Outcasts of Order

by L. E. Modesitt Jr

  “Enough for a while, but…”

  “You’re not sure how long it will last?”

  “That, and what Cohndar will do to keep me from earning much in the future.”

  “I didn’t think he was that petty, but now…”

  “He likely wasn’t … until Waensyn started flattering and manipulating him. Now that he’s the mage-councilor, things aren’t likely to get better.”

  “They may not. We’ll have to see.” Meldryn took a mouthful of the egg toast. “This is good. You’ve gotten to be a much better cook.”

  “I’ve had a good teacher.” Beltur smiled and then took a sip of the hot cider, then ate more of the eggs. They were good, but then Meldryn’s bread made anything, especially egg toast, taste better.

  “The best teacher can’t teach someone who won’t or can’t learn. Too many parents don’t understand that, and that includes traders.”

  “You’re talking about Zandyr?”

  “Among others,” replied Meldryn. “That’s another reason why you and Jessyla might think about leaving here, come spring. From what you said last night, by spring Margrena wouldn’t be that opposed.”

  “She wouldn’t be opposed. I doubt she’d be happy.”

  “Unhappiness passes, if there’s love. Sometimes, opposition doesn’t.”

  Thinking of Meldryn and Athaal, and how the two had battled both opposition and the lack of familial love, Beltur just nodded.

  “You’ll be later tonight?”

  “Most likely. Jorhan will want to finish up as much as we can. I told you that he was hoping to leave tomorrow.”

  “Best that he does. Clear weather won’t hold for that long, and we haven’t had a northeaster in a while.”

  After they ate, Beltur cleaned up and readied himself. He almost forgot the acorn cakes, but remembered at the last moment. The morning was again clear and cold, but not overpoweringly so, although Beltur wondered if he was just beginning to get used to the cold as he walked east to the wall street and south to the gate, nodding to the guards as he passed. He arrived at the smithy just before seventh glass, but he didn’t even have a chance to take off his coat, because Jorhan was putting his on.

  “I want you to take a look at the horses I got.” The smith motioned in the direction of the small barn.

  “Horses? I thought you were looking for one horse.” Beltur handed the package of acorn cakes to the smith. “Acorn travel cakes. Good for horses or people.”

  “Thank you.” Jorhan set the package on a stool and grinned. “Now … about the horses. I got a really good deal on the second. You’ll understand why when you see him.”

  “How could you get a good deal on a horse? Even nags don’t come cheap.”

  Jorhan opened the door, motioning for Beltur to accompany him.

  More than a little curious, Beltur followed the smith. By the time he entered the stone-walled structure by the small side door, Jorhan had already lit the wall lamp. In the dim light, Beltur could see both a cart tucked away in one corner and a wagon/sledge set in front of the main double doors and partly packed with bundles and kegs. There were also three stalls.

  “The one I’ll be riding is the bay mare. The chestnut is my own cart and sledge horse. The other one—the one in the end stall—he’s the bargain.” Jorhan grinned again.

  Beltur’s mouth dropped open. He could only gape at the enormous brown gelding. “Slowpoke!”

  “Good!” declared Jorhan. “Figured it had to be him. Hontyl let me have him. Even gave me an old cavalry saddle and a bridle. Had to do some jury-rigging on the saddle, but the girths are sound.”

  “Let you have him? But … how? Why?”

  “The Council sold off the extra horses after the invasion was over. Most of ’em were old, or hard to deal with. Some they just didn’t need. Hontyl bought a lot last eightday. Your Slowpoke was in the lot. At first, Hontyl couldn’t figure why such a fine animal was still there.”

  “Why was he?” asked Beltur, curious in spite of himself.

  “Hontyl said he was too fine to put down, too tough to eat, and too stubborn to sell. He was trying not to sell him to the renderer.”

  “Too stubborn?”

  “Anyone could saddle him. Anyone could lead him. Anyone could mount him, but he wouldn’t budge with anyone in the saddle. Wouldn’t stand for harnesses, either. So he’s yours.”

