He blotted his forehead. He might as well enjoy the afternoon, especially since he was in no hurry to start the long walk back into Land’s End.
Shahyla returned with two large mugs, more like tankards in size. One was half-full, the other almost overflowing. She handed him the full one. “One nice thing about company is that Father doesn’t complain if I have a little ale.”
“Thank you.” Rahl took a swallow. “It’s good.”
“It should be. Father makes his own.” She settled onto the bench beside him.
“You have quite a spread here.”
“It’s the last of the old large holdings near Land’s End.” Shahyla sipped her ale. “It keeps all three of us busy.”
Rahl’s eyes took in the two shed-barns he could see and the chicken shack. “Do you grow everything you eat here?”
“No. We grow a lot, but it’s better to make the cheese and sell it and some of the steers every year than to spend too much time on growing things. We have a house garden, and that helps.”
“You must do a lot here, the cooking and helping with the animals.”
“Ma was a better cook, but Father and Semmelt don’t complain.”
“I’m sure you cook well, and you probably do everything else well also.”
Shahyla dropped her eyes, looking down into the tankard mug. After a moment, she lifted them. “You know I don’t read much. I’ve always had to work, since Ma was so sick. I do know my letters.”
“People make too much over reading,” Rahl said. “Doing is what matters, and you do a lot, more than any woman I know.”
“You’re a scrivener…”
“I’m sure you could read what I write, but it wouldn’t help with the cows or the cheese.” Rahl took another long swallow of the ale. It was stronger than what he got at home, but he had to admit that it was good. He reached out and touched the back of her hand just momentarily, caressing it with order. “It’s quiet out here.” .
Shahyla gave a short, giggling laugh. “It isn’t in the morning. The roosters are crowing, and the cows want to be milked, and Father and Semmelt are shouting about what needs to be done.”
“Until you get everything in order?”
She looked down again.
“You’re the one who keeps everything going, I’d wager.”
“You’re nice, Rahl,” Shahyla said. “Po you like cows and bulls? Or horses?”
“I never thought about it. I haven’t ever ridden a horse or driven a team, and we don’t have a dog. They’d chew, on the binding hides, Father says.”
“They might. We don’t have them because Father says they chase the cows, and it’s not good for the milk.” Shahyla smiled and gave the slightest giggle. “I think that’s because he doesn’t like them. The geese tell us if anyone’s coming, and the cats take care of the rats and other rodents.”
Abruptly, she looked at Rahl. “You didn’t have dinner today, did you?”
“I’m fine.”
“Your stomach was growling. Leastwise, you should have some good cheese and bread.” Shahyla rose. “Come on inside.”
Rahl wasn’t about to object too strenuously. He was hungry, and his stomach had been muttering its discomfort.
Shahyla set him in the chair at one end of an ancient table that could easily have seated more than half a score, and then brought out a huge wedge of cheese and half a loaf of bread that was still warm. “We had plenty left after dinner.” Absently, she pressed the side of her thumb against her left eye to stop the twitching.
“I don’t deserve this…” Rahl grinned at her after several bites of bread and cheese. “But I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.”
She seated herself on the end of the dining bench to his right, patting her tankard mug before her. “I made the bread.”
“It’s very good. What else do you do when you’re not cooking?”
“Oh… I milk the cows and churn the butter, and take care of the chickens and collect the eggs. The garden’s mine, too, and I do most of the skinning when we slaughter.‘ Semmelt’s too rough, and that’s hard on the hide. Could make a silver’s difference in what we get. I do what needs to be done.”
“What do they do? Besides feed and chase the cattle?”
“Everything.” Another giggle-laugh followed her words. “Yesterday, Semmelt and Father worked all day gelding and marking the male calves. They use a special curved knife. It’s real sharp.” Shahyla slipped off the bench and walked to the sideboard. “Here… see.”
Rahl looked at the knife. It almost seemed to be covered in a shifting reddish white film. Just looking at the knife made him uneasy. It wasn’t the gelding that bothered him; it was the gelding knife. He forced himself to nod. “It looks like it was made for just that.”
