Outcasts of Order

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “If … if Jessyla and I decide to leave Axalt, that leaves Jorhan in a very bad position, and he’s done absolutely nothing to deserve that.”

  “Sometimes that happens.”

  “There is a way to mitigate that.”

  “Oh…?”

  “You had mentioned that it wouldn’t be necessary for us to leave until after the end of winter and until the roads were largely clear.”

  “I don’t believe I said necessary. I said something about the shadows not getting much worse over that time because of the common sense of people in Axalt.”

  “I didn’t mean to put words in your mouth. What you did suggest was that it would not be that amiss if we waited until traveling was not so dangerous and that most people would understand. If Jorhan were able to purchase copper and tin at a reasonable price over that period, we could work together for a time to increase his stock of cupridium goods to sell. That certainly wouldn’t hurt anyone in Axalt and would allow him to assist his sister more … and to establish him in Axalt.”

  “I see your point. I’m not certain others would.”

  “Jorhan doesn’t need everyone to see that point, just those who deal in copper and tin.”

  “Why would they wish to see that?”

  “Well … I owe a certain amount to Jorhan. I don’t like the idea of his being forced to choose between helping his sister and leaving here in order to continue smithing. If that were to be his choice, it just might be that Jessyla and I might have to stay longer and deal, as necessary, with what comes from those shadows.”

  Naerkaal smiled sardonically. “I wondered if you’d get to that point. I could suggest that leaving as early as possible in spring would be to your advantage.”

  “It might well be, but I’d find it difficult to leave Jorhan without adequate goods to sell for a time, and there are those, from what you’ve hinted, who would prefer our leaving to be sooner than later.”

  “I do know some factors and merchants who might prove … helpful.” Naerkaal paused. “I would take it very much amiss if Jorhan receives such materials and you delay your departure. At present, you have always been truthful, if at times not fully revealing what you might.”

  Beltur realized that, at that moment, he had to decide. “I understand, but not until the snows stop and the roads are clear.”

  “That is reasonable, especially if it is obvious that you and your consort plan to leave.” Another pause followed. “What do you know about the other black mage and his plans?”

  “They will do what they feel best … after they know what we have decided.”

  “It will become more and more difficult for their daughter as she grows older.”

  “They are aware of that.”

  “I thought they might be.” Naerkaal nodded. “Is there anything else?”

  “I read some of The Wisdom of Relyn. Why did he stay in Axalt? Do you know?”

  “He had no choice. Both the Viscount of Certis and the Prefect of Gallos wanted his head, and the traders of Spidlar were so weak that Gallos held the lands immediately to the west of Axalt. In turn, Axalt had no choice but to rely on him. You are fortunate that the Viscount has no idea that you even exist. That could change, of course.”

  Another not-so-veiled threat. “That might not be to Axalt’s advantage.”

  “I would agree. For others, hatred and anger override common sense.”

  While Beltur already suspected he knew the answer, he asked, “Does Sarstaan’s healer attend all the Council meetings?”

  “She does, but she does not wear greens when she does.”

  “I assume the other councilors know this.”

  “So do I, but no one ever speaks of it.” Naerkaal smiled. “Everyone is most honest in the public meetings.”

  Beltur rose from the chair. “Thank you for taking the time.”

  “It’s always better when matters can be resolved quietly and as fairly as possible. Too often those matters resolved in public are less fair, no matter what anyone says, because power always makes itself felt.”

  “I’d think it might be the opposite at times,” suggested Beltur.

  Naerkaal shook his head. “In public, if those in power concede anything, they’re thought weak. The thought of weakness leads to greater use of power, and that’s even less fair.”

  “I hadn’t thought of it that way.” But it makes a sort of sense.

  “Sooner or later, you would have.”

  Beltur nodded, but he wasn’t so sure. After an envious look at all the books, he turned and left the shop.