  “But I don’t have anywhere to keep him, and no way to feed him. How can I—”

  “Seeing as you’re not coming to Axalt with me, not yet anyhow, I figured we could do a trade. You look after the place till one of the boys gets here, and you keep him here. I’ve already laid in fodder for Bessie, and she won’t be eating it, seeing as she’s going to be with me in Axalt. Be a shame to waste all that fodder. Besides, I got a feeling you just might be needing that horse. Might even be before spring.” Jorhan looked at Slowpoke and shook his head. “Just didn’t seem right…”

  Beltur slowly walked over to the end stall and just looked. He winced at the scars on Slowpoke’s shoulders, then reached over the stall half wall and touched the big gelding, stroking his neck, and projecting a sense of warmth and caring. Slowpoke’s ears stiffened. After a moment his big head turned, and he nuzzled Beltur, making a low noise as he did.

  Beltur found his eyes burning, even as he kept stroking Slowpoke’s neck. You should have looked harder for him. You should have.

  “Sure didn’t forget you,” offered Jorhan.

  “I didn’t forget him…” Beltur swallowed, unable to say more for a moment. “But by the time I recovered, the whole company was gone to Kleth, and I thought he’d gone with them. I didn’t know…” He shook his head.

  “Sometimes, things don’t turn out. Once in a while they do.”

  “Would you mind if I groomed him? I’ll work late.”

  “Go ahead. Brushes are over there on the shelf.”

  Slowpoke enjoyed the grooming. So did Beltur.

  Two quints later, Beltur returned to the smithy, feeling both relieved, and with an additional worry. How was he going to be able to deal with having Slowpoke over any length of time? Yet how could he possibly give up the mount that had saved his life on more than one occasion? Especially after being so fortunate in being given a second chance?

  “He sure looked happy to see you,” observed Jorhan.

  “I was happy to see him. I still can’t believe it.”

  “There’s an old saying about gift horses…” The smith grinned.

  “I understand. What are we working on today?”

  “Small things. Two ladies’ knives, to start with.”

  As he headed toward the bellows, Beltur frowned. He’d never thought that knives would be different for women. It made sense. He just hadn’t considered it, although he should have, especially recalling the precautions taken by the seamstress who had made his clothes when he’d come to Elparta … or the fact that both Margrena and Jessyla carried knives everywhere.

  At two quints past third glass, Beltur stepped away from the mold that held yet another ornate mirror, after making certain that the order/chaos net was firmly locked into the cupridium.

  “That’s all I need from you right now.”

  “I could help with the polishing wheel.”

  “You could,” agreed Jorhan, “if I had anything ready to polish. What I don’t get done in the morning I can polish in Axalt.”

  “Then I’m going to walk Slowpoke before I go.”

  “Good thought.”

  Beltur donned his coat and made his way back to the stable, where he put a halter and a lead on Slowpoke and walked him out of the stable and up and down the lane for more than two quints, watching and sensing the gelding, but Slowpoke didn’t seem to be bothered. After bringing him back to the stable, Beltur brushed him down quickly and made sure he had water before going back to the smithy, where Jorhan was cleaning and straightening up.

  “I’ll see you in the morning … just in case you need anything.”<
br />
  “That would be good. Oh … here’s your silver.”

  “Are you sure? Don’t I owe you for Slowpoke?” Beltur held the silver, unsure of whether he should even take it.

  “He didn’t cost me a thing. Hontyl likes horses. When I told him … I’ll owe him a favor. That’s all.”

  “Then I owe you a favor.”

  Jorhan shook his head. “You did me the biggest favor of all by helping forge all that cupridium. I still owe you … and I’ll pay.” After a pause, the smith added, “Wouldn’t hurt if you spent a little time here at the house now and then. I’m taking everything of value that I can carry. That’s anything folks could make off with easy-like. Never did put much stock in buying things that weren’t useful.”

  Given the sparseness of the furnishings in the house that Beltur had seen when he first met Jorhan, Beltur had long assumed that. “You’d like people to get the idea that someone’s here part of the time.”

  Jorhan nodded.

  “I can do that.”