“It’s been in the family for a long time, Father said.” She replaced the knife in the drawer and returned to the bench. “Your stomach’s not growling.”
“No… and it thanks you. So do I.” Rahl touched her wrist gently—and briefly.
“What sort of books do you copy?”
“All kinds,” he replied. “I’ve been working on Tales of the Founders.”
“Can you tell me about it?”
“I may not remember everything, but I’ll try.” Rahl took another swallow of ale, then cleared his throat. “Creslin was the son of the Marshal of Westwind…”
He told Shahyla the first two tales he’d copied and was about to start the third when the door opened.
“Ah… it’d be young Rahl, sure as I’m standing here.”
Rahl turned at the rough voice to see Bradeon coming through the doorway, barefoot. “Later, when you have time, Shahyla, if you’d be washing off my boots,” Bradeon went oh. “Semmelt’s still over at the spring.
Another of those clay pipes feeding the field troughs cracked. Made ah awful mess. Some of the cows ripped up the grass there. Take all summer to grow back.“ The herder shook his head.
Belatedly, Rahl eased to his feet.
Bradeon glanced out the small window toward the west, then back to his daughter. The sun was well past mid-afternoon. “I’d be thinking…”
“I know, Father.” Shahyla rose, then turned to Rahl. “Thank you for coming.” She looked to Bradeon. “He brought us a honey cake.”
The herder inclined his head. “Much obliged. Semmelt’ll be even more obliged.” Bradeon settled into the chair at the other end of the table, turning it sidewise so that he could rest his feet on the bench.
“I’d best get to what needs to be done,” Shahyla said. “I’m so glad you came.” She smiled broadly, revealing perfect, even teeth. “We’re not that far from town, but we don’t get that many folks coming out.” Her left eye twitched several times.
Rahl tried not to look at that, but just smiled. “It was a pleasure. I’m the one who’s glad to have come. I really liked the ale and the cheese.”
He followed Shahyla out onto the porch.
She stopped. “You’ll have to come more.”
“I’d like that.” He squeezed her hand gently, then released it before smiling at her one last time and heading down the steps toward the lane.
A hundred cubits down the lane, he turned. She was still on the porch. He waved. She waved back.
As he walked back along the lane, then along the High Road, Rahl considered the day. Shahyla was nice, if no-nonsense, and better-looking and smarter than he’d recalled. She was also interested in him. On the other hand, the gelding knife had bothered him. No, it had more than bothered him. It had disturbed him, so evil had it felt.
Still… there was no harm in visiting Shahyla. Jienela might not like it, but he hadn’t exactly promised her anything, and he could always tell her that his parents had insisted. That certainly was true.
His feet were more than a little sore when he finally stepped into his own house to find his parents eating supper at the table.
“How did it go?” asked Khorlya.
“She’s swee
t, and she’s a good person.”
“Is that all you can say?” asked Kian.
Rahl forced a smile, glad that his father could not sense his thoughts. “I’ll have to see her more often, ser. She’s not the kind to say yes after a visit or two.” He turned to Khorlya. “She really liked the basket. She could tell it was . one of your best.”
“That’s good. Tell us what happened.”
Rahl laughed genially and settled himself at the table.
“I got there, and Shahyla brought me some ale Bradeon had made. It’s very good. We talked for a while, and then she insisted on getting me some of their cheese and bread. Then Bradeon came in, and he’d been replacing pipes that fed water troughs, and Semmelt was still doing that. I had to go then, because she had to get to her afternoon chores. She works hard” He looked toward the kitchen worktable.
“Yes, Rahl,” Khorlya said. “There’s honey cake left for you.”
Rahl smiled. It hadn’t been a bad day at all. Not at all.
VII
For the next two eightdays Rahl did little besides copy from Tales of the Founders and then Natural Arithmetics and Other Calculation Methods. Unbelievable as most of the tales were, they had been at least interesting. He could not say that for Natural Arithmetics.