  From there he walked quickly to the smithy, but he was nearly a glass later than he usually arrived. Once there, he took off his coat and scarf and hurried toward the workbench, where Jorhan was working on a mold.

  “Are you all right?” asked the smith.

  “I’m fine.” Or as well as I can be, given how things are going.

  “Wasn’t sure if I’d be seeing you today.”

  “I went to see Naerkaal. I got to thinking about you and all you’ve done for me. I told you yesterday that I’d see if I could persuade him to influence people to sell you copper and tin. I suggested we might have to stay longer if you couldn’t get materials fairly soon. He said that he’d do what he could. I think it’s likely you might just find some factors willing to part with those materials at a reasonable cost.” Beltur offered a crooked smile. “It was worth a try.”

  “If it weren’t for Johlana…”

  “I know. But she needs you, especially now. And I think Ryntaar and Frankyr could use a little of your knowledge and support, at least for a time.”

  “Well…” Jorhan drew out the word. “We still have some copper and tin. You want to work on another sabre?”

  “That sounds like a very good idea.”

  Jorhan smiled broadly.

  Beltur stayed at the smithy until almost a quint past fourth glass, when he was able to release his hold on the order/chaos net embedded in the bronze that had become cupridium. Then he walked home through the late afternoon that had almost become twilight in the valley between the peaks of the Easthorns.

  Jessyla was already at the cot when Beltur arrived and met him as he was hanging up his coat on the wall peg.

  “You’re later today.”

  “I went to see Naerkaal this morning…” Beltur quickly explained his conversation with the mage-councilor and then that he and Jorhan had been casting a sabre.

  “Do you think we’re doing the right thing?”

  “What do you think?”

  “I asked you.”

  “It’s a huge gamble, but if we stay here, things will get harder, not easier. What if we’d left Elparta earlier?”

  “We couldn’t,” Jessyla pointed out.

  “That’s true. Here we have the choice.”

  “You’re going to have to teach me more magery … and soon.”

  Beltur nodded. “There is one other thing. You need to write a letter to your mother tonight. I’ll take it to Ryntaar tomorrow and have him work out a way to get it to her. She needs to know where you are.”

  “Where we’re not, you mean.”

  “That also.” He frowned momentarily. “We’ll need to think about getting more horses. I don’t like the thought of relying on others for getting places.”

  Jessyla nodded, then said, “You know that Lhadoraak and Tulya don’t have much in the way of silvers.”

  “I know, but we have enough, and we’ll be much safer—”

  “If we travel together,” murmured Jessyla, glancing toward the kitchen, and adding in an even quieter voice, “Tulya can’t wait to leave Axalt. That’s good.”

  “What about you?”

  “I’m more of a gambler than I thought.” She smiled. “Except wagering on you isn’t that much of a gamble.”

  Beltur didn’t voice his considerable doubts about that.

  LXXIV

  The first thing Beltur did upon leaving the cot on twoday was to see Rynt
aar before the young merchant left for the factorage. He found Ryntaar in the side hall and gave him Jessyla’s letter to her mother.

  “I’d appreciate it if you could arrange for this to be sent to Jessyla’s mother in Elparta. She’s addressed it to her at the Council Healing House there.”

  “It may take a while. Not many traders travel to Elparta in winter.”

  “That’s why you’re getting it now. She wants her mother to know. Otherwise Margrena might decide to visit, and we wouldn’t want her to make that trip and find us gone.”

  “You’re really planning on leaving, aren’t you?”

  “The Council hasn’t given us much choice, except in when we choose to leave.”

  “That’s scarcely fair.”

  “What happened hasn’t been fair to you and your family, either, especially your mother. Your parents put us up, fed us, and then let us have all that furniture. That has to come back to you. It wouldn’t be right any other way.”

  Ryntaar nodded. “That might not be too much of a problem. Frankyr and Mother have already agreed that I can take anything you leave to Elparta. Uncle Jorhan … well … he’s never been much for furnishings. His place is pretty bare, from what he’s said. I’ll be honest. I’ll have a better chance of attracting the kind of a consort I’m looking for that way.”