  “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “I’ll be here.” Beltur nodded, then turned and left the smithy. Even as he walked down the lane to the main road, his breath filtering through the scarf and leaving a slight steamy trace in the air, he was still pondering over his good fortune in recovering Slowpoke. Except it wasn’t anything you did. Jorhan was the one who made it possible.

  As soon as he reached the house, after taking off his coat, he hurried to the kitchen.

  “You’re back earlier than I expected.”

  “Earlier than I did as well. Something unexpected happened.”

  “Oh?”

  “It appears I have a horse,” Beltur managed wryly. “Slowpoke was about to be sold to a renderer because he was too stubborn for anyone else to ride.”

  “Slowpoke? The big horse you rode?”

  “The Council sold him off as unsuitable after the invasion. Jorhan made a deal…” Beltur explained the trade-off Jorhan had proposed.

  Meldryn nodded. “That makes sense. Who better than a mage like you to look after his place? And with your horse there, he knows you’ll be there.” Meldryn paused. “You’ll have to use order locks out there, though, or someone will try to steal him and everything else.”

  “I’d thought about that. Jorhan says he’s taking anything of easy value, that he really never had that much.”

  “He might be right about that. Still…”

  “There’s not much else I can do.”

  “You could stay there at times.”

  “Jorhan asked if I would.”

  Meldryn smiled. “It is a private place. About the only one you and Jessyla might find.”

  Beltur flushed. He had to admit to himself that the thought had occurred to him almost immediately.

  The older mage’s face became serious. “There’s something else you should know. Lhadoraak stopped by here to get some bread for Tulya. Mharkyn told him that Cohndar is working with the traders to get small artisans and crafters to sell through traders, and that the Mages’ Council of each of the cities would get some of the revenues from that, maybe even more than that.”

  “That wouldn’t work. You couldn’t sell bread through a trader.”

  “No. It’s for hard goods.” Meldryn smiled wryly. “Like cupridium, black iron, or artisans and crafters who don’t have their own shops. Apparently, if you don’t own or rent space just for your business, and it’s not produce or food, then you’ll have to sell through a trader.”

  Beltur frowned. “But Jorhan owns his own smithy.”

  “They took care of that through the magery provision, remember?”

  “Doesn’t that mean Cohndar and some blacks will be acting as enforcers for the Council?”

  “Mharkyn didn’t know about that. He just said that Waensyn was talking about it, and that some blacks would be paid. Mharkyn thought that anything that meant we got paid more was a good idea.”

  Beltur could definitely see the appeal of more silvers. “That would make the black council a tool of the traders. I’m not sure that’s a good idea, pay or no pay.”

  “I have more than a few doubts, but most blacks are barely getting by. More to the point, what you and I think doesn’t seem to matter these days.”

  “Has it ever?”

  “Not that I can recall,” replied the older mage in his dry fashion. “But that got me to thinking. If Cohndar really goes after you, you’ll need to be ready to leave quickly. I’ve laid out a spare duffel in the parlor, and a heavy old blanket. You might think about what you want to take if you have to leave in a hurry. And now that you have a mount … that will help.”

  “Do you really think things will happen that fast?”

  “This morning, I didn’t. After what Mharkyn said, they just might. If they don’t, you’ll have a duffel ready when you need it without having to look for one when you don’t have time.”

  “Thank you. I just hope it doesn’t come to that.”

  “So do I. Sometimes, when we’re prepared for the worst, it doesn’t happen. I hope that’s the way it goes.” Meldryn shook his head. “But sometimes it doesn’t. Now … we might as well have dinner.”

  Beltur had thought he was hungry, but, despite the aroma from the hot meat pie, and the taste of the smooth dark ale, he ended up almost forcing himself to eat, as his thoughts flitted from point to point—Jessyla, then Slowpoke, and Grenara’s quiet opposition, all the time worrying about Cohndar, and wondering what it would be like with Jorhan gone, and how he was going to manage watching Jorhan’s house and smithy … and Slowpoke, especially when the snows got as deep as everyone had predicted that they would.

  And it’s not even winter yet.

