From nowhere, the man in blue appeared, darting toward Rahl with a shimmering blade enshrouded in reddish white.
Rahl darted to one side and grabbed what looked to be a carved wooden truncheon from the seller’s table. He jerked sideways, but the knife slashed across his upper right arm. The cloth of the tunic caught the blade for a moment, slowing the thief.
Rahl attacked, kneeing the man in the groin and slamming the makeshift truncheon across the side of his forehead. What Rahl had thought was a truncheon snapped into pieces that flew everywhere.
The thief dropped to the ground. He did not move.
Rahl just looked at the fallen figure for a moment, then at the slash in his tunic and the blood staining the cloth.
“Murder! Thief… !”
“He attacked the boy! I saw it.”
Two patrollers appeared from nowhere, then two more. One of them produced cloth and bound Rahl’s wound. Another summoned a cart, and the body of the dead thief was removed.
A magister Rahl had never seen arrived with a fifth patroller.
Then the questioning began—and Rahl never had gotten to look at the wharf that held the black ships.
XX
The questions by the patrollers and the magister lasted until well into midafternoon, when another junior magister appeared with a wagon and drove Rahl and the older magister back up the long, inclined road to the training center. Then Rahl had to sit alone on a bench outside the study while the older magister talked to Kadara behind the closed door.
Rahl was not looking forward to meeting with her, although he had no real idea what else he could have done—except let the thief steal the cashbox and escape, and that would have felt very wrong. He continued to sit on the bench, shifting his weight from time to time and occasionally standing to stretch his legs.
Finally, the hard-faced magister who had questioned him stepped out of the study. “You’ll need to talk to Magistra Kadara.” With a perfunctory nod, he turned and left the building.
Kadara was waiting in the study. Rahl closed the door and seated himself at the table opposite her.
She looked at Rahl. “The first time you go to the harbor, and what happens? You come back with patrollers.” Her eyes went to his bloody sleeve and the dressing beneath the rent tunic.
“The patroller said that you tripped a thief and recovered a woman’s cashbox. Is that true?”
“Yes, magistra. There were two of them, and I was about to warn her, but they acted before I could say anything.”
“Two of them?” Kadara did not seem surprised, but was seeking something, Rahl felt.
“One was distracting her by haggling…”
Kadara nodded. “That’s one way they work. Then what happened?”
“She gave me a small piece of dried fruit. I would have bought some, except I don’t have any coins. Then I was walking through the rest of the market, and I heard someone say that I was the one. I didn’t want to get into another fight. That didn’t seem like a good idea, and I tried to slip away, but the man in blue came after me with a knife, and there was nowhere to go. I grabbed for something to block the knife. I thought it was just a smooth piece of wood, and I parried the knife and hit him across the temple. I kneed him as well. He didn’t get up. I didn’t realize I’d hit him that hard. I still don’t see how I could have.”
“You didn’t.” Kadara sighed.
For the moment, Rahl realized that she actually looked as though she cared.
“He was off one of the Hydlenese ships, and he was… what you might call chaos-driven. You’re at least a low-level order focus. When you hit him with that ivory, you destroyed all the chaos in him, and that included what he needed to live.”
Rahl didn’t know what to say, not really. “I didn’t have that in mind, magistra. I was just trying to defend myself.”
She nodded brusquely. “We know. The patrollers checked with everyone. The thief never should have been allowed off the pier, but those things happen. He might even have avoided the pier guards. No one’s going to be upset about his death, and the training center will pay the vendor for the broken ivory. The larger question is what to do about you.”
Rahl gave a start, then winced. His arm was sore. But why was he once more a question? He’d tried to avoid trouble. He truly had.
“Rahl… in some ways… let’s just say that you present a particular problem, and a very serious one for both Nylan and for yourself. Most mages show some trace of their talent early, but you didn’t. Your talent appeared strong and late, and that meant you didn’t get the training you should have when you should have. You’re also stubborn. Most mages are. We’re going to have to rethink your training. I don’t want to say more right now, not until I talk things over with the others.” Kadara paused. “Have you been to the infirmary? Do you know where it is?”
“No, magistra.” Rahl took a deep breath.
“It’s on the hillside above the bell tower—” She broke off and looked at Rahl. “I’d better go with you, and you’re going to need something to eat before we get there.” She stood.
Rahl was truly confused. Was this the Kadara who had lectured him that very morning?
During the entire walk to the canteen, since the mess was not serving, Kadara kept watching Rahl, and she even sat him at a table and got him a bowl of maize chowder with chunks of ham, some dark bread, and a mug of ale.
He had to admit that he’d been slightly dizzy before he ate, and that he felt steadier after he finished the last of the chowder.
Kadara studied him. “You’ve got more color, but I still want Deybri to take a look at you and that wound. She’s the duty healer today. Have you met her?”
Rahl nodded. “I met her at dinner.”
“Good. No one needs any more surprises.” Kadara gestured toward the door that led outside from the canteen.
Rahl followed her out, then northward on the walk beside the building that held both the mess and the canteen. The next walk to the left brought them past the bell tower, where they walked up a low rise to another small building.