  “You’re not interested in anyone here in Axalt?”

  “After what Mother and Halhana have been through?” Ryntaar shook his head. “I need to head to the factorage. I need to spend a lot more time there with Frankyr.”

  After leaving Ryntaar, Beltur took care of the stable, then headed out. A quint later, as he neared the healing house, he saw an unattended wagon tied up to a post outside, not even a hitching post, and he thought he saw splotches of blood on the snow. He immediately hurried inside, shed his coat and scarf, dropping them on the hanging pegs, and headed toward the surgery, glancing into Herrara’s empty study as he passed.

  A figure was stretched on the surgery table, where Herrara was doing something to the man’s shoulder. A youth stood in the corner of the surgery, his face pale.

  “You’re here. Good!” snapped Herrara. “I need you to use your skills while I deal with the puncture in his shoulder. He’ll lose too much blood if I release the pressure. Can you sense where I’m holding it?”

  “Yes. You want me to block that?”

  Herrara nodded.

  Beltur moved in beside Herrara and eased a containment into place beneath her hand. “I’ve got it.”

  Immediately, Herrara cut away the cloth around the wound, then studied the torn flesh under the transparent containment. “There’s a small bleeder there.” She gestured with the tip of the scalpel. “Can you block that a little lower, leave the torn part exposed?”

  “Tell me when.”

  From that point on Beltur just followed Herrara’s orders, first as she dealt with the deep shoulder wound, then as she went on to the score of cuts and lacerations on the man’s arm. Looking at the slashes in the man’s arm, Beltur couldn’t understand how a woodworker could have done that to himself, or how the youth could have, not that he believed the pale and shivering figure in the corner had done anything deliberate.

  When Herrara finally stepped back for a moment, Beltur could see bloody splinters or pieces of wood in the small basket that held surgical wastes. “Do you know how…?”

  “Boissaen was using a lathe. His son was using a foot treadle. The chisel blade caught in whatever was being turned. It snapped out of its handle and went through his chest, and fragments of wood splinters sliced up his arm. His son wrapped the arm and shoulder and borrowed a wagon to drive him here. Boissaen managed to keep pressure on the deep wound until they got here.”

  “Had the lathe running too fast. Bad wood…” mumbled the woodworker.

  “You’re going to be here for a few days, until we’re sure there’s no chaos in that wound.”

  “What … my arm?”

  “You’ll have plenty of scars. It will be a while before you’ll get full use back. We’ll have to watch for wound chaos in the shoulder for some time as well.” Herrara looked to Beltur. “You might look now.”

  “There are a few tiny points.” Beltur concentrated. “They’re gone. There’ll be more tomorrow and the next day.”

  “If you got rid of them,” demanded the boy, “why will there be more tomorrow?”

  “I can’t sense the smallest ones,” said Beltur. “Wound chaos grows from tiny points. When they get bigger, I can remove them.” If there aren’t too many. “That’s why we have to watch for a time.”

  “Your father is fortunate. Not many healers can do what Beltur can do.” Herrara gestured to Elisa, who had slipped into the surgery without Beltur noticing her. “Elisa will finish cleaning your arm, and she’ll take you to a bed where you rest.”

  “I have to get back to my shop.”

  “You need to rest right now, and we’ll need to check you in a glass or so,” said Herrara. “Then we can talk about when it would be best for you to return to your shop.”

  “Now,” insisted the woodworker.

  Beltur stepped forward. “You’re wounded. As badly as if you took a spear thrust or a crossbow quarrel in the shoulder. You just can’t go back to work, just like you couldn’t go back to fight—not unless you wanted to get killed.”

  “What do you know about fighting?”

  “I was an undercaptain and a Spidlarian arms-mage during the invasion. I fought with a recon company. I also healed a few men and saw far more buried. You can leave … if you want your son to bury you.” That was an exaggeration, but not much of one.

