feverish.” All the same, he did sense some slight traces of the yellowish-red wound chaos in places along the wound, but using free order to remove them took only a fraction of a quint. Then he checked the dressings. The upper wound in front was healing well, but there were still fluids draining from the lower wound in the young man’s back.

  “How long do I have to stay here, ser?”

  “Until there’s no more wound chaos inside you. It might be another eightday.”

  “Hannon won’t be happy.”

  “He’d be a lot less happy if you came back too early and died.”

  “It doesn’t hurt that much.”

  “It would if I weren’t dealing with the chaos in you every other day.”

  Poldaark frowned. “You’re not like the other healers.”

  “I’m not. For one thing, I’m a man.”

  “I didn’t mean that way. They don’t talk much about chaos.”

  “That’s because I’m both a mage and a healer.”

  “Can women be mages?”

  “They can. There just haven’t been many who were.”

  “Do you know any women mages?”

  “I know two, and there are histories that mention three others.” Beltur didn’t think he was stretching things too much. Taelya was equivalent to a beginning white mage, and Jessyla had magely skills and was making progress.

  “Have there been any in Axalt?”

  “Relyn’s daughter was said to be a mage.”

  “No one ever told me that.”

  Beltur shrugged. “I didn’t know that until recently.” He offered a smile. “I’ll be by later. You should be walking around the room, you know?”

  “Healer Herrara told me that. So did Healer Jessyla.”

  “If you won’t listen to me, listen to them.”
<
br />   Poldaark gave a puzzled look. “You’re all saying the same thing.”

  “That should tell you something,” said Beltur as he left the chamber.

  He had just come down the stairs when he saw Herrara walking out of her study with a man he didn’t recognize, not that there were many in Axalt that he would. The healer immediately gestured for Beltur to join her.

  When he reached the pair, she turned to the man and said, “Councilor Taegyn, this is Beltur. He’s the healer and black mage I told you about.”

  “I’m pleased to meet you,” replied Taegyn, inclining his head, but also frowning, as if trying to recall if he’d seen Beltur before.

  Beltur smiled politely. “I’m pleased to meet you, Councilor.”

  “The councilor is making an inspection of the healing house.”

  “We take turns,” said Taegyn. “One of us each eightday. I’m happy that Herrara has such a capable healer here.”

  “I’m happy to be here.”

  Taegyn smiled pleasantly before glancing to Herrara. “We should continue.”

  Beltur stepped aside and watched as Taegyn and Herrara proceeded, apparently either entering or looking into each chamber. Just what is he inspecting for?

  Beltur kept wondering about that, but he didn’t have a chance to ask Herrara, because just after that a woman brought in her son with a broken arm, and since it was a simple break, Herrara left the setting and splinting to him while she continued with the councilor.

  Some time later, Beltur managed to find Herrara in her study.

  She looked up. “You want to know about the inspection, I take it?”

  “I had wondered.”

  “The healer who was in charge before allowed those who were without housing to remain here so long as there were beds. The Council decided that encouraged people not to find work. They also declared that the healing house was for healing, not another poorhouse.”

  “There is a poorhouse?”

  “Two of them. They’re both in south town, thankfully at the north end.”

  “What happened to the healer?”

  “She left Axalt. The Council began inspecting to discourage any return of that practice, but if we don’t heal, especially the poor, no one else will.”

  “Those well-off have arrangements with other healers?”

  Herrara nodded. “If you choose, after a season here, you can do the same.”

  Beltur could easily read her unspoken words—that he and Jessyla would be better off, but that many of the poor wouldn’t be. “Thank you for explaining that.”

  “You would have learned that before long. Was there anything unusual about that boy’s arm?”

  “No. The mother said he’d tripped and hit it on a porch railing. She was telling the truth. He didn’t have any bruises or any signs of older injuries.”

  Herrara smiled. “I didn’t ask that, you know?”

  “Not in words,” replied Beltur with a smile of his own.

  “Go check some of the dressings that haven’t been changed.” Despite her words, Herrara was still smiling.

  The remainder of the day was routine—changing dressings, treating a bad burn, and stitching up several slashes caused by various accidents, as well as the drudge-like tasks, such as cleaning bottles before refilling them with spirits. Beltur was just thankful that healers didn’t have to empty chamber pots.

  He left the healing house at fourth glass, and once he reached Barrynt’s, he cleaned the stables, then saddled his and Jessyla’s mounts, partly because the horses did need exercise, and partly because Beltur was tired of walking. Jorhan saddled his own horse, and the three left Barrynt’s house at a quint before fifth glass to ride to the Council House, where Barrynt had promised to meet them. They rode around the empty market square to the two-story graystone structure. They had just dismounted and tied their horses, when Barrynt rode up.

  “It’s good that you’re early. The Council appreciates that.” Barrynt glanced quizzically at Jessyla.

  She said, “I thought I could learn more about the Council.”

  Beltur had a good idea of what she wasn’t saying, something along the lines of wishing she’d known more about the Traders’ Council of Spidlar.

  “I don’t know as there’s much to learn,” replied Barrynt with an amused smile. “The Council’s pretty straightforward. We should go in.”

