Outcasts of Order

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  Beltur turned back to face Lhadoraak.

  “Seeing her like that is frightening,” said the blond mage. “She feels like a total white.”

  “I can’t help what she is,” Beltur replied. “I can only give her the tools to be the best at it, and I’m trying to give her the skills to be a strong white. She’ll need strong shields, but that will take a while. The strongest shields are a mixture of order and chaos, and she doesn’t react adversely to either.”

  “How did you know how to protect her that way?”

  “Look at me … closely.” Beltur waited.

  Lhadoraak’s eyes widened.

  “My order and chaos is layered, too. The only difference is that, in Taelya’s case, natural chaos is stronger. So the order separates free chaos from her natural chaos.”

  “I never realized…” Lhadoraak swallowed. “Cohndar’s right to be worried about you. I don’t think he can do what you can.”

  “My skills are mostly with forms of layers and shields,” Beltur protested.

  “That’s like saying you’re only skilled with every form of order and chaos,” countered Lhadoraak wryly.

  Is it really? “I never could throw a chaos bolt, and I still can’t. I can use shields to redirect one.”

  “I’m not sure many blacks can do even that. I can’t. Athaal couldn’t.”

  Beltur wasn’t going to address that. “When do you think I should come again?”

  “The sooner the better.”

  “I’ll probably be free on twoday afternoon. If I have to work with Jorhan, though, I’ll still come, but it will be after fourth glass.”

  “Thank you. I don’t know who else could help her.”

  Beltur didn’t, either, although Athaal could have. “I’m glad I can. Until twoday.” He reclaimed his coat and pulled it on, then wrapped his scarf in place before heading out.

  Before that long he reached Crafters Way and turned west.

  He had to knock on Grenara’s door several times before Jessyla opened it.

  “I didn’t bring anything today,” Beltur confessed, almost sheepishly.

  “Good,” declared Jessyla. “You don’t have to bribe your way into the house, you know?” She stepped back to allow Beltur into the house before closing the door behind him.

  “Not in your eyes,” he murmured, glancing past her toward the kitchen, where he suspected Grenara and Margrena were. “Or your mother’s.” He only saw Growler, sitting on the staircase, ignoring both humans while tacitly acknowledging their lesser presences as only a feline could do.

  “You’ve been doing something magely, haven’t you?”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I … just feel it. Have you?”

  “Yes. I’ll need to explain it to you and your mother, though. If she’s here.”

  “I’ll get her while you take off your coat. In a moment.” She put both arms around him briefly, murmuring, “You should have done this first.” Then she released him and left him standing there blushing.

  He did get his coat off and hung on one of the wall pegs and was even standing in front of the hearth in the front room when Jessyla returned with Margrena.

  They sat on the bench, while Beltur took the straight-backed chair.

  “What is this mysterious magery that Mother and I must both know about?” asked Jessyla, curiosity mixing with annoyance in her voice.

  “It’s not mysterious, but troubling. Lhadoraak was waiting at the house when I got home from patrol duty yesterday afternoon…” Beltur went on to tell what had happened and then gave a brief outline of what he’d discovered about Taelya and what he’d been trying to teach her.

  When he finished, Margrena immediately asked, “What did Lhadoraak and Tulya say?”

  “Lhadoraak’s not at all happy that Taelya’s clearly either white or gray. He is grateful that I’ll work with her because he says there’s no one else who can. Athaal could have.”

  “He’s fortunate you can,” said Jessyla.

  “He’s right to be worried,” added Margrena. “Cohndar and Waensyn won’t like the idea of a white mage in Elparta, especially a woman.”

  “She’s only a girl,” declared Jessyla.

  “Beltur’s only one mage among many,” replied Margrena, “and they’re not happy with him. They weren’t fond of Athaal, and they’re skeptical of Meldryn.”

  “Men,” snorted Jessyla. “They don’t like anyone except those like themselves.”

