His eyes took in the truncheon. “That ironbound lorken?”
Rahl nodded.
“You registered?”
Rahl lifted his left arm to reveal the copper bracelet. As the guard opened the door, he offered a polite smile. Behind it, Rahl felt, was a sense of amusement. “Enjoy your meal, ser.”
“I hope to, thank you.”
Although the guard said nothing, his confusion at Rahl’s Hamorian was obvious enough that Rahl could detect it almost without using his order-senses.
Inside the door was a dimly lit foyer with walls plastered in off-white. The floor was tile, but tile of dark and shining gray rather than the deep red floor tiling Rahl had seen in many buildings. A short man in a pleated green fharong without embroidery stepped up, his eyes lingering on the truncheon, then on the copper registry bracelet. “You wish to have a meal? We are not a tavern.”
“I do.”
“There is nothing less than half a silver.”
“That will be acceptable.” Rahl would not have agreed to that, but he’d been mistaken about the coins he had collected from the two who had attacked him. When he had actually counted them when he’d been sitting on the bench, there had been three silvers and four coppers in all.
“We do have a small table for one. This way.” The man turned and led Rahl through an archway whose edges were faced with green marble and into a dining chamber close to ten cubits wide and twenty long. Only a handful of tables were occupied, but all the men were wearing fharongs. At one table were three men about Daelyt’s age; at another, a gray-haired man and “a younger woman; at a third, two women who were close enough in appearance to be sisters. Rahl couldn’t be certain exactly who was seated at the corner table, where the lamp had been wicked out.
As he followed the greeter, he tried to pick up the whispers.
“… young bravo…”
“… truncheon… outland mage…”
“… too handsome to be a trader and too young…”
“Young or not…”
“Ailya…”
Rahl smiled at the last, but didn’t turn his head.
“Here you are, ser.” The greeter gestured to a table for two set against the right wall, between two other tables, both vacant at the moment.
“Thank you.” Rahl took the chair on the far side because that allowed him the best view of the other diners.
A serving girl moved toward Rahl, but the greeter met her well away from the table, murmuring quietly.
Rahl had to strain both his ears and order-senses to pick up what he did.
“Outlander… talks like an Atlan, maybe lived in Merowey as well… talk to him… find out what you can.”
That scarcely surprised Rahl, and he surveyed the table as he waited for the server to reach him. The cloth was a pale blue, and the utensils were of an ornate silvery bronze. He wondered if the metal were cupridium or just a Hamorian attempt at replicating the ancient material.
“I haven’t seen you before.” The serving woman was fully dressed from wrist and ankle to neck, but the dark blue fabric was thin enough that at times, as she moved, it clung closely to her well-shaped body. She didn’t look much older than Rahl, but there was a hardness about her.
Whether she was indentured or a slave, Rahl couldn’t tell, only that he doubted he could trust her.
“I haven’t been here before. What might be good for a meal?”
“Our burhka is the best in Swartheld, but if you like fish, the curried whitefish with quinoa is also good. The spiced langostinos with mint-cumin butter are tasty. We also have marinated goat skewers with cheesed lacers.”
Rahl was getting tired of food he couldn’t taste for all the spices. “Tell me more about the skewers.”
“An excellent choice, ser. The meat is from choice young goats and has been marinated for days in a mixture of olive oil and spices. It is grilled with sweet peppers and onions. It is six coppers.”
“What do you have to drink to go with it?”
“The dry red wine from the Nebatan Hills. That is three coppers a goblet.”
Almost a silver for a single meal? Rahl refrained from shaking his head. He hadn’t had much experience in expensive dining. It could have been that the meal he’d been treated to in Nylan by Magister Thorl had been that expensive, if not more so, but he hadn’t had to pay for it, and that did make a difference. “I’ll try the skewers and that wine.”
“Very good.” The server nodded and slipped away.
Rahl looked around the dining area. The three men had clearly lost interest in him, as had the older man with the younger woman. The apparent sisters were both sipping their wine, as if they had looked away moments before. With some concentration, he could make out the couple at the darkened corner table—a man and a woman, and the woman continued to wear a filmy scarf. They were absorbed in each other and talking in low and intense voices.
“Here is your wine, ser.”
Rahl glanced up at the girl. “Thank you.”
“You sound like you’re from Ada… but you’re not, are you?” The serving girl smiled warmly, and not entirely falsely.
“No. I was born a long way from there and here. What about you?”
“I’m from Sendyn, but there’s not much there.” Her hand brushed Rahl’s wrist as she reached across and straightened the three-pronged narrow fork. “Swartheld is more interesting. Don’t you think so?”
“I work a lot,” Rahl confessed. “I don’t know much except about the harbor and the trading areas.”
“You a mage for one of the traders?”
How could he answer that? After a moment, he laughed. “If you have any talent at all with order or chaos, you have to register as a mage. That doesn’t mean you really are one. I work for the Nylan Merchant Association.”
“Oh… do you know Chenaryl? He eats here sometimes.”
“He was the one who said I should come here.”
Her hand brushed his shoulder as she stepped back. “It shouldn’t be too long before your skewers are ready. I’ll make sure they’re just right.”