  XXVIII

  Needless to say, Beltur didn’t sleep all that well on oneday night. He woke early in the darkness on twoday morning, and just lay there for a time. Then he got up, lit the lamp, and laid out the duffel Meldryn had insisted he take, and folded his spare clothes and put them inside, along with the heavy old blanket on top. Nothing’s going to happen today. He smiled wryly. Most likely, it wouldn’t, but the way things had been going, it wouldn’t hurt to have his things ready to go.

  After that, he waited until Meldryn finished washing up and headed downstairs. Then he finished getting himself ready and fixed breakfast almost a glass earlier than he usually did. He could tell, without even looking, just by his order senses, that a light snow was falling.

  Once he had breakfast mostly ready, he walked down the side corridor to the bakery, where he called from the doorway, “Breakfast is ready … if you are.”

  “I’ll be about a half quint.”

  “That’s fine. I know I’m early.” Beltur walked back to the front door and opened it to confirm that snow was falling, if barely, before closing the door and returning to the kitchen, warm enough with the shutters closed and a bank of hot coals in the hearth.

  As soon as Meldryn appeared, Beltur dished out the egg and mutton strip hash onto the two platters and set them on the table, then poured out two mugs of steaming spiced cider.

  “You were awake early. Worried, aren’t you?”

  “I’m sure you can sense it,” replied Beltur. “Things are changing, and change hasn’t been all that kind recently, for either of us.”

  “True enough, but we can’t do much about it except accommodate it as well as we can.”

  “Why doesn’t anyone stand up to Cohndar? Osarus and Caradyn seem like they’re as strong as he is.”

  “For the same reason you and I don’t. The Council is behind Cohndar, and we all still need to make a living. Enough of the blacks in Elparta, especially the ones doing well, are paid by the wealthier traders. If they go against the Council and Cohndar, they might lose their patrons. At least we don’t have to live with that hanging over our heads.”

  Beltur paused, his mug not quite touching his lips, as he thought about what Meldryn had said. That could be even worse than being a patrol mage. “I hadn’t
thought of it that way.”

  “I don’t think there’s anywhere that mages aren’t beholden to someone, either rulers or traders or merchants.”

  “After what I’ve seen, I’m beginning to wish that there were.”

  “That would be a tall order. Whites have trouble being organized, except by force, and most blacks don’t have enough power to rule without armsmen to support them, and armsmen would rather not bow to mages. Wishing for that is like wishing for the return of the Rational Stars. Last time that happened was when the black angels arrived, and that was the sort of change no one wants to see again—whole lands west of the Westhorns savaged and uprooted, and the greatest empire ever shattered into ruins.” Meldryn shook his head.

  For a short time, both ate quietly. Then Meldryn rose. “Time to get back to work. Thank you for breakfast.”

  “You’re more than welcome.” Beltur finished the last of his cider, then began to clean up.

  Less than a glass later, he was out the door and walking east through the intermittent fine flakes of snow toward the wall road. His thoughts kept going back to Slowpoke and how he’d ever be able to keep him once the fodder ran out … and then there was the problem of Cohndar and Waensyn.

  Once he walked up the lane, covered with perhaps a digit of new-fallen snow, and stepped inside the stone-walled building, he immediately noticed that it was cold, much colder than usual, and that both workbenches were empty, with no tools in sight. Nor was Jorhan anywhere in sight. He must be seeing to the sledge.

  His coat still on, Beltur made his way along the side lane to the stable, where, indeed, he found Jorhan strapping bundles in place on the sledge, on top of the wheels that would turn it back into a wagon come spring. “You’re expecting the traders early?”

  “By eighth glass. The sooner I’m out of here the better. Likely better for you, too.”

  “Because, if the cupridium’s gone before the first day of Winter, they can’t complain that I’ve done something wrong?”

  “That’d be my thought.”

  “Is there anything I can do?”

  The smith finished lashing a row of bundles in place and straightened. “Not a thing, except maybe watch the sledge as we go down the lane. There’s not really enough snow there.” Jorhan cleared his throat. “You see anyone on the way here?”