Natural Ordermage

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  He didn’t have to look far for the undercaptain because Craelyt was actually at the duty desk when Rahl hurried inside the station building.

  “Ser!”

  “What sort of trouble are you about to report, Rahl?”

  “We now have three of the large Jeranyi vessels, two on pier two and one on pier three. All have concealed gun ports, and all are carrying excessively large crews, and those crew members look more like soldiers or marines than merchant crew. Also, there doesn’t seem to be any cargo coming aboard or being off-loaded, even for the one that’s been at pier two for over an eightday.”

  “Have we had any crew trouble from them?” Craelyt glanced to Nyhart, the duty mage-guard.

  “No, ser. None at all.”

  Rahl forbore to point out that alone was unusual.

  Craelyt shook his head regretfully, “You know they’re trouble, and so do I, but we really can’t do anything so long as they behave themselves, just because they might do something against the Codex.”

  “Yes, ser.”

  “It’s important you watch closely, though,” Craelyt added. “If they’re going to try anything, now would be the time, with the revolt brewing in Merowey. More than a few of the Emperor’s warships have been dispatched to keep arms and ammunition from being shipped to the rebels. If they can pull off something here, there aren’t enough warships to chase them.” He looked to Rahl. “Just keep a careful watch on them.”

  “Yes, ser.” Rahl inclined his head politely, then stepped back, turned, and left the building. With the j: undercaptain’s shields firmly in place, Rahl hadn’t been able to sense anything except what Craelyt wanted to reveal—and that had been mild concern. Rahl was more than mildly concerned, even if he couldn’t have explained why, but he hoped that he’d been able to hold most of those feelings behind his own shields. He also couldn’t see why Craelyt was just mildly concerned when the Jeranyi might be taking advantage of a revolt—especially one started by the Emperor’s brother. That whole situation seemed strange to him. Wasn’t the older brother the one who inherited power? Why was it different in Hamor?

  The late-morning sun beat down through a cloudless green-blue sky, and the fall day was beginning to feel more like summer by the time Rahl reached the station where the pier guard and Hegyr were monitoring the traffic entering and leaving the piers. Rahl blotted his forehead and adjusted his visor cap.

  “What’s happening?” asked Hegyr from the high and shaded seat, even as he kept his eyes and senses on the wagons and pedestrians moving toward the piers.

  “There’s another Jeranyi ship on pier two. Just reported it to the undercaptain. That makes three.”

  “It’s not as though we need more trouble. Poor Niasl.”

  “He’s on the night watch?” asked Rahl.

  “He is.” Hegyr broke off. “You there! Stop that wagon! Now!”

  Rahl moved forward, his hand on his truncheon.

  “Your rear axle’s cracking,” added Hegyr, “and we’re not about to have broken-down wagons on the piers. Go up to the turnabout and get back here. You try to make the pier, and you won’t have a wagon”

  The teamster nodded. “Yes, ser.”

  Beneath the man’s impassive exterior, Rahl could sense anger, probably because the fault wasn’t his but belonged to the trader who owned the wagon.

  At that moment, Myala arrived. “Did you find them?”

  “I reported to the undercaptain and told the duty mage-guard. The undercaptain said to keep a close watch on them.”

  “We’ll take a look at pier three first, this time.”

  Behind Myala’s back, Hegyr gave the smallest of headshakes and then a sympathetic broad grin. The wide piers were crowded; but as always, everyone stepped back when either of the two mage-guards moved toward them.

  At the foot of pier three, Myala turned to Rahl. “You go up the south side, and I’ll take the north. When you get to the end, we’ll meet, and you tell me what you’ve observed.” Then she left Rahl standing there.

  He wanted to shake his head at her abruptness. Instead, he took his time, moving along the edge of the pier, trying to sense chaos or trouble. He was halfway out on the wide pier when he saw ahead of him a wagon bearing the familiar‘ emblem of the Nylan Merchant Association, drawn up short and waiting for another wagon to move into position alongside a Spidlarian clipper. Rahl walked over to the teamster seated on the wagon. “I haven’t seen Guylmor recently.”