Rahl nodded, then took a sip of the wine. It wasn’t sweet, and it wasn’t bitter, and it went down easily.
The serving girl hadn’t seemed terribly concerned or upset about the mention of the Association, and Rahl had been led to believe that people in other lands were wary of anything connected with Recluce. Was her lack of unease due to her familiarity with Chenaryl? That suggested that the warehouse supervisor frequented Hakkyl’s more than just “sometimes.” It also suggested that Chenaryl could afford a silver a meal without trouble, and that concerned Rahl, because it supported his feeling that golds were being diverted.
Again, he surveyed the other diners, but all seemed to have forgotten or dismissed him, even the pair of sisters.
Before long, the server returned with a large platter on which were four lines of meat, each interspersed with chunks of green and orange peppers and purple onions. On one end was a lattice of thin fried potato strips covered with a drizzling of three cheeses of differing colors.
“You’ll like this,” she announced. Rahl smiled politely and turned to the food. He was hungry.
He had to admit that the cubes of marinated goat were excellent, as were the cheesed lacers, with the combination of mild and pungent, and heavy and light cheeses on the thin and crisp-fried potatoes. The wine tasted better with the food. He’d barely finished the last mouthful when the girl returned.
“Would you like some sweets?”
“No, thank you.” He’d already spent more than he should have.
“How did you like it?”
“Very good. Goat fixed like that is definitely better than mutton or lamb.”
“Dalsym can fix the skewers with chicken, but they’re better with goat. You don’t have many goats in Reduce, do you?”
“Very few, except in a few mountain places where no one lives. They’re hard on the grass, and they’ll eat saplings and shoots, and
that hurts the land.”
“You know a lot about that. Were you a herder once?”
Rahl shook his head. “I knew some.”
“Were you one of those exiles?”
“No. People who are exiled directly don’t get positions with the Merchant Association.” That was shading matters, but it was far safer.
“Will you run it someday, do you think?”
“I don’t know that I want to spend my life that way,” Rahl replied, “but that’s something that I’ll just have to see about. What about you?”
“I’ve got another three years. Then, I’ll see about working full wage.” She smiled at Rahl. “Unless someone wants to consort, but he’d have to be handsome and wealthy. As handsome as you.”
Rahl managed to keep a pleasant smile on his face. “As pretty as you are, you might not have to work at all.”
She laughed softly, and for a moment, the hardness left her face. “You’re kind. I’m Thanyra.” She smiled again. “You can ask for me whenever you come. It’s nice to serve someone who isn’t old enough to be my uncle.”
“That’s good to know.” Rahl returned the smile.
In the end, he left a silver and a copper. He hoped that Thanyra got to keep the extra two coppers. She’d worked hard enough for them.
The greeter nodded almost indifferently as Rahl left.
The guard outside—the same one as when he’d entered—offered a cheerful, “Good evening, ser.”
“The same to you.”
Outside, the misty fog had lifted, and the early evening was almost uncomfortably warm and damp. The infrequent sound of hoofs on stone echoed out over a low insect chorus. Rahl had no more than walked away from Hakkyl’s and crossed the street, following the avenue, than he sensed the two men waiting around the corner of the building ahead to his right, lurking in the alleyway. He pivoted, deciding to head back the other way suggested by the mage-guard earlier, when another man walked down the side street from the south toward him.
Rahl could sense chaos-forces building, and his hand went to the truncheon as he tried to strengthen his order shields.
Whhst!
The white chaos-flame flared around him, but his shields held. The chaos-bolt didn’t seem as strong as those of the mage-guards he had met, but he didn’t want to see if the man could do worse. Rahl pulled out the truncheon and sprinted toward the chaos-wielder.
Another chaos-flare enveloped him, harmlessly.
The small squat man turned to run.
WHHSSTT! Ashes and flame swirled and then began to settle.
Rahl stopped in his tracks and began to search for another white wizard.
The mage-guard he had met earlier appeared, standing next to the wall of the building, smiling. “I thought you might come back for an early dinner. Hakkyl makes a little extra this way, but we’ve never been able to prove it.”
Rahl replaced the truncheon and shrugged helplessly. “I didn’t know what else to do. There were two of them waiting in the alley ahead off the avenue, and I was trying to stay out of trouble.”
She frowned. “They’re gone now. Long gone.” Then she shook her head. “You’ll never avoid trouble here. Not unless you become a mage-guard. You carry enough order to draw anyone who’s got order- or chaos-senses, and you’re handsome as well.” She laughed softly, but not derisively. “If you were a mage-guard, and if I were younger, I’d enjoy working with you, I think.”
“Can outlanders become mage-guards?”
“It doesn’t matter so long as you can speak both Temple and Hamorian.”
“Oh…”
“You might think about it.” She inclined her head toward the ashes and metal on the stone. “It’s late enough that the sweepers will get most of it, but you might heed the coins, and you deserve them.”
“Are you sure… you…”
“You defended yourself. Your shields wouldn’t stand against a real chaos-master, but you won’t run into one of those except in the services of the Emperor. Have a pleasant evening, Rahl.” She turned and walked in the direction of Hakkyl’s.
