Natural Ordermage

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “You didn’t try to unlink or take anything apart?”

  “No, magistra. I was just trying to figure out how the links worked. You and Magistra Leyla had both told me that I needed to look more into things and try to figure them out for myself.”

  Kadara studied Rahl. She shook her head. “You’re lucky you don’t have to think about shields. Otherwise, you’d be dead. Look at all those stone fragments around the benches. Do you see that arc?”

  Rahl did.

  “Your shields stopped them. That’s the pattern.” She turned her mount. “We might as well head back. Tomorrow morning, you’ll need to meet with all of the mages at the training center.”

  Rahl managed to get his mount turned and headed back behind Kadara, thinking that her calm and resigned words were far more frightening than had been the sentence of exile to Nylan handed down by the Council.

  XXVI

  On eightday night, once more, Rahl did not sleep all that well, even though he had tried to read himself to sleep with The Basis of Order. Usually, when he tried to read it at night, he immediately fell asleep, but the order-chaos explosion at the wall kept going through his mind. All he had been trying to do was to see how the builders had constructed the wall and how they had linked the order in the way in which the chaos structured by order had actually strengthened the stones of the wall and the wall itself.

  He got up earlier man normal, showered, shaved, and put on his cleanest tunic and trousers before making his way to breakfast. He didn’t feel that hungry, but decided he’d best eat well with what faced him. He took the eggs scrambled in with sausage and half a small loaf of dark bread and a mug of ale. Often he had cider in the morning, but he’d felt he needed the ale with what lay ahead of him.

  Perhaps since he was earlier than usual on oneday, there weren’t quite as many people in the mess, and most who were wore the training grays. Because the mess wasn’t that crowded, and because he really didn’t want to talk to anyone, he picked the empty end of a table, but no sooner had he seated himself than Anitra got up from where she had been sitting. She made her way immediately to his table, settling down right across from him.

  “Someone blew up part of the black wall in the west. Did you hear that?”

  “They did?” That was a safe enough answer for Rahl.

  “Engineer Selyrt said it had to be a chaos-mage. Someone else said a Hamorian warship fired a cannon at it. What do you think?”

  Rahl took a swallow of ale before answering. “I don’t think it could have been either. The black ships would have known if a warship Were that near, and almost any magister around would have known about a chaos-wizard who was strong enough to do that.”

  “Then who could have done it?”

  “Probably someone with the best intentions who didn’t realize what would happen.” That was certainly true as well.

  “Doesn’t that beat all.” Anitra shook her head. “Engineers weren’t happy. Selyrt said it would take a lot of work to repair it.”

  “It’s a tall wall, and damage to even a small part would take work. What do you think?”

  “Don’t know, but I think you know more than you’re saying.”

  “I probably am.” Rahl forced a laugh. “Isn’t that true of all of us?” He took a mouthful of eggs and sausage, hoping that would discourage the apprentice machinist.

  “I don’t know. I say what I know… mean what I say.”

  “You’re more honest than most. Most people have things they’d rather not have others know.”

  “You have things like that?”

  “Yes.”

  “Want to tell me?”

  Rahl smiled. “I’m like everyone else in that I’d rather not. I’ve done stupid things, and it’s painful to remember them, let alone repeat them.” He grinned. “And then, I’d feel that everyone would know I was stupider than I am.”

  Anitra looked at him, then nodded. “Suppose so. Wager that’s true for all you mage types.” Then she stood. “I’m off. Going to meet Sheyna. We always walk down to the engineering hall together.”

  “Have a good day.”

  “We will. She makes the walk fun.”

  Rahl couldn’t help smiling for a moment. Then he ate the last of the eggs and bread and ended with a swallow of ale.

  He forced himself to take his time in cleaning up his dishes and in making his way to the training hall.

  Early as he was, Kadara was already there. So was Leyla.

  “You can wait in the study,” Leyla said. “One of us will get you when it’s time for you to come before the board in the hearing chamber.”

  The board?

  “The training center’s board of magisters,” added Kadara.

  As the‘ two departed, Rahl took a seat in the study. The door was left ajar, but, unlike what had happened in Land’s End, when he had come before the Council, there were no guards. In fact, Rahl realized, he hadn’t seen anything like the Council Guards in Nylan. There were patrollers, but they didn’t seem to be the same. Was that because they were more interested in keeping law, rather than enforcing the will of whoever ran Nylan? But then, where could anyone go in Nylan and not be found before long?

  Try as he might, even with his order-senses, Rahl could hear nothing.

  After a time, he shifted his weight in the chair. Then he stood—and reseated himself… and squirmed in the chair some more. What were they saying? How difficult could it be to decide to exile him?

  Finally, Leyla reappeared at the door. She just nodded.

  Rahl rose and followed her down the corridor into the hearing chamber, a room even smaller than the Council chamber in Land’s End. At one end was a long black table, behind which there were four chairs. Three were occupied, and the vacant one at the left end was doubtless for Leyla.

  Leyla stopped several cubits short of the table and half turned so that she could address both Rahl and the other three magisters. Rahl knew Kadara and Tamryn, but not the older gray-haired magister.