  “There’s a certain truth in that, Jessyla dear,” said Margrena, “but you’d be wise not to say that where anyone else can hear you, because those men have the ear and the support of the Council, and the Council has never been that fond of women who cross them. As your aunt can tell you.”

  “I know. I know. It doesn’t make it right.”

  “Power establishes what is right,” said Grenara from where she stood in the doorway to the kitchen. “Never forget that, girl.”

  “What those in power want, not what is right,” replied Jessyla.

  “For the rest of us,” countered Grenara flatly, “it amounts to the same thing.”

  Jessyla had barely opened her mouth when Margrena said, sternly, “Jessyla, no argument. There’s much we know that is not as it should be. There’s little point in arguing about what should be when we can do nothing to change it.”

  Jessyla sighed. “I understand. I don’t have to like it.”

  “None of us do, girl,” replied Grenara, her voice much softer. “None of us.”

  “Even Beltur, as accomplished as he is, has to carry out the Council’s will when he is serving as a patrol mage,” added Margrena.

  “If Beltur is staying for an early dinner, I’ll need some help.” Grenara looked to Margrena.

  “I can do that. Beltur and Jessyla don’t have that much time together these days,” replied Margrena, standing and motioning to the bench from which she had risen. “Sit here. It’s warmer.”

  “Thank you.” Beltur smiled at Margrena, then nodded his head to Grenara.

  As the two older healers left the front room, Beltur sat down beside Jessyla.

  “They’re right,” she murmured, “but I hate it. You and Athaal and Meldryn are so much better than Cohndar and Waensyn and the others. Why don’t they see that?”

  Because they don’t want to. “Most people think their way is best. They’re no different from us in that fashion.”

  “But our way is better.”

  “I’m sure they’d say the same thing.”

  “Beltur … are you trying to start an argument?”

  Beltur almost replied instantly, but then managed to grin, before saying, “Not if I can help it.”

  “Good.”

  Beltur hoped so.

  XIX

  Beltur woke early on oneday, still thinking over the pleasant eightday afternoon he had spent with Jessyla. At the same time, he couldn’t help but be worried, the more he thought it over, about the problems that could arise when Cohndar and Waensyn discovered that he was essentially training a white wizard, and a young woman at that. That might be kept quiet for a time, possibly as long as a year before they discovered that Taelya was a white, simply because they wouldn’t have thought of a girl as a white. Cohndar said he would visit all mages, but he might well not even notice Taelya if she were kept away.

  But if you can teach her shields well enough to hide her personal order and chaos the way you can … Beltur almost shook his head. That was expecting far too much from a seven-year-old. In time, that was certainly possible, but not in the next year or so.

  As usual, his bedchamber was cold, but it didn’t seem that cold, or perhaps he was getting used to it. When he finally left the house, the light snowfall confirmed that it was warmer, since it seemed to warm up somewhat during storms … at least some of the time.

  The snow was light enough that there was little more than a digit on the streets, and he had no difficulty in reaching the smithy.

  He had ju
st taken off his coat and scarf, when he noticed that Jorhan had a number of molds laid out on the front workbench, and that another was being heated. As he walked toward the forge, he said, “I thought we were going to space out the copper. Did I misunderstand?”

  “You don’t know?”

  “Know what?”

  “That figures.” Jorhan shook his head. “I’m not blaming you. I thought you might not know, but I wasn’t sure.” He pointed to an envelope on the end of the bench. “Read it.”

  Beltur had a sinking feeling that he wasn’t going to like what was in the envelope, especially when he saw the Council seal—since Jorhan had slit the envelope to avoid breaking the seal. He slipped out the single sheet and began to read. First came the elaborate letterhead of the Council, then the text.