  “He hasn’t been around for almost a year.”

  “Why not?”

  The teamster shrugged. “He was killed in a loading accident at the warehouse. That’s what they told me.”

  Rahl could sense both the truth of the man’s statements—and his unease. “Sorry to hear that. Where are you picking up cargo?”

  “The Dawnbreaker… way at the end… if that boar’s ass up there will ever get out of the way, beggin‘ your pardon, ser.”

  “Do you know what it is?”

  “Never really know, not until it’s off-loaded. They give me the declaration, and I give it to Chenaryl. That’s his problem. Usually, from the Jeranyi, it’s something in barrels.” The teamster shrugged.

  “Good fortune!” Rahl nodded and moved on.

  As he walked away from the teamster and past the clipper toward the Jeranyi vessel, Rahl had a definite feeling that he was being watched, perhaps even by a mage. Guylmor’s “accident” also disturbed him more than a little, though, because it had occurred not that, long after he’d been drugged with nemysa, and there were too many coincidences for his liking. There was also almost no hard proof of anything, and both the captain and undercaptain weren’t that- different from the magisters in being unwilling to take Rahl’s unsupported word about matters.

  XCVII

  On fourday, Rahl woke with a feeling of apprehension, yet outside his window, the sky was clear, the air refreshingly dry and cool. At breakfast, Carlyse was even more ebullient than ever.

  “Rahl… when are they going to give you your own duties?” She laughed, loudly. “It’s got to be soon, because Myala just glared when I. asked how you were doing, and if she couldn’t find anything to complain about, then there wasn’t much.”

  “She was just in a hurry to leave,” Rahl countered. “She’s in a hurry all the time.”

  “Can’t be all the time,” interjected Hewart. “She’s got two daughters.”

  Both Dalya and Carlyse shook their heads.

  Caersyn howled with laughter. “If anyone could hurry that, she could.”

  Zachyl, alone at the juniors’ table, looked up wide-eyed.

  Rahl still had the feeling it would be some time before . the captain or the undercaptain would let him do much in the way of true mage-guard duties without supervision, and he still rushed through his breakfast.

  Orice he was on the piers with Myala that morning, her matter-of-fact attitude and marginal instruction and information seemed to confirm that feeling. Her only truly informative comment did not come-until close to midday on pier one, when she gestured toward a heavyset man wearing a loose and cheap cloak of thin material.

  “Cutpurse or thief, if he gets the chance. Thin fellow under the cloak. He may drop the cloak on someone, and like as not, he’ll jump into the water and dodge out to one of the fishing boats. Not a real fishing boat, but it’s hard to tell.”

  “Then he’s going after a lot of coin.”

  “Exactly. Not worth the trouble otherwise.”

  “Do we…”

  Myala laughed, softly but harshly, because the man turned and walked back off the pier. “He won’t be back today. He knows we’d recognize him. He might come here for days before he acts. Good thieves aren’t hasty.”

  Rahl hadn’t thought of using the harbor water as a way to escape chaos-bolts, but it certainly made sense.

  After that, the rest of the morning was quiet, although Rahl could still detect the miasma of white chaos every time he and Myala passed any one of the th
ree Jeranyi ships. All three maintained their armed guards at the top of the gangways, and there was no sign of any cargo loading or unloading.

  Slightly after midday, for the first time since he’d been a mage-guard in Hamor, he saw a wagon platform with slaves being sold—two lithe women and three youths, and all were dark-haired. According to the Codex, slavery was not allowed, but permanent indenture was. Rahl didn’t see any difference in that, except that children of those permanently indentured could not be indentured for the debts of their parents—or by their parents.

  He glanced to Myala. The older mage-guard said nothing, although Rahl could detect greater tenseness in her as they passed the wagon.

  “… look at those bodies… strong and agile… look close now!”

  Rahl couldn’t help the flashback to Fahla and her brother, nor the rush of anger at Puvort and the magisters. To enslave or indenture children because they had not turned in their father? That still struck him as wrong, no matter what the magisters said.

  “Some of them have no memories,” Myala said quietly.