Kadara opened the door. “Healer!”
Deybri was moving toward them when she saw Kadara and Rahl. Her eyes widened, then lingered on his wounded arm.
“Rahl ran into a chaos-driven Hydlenese at the harbor square. Rahl stopped him from stealing a vendor’s cashbox, and he went after Rahl.” Kadara offered a lopsided smile. “The thief is dead, but he did slash Rahl, and I thought you should look at the wound.”
“Chaos-driven… I should.” Deybri gestured to a stool before the window. “Sit down here, if you would.”
Rahl was happy to sit down. Even after eating, he was still tired, as if he’d worked all day spading his mother’s garden.
Deybri unbound the dressing, then took a bottle of liquid from the plain cabinet set against the wall and soaked a cloth before cleaning the top of the slash, as well as the area around it. The liquid stung, but not badly. Her fingers rested just at the edge of the wound.
Rahl could feel a warm/cool darkness touching and penetrating the gash. “Is that order?”
“You can feel that?” asked Deybri.
Kadara leaned forward slightly, looking at Rahl.
“Yes, healer. I mean, I feel something that’s there, but not there, and black and warm and cool all at the same time.”
Kadara and Deybri exchanged glances. For a moment, Rahl could feel the air tightening around him—except that it wasn’t. “Did you feel something?” asked Kadara. “Something pressing in on me.” Deybri glanced to Kadara.
“He’s not aware of his shields. No wonder they sent him here.”
Rahl glanced back and forth. Again, people were using words he knew, but they didn’t make much sense.
Kadara looked to Rahl once more. “There’s a way to use order to keep either order or chaos from touching you. That’s what I meant by shields. Most mages have to learn how to create such shields. You’re doing it without understanding what you
’re doing. In fact, you’re doing a number of things with order without thinking about them.
That can be very, very dangerous, and, if you don’t learn to control them, you will get in a situation that will kill you. It’s only a matter of time. If you don’t learn control, your failures may kill people around you as well.“
Rahl looked to Deybri.
She nodded.
“There wasn’t much wound chaos there, almost none at all.” Deybri turned to Rahl. “Did a mage dress it?”
Rahl nodded.
“That explains it.”
“Or most of it,” Kadara added.
The healer took a fresh dressing from the cabinet. Her hands were swift and gentle as she re-bound the wound. “You’re to come here every afternoon after the midday meal until we tell you that you don’t have to. Even if you’re supposed to be somewhere else. Do you understand?”
“Yes, healer.”
“I’ll make sure the other magisters know,” added Kadara. “Now, we need to get you some rest.”
Rahl stood. He wasn’t light-headed, but he had felt better than he did at that moment, usually much better.
As Rahl stepped out of the infirmary, Kadara leaned back inside the doorway and said in a lower voice, “I’ll be back later.” ‘ :
Deybri did not speak in reply, and Rahl could not see or sense any gesture in response.
Then Kadara returned. “We need to get you back to your room. You need some rest and a good night’s sleep after that.”
Since putting one leg in front of the other was getting more and more difficult, Rahl had to agree. He walked silently beside the magistra until they reached his chamber.
“You don’t need to think about everything right now. You need to get some rest. Just lie down until supper.”
After Kadara left, Rahl stretched out on the bed. What had he done? The thief had said that Rahl had burned him, when Rahl had tripped the man.“ Rahl certainly hadn’t been aware of using order when he’d hit the man with the ivory, carving, but what else could explain why the thief had died? He’d only felt that reddish whiteness that strongly-once before, with the man with the sword in Land’s End.
He swallowed. Had the conflict between order and chaos been what had killed that man as well? Was that part of the reason why he was so tired?
He had more questions, but he found his eyes closing, even as he tried to think of what they were.
XXI
Rahl didn’t really want to get up early on eightday. His arm ached, and he felt even more exhausted than he had when he’d gone to bed the night before, but he knew he wouldn’t feel better unless he ate, and, if he wanted to eat, he had to get up while the mess was still serving.
He washed up and forced himself to shave, but didn’t shower, not with the dressing on his upper arm. Then he walked to the mess. There were perhaps fifteen people in the hall, and he knew none of them. Tired as he was, he found himself eating two complete helpings of cheesed eggs, and sausage and almost half a loaf of bread, with two mugs of ale. He didn’t feel nearly as tired after he’d eaten, but he also didn’t feel all that energetic as he walked back to his quarters.
While it was too nice a day to sit inside, he didn’t have that much energy. Still, he forced himself to go to the washing area and .wash out his dirty garments and undergarments—except for the one ruined summer tunic—rand hang them out to dry. On oneday, he’d heed to see if he could get a replacement tunic. He just hoped he didn’t have to pay to replace it… because he couldn’t.
At that moment, he realized that Kadara had to have paid for his meal in the canteen the afternoon before. He hadn’t even noticed that.
Her words about his being able to do things with order without thinking about it also came back to him. Was that why the Council had pushed him out of Land’s End and sent him to Nylan? Kadara had clearly thought so. But why?