  The woodworker slumped slightly. “Didn’t seem that bad.”

  “It will later today, and tomorrow.” Herrara gestured to Elisa, who moved forward, carrying a bottle of spirits and clean dressings.

  The two older healers left the surgery and walked back to Herrara’s study. There Herrara turned to Beltur. “You’re spoiling me, you know? With you, I can do things better, or faster, than I can with anyone else. We’ve done some healing I wouldn’t even have tried without you because it would have killed the patient.”

  “You’re talking as if we’re leaving tomorrow.”

  “I need to get used to the idea. Most of Axalt won’t know what they’ve lost, but I do.”

  “They have you, and you’re more than the Council deserves.”

  “That may be, but what about the people who don’t have their own healers? Or those in the poorhouse or the workhouses?”

  Beltur definitely didn’t have an answer for her questions. “That’s why you’re here.”

  “Can you think of a better reason?”

  “No,” he said with a rueful smile.

  “Wherever you go…” she began, then shook her head. “I don’t have to tell you anything like that. You’ve already seen how power ignores poverty.”

  “They don’t ignore it,” said Beltur. “They don’t even see it. They think everyone is like them, except without silvers, and that they’re poor because they’re lazy or have to work hard because they make bad decisions.”

  “As if those in power don’t make bad decisions,” said Herrara gently.

  “Silvers and golds can make up for a lot of bad decisions,” replied Beltur.

  “We both know that. Knowing that won’t change anything. You might as well look in on those still here. There’s an older serving maid upstairs. She says she fell and broke her leg. The older man without any family died last night. He never would tell anyone his name. I wonder if he actually had family and didn’t want to be a burden on them.”

  Beltur had wondered that himself. He turned toward the shelves and picked up a basket and a bottle of spirits, then left the study and headed toward the stairs.

  LXXV

  Threeday brought another light snow, and Beltur trudged through it along the south town road to the smithy, walking past two workhouse wagons whose crews were busy shoveling the road clear.
When he reached the smithy and took off his coat and scarf, he could see that Jorhan was busy at the workbench, and that several molds were laid out, and one was heating on the forge.

  Jorhan didn’t said anything until Beltur walked over to the workbench. “Don’t know what you said to that councilor mage, but late yesterday, this metals factor came by. Fellow named Stahlyn. Said he had ten stones’ worth of good copper and a stone of tin. Wasn’t cheap, but I’ve paid more, sometimes a lot more. He even had it on his wagon, like he knew I’d buy it. Had to have him drive me back to the house to get the silvers, but he didn’t seem to mind.”

  Beltur nodded. The copper was another message. “So you’ve got molds going here.”

  “Might as well. Be better for both of us.” Jorhan paused. “You’ll still get your share. Might be a while, but we’ll find a way to get it to you, wherever you two end up.”

  “It’s likely going to be five of us. Lhadoraak and Tulya are less than impressed with Axalt, and it’s awfully cold for Tulya.”

  “I can’t say I blame them, the way the Council questioned them about their daughter. Seven years old and the Council worrying about whether she’ll be some sort of white witch.”

  “She’ll be a white, but a mage, not a witch.” After a momentary hesitation, Beltur asked, “Are we back to working on blades?”

  “A dagger and a sabre first, then a pair of candelabra. The melt’s ready to heat.”

  Beltur nodded and walked over to the bellows.

  When he left the forge at fourth glass, he was vaguely surprised that he wasn’t particularly tired, but then he’d been using magery at the healing center, and he’d also been doing more than a little walking and riding.

  Jessyla and Tulya were in the kitchen when he arrived, and Lhadoraak was outside splitting wood. Taelya was sitting on the padded bench looking at the hearth. So Beltur smiled and said, “Time for a magery lesson, Taelya.”

  “Right now, Uncle Beltur?”

  “Why not? I’ll wager you’ve not been practicing with your shields as much as you should be.”

  “I have too.”