  “Why?” asked Rahl in a low Voice.

  “The harlots, who drug men and steal from them are heavily dosed with nemysa and indentured. They say that’s because they wouldn’t last in the quarries.”

  “And the children?”

  “They’re cutpurses and thieves. It’s kinder than working them to death.‘-’

  Rahl had his doubts, and he couldn’t help but wonder how much choice any of them had had. He almost laughed bitterly when he considered how little choice he’d really had. Those in power, and those who drafted rules like the Codex, seemed to think there were more choices in life than there were. What choices did an urchin child have? Being indentured to who knew what kind of owner? Begging? Stealing? Or starving to death?

  Thankfully, for the next several rounds of the piers, Rahl didn’t see any other indenture-wagons.

  Slightly after midafternoon, as they left pier one and headed for the base of pier two, Rahl caught sight of two empty Nylan Merchant Association wagons just ahead of them moving through the crowds to pier two, Since there weren’t any Reduce ships tied up, he suspected that they would be unloading from one or both of the Jeranyi ships.

  Fhasyl, the juniormost mage-clerk, was hurrying through the crowd, looking this way and that—until he caught sight of Myala and Rahl and trotted up to them.

  “Sers!” The young man stopped short and inclined his head. “Mage-Guard Rahl, the undercaptain has requested that you join him and the armsmaster in the exercise area.” He turned to Myala. “He should be back by late afternoon, ser. That’s what the undercaptain said.”

  “Patrolling might be easier,” Myala said dryly. “Only come back if you can still walk”

  “I’ll manage.” What he might manage was another question. He turned to Fhasyl. “Lead on.” Part of that was because he’d only seen the arms exercise room once, and he’d had the feeling it wasn’t used that much. Fhasyl was likely to get him there more directly than he might on his own. Even so, he kept his eyes and senses alert, and that was difficult because he didn’t like the idea of the Merchant Association’s wagons heading toward the Jeranyi ships.

  “Ser,” inquired Fhasyl, “is it true that you were once a laborer in Luba?”

  “Yes. I spent a year there.”

  “But… ser?”

  “I was an outland clerk here before that, and I had some small magely abilities. I was registered, but didn’t think I’d ever be a mage-guard. Then I lost my memories and ended up in Luba.”

  “Did you really break a thief’s arm?”

  “Yes. He had a pair of long knives.”

  “And you did it with a truncheon?”

  “I’m not exactly a chaos-mage, Fhasyl.”

  “Oh…” The mage-clerk led Rahl past the quarters building and to a side door on the north side of the gaol. “Here, ser.”

  “Thank you.”

  Fhasyl vanished even before Rahl had the door open. Inside waited the undercaptain and another mage-guard.

  Craelyt smiled politely and nodded to the wiry man in the black of an armsmaster. “Ah… Rahl… I showed Boltyk your arms evaluation, and we thought it might be best to see how it compares with our standards. Then, there’s always the possibility that you might have something to teach us.”

  Rahl pushed away his irritation at being pulled off the pier and smiled politely, inclining his head to both. “Sers, I will be most happy to help in any way possible.”

  “I’d thought a series of sparring matches might be most illustrative,” suggested the undercaptain.

  “Since your weapon is the truncheon, perhaps we could begin there,” added Boltyk.

  Unlike Craelyt, the armsmaster’s shields were less than complete, and Rahl could sense the combination of doubt and contempt as Boltyk moved to the center of the exercise space and raised a golden oak truncheon slightly longer and thinner than Rahl’s black weapon.

  Rahl laid his visor cap aside on the bench against the wall and slipped his truncheon from its holder before moving out opposite the armsmaster. “Begin,” said Craelyt quietly.

  On the possibility that Boltyk was letting the contempt show in order to make Rahl angry and careless, Rahl simply wove a defensive screen for the first several passes, getting the feel for the other’s moves and rhythm.

  Craelyt did not depart but watched closely.

  Rahl saw several openings, but let them pass, taking his time and measuring the other, realizing that Boltyk was not nearly so good as Taryl or even Khaill with the truncheon. .

