Outcasts of Order

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “OOO!!!” Errakyn paled, and swayed as he sat on the bed. “Stop whatever you’re doing!”

  Beltur stopped and waited several moments before asking, “Has the pain stopped or gone back to where it was?”

  “Hasn’t stopped. It’s maybe a little worse than it was.”

  “In a moment, I’m going to try something else.” This time, Beltur eased a tiny bit of free chaos into the knot. From what he could tell the knot seemed to relax, but it didn’t get any smaller. “How’s that?”

  “It’s better. It just aches now.”

  “Good. We’ll just have to see whether it improves or whether you’ll need another treatment.”

  “You won’t do that first thing again?”

  “No,” promised Beltur. “I tried the one I thought would hurt less first. I was wrong. There’s no way to tell unless you try.” For me, anyway.

  “It is better,” said the logger.

  “We’ll have to see how it goes. I can’t do any more right now.” Beltur just hoped that what he’d done had actually removed some of the pain and not that the pain that Errakyn had just seemed less after the use of order had triggered more severe pain. “I’ll check back later.”

  The loggers were back at their plaques almost before he was out of the room, and that was a good sign, although he wondered where they’d gotten the deck of plaques. He climbed the steps and made his way to Klaznyt’s room.

  The gambler was looking morosely at the wall. After a moment, he turned to Beltur. “Are you ever taking off all these splints?”

  “You’ll get them off when the bones are mostly healed. That’s what I’m here to check on. Even when you get the splints off, you’ll have to be very careful for almost half a season, or you could break them again.”

  “I didn’t break them the first time,” groused Klaznyt.

  “You could be the one to break them the second time.”

  Beltur let his senses range over Klaznyt’s hands, first the left and then the right. He thought he could sense why Herrara was concerned. He straightened.

  “Well…? When am I getting them off?”

  “That’s up to Healer Herrara. I can say you’re getting closer.”

  “Is that all you can say?”

  “She has much more experience with multiple breaks than I do.”

  “But you’re a mage.”

  “She’s a very experienced healer. I’ve only been a healer for a year or so.” And that’s an exaggeration. “That came long after I became a mage.”

  “I hope you two don’t keep me here forever.”

  “We wouldn’t think of it,” replied Beltur cheerfully.

  Almost two glasses passed before Beltur finished all he had to do and returned to Herrara’s study, where she was talking to Elisa.

  Instead of entering he waited in the hall until the young healer left.

  “What did you find out?”

  Beltur relayed what he’d discovered about Errakyn’s pain and what he’d done.

  Herrara frowned. “I wish I could sense the way you can.”

  “I don’t know if what I’m doing will work. I’ll have to check him later today.”

  “What about Klaznyt?”

  “I looked at Klaznyt’s hands. You’ve got much more experience than I do with broken bones. This is the only time I’ve been anywhere that I could even see how bones healed.”

  “From the way you say that, you’re worrying about something.”

  “Have you thought about splinting his middle finger and index fingers on each hand together for another eightday or so? I don’t know…” Beltur shrugged.

  Herrara smiled. “You’ve got good instincts. That’s what I planned, but I wanted to see what you thought. What did you tell him?”

  “Just that it was getting close to the time that some of the splints might be able to come off. I did say that when they came off, his fingers wouldn’t be fully healed and that he’d need to be careful. I’m not sure that he will be, though.”

  “That’s his problem. We can let him go once he’s got some use of his hands … and Elisa will be very happy about that.”

  “Have you heard anything … from Eshult?”

  “He sent a note, saying that he’d like to meet with me, but that it would have to wait an eightday or so.”

  “That suggests he really wants to, but that he has to be careful for some reason.”

  “That was my thought. We’ll just have to see.”

  Beltur nodded. He had the feeling that there were a great many things about which he was just going to have to see, especially about where he and Jessyla, and Lhadoraak, Tulya, and Taelya, might end up.

  At the same time, he did have the feeling that the rest of the day at the healing house was going to be uneventful, and that would be just fine with him.

  LXXXII

  Worried as he was about being able to finish Eshult’s mirror before he had to leave Axalt, Beltur was at the smithy earlier on fiveday, early enough that he was the one building the forge fire while Jorhan made some adjustments to the mold for the mirror sheet of cupridium.

  Then he stood by watching as Jorhan heated the mold.

  “Warmer again this morning,” offered the smith. “Either it’s spring or we’ve got a northeaster coming in tomorrow. Don’t envy you traveling this early in spring.”

