Outcasts of Order

by L. E. Modesitt Jr

  “What can I do for you, ser mage?” asked the chandler.

  “Barrynt mentioned that you might have house cisterns.”

  Rhodos frowned, cocking his head slightly. “I don’t have any large ones.”

  “What do you have?” Beltur was willing to look at anything that might make life easier.

  “Come take a look. I have kitchen cistern in the storeroom.” Rhodos turned.

  Beltur followed the chandler to the storeroom in the rear of the building, where Rhodos pointed to the object in the corner.

  “There. That’s what I’ve got.”

  Beltur studied the cistern that looked more like a stoneware barrel—standing on a sturdy wooden platform that only raised its base less than ten digits from the floor. Even on the platform the top of the circular cistern only came to Beltur’s chin. The circular top looked to be perhaps a yard and a third across. There was a square wooden lid set in the top near the rear. At the base in front was a spigot tap, much like the tap on a cask of ale.

  “Why the platform?”

  “The Council requires it. That way you can tell if it’s leaking before it damages the floor. Also, you can clean under it.”

  “How much does this one cost?”

  “I could let you have it for four silvers. That includes the base.”

  Four silvers? That was almost as much as Jessyla made in half a season. “How many buckets does it take to fill it?”

  “I’ve never counted,” admitted the chandler. “According to Halstaff—he makes the stoneware—it takes fifty regular buckets filled to the top, but you wouldn’t want to carry buckets that full. It’s also not a good idea to fill it that full. Two-thirds is probably about right. And put it on a solid floor. The base supports will go right through a weak one.”

  Beltur could see that. Water was heavy. And carrying those buckets of water would take a lot of effort. “What about delivering it?”

  “I can arrange that. You’ll have to pay for it. That will likely be five coppers.”

  Four and a half silvers total. “Would you buy one of these if you didn’t have water piped to your house?” Beltur looked to the chandler.

  “I had one for years. I never regretted it.” Rhodos offered a rueful expression. “Having water piped to the house is better, but you can’t do that in winter anyway, and you don’t want to do it if you don’t own the house.”

  Beltur could see that as well. “I also need two buckets. Good ones.”

  “Buckets I have.” Rhodos headed to the other side of the storeroom.

  In the end, Beltur spent five silvers and three coppers for the cistern—including the fee for delivery, which Rhodos promised by second glass—and for two new and sturdy buckets, which he then carried back to Barrynt’s. There he picked up the basket with cleaning supplies—and a length of line—and made his way to the cot.

  While the cot had looked neat and relatively clean, once Beltur got to looking at it closely, there was dust everywhere, and dirt in too many corners. That meant more than a few trips to the water house almost a block away and then back with a bucket of water. The really dirty water had to go to the sewer standpipe behind Rohan’s house.

  Every single time that Beltur put the single scrubbing brush on the well-worn wooden floor, it came away dark with dust and dirt. By ninth glass he was glad he’d worn his worst trousers and that the cot wasn’t any larger. By the time he finished scrubbing everything at around second glass, he began to wonder if the place was too big.

  He’d barely finished rinsing out and cleaning the brush and dusting and wiping down all the furniture when the teamster and his assistant arrived with the cistern. Once they left, Beltur lugged another bucket of water back to the cot and poured it into the cistern, set in the corner of the kitchen. When he tried the tap, the water came out cloudy.

  “Frig!” Now you’ll have to clean out the cistern. That would have to wait, at least until he went back to Barrynt’s to meet with Johlana and Jessyla. He left the rags and cloths to dry on the line Johlana had included, which he tied to two brackets set in the walls on opposite sides of the kitchen, which he hadn’t appreciated until he’d been left with an assortment of damp cloths.

  When he reached the house, the only one there was Asala.

  “The mistress is visiting Halhana. She said she’d be back by fourth glass.”