  Then Boltyk lunged, and Rahl anticipated both the half feint, and the counter, and slashed the truncheon out of Boltyk’s hand. Then he stepped back.

  Rahl could sense the astonishment, but Boltyk merely reclaimed the weapon. “If you would… another round.”

  Rahl nodded. “As you wish, ser.”

  The second time around, the armsmaster was more cautious, but, again Rahl disarmed the other and just tapped his shoulder blade and darted back before Boltyk could react.

  The armsmaster stepped back and turned to Craelyt. “The report on his skills with a truncheon is more than accurate. At least, with truncheon against truncheon.”

  “Let us see about staffs,” said the undercaptain.

  Boltyk produced two staffs, padded, if lightly. Rahl took the one that was slightly shorter because he liked the feel and balance better. He set his truncheon on the bench beside his cap.

  After two rounds, the results were similar.

  “I’d like you to defend against a practice blade, next,” said Craelyt.

  “In that case, ser, might I use a practice truncheon?”

  “Take mine,” suggested Boltyk.

  In the two rounds with the truncheon against the blunted practice falchiona, Rahl managed to keep the other’s blade from ever hitting him and disarmed Boltyk both times.

  Rahl had to keep his emotions under shield and to avoid smiling in satisfaction as he inclined his head to the armsmaster. “Ser… if you require more…”

  “I think you’ve answered any doubts the armsmaster might have had about your abilities, Rahl.” Craelyt smiled warmly.

  Rahl caught the sense of consternation and dismay from Boltyk. The doubts, if there had ever been any, had not been those of the armsmaster, or at least, not primarily or exclusively his.

  “If you have no further use for me here, sers, the piers are crowded today, and there are three Jeranyi vessels out there…”

  “Oh… of course, you should return to duty,” said Craelyt.

  “Thank you, ser.” Rahl retrieved his visor cap and truncheon and stepped outside, leaving the door just barely ajar. There was a slight breeze, one that felt more than welcome after the closeness of the exercise room. He paused, extending his order-senses, to see if either man would reveal anything.

  “… better than any bravo on the streets with his weapons. No one here can touch him, except maybe Gheryk.”


  “… still worry about his standing up to chaos,” replied Craelyt.

  “… something that goes with being a mage-guard…”

  “… later, then…”

  Rahl quickly moved away from the gaol building and walked swiftly toward where the pier mage-guard would be stationed. He glanced to the west. There, the sun was barely above the hills behind the far side of the harbor, and the handful of warships at the naval piers were already in shadow.

  As he hurried along the side of the crowded road, peddlers and even teamsters moved or slowed to let him pass, but his progress was still slower than he would have liked. Ahead of him he could see, a Nylan Merchant

  Association wagon moving past Caersyn rather than Hegyr. He looked farther south and thought he saw the other wagon. While he did not want to sprint after it, he moved even faster. From what he could tell the wagon held only barrels—pickle barrels; but they didn’t quite feel like pickle barrels, although he could smell the faint odor of vinegar long before he reached the pier-guard station.

  There, he found Caersyn. “I didn’t know you had pier duty.”

  “I don’t, not usually. Hegyr got so sick this morning that the undercaptain asked me to fill in.” Caersyn’s eyes remained fixed on the next wagon that was headed past him toward the piers.

  “Have you seen any Nylan Merchant Association . wagons?”

  “There was one a bit ago. There may have been more, but I. don’t pay much attention to whose wagon it is, just what’s on it.”

  Rahl could sense the evasions behind the other’s words.

  Whhsttt! A chaos-bolt flew from somewhere.

  Rahl strengthened his shields, but, even so, was rocked back, and barely managed to avoid crashing into the stone pier that held the mage-guard’s chair.

  Whhstt! Whsstt! Whsst!

  For a moment, it seemed as though chaos-bolts were everywhere, and most‘ of them seemed aimed at Rahl, although his shields held. Screams and yells added to the confusion, and the handfuls of people on foot near them scattered. The teamster who had just driven his wagon past Rahl and Caersyn struggled to keep control of his team.