Rahl watched her for a moment. She’d made the effort to recall his name from when she’d studied his registry bracelet. That didn’t bode well. Finally, he picked up the coins from detritus left from the attacker destroyed by the mage-guard. This time, he found two silvers and six coppers. After slipping them into his wallet, he was far better off than when he’d awakened that morning. He was also far more concerned about his future in Hamor, but he didn’t like the idea of being a mage-guard, not and being what amounted to a high-level servant.
Finally, he started back toward the Association.
He made his way down the avenue carefully, using both his eyes and senses, but there were only a handful of carriages, and a few couples. The would-be assailants had vanished, and the avenue was well lit by the streetlights that resembled inverted cones set on iron posts.
As he continued, the sound of his boots on the pavement mixing with the other sounds of a quiet and damp evening in the city, he found his mind trying to sort out all sorts of matters—from trying to make sure that no one was following him or lying in wait to the fact that he’d scarcely been attracted to Thanyra, comely as she was, and that he’d found himself comparing her to Deybri.
He shook his head. It was hardly likely he’d see Deybri again.
When he neared the Association, he began to check the area around him, but he neither saw nor sensed anyone. Nor did he sense the masked chaotic eye-twisting that marked the sight shielding used by the mage-guards.
When he stepped inside the Association building, he quickly locked the door behind him, then slipped the bar in place.
It had been quite a day.
L
On oneday, in midafternoon, Rahl was at the long desk by himself while Daelyt was eating his late midday meal. A smooth-skinned man in a deep brown fharong, embroidered in brilliant gold thread, marched into the Association office.
“Understand Shyret has black wool.” The statement was in accented Temple, not in Hamorian.
Rahl lifted the sheaf of papers that held the current inventory, and the approximate asking price of each commodity, scanning it quickly and replying in Temple. “There are bales of black wool available.”
“How much is he asking?” The man switched to Hamorian, but with a regional accent Rahl had not heard before.
“You would have to ask him,” Rahl replied in Hamorian.
“You Adans can’t even think for yourself, can you?”
Rahl saw Daelyt had entered and now stood well back of the trader, if die man were indeed that, but the older clerk did not move, just listened and watched. - “The director is the one who sets the prices.” Rahl noted that Daelyt was pointing toward the rear of the office. “I would be most happy to tell him you are here and are interested in purchasing some.”
“No. I won’t trouble him now.” The man turned immediately and walked past Daelyt without so much as looking at the older clerk or back at Rahl.
“That was Klerchyn,” explained Daelyt, moving toward the wide desk. “Whenever there is someone new here, he tries to see if he can get them to quote him a price lower than what the director offers. Jf it’s higher, he accuses you of trying to cheat him. If it’s lower, he insists on having you write it up, and he’ll pay for it on the spot. That way, the director’s bound.”
“Are there many like him?”
“There are a few, but he’s the worst.”
“He must do well, with all the gold-threaded embroidery.”
“At everyone else’s expense.” Daelyt slipped onto his stool and pulled out his leather folder from one of the drawers on his right.
“Is the more elaborate needlework a sign of wealth?” asked Rahl. “Or the gold thread.”
“Sometimes, but that was coated brass.”
“You recognized that. Is that because of your consort? Seorya said that Yasnela does outstanding needlework,” ventured Rahl.
“She did?” Daelyt actually looked—and felt, to Rahl— surprised.
“She said Yasnela did work for one of the best.”
“Pasnyr’s good… I don’t know if he’s that good.”
“Maybe what she does makes his the best.”
Daelyt laughed. “Maybe you ought to try selling things at the markets with words like that.”
“I think not. When I’ve been walking around, I’ve noticed something. Does everyone wear a fharong for special times?”
Daelyt offered a rueful smile. “They’re too costly for everyday wear for most of us. I only have one, and that’s because Yasnela could do the needlework.” He looked up as two traders walked into the office.
Rahl recognized the older man—Alamyrt.
The older trader stood back as the younger man walked up to Daelyt. “I need a quote for a consignment of two hundred stones of finished metal implements to Nylan on the next available ship.”
“The Legacy of Montgren will be porting in about an eightday, Hassynat. It might be as early as sevenday, or as late as the following sixday,” replied Daelyt. “The Black Holding is scheduled for about two eightdays from now. What are the nature and value of the implements?”
“They are high-quality steel shears, picks, and combs. Your Association would hold them in Nylan for the buyer. The value would be at your minimum.”
Alamyrt looked at Rahl, smiling faintly but not speaking.
“The consignment reserve would be five golds,” replied Daelyt, “and the cartage would be eleven. Storage for the first eightday in Nylan comes with the cartage. After that, it would be a half gold an eightday.”
“That would be acceptable. I will be back late this afternoon with the deposit.”
Daelyt inclined his head. “The consignment form will be ready for you.”
Hassynat nodded briskly. “Good day.” Then he turned and departed.
Alamyrt followed the younger trader without looking at either of the clerks.
“That will help,” observed Daelyt. “We don’t have that many consignments on the Montgren. That’s always a problem at the end of summer. Things pick up in fall.”
Natural Ordermage Page 31