  Whereas the Traders’ Council of Spidlaria has the duty and responsibility to make, maintain, and enforce standards for the conduct and safety of trade and manufactures in Spidlar, it is hereby declared that:

  Effective the first oneday of Winter this year, any and all manufactured goods, devices, or materials, of which a significant aspect is the use of magery in the production thereof, shall only be sold through a trader approved by the Council. Any such approved trader must submit an affirmation to the Council that the goods, devices, or materials being sold constitute no danger and inflict no chaos upon those handling or using said goods, devices, or materials.

  Failure of any individual, maker, or seller of such goods to comply with this law shall result in the forfeiture of all revenues resulting from such sale and the imposition of a penalty of twenty golds for each item so produced or sold, in addition to which shall be added a penalty of fifty golds. A second offense shall result in the same penalties and require the immediate and permanent exile of all those involved in the creation, making, or sale of such items …

  The rest of the verbiage dealt with more technicalities, including the duty of the mage-councilor of the appropriate city, or the mage-councilor of the city closest to the point of offense, in determining that magery was indeed used in the creation of such items.

  Beltur lowered the proclamation, momentarily speechless, but realizing the reason why Jorhan had heard nothing was that Alizant had been working with Cohndar to get the full Council to make the proclamation, and getting the information to and from Spidlaria had taken time. That meant that Alizant had been working on it possibly even before Beltur had finished with his duties as a mage-officer.

  “They’ve made a law that requires us to sell to a trader so that bastard can get all the profit.”

  “It’s a law that seems to apply to everyone,” Beltur finally said, “but it only applies to us, or to anyone making black iron. Those are the only two materials that need mages.”

  “There might be others, but the result is the same.”

  “Is that why you have all the molds set out?”

  “I’ll be frigging damned if I’m going to give a copper to those bastards. I thought we could use all the copper in the next eightday or so. I’ve taken time to make repairs to my old sledge. Haven’t used it in years. It’ll last long enough to take me and everything we forge to Axalt. One of the boys can come back in the spring and take over the lands.” Jorhan paused. “I’ll have to send you your share of the golds once things sell. I can pay your daily wages, but not your share.”

  “That’s fine. I understand.” What else can you do? Beltur walked to the forge and stood by the bellows. “We might as well get started.”

  “Barrynt said there was a place for you in Axalt,” Jorhan said quietly.

  “That’s something I’ll have to think about. I have obligations … debts to pay … here in Elparta.”

  “Thought you might say something like that. Just keep it in mind. Always good to have options.”

  “What’s the first mold?”

  “I’ve got three knives set up to go first. Knives are easier to sell, and they don’t take as much metal. Also, there’s less tariff on knives and blades for a trader who has to go through Certis. After that, we should have time for a larger hand mirror. It’s a different design.”

  Beltur set to work with the bellows as Jorhan moved the crucible into position.

  By slightly past fourth glass, the three knives and the mirror were cast, and Beltur stood by the workbench, sensing the mirror, but the order/chaos net had definitely set.

  He turned to Jorhan. “Tomorrow then?”

  “Tomorrow. You’re still on City Patrol duty, aren’t you?”

  Beltur nodded.

  “We’ll cast as much as we can tomorrow. I can do finish work on threeday, and we’ll get back to casting on fourday.” The smith handed Beltur a silver. “For now. The rest … I told you how that will go. I wish it didn’t have to be this way, but I’ve always paid my debts.”

  “I know.”

  A few light snowflakes were still drifting lazily from the featureless gray clouds overhead as Beltur walked back toward Elparta along the snow-packed and ice-rutted road, his thoughts mostly on the Council proclamation. From what he could sense, almost absently, the clouds didn’t hold the kind of order/chaos splitting and turmoil that signified a lot of rain or snow, for which he was grateful.

  There were more people on the streets, especially on Bakers Lane near the bakery, but he didn’t see anyone he knew. Then again, he really knew very few people in Elparta.

  He was still mulling over what choices he had, or how few choices there really were, when he reached the house, and after taking off his coat and scarf, he walked into the kitchen.

  “How did your day go?” asked Meldryn.