  After deciding that there was no point in standing around waiting, Beltur went into the family parlor and extracted The Wisdom of Relyn from the bookcase once more. He settled into a chair and began to read, this time about the matter-of-fact chronology of Relyn’s travels through small towns in Gallos as he avoided Fenard and made his way to Passera. Another passage stood out.

  … in those days, Passera was almost a land unto itself. The Prefect of Gallos was worried more about the dark angels of Westwind, and in time, his son assembled a massive army and invaded the Westhorns, to no avail, for Ryba of the Swift Ships of Heaven and Saryn of the black blades brought down a mountain upon that multitude and buried it under hundreds of cubits of rock and earth …

  That’s not in The Book of Ayrlyn. More than ever, Beltur wondered if there might be more about that battle in The Book of Saryn, which Jessyla had had mentioned. Did she even read that part? He’d have to ask her if she remembered anything about a battle. He resumed reading, continuing until he reached another intriguing section.

  … I saw the strength of the black tower. In witness to that, and to Nylan and what he taught me, I built a temple of dark stone. I talked with each person who asked me why. My answer was always the same—to show the quiet dark strength of order and harmony …

  Beltur nodded. He was about to resume reading, when Johlana appeared.

  “I see that you’re here. I’m glad Jessyla isn’t here yet. I didn’t finish with sorting out the linens. I’ll be in the linen closet off the washroom.”

  “Can I help?”

  She shook her head. “It’s women’s work. You’ve been working hard, I can tell. Just send Jessyla to me when she arrives.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “You’ll have plenty to load and unload once we’re finished.” Johlana smiled and hurried out of the parlor.

  Plenty to load and unload? After several moments, Beltur returned to reading.

  … after several years, I had thought that my presence in Passera had gone unremarked by the new Prefect, but that was not to be …

  … after Amosaph the vintner brought me the news that two score armsmen were riding toward Passera, and a score had crossed the river to block the road to Certis … gathered all that I could and went to embark upon a flatboat down the river to Elparta. Armsmen attacked me, but I was fortunate enough to prevail, and to reach Elparta. There I found more bounty-seekers pursuing, for the Prefect had placed a price of fifty golds on my head …

  Fifty golds? Beltur kept reading.

  … with the help of a shepherd boy and his widowed mother, whom I rewarded as best I could, I dealt with my pursuers and made my way safely to Axalt …

  Beltur frowned. Shepherd boy? Rewarded as best he could? Abruptly, he recalled Jorhan’s story about his ancestor, the one who had helped a mercenary captain. It has to have been Relyn. Who else could it possibly have been?

  He was still thinking about that when Jessyla hurried in.

  “I’m sorry I’m late. There was a little girl with a broken arm…”

  “That’s all right. Johlana was late, too. She was at her daughter’s, I think. She said for you to join her in the linen closet in the washroom. She was very specific. You, and only you. I’m to fetch and carry when you two have worked out whatever she has in mind.”

  “Are you certain? Or would you rather read?”

  “I asked her if I could help as soon as she arrived. She was most definite.”

  “I have the feeling that she usually is.” Jessyla smiled for a moment. “Go back to your book.” She paused. “Is it that interesting?”

  “It’s fa
r, far more interesting than I would have guessed. I’ll tell you why later.”

  She frowned.

  “It’s not terrible. You’ll understand.”

  “You’re making me very curious.”

  “Good.”

  Jessyla screwed up her face into an absurd grimace, then smiled again, and left the parlor.

  Beltur resumed reading. Several pages later, another passage caught his attention.

  … always learns from failure, if one is fortunate enough to survive that failure. My failure in Passera was in trying to embody order within a building, for people believe that the power is the building … Power lies within each of us, not within stone or brick or finely polished marble … not even within a bow or a blade, or a hammer. The force of Nylan’s hammer lay in his understanding and his concentration. Saryn’s terrible black blades would have been nothing without the power inside her. Ayrlyn’s songs were far less when sung by another …

  For that reason I never built another temple to order, for the lasting temples are in the mind …

  Beltur was still pondering that when Jessyla reappeared.