  “Rahl,” Leyla began, “this is the board. Magister Tamryn, Magistra Kadara, and Senior Magister Myanelyt, this is Rahl.” She nodded to the single chair set behind the small table that faced the longer table. “If you would be seated, Rahl.”

  Rahl took the seat. Somehow, with the table before him, he felt less attacked than he had in Land’s End. But he still felt attacked.

  Leyla slipped into the vacant seat at the long table.

  There were several moments of silence.

  “Most of you know Rahl,” Tamryn began, “and Magister Myanelyt has reviewed the reports on his progress and been briefed on his actions and accomplishments. The reason for this hearing is that yesterday, Rahl unlocked” enough order and chaos to destroy the last fifteen cubits of the black wall. Most ordermages would have difficulty doing this even after years of training. What is disturbing about this is not Rahl’s strength and ability, but his apparent inability to understand and master control of the techniques behind his actions.“ The silver-haired magister paused, then looked directly at Rahl. ”Is it fair to say that you have this difficulty?“

  It wasn’t at all fair, but Rahl couldn’t see any point in saying that. “Magisters and magistras, it is true that I have had some problems in using order, but those problems are not quite as Magister Tamryn has stated. When I do what I know I can do, I have had no problems. The problem is mat when I am trying something new or different, I can either do it or not do it, and I don’t always know what will happen. Sometimes, nothing happens, and there are things that most mages seem to be able to do that I cannot.” Had he said too much? He decided to stop.

  Tamryn glanced to Leyla and Kadara.

  Kadara nodded. “I would grant young Rahl the correction. He can do some tasks with great proficiency and little difficulty, and for some that seem minor, such as sensing the wind or what lies immediately beneath the ground, he has no ability. His problem is that his mastery is incomplete, and his efforts to obtain it could pose great dang
ers.”

  How was he supposed to learn if he couldn’t at least try? First, they’d told him to try, and now that he had, they were claiming he was a danger.

  The senior magister looked directly at Rahl.

  Rahl met his gaze,

  Myanelyt nodded. “Everything must be balanced. Our world is one where maintaining a balance is both difficult arid often unfair to individuals. Your situation is one of those cases. It is not fair to send someone into exile when he has tried to follow the instructions of the magisters. On the other hand, it is not fair to subject all those in the training center and in Nylan to the dangers you present to them. In this regard, the most disturbing aspect of your latest… effort,” continued Myanelyt, “is the fact that you had no idea how you accomplished such destruction. You are in fact the perfect natural ordermage.”

  From his tone and stern demeanor, Rahl was most certain that description was anything but a compliment.

  “Consequently, given our responsibilities, and particularly given the limited area of Nylan, we feel that there is little alternative to some form of exile,” Myanelt went on. “This is not, as most exiles are, a permanent exile. You are at heart basically a mage of order, but you lack adequate forethought, and your control of your skills is far less than the amount of power you can wield. We are charged with maintaining order here in Nylan, and we have a responsibility to all who live here. At this time, you present a danger at any time you attempt to use order, in any significant fashion. Furthermore, you do not seem able to discern what uses of order are significant and what are not. Whether or not your exile is permanent depends on you. At any time you feel and can demonstrate a knowing mastery of order, you may claim passage on any Reduce ship and return to Nylan to show that mastery to the magisters.”

  Myanelt turned to Kadara.

  “Because you show great promise,” Kadara went on, “you may remain here in Nylan until you have gained greater mastery of the Hamorian language and customs and of skills in arms, and some basic information about Hamor. Remaining here to finish this training is contingent upon one condition. You are not to attempt any active use of order-skills during this time. You should know the difference. If you actively use order-skills, you will immediately be placed on the next available ship to Hamor.”

  Rahl couldn help but wince. He certainly didn’t want that to happen.

  The gray-haired senior magister cleared his throat once more. “In order that you will not be thrown to the mountain cats, so to speak, if you complete your training here satisfactorily, you will be given a position as a clerk with the Merchant Association of Nylan in the Hamorian port of Swartheld. This is not a permanent position, but it will remain available to you for a full season from the time of your arrival. That time limit will not be made known to anyone, nor will the fact that you are an ordermage.”

  Leyla nodded, and Rahl had the feeling that provision had been her doing, for which he was grateful—or at least as grateful as he could be under the circumstances.

  “I appreciate the consideration.” Rahl managed to bow his head, hard as it was. They might be gentle about throwing him out, but they were still exiling him.

  “Your schedule will be much the same for the next four eightdays,” Kadara went on, “save that you will practice arms all afternoon until the evening meal. After the evening meal, Magister Thorl has agreed to work with you most nights on learning more about Hamor.”

  Rahl nodded again.

  “It would be to your interest,” interjected Leyla, “only to tell those here in Nylan that you are being posted to Swartheld as a clerk to learn more about Hamor. Even the director in Swartheld is only being told that you are a temporary exile and being sent to Hamor to better understand yourself and the world. That’s not unusual, and he won’t complain because we’re paying part of your wages there.”