  “I’m not looking forward to that,” admitted Beltur, “and I don’t like leaving you and Johlana. It just seems that there’s some force out there, maybe it’s chaos, that doesn’t want us working together.”

  “Had that feeling myself. Thought about going with you, but not with what happened to Barrynt. Johlana, it wouldn’t be right to leave her. Maybe later, if she’s settled, and maybe not.”

  Beltur could see that. Even though he’d never thought himself that close to his uncle, there was still an emptiness there. And there might always be.

  “Time to get the forge ready for the melt.”

  Beltur moved to the bellows.

  Almost a glass passed before Jorhan was satisfied with both the mold and the melt, and the liquid bronze flowed into the mold. Then Beltur began setting the order/chaos mesh in place, trying to feel so that it was perfectly aligned and balanced. In a way he couldn’t describe, he could sense that the mesh was too low, yet when he eased it upward, it felt somehow … off.

  More than two quints later, he knew he’d been right, and he turned to Jorhan as he surveyed the mold. “I think we’re going to have problems with the mirror sheet. Now that I’m sensing it, I have the feeling it’s going to split if you try to work it at all.” Beltur knew what the problem was—that with the thinness of the bronze both the structure of the order/chaos mesh net and its placement had to be perfect.

  “You’re sure?” asked Jorhan.

  “Fairly sure. I haven’t been working with that thin a casting in a while, and … well, it doesn’t feel right, and I didn’t sense that it wasn’t right until the bronze was too cool to move it.”

  “Sometimes, things just don’t go right. First time around, with Halhana’s mirror, I couldn’t get the mold right.”

  “This time, it wasn’t the mold.”

  Beltur spent another half quint, still studying the cooling metal, until he had a better feel.

  By the time Jorhan had adjusted and trimmed the second mold and they had the melt ready it was well into afternoon. All in all, Beltur didn’t finish setting the order/chaos mesh in the second pouring until close to fifth glass, but he could sense that it was solid when he stepped away from the mold.

  “That’s much better,” Beltur said to the smith.

  “That means the hardest part is over, and I can get on with the finishing tomorrow.”

  “What else do we need to cast?”

  “Just a set of pins. I won’t be able to mold them until I have the mirror polished and set in the frame sections. They won’t take long. We can do those on sevenday.”

  “I’ll see you then.” Beltur nodded
and made his way toward the door.

  “Johlana told me to remind you that all five of you are coming to dinner on eightday.”

  “Thank you. I’m reminded.” Beltur doubted that he would have been able to forget, since Jessyla had already told him twice.

  The late afternoon was warm enough that he didn’t have to fasten his coat or wrap his scarf around his ears for the walk back to the cot. A sheen of water covered the paving stones at the end of the road, and he could hear the gurgling of meltwater in places.

  As soon as he opened the cot door, Taelya turned from where she sat on the padded bench. “Uncle Beltur’s home!”

  Jessyla hurried out from the kitchen. “You didn’t stop by the factorage, did you?”

  Beltur shook his head as he finished hanging up his coat and scarf. “Was I supposed to? Is something wrong?”

  “I hope not, but you’re later than usual.”

  “That’s because we had trouble pouring and casting the mirror sheet for Eshult’s mirror, and we’re getting short on time. It took two pourings to get it right. And since Eshult’s paying when it’s finished…”

  Jessyla nodded. “That’s a few more silvers.”

  “Quite a few,” Beltur said.

  “We’ve talked about this before, but it doesn’t seem like … that something … doesn’t want you to be a smith.” She shook her head. “That’s just silly, I know, but I feel that way.”

  “Whatever that something is, it doesn’t seem to want us to stay long in any one place.”

  “Maybe that’s because we’re not in the right place yet.”

  “If that’s so, I hope we don’t have to travel through all of Candar to find the right place … if there even is such a place.”

  “There is a place. We just have to find it.”

  And just how will we know what place is the right place, even if we do get there? With a rueful smile, Beltur pushed away the question and walked toward the kitchen with Jessyla.

  LXXXIII

  For Beltur, sixday and sevenday seemed to go by in almost a blur, although sixday was much colder and several digits’ worth of snow fell, most of which had melted by afternoon on sevenday. And when Beltur left the smithy on sevenday afternoon, Eshult’s mirror was complete, and Jorhan was doing some final polishing.

  Eightday felt slightly cooler when Beltur walked to the healing house for what was his last day working there, barring a northeaster or some event totally unforeseen. In some ways, it felt as though he’d been working as a healer far longer than just a season, but then, he’d learned a great deal from Herrara, although it had also become clear that there was always more to learn and the variety of ways in which people could injure themselves or others was clearly endless.