  “Can you saddle up Slowpoke and carry several bundles of linens over to the cot? They’re too heavy to carry that far on foot, and too few to harness up a cart horse.”

  “I can do that.” Beltur stood and replaced The Wisdom of Relyn in the bookcase.

  “We’ll have them in the side hall shortly.” With that, Jessyla vanished.

  Beltur made his way to the side hall, donned his coat, and headed out to the stable, where he entered Slowpoke’s stall. The big gelding seemed to look inquiringly at him.

  “Yes, we’re going to take a ride. And no, it won’t be that long, but I should be better about riding you.”

  After saddling Slowpoke, Beltur led him to the side portico, tying him to the railing, and climbed the steps and went inside, where he looked at the three large bundles sitting on the floor, then at a smiling Jessyla. “Just these three?”

  “There will be one more … I think.”

  “Then I’ll take two this time, and two on a second trip.”

  “I thought so.” She handed him a short length of rope. “You could tie them together…”

  “Thank you.”

  “We should have the other one ready by the time you get back. Just put them on the kitchen table.”

  Beltur tied the two bundles together and then carried them out to Slowpoke, where he slung them over the front of the saddle.

  At that moment, a black coach trimmed in silver pulled up to the end of the lane. Halhana stepped out and began to walk up the lane, stopping after several steps and calling out, “Beltur! Is Mother home?”

  “She’s inside with Jessyla,” Beltur replied.

  “Good!” Halhana turned and said, “I’ll only be a few moments.” Then she hurried up the lane and then up the steps. Even before she reached the side entry, the door opened and Johlana stepped out.

  Halhana immediately leaned close to her mother and murmured something.

  Johlana stiffened for just an instant, then nodded.

  Halhana stepped back, saying something else.

  Beltur thought that Johlana said, “I understand, dear.” But whether she understood or not, beneath the forgiving smile, she wasn’t that cheerful, Beltur felt.

  Then the daughter turned and hurried down the steps.

  “Halhana!” called Johlana. “Why don’t you introduce Beltur to Eshult and his parents?”

  Halhana hesitated for a moment.

  “If we don’t introduce Beltur and Jessyla to the right people, who will?”

  From the momentary swirl of chaos around Halhana, Beltur could sense that introducing Beltur to the others was about the last thing on Halhana’s mind, but the young woman immediately turned to Beltur as she neared him. “You really should meet Eshult.”

  “I’d be happy to meet him.” That much was true, but while Beltur likely needed to meet Emlyn and Sarysta, especially from what he’d heard, he was wary of meeting them and resolved to be extremely polite. He also didn’t want the introductions to take long, given Halhana’s discomfiture.

  The two walked swiftly to the coach, where Halhana opened the door, and offered a smile to the three inside. The older couple, seated facing forward, had to be Emlyn and Sarysta. Sarysta was slender, wearing a long coat of silver fur, trimmed in dark gray, while Emlyn wore a dark silver-gray woolen coat with matching silver-gray leather gloves. The top of the coat was unfastened enough that Beltur could glimpse a white shimmersilk shirt that alone doubtless cost more than every bit of clothing Beltur owned, and a shimmersilk blue cravat. Eshult also wore a dark gray coat, plain, but also of obvious quality.

  “Beltur, I’d like you to meet my consort, Eshult, and his parents, Emlyn and Sarysta. Emlyn is the preeminent trader in Axalt, and Sarysta’s family is equally distinguished.” Halhana looked from Beltur more to Eshult, if not obviously, rather than directly looking at his parents, and went on, “Beltur is the accomplished black mage who’s helped my uncle so much. He and his consort—she’s a healer—have been staying with Mother and Father while they ready their own place.”

  “That’s your uncle … the smith?” asked Sarysta, with scarcely veiled condescension.

  “I’ve heard he was the best coppersmith in Elparta,” said Eshult quickly. “That’s why he and Beltur came to Axalt.”

  “Johlana is so good at taking people in,” said Sarysta, her voice dripping false sweetness. “So very good. She’s always so thoughtful.”