  The three followed the merchant through the double doors set in the middle of the lower level. Immediately inside was a foyer with another set of doors, most likely to serve as a windbreak, and beyond the foyer was a corridor some three yards wide. Barrynt walked to the first door on the left—which was open—and gestured for them to enter. “Take the first bench in front of the dais on the right and leave space for me on the side next to the aisle.”

  Beltur and Jessyla led the way.

  There were three rows of low-backed wooden benches on each side of the center aisle, and a space of three yards between the front row and the dais, which was raised about a third of a yard above the light gray stone floor. Beltur saw three others seated in the chamber, all on the left side, with one younger man sitting in the front row on that side. The eleven chairs behind the long table on the dais were empty.

  Once all four were seated, with Jorhan farthest from the aisle and Barrynt the nearest, Beltur asked the merchant, “What happens now?”

  “The councilors come in and ask if anyone has proposals. You and Jorhan are second, after Shaeltyn.” Barrynt nodded toward the man in brown seated alone at the other front bench. “They ask questions. Jorhan answers them. Then they tell you what happens next. Either they want more information, or they’ll say that they’ll verify what you’ve said, and if it’s correct, they’ll make a decision, most likely at the meeting next eightday.”

  “Sounds like a lot of dithering,” muttered Jorhan.

  “I wouldn’t say that to the Council,” replied Barrynt cheerfully. “There are rules, and the Council is bound by them as much as you are.”

  Beltur wasn’t certain he agreed with all of that, especially after his brief encounter with Councilor Taegyn, but he was glad he asked, if only so that Jorhan knew what to expect.

  Two more men entered and sat in the back benches. Then two women and a man. Beltur sensed a certain amount of blackness around one of the women, more than enough for her to be a healer, but he didn’t see healer green trousers beneath the thick coat.

  Then a side door at the end of the dais opened, and the councilors filed in and took their chairs. The moment Beltur saw the blacks of the third councilor, he immediately shielded himself fully, so that not even a strong black would have been able to sense that he was a mage. He couldn’t have said why he did it. He just did, perhaps because he was wary of blacks on councils. All of the councilors were men, and all seemed at least as old as Barrynt. Beltur picked out Taegyn, who sat one seat in from the left side of the table.

  Taegyn’s eyes passed over Beltur without pausing, most likely because Beltur still wore his heavy outer coat, and Taegyn couldn’t have seen his blacks. Nor could the mage-councilor, who was graying and much older.

  After a long pause, the dark-bearded man in the center of the councilors cleared his throat, and then declared, “Shaeltyn, please step forth and state your proposal.”

  The clean-shaven man in brown stood. “Councilors, I have a small house on the far northeast side of the city. It is located at the end of the Old Pinyon Road. It is the house farthest from the square. You have the information I provided to you two sixdays ago with my proposal to be able to tan the hides from animals that I have hunted and killed. No one else would be tanning there. I am requesting that you grant me the Council’s permission.” He inclined his head and stood waiting.

  The head councilor, if that was what being in the middle meant, did not speak for several moments. Finally, he said, “The laws of Axalt are most clear, Shaeltyn. Any activity that creates noxious odors or wastes that could foul our waters must be conducted
either in south town or in dry mountain valleys that do not drain into any stream. Even then, one must obtain Council approval. For this reason, the Council must reject your proposal.”

  “I am but a poor hunter, Councilors. I have no golds to purchase such land. I have no silvers to rent a place. My cot is more than a hundred yards from any other cot.”

  The councilor smiled gently before replying. “We all understand that. Should we approve your request, then what can we say to a renderer who wishes to locate his rendering also a hundred yards from other dwellings … or the tinsmith with his lead and tin? Perhaps you can reach an agreement with one of the renderers in south town.”

  Beltur could sense the councilor’s sympathy … and that nothing was going to change.

  Shaeltyn’s shoulders sagged. “That is a long, long walk, and the renderers charge more than I would make from the leathers.” He just stood there.

  “The proposal is rejected. You may go.”

  After the hunter trudged from the chamber, the councilor spoke. “Jorhan, smith and recent arrival in Axalt, please step forward.”

  Jorhan stood and took a step forward.

  “The Council has received a proposal for the use of a property owned by the Widow Santhela for coppersmithing. Do you affirm that such is the proposed use of the property?”

  “It is, Councilor.”

  “How many people will work there?”

  “Just two, sir.”

  The councilor nodded, then said, “Seeing as the property has been used as a smithy previously, there is no objection to the proposed use. Two members of the Council must make an inspection of the premises to assure that the building remains in good repair. They will also meet with the owner to make certain that she has entered into the agreement to rent in good faith and without coercion. A fee of one silver must be paid before the Council makes that inspection. Do you intend to make that payment today?”

  “I do,” Jorhan said.

  “Then step forward with your coin.”

  The smith placed a silver on the polished wood. “For the Council.”

  “Thank you. The Council will approve or deny your proposal at its next meeting.” The councilor surveyed the room. “Does anyone else have a proposal to offer?”