  After he’d reached the healing house and stepped into Herrara’s study, she motioned for him to sit down across the table desk from her. “This looks to be your last day here.” She put two silvers on the desk and slid them toward Beltur. “Since you’ve always been paid an eightday in arrears, and you won’t be here on either twoday or the next day, those are your pay for the last two eightdays.”

  “I should have been paying you for all that I’ve learned,” replied Beltur.

  “You didn’t ask to be paid. I offered. I’ve learned a few things from you as well.”

  Beltur thought that Herrara was being too generous, but merely said, “I appreciate both the knowledge and the pay. I feel I should offer to reimburse you for the mage-healer tunic.”

  “If I’d paid for it, I’d accept your offer,” replied Herrara. “I didn’t. The Council did, and they can well afford to pay for it after the way things have turned out.”

  Sensing the truth of her words, Beltur smiled wryly. “They can indeed.”

  “Do you have any idea what you’re doing, besides leaving Axalt and heading to Montgren? Or what you’ll do when you get there?”

  “That’s not really a question, is it?”

  Herrara smiled. “Not really. And that’s not an answer.”

  Beltur chuckled. “No, it’s not. I can only say that I don’t intend to try to settle down anywhere that we can’t live the way we want to—all of us, and that includes Taelya. With three mages, two healers, and a budding white, we have enough behind us to treat for what we need. At least, I hope so.”

  “Forget about hoping. Just be straightforward from the beginning. I’ve heard that the Duchess is rather direct. I don’t know as it’s true, but a woman in power in Candar usually has to be very strong and straightforward or incredibly devious and cruel. I think we’d know were she that cruel. Then again, the most devious people can appear straightforward. Some people who are very straightforward seem scheming to those who are devious because the deceivers cannot believe that such directness is anything but a ploy or a stratagem.”

  “In short, people may be what they seem, but they just might not be.”

  “You’re direct, Beltur, but that directness serves a deeper goal. I’m not sure you even know what it is, but for your sake and all those who follow you, and who will follow you, I’m asking you to make sure that it’s a worthy goal, one that’s beyond mere survival. Any mage with your abilities can survive, no matter what you think.”

  “You’ve offered a good example of a goal beyond survival,” Beltur said quietly.

  “I’ve tried. Time judges more accurately than we do.” She offered a quirky smile. “That’s far too long a homily. You need to see to the patients, especially Klaznyt and Errakyn.”

  She nodded toward the door.

  Beltur nodded in return, then took the silvers, stood, and walked to the shelves for a basket before leaving the study, his thoughts swirling around what Herrara had said.

  He slowly made his way up the steps to the room that held Klaznyt, deciding to deal with the gambler first. Except he just might be a former gambler, but only for a while, unless he learns from his experiences. Beltur smiled wryly. And that was one of the things that Herrara was trying to get across to you, if politely, that you can’t keep running from things. You have to decide what you’re going to do and where you’ll do it … and make it stick.

  He was well aware that trying to make things work out didn’t always turn out well. They hadn’t for his uncle … or for Athaal … or Barrynt. But doesn’t that make it more important that you succeed?

  Even when he was barely inside the door of the room, Klaznyt began to talk. “Mage, when can I really use my fingers? Any of them? Even the fingers that aren’t bound up are stiff, and they hurt to move, and they don’t move that far.” Seeing the expression on Beltur’s face, the gambler quickly added, “I know. I’ve got most of my hands back, except for one little finger, and that was on my left hand, and without the two of you, I might not have any fingers at all. But a man has to have a way to live, that’s what I meant.”

  “You want to know when they’ll be flexible enough to hold a plaque deck so that you can get them all broken again … or get yourself killed?” Beltur’s voice was mild.

  “You don’t understand. You have the talent for magery. My only real talent is plaques … or it was. After … this … my hands likely won’t be strong enough for anything heavy. What do you expect?”

  “I expect that you’ll do the best you can. Isn’t that what all of us try to do?” Beltur paused, then decided against saying more along those lines. “Let me check your hands and fingers. Hold up your left hand first.” Beltur let his senses range over the still-injured hand, removing a few small points of wound chaos. “Now your right hand.”

  When he finished, he said, “They’re both healing nicely. Just keep moving the ones that aren’t splinted. Don’t force the movement. Moving them might hurt some, but increase how far you move them gradually.” Beltur stepped back.

  “Why don’t you like me, Mage?”

  “I don’t dislike you,” Beltur replied. “I worry about you. Your hands were broken because the others thought you cheated. What’s to stop that from happening again
if you