  For a moment, Rahl frowned. Why would it be to his interest not to tell everyone how poorly he was being treated? But then, if he did say that, it might be passed on, and he couldn’t afford that, not if he wanted to avoid immediate exile.

  XXVII

  The power of a ruler rests upon three pillars: his control of his people, his control of order, and his control of chaos. To be able to control a people, a ruler must control order and chaos. To control chaos, that ruler must control order. Thus, the ruler who maintains complete control of order within his lands holds the most important tool necessary to maintain his power…

  Ideally, a ruler should be an ordermage of the highest abilities. In the world as it is, this is seldom the case, and thus, a ruler must control such ordermages. Strong ordermages can protect themselves against chaos, but are vulnerable to other weapons and to the greatest vulnerability of all, which is poverty and want. For if they use their order-skills to obtain power without justice and mercy, in time they will lose such abilities. Since, in our rough and uncertain world, power is seldom obtained through justice and mercy, ordermages can be persuaded to serve a just ruler, even if that ruler must use means that are neither merciful nor just to those who would oppose him in order to assure justice for all…

  Introduction

  Manual of the Mage-Guards

  Cigoerne, Hamor 1551 A.F.

  XXVIII

  Rahl evaded the blade thrust and parried. The padded end of the staff caught Zastryl’s hand, and the long hand-and-a-half blade went flying.

  “Enough!” Zastryl shook his head. “You know more than enough about the staff and truncheon, and trying to teach you more is getting too hard on these old bones of mine.” He rubbed his hand. “Now, you’re going to get to the painful part of your arms training. You’re going to learn to use a blade, or blades. The sabre, the falchiona, and a blade like that one.” He nodded toward the blade on the floor. “You won’t be as good, and it will be painful to use them, but you need to know something about them.”

  Rahl wondered if Zastryl just wanted him to suffer a little.

  But then, he really couldn’t complain. For the past two eightdays Zastryl had been working hard to help Rahl perfect his abilities with the staff and truncheon, just as Magister Thorl had been inundating him with words and information about Hamor, both in the mornings and evenings.

  What he didn’t understand was why everyone was willing to spend so much time and effort preparing him for exile and yet why no one had expended a fraction of that effort in trying to teach him what would have prevented him from making the mistakes that had led to his sentence of exile.

  Zastryl walked over and picked up the blade.

  “Magister Zastryl!” The loud call came from the naval marine, Khaesyn, who had often been at the training hall:

  “Yes, Khaesyn?” Zastryl bent and picked up the blade.

  “How come you don’t let Pretty Boy spar with anyone except you, Magister Zastryl?” Khaesyn made the title sound like an expletive. “Don’t you think he needs some variety?” The marine swaggered across the stone floor toward the armsmaster. The other marine followed. Both were smiling broadly. ,

  Zastryl glanced to the muscular blond man, then shrugged. “I take it that you wish to provide that variety?”

  “Well… me or Stendyl here.”

  “You want to use staff or truncheon?”

  “Why not blades against his staff?”

  “You need the work with the truncheon,” Zastryl said dryly. “After you try the truncheon, if you still want to, you can try the blade.”

  “That a promise, Magister Zastryl?”

  “So long as no one gets hurt first.”

  Khaesyn grinned. “You got to keep Pretty Boy in one piece so you can deliver him to the merchants, that it?”

  “Something like that.”

  Rahl could sense two strong emotions from Zastryl— both amusement and distaste of the marine. Neither were reflected in the armsmaster’s voice.

  Zastryl tossed a truncheon to Rahl and one to Khaesyn. Rahl caught his. one-handed, then extended the staff to the armsmaster.

 
“Only to disarming or to surrender,” Zastryl declared.

  “That’ll save someone,” muttered Stendyl.

  Khaesyn just grinned. “You about ready, Pretty Boy?”

  Rahl dropped into the sense of being just where he was, all senses focused on Khaesyn.

  Khaesyn’s first move was a feint, and Rahl eased to one side, slightly, just enough not to reveal he knew it was a feint.

  Then came a slash thrust, one that Rahl evaded, sensing the possible trap.

  “Don’t fight by running,” taunted the marine.

  Rahl said nothing, instead offering a lightning jab to the marine’s free forearm, and pivoting away.

  The bigger man charged clearly willing to take a hit, as he brought a cut-slash that would have snapped bones had it struck.

  Rahl slipped it.

  The blond’s arm was overextended, and he-was off-balance, with all his weight on this right foot. Rahl could have snapped his knee, but instead he pivoted and yanked Khaesyn’s tunic, .driving the bigger man into the padded mat face-first, then jumping back.

  A laughing titter came from somewhere, then cut off abruptly.

  Khaesyn jumped to his feet and circled toward Rahl. “Little dancer… dancing doesn’t win.”

  The marine jabbed again, and Rahl avoided the jab and delivered a slamming blow across the side of Khaesyn’s hand, so that the blond’s truncheon took some of the force. Khaesyn’s truncheon dropped to the mat, and he looked at Rahl, who had stood back but not lowered his truncheon.

  Then Khaesyn grabbed his weapon.

  “Enough!” snapped Zastryl.

  “I was just getting started,” bellowed Khaesyn.