  “The smithing went fine. Nothing else did. The Council proclaimed a new law that says any material made in part with magery must be sold through a trader and approved by the mage-councilor of the nearest city. Jorhan got a copy of the proclamation on sevenday.”

  Meldryn frowned. “I can’t believe Cohndar would go that far.”

  “I don’t think he had to. Trader Alizant has been telling people that he’ll be the one trading in cupridium. He probably talked to Jhaldrak … and Cohndar. The proclamation states that the reason is to make certain goods made through magery do not include harmful chaos.”

  “That sounds very much like Cohndar. He’s always been prating about the evils of chaos and white wizards.”

  “I thought as much. He was talking like that when he came to the smithy to complain that we weren’t really forging cupridium.”

  “What is Jorhan going to do?”

  “He’s planning to leave Spidlar—after we forge all the cupridium we can in the next eightday or so. His sister lives in Axalt, and her consort has said he’ll be welcome any time.”

  “He’d actually leave?” Meldryn sounded surprised. “His family has held those lands for generations.”

  Beltur explained about the lands and Johlana’s son taking over.

  “Why doesn’t he just stay as a coppersmith? Or was he already having trouble?”

  “He was in debt until we started forging cupridium. I think he’s too much of a craftsman, and people in Elparta can’t or won’t pay for craft. Also, the traders here charge him too much for the copper. The last batch we got from Axalt cost less.”

  Meldryn nodded. “That’s going to put you in a difficult position, isn’t it?”

  “In time. I’ve saved up enough silvers to get through the winter, and that includes paying you for food and lodging—”

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  “Yes, I do. Athaal isn’t here to help, and you likely lost coins baking bread for the Council during the invasion. It just wouldn’t be fair for me not to pay my share. I’m probably not even paying enough.”

  “You’re paying more than enough.”

  Beltur was surprised to sense the absolute truth behind Meldryn’s feelings, so surprised that he couldn’t say anything for several moments.

  “Athaal often didn’t make as much as you’re paying right now. So I don�
�t want to hear any more about your not carrying your share.”

  “I’m sorry … I didn’t know.”

  Meldryn laughed, sadly. “You wouldn’t. We never told you. At first, it was because you weren’t making anything to speak of, and we didn’t want you to feel badly. Then, I didn’t want to say anything to make Athaal feel badly … and … then … it didn’t matter.”

  “I…” Beltur didn’t know what to say. Finally, he managed, “You were both so kind. I don’t know what I would have done without you both.”

  “You’re being kind to Jessyla and to Lhadoraak and Tulya. That’s what’s important. We can’t always control how many coins we earn. We can control how we behave toward others.” Meldryn smiled. “You need an ale, and then we’ll have dinner.”

  Beltur was more than ready for both.

  XX

  Beltur rose a glass earlier than normal on twoday and even then hurried to ready breakfast and call Meldryn to eat.

  When the older mage hurried over from the bakery, he immediately said, “You’re up early. Couldn’t you sleep?”

  “The worrying didn’t help. That’s not the reason, though. Jorhan wants a full day’s work, but I promised Lhadoraak that I’d work with Taelya this afternoon. I told Lhadoraak I might be late, if I had to work, but I don’t want it to be too late.”

  “You’re trying to please everyone, aren’t you?” Meldryn settled himself at the table and took a swallow of the hot cider. “I’m going to have to eat quickly.”

  “Go ahead. I didn’t think about timing your baking. I’m not so much trying to please everyone as to get everything done while I can.”

  Meldryn swallowed a large bite of the breakfast hash, followed by a sip of cider, before saying, “You’ve always had to think ahead, haven’t you?”

  “Not always, and I never really had to worry about coins until I came to Elparta. Uncle worried about those, and sometimes I worried about Uncle and what I could do.” And complained silently when I had no reason to. At least those complaints had been silent, reflected Beltur.

  “Your uncle was quite a man, I think.”

  “More than I understood.”