He hadn’t even had to explain anything to Jienela about his end-day visits to Shahyla. The last eightday or so, Jienela had been in Extina. She’d been sent there to help her mother’s younger sister Joslyn. Jienela’s aunt had nearly died in childbirth, even with a black healer present.
Rahl could not say that he truly missed Jienela except for the pleasures she had afforded him, but he’d also not been able to stop by the chandlery more than a time or two, and never long enough to talk with Fahla for more than a moment, if that. Still, he had had another pleasant afternoon with Shahyla.
The last three mornings had dawned gray and drizzling, unusually so for late spring and early summer in northern Reduce, and fourday was far colder than twoday and threeday. Rahl was trying not to shiver as he worked on copying a page that held formulae and exercise problems.
“For darkness’ sake, Rahl,” snapped Kian, “go put on a heavier tunic or a jacket. You can’t keep a steady hand if you’re shivering. You young folks have no sense at all. I saw your friend Sevien coming out of the chandlery the other morning in a sleeveless tunic. His arms were near-dark blue, and yet he had the audacity to tell me he wasn’t cold. His teeth were chattering so much I barely understood a word he had to say.”
Rahl decided against trying to point out that anyone who wore a heavy winter tunic in spring, or summer, or darkness forbid, an actual jacket, would have to suffer silent ridicule in the eyes of his friends for at least an eightday, if not longer. He did set aside his pen and rise to follow his father’s order. He could always hide the tunic if his father sent him on an errand away from the shop.
When he returned to the workroom, Kian nodded. “Much more sensible. You’ll get more work done without errors, too.”
Rahl hated it when his parents talked about sensibility. He knew what was sensible, even when they didn’t, but he said nothing and went back to work.
He finished another page and started on the next.
“Frig!” Kian murmured.
“What is it?”
“There must have been something wrong with the pen point. It just snapped. That shouldn’t have happened. Hardly put any pressure on tit at all.” Kian shook his head.
Rahl winced silently, wondering if that had been the pen he’d dropped in cleaning up the night before.
“Why don’t you run down to the chandlery and pick up the nibs. They should be there by now. I’d already ordered some from Kehlyrt. He’s the new factor.”
“Factor?”
“Well… he’s taken over the chandlery, but he’s adding things, goods we haven’t seen in years. Good prices, too. It’s getting more like a factorage than a chandlery.”
“Yes, ser.”
“And don’t strip off the tunic as soon as you leave the workroom.”
“No, ser.”
“I mean it, Rahl.”
“Yes, ser.” Rahl did manage to keep his voice pleasant as he cleaned his pen and set it in the holder. “Do I need silvers to pay for them?”
“Hardly,” snorted Kian. “I had to pay in advance. That goes for anything he orders from Nylan. It’s still cheaper and quicker than getting them from Lydiar or Hamor.” He frowned. “I still wonder how that broke.” He shook his head. “That nib was getting worn anyway… why I’d ordered another pair.”
Rahl stood and headed toward the door.
“Don’t take too long.”
“No, ser.”
Once outside the workroom, Rahl thought about pulling off the heavy winter tunic, but it was cold, and he could sense his father watching. With a resigned shrug, he headed down the street toward the factorage.
The cold and bitter wind blew steadily out of the northwest, driven by clouds that were almost black. , Whitecaps dominated the part of the ocean Rahl could see beyond the harbor breakwater. The piers were empty of ships—a good sign that a storm was headed toward Land’s End. Rahl picked up his pace.
A light stinging rain, with droplets like ice, began to lash at him by the time he neared the harbor, and he was glad to climb the steps and enter the dim confines of the chandlery. He could sense that there was no one else besides him and Fahla there.
She stood behind the counter, a concerned expression on her face as he approached. “It’s raw outside, isn’t it?”
“It’s started to rain. The drops feel like sleet. The harbor’s empty, and the clouds to the northwest are really dark.”