  Beltur could also sense a complete coldness behind Sarysta’s words, despite the apparently pleasant smile.

  “There’s something to be said for that,” added Emlyn evenly, but more politely than warmly, adding, “It’s good to meet you, Beltur. A trading city like Axalt can always use another good mage and healer.”

  “I’ve heard that it’s renowned for order and fairness, ser, and that’s very appealing. I’ve heard of all of you, and it’s very good to be able to put faces to names. Since it’s cold, at least for me, and since you’re all attired for some occasion, I would be the last to want to keep you.” He smiled, inclined his head, and was about to offer Halhana a hand into the coach when Eshult did so.

  The young man smiled, more warmly than his parents, and said to Beltur, “I look forward to seeing you when we have more time.”

  “As do I,” said Beltur, closing the coach door carefully and stepping back.

  The driver immediately flicked the leads, and the coach eased away from the lane.

  As Beltur walked back toward Slowpoke, he had to wonder why Halhana had even stopped at the house, since she’d only spent a moment talking to her mother. He glanced toward the steps, but the door was closed, and Johlana was nowhere to be seen.

  After several moments thinking over the quick meeting with Eshult and his parents, Beltur untied Slowpoke and mounted. As he started down the lane, he had to admit that riding to the cot was much faster and far easier than lugging the bundles would have been. Slowpoke almost pranced for the first several hundred yards, a reminder that Beltur did need to make time to give him exercise.

  Once he reached the cot and dismounted, he tied Slowpoke to the old iron post with a solid ring frozen or rusted in place and then carried the two bundles to the door, unlocked it, and took them to the kitchen, where he untied them.

  When Beltur came out of the cot, he found Rohan walking toward him.

  “Good afternoon, Mage. Is that your horse?”

  “He is.”

  “He looks like a warhorse.”

  “He was. He was mine.”

  “I thought you were a black mage.”

  “I am. My task in the fight against the Gallosians was to provide shields against arrows and blades … and against the firebolts of their white mages.”

  “You must have been good at it. You’re still alive.”

  “Good enough.”

  “You’re not keeping the horse here, are you?
”

  “Stars, no. I’m paying Barrynt with services so that he can stay in Barrynt’s stable.”

  “Good to know. The Council takes a dim view of horses not in proper care.”

  Is there anything the Council doesn’t take an interest in? “It was just easier to carry some of our belongings here with Slowpoke, and he needs to be ridden anyway.”

  Rohan nodded. “Is everything as it should be in the cot?”

  “So far as we can tell. It will be a few days yet before we’ll have everything ready.”

  “I noticed a kitchen cistern earlier today.”

  “Barrynt thought it would be a good idea.”

  “They are. Rather costly, though.”

  Beltur understood Rohan’s unspoken point. “I did have some silvers saved. Enough to set up a household. At least, I hope so. The cistern was just about the only thing we’ve purchased so far, except for two buckets. That’s because healing doesn’t pay so well as merchanting, and we do have to be careful.”

  “Don’t we all? A pleasant evening to you.”

  “The same to you.”

  As Rohan walked back toward his house, Beltur wondered if everyone in Axalt watched everyone else. He shook his head and remounted Slowpoke.

  Jessyla and Johlana were both waiting in the side hall when Beltur returned to Barrynt’s. So were two large bundles and a small one.

  “Johlana’s been so generous,” declared Jessyla. “There are bed linens, and a blanket and a quilt, and lots of towels—”

  “And not a one of them matching any other one,” interjected Johlana. “Except one pair. Save those for when your mother visits.”

  We’ll be using mismatched towels for a very long time. Beltur wasn’t about to say that, especially since he’d never had matched towels … and times when his sole towel had been little more than an oversized rag. He gathered the bundles and then tied them together. “I shouldn’t be long.” He paused. “Since I’ll have to ride back here, why don’t I saddle one of the other horses, and we can ride over and back together. We really need to give the horses some exercise.”