Rahl thought about the magisters and magistras he’d met in Nylan. Almost all of them seemed more powerful than those on the Council. Had Puvort set up Rahl to be sent to Nylan because he could have been as powerful as the northern mages? Or because they feared that he would become powerful? Kadara had said that Rahl could be a danger to himself and others, and those words had felt true.
But… how… and why?“
He shook his head. He was still tired, and he heeded to know more.
Finally, he decided that he might as well read The Basis of Order. If he tried to relate what he read to what he knew or had done, maybe that would help. After a little wandering around, he found a secluded stone bench near the garden and settled there, opening the book and letting the morning sunlight warm him.
He had read several pages when his eyes slowed in reading one passage. He went over it carefully, and then reread it.
… all that is, everything that exists, is little more than the twisting of chaos within a shell of order, and the greater the complexity of those twistings, the more solid the object appears. A thumb of lead or gold may appear more solid than a flower, and may indeed overbalance the scales, yet there is no difference in the fashion in which they are constructed, only that the chaos is twisted more lightly and that the shell of order is stronger. Hard coal is heavier than wood, and, as such, when it burns it releases more chaps-fire…
Rahl frowned. Was that why black iron was heavier, because it contained more order and chaos than simple iron? That would also explain why Khalyt had been so excited about his ideas for building a steam turbine to propel ships, because it would use less black iron and provide greater power.
He read another page, and then another, before coming to another section that struck him as interesting.
In substance, there is no difference between chaos and order, for neither has substance in and of itself, but as a result of how they are structured. Likewise, that structure determines how much order and chaos can be encompassed and how it will be released, if it can be, should the structure fail or be caused to fail…
Be caused to fail? The book didn’t mention how that might happen, just like it didn’t go into details about how much was accomplished.
He read through several more pages until he came to another section.
If one studies the light from the sun, it is like chaos, and yet it is not. It has a power not unlike chaos, yet its structure is more like unto water, and it flows through the air like a breeze, yet it weighs so little that it might . be as nothing…
Sunlight like water? With weight… and flowing through the air?
After several pages more, he closed his eyes, leaned back against the stone wall behind the bench, and let himself doze.
XXII
In the darkness of eightday, not long before lamps-out, Rahl walked along the path in the garden. The afternoon nap had helped, but he still felt a little tired. As he walked, he kept his eyes closed, confirming that he navigated more in deep darkness by his order-senses than by his sight. Still, he was trying to sense more than just the general position of things, but where exactly they were and how solid they might be.
Still without using his vision, he followed the stones through the patch of brinn, trying to put his boots down in the exact center of each hexagonal stone. When he had crossed the brinn, he stopped on the narrow walk that separated it from the sage on his left and the mint on his right. The sage bed was elevated a good span and a half above the brinn and grew in drier and sandier soil.
He opened his eyes and checked his location. He was on the edge of the stones, but that wasn’t too bad. The first time, he’d almost tripped on the raised border of the sage bed.
As he stood in the cool of the evening, he also tried to recall the difference between seeing and sensing. After a moment, he closed his eyes and began to move forward.
Then he sensed someone approaching on the main walk, but not who.
He opened his eyes.
It was an older man, dressed in the same grays as Rahl wore. He looked at Rahl, then inclined his head. “Good evening.”
“Good evening.”
Rahl waited until the other was out of sight before he resumed his exercises in the garden. He couldn’t say why, but he felt that he needed to learn something about order before long.
He’d discovered more than a few aspects of order by trying things, but what he had not discovered was how he did what he did. Once he considered the possibility of doing something, it was almost as though he could either do it, or he could not—even when he knew that other mages had been able to accomplish what he tried.
As the time neared for the lamps-out bell, Rahl made one last order-sensed navigation through the garden, this time between the mint and the parsley, before opening his eyes and making his way back to his quarters.
There he lit the lamp and reclaimed his towel before heading to the washstones to wash up before climbing into bed. He finished quickly and returned to his chamber.
Absently, he put out the wall lamp by tightening a miniature order shield around the wick. He could do that, but he could not erect a shield such as that around anything living—even to protect it. He’d tried to shield a tree-rat from a terrier, and that hadn’t worked. He hadn’t even been able to put shields around insects.
Then he laughed. He hadn’t even thought of it, but he hadn’t really needed to light the lamp at all.
Was that part of his problem, that he still was doing too many things by habit rather than asking if he should be, or whether he could handle them in a different fashion?
He began to disrobe, stifling a yawn. The end-days had been long.
XXIII
On oneday, Leyla met Rahl outside the small study. “We’ve decided to change what you’re doing. You won’t be working with Magister Sebenet any longer.”
What had he done wrong there?
“It’s not your work. In fact, Sebenet’s not at all happy about it. He thinks you have the makings of a good typesetter and printer, but that’s not going to help you. From here on, you’ll be spending all morning in Hamorian classes. Magister Thorl says you have a great ability with languages, and your experience there and with the printing indicates that you learn better by doing than by reading.”
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