“The last coaster raised sail almost at dawn. The Austrans left well before dawn. They, have a better sense of weather.” After a pause, she asked, “Do you have any business today, Rahl, or are you just here to warm yourself going one way or another or to bend my ear?”
“Business. Father thought that the pen nibs he ordered might be here by now. He’s already paid for them.”
“They came late yesterday, I think. The supply wagon from Nylan usually arrives on threeday.” Fahla opened the small ledger to her right and flipped through several pages. “Yes, they did, and your father did pay for them.”
Rahl wanted to say that he didn’t like being questioned on what he’d said. He didn’t. Instead, he smiled. “Thank you. I’d like to take them.”
“Just a moment, Rahl. They’re in the racks in the back.” Fahla slipped through the open door to the storeroom.
Rahl smiled at the combination of efficiency and grace she embodied.
In moments she returned with a small pouch. “Here they are.” ,
“Thank you. How has your day been?”
“It’s always slow when it’s cold and rainy. Faseyn likes it because he can finish the account entries and work on his mathematical puzzles. Did you know he’s studying natural mathematics with Magistra Reya?”
Rahl didn’t even know who the magistra was. “No, I didn’t. He must be very good for her to tutor him personally.”
Fahla nodded. “Did you ever think about studying with the magisters? You’re bright enough.”
“So are you,” he pointed out.
“I’m more interested in practical things. I don’t like studying.” She laughed, ruefully. “I’d get bored doing that. I’d wager that you read every book you copy.”
“You have to.”
‘That’s not what I meant. You read them all to see what they mean, and you probably even argue with the ones you think are wrong.“
“You can’t argue with a book,” Rahl said reasonably.
“You know what I mean—”
“Fahla!” A man’s voice called from the storeroom.
“That’s Father. He must need help with something.” Fahla started to turn, then stopped. “Rahl…” , “Yes?”
“I’m glad you have enough sense to wear something warm.”
; He couldn’t help flushing slightly, thinking that he almost hadn’t. “Good day, Rahl.” . ,
“Good day, Fahla.”
As she turned, Rahl shook his head. The whole World seemed to be against his spending any time at all with Fahla. If it weren’t a customer, then it was Kehlyrt wanting something from her, and he’d forgotten to ask her if the chandlery was going to become a factorage, although that question would have just been to satisfy his own curiosity.
As Rahl stepped out of the chandlery, he saw a figure in black at the foot of the two steps leading up onto the narrow porch. Rahl would have preferred not to meet Magister Puvort, but trying to avoid the magister would have been all too obvious. He did step aside to allow the magister direct access to the door. “Good day, magister.”
Instead of heading inside, Puvort stepped onto the porch, under the eaves, and out of the still-light rain, and looked directly at Rahl. “What brings you to the chandlery? Might it be the young lady?” Puvort’s smile was meant to be cheerful, but it bothered Rahl.
“I like seeing her, ser.” Rahl didn’t dare lie, not when the magister could have told he was telling an outright falsehood, but he could tell the truth in a less damaging way. He held up the pouch. “But I was here to pick up the pen nibs my father ordered. He had work to do, and he sent me.”
“You’re very careful in what you say, aren’t you?”
“I try to be, ser.”
“That wasn’t what I meant, Rahl.” The magister’s eyes seemed to look right through the young scrivener. “You never tell an untruth, but sometimes you don’t tell the whole truth. That’s what the mages in Hamor do, you know?”
“Ser?” Rahl didn’t like the reference to Hamor.
“You might think about applying to the Council for mage training, Rahl. It’s clear that you have at least a little ability with ordermagery. You know instinctively that you shouldn’t lie, and you’re right. Lying reduces order-skills.”
Rahl didn’t know quite what to say. “I… I never thought about that.”
“You should. Right now, your skills aren’t developed enough to be that dangerous, but you’re still young. If you become more powerful, you’ll either have to have training or leave Reduce. You might have to, anyway, but training now would make your life easier. Much easier.”
Natural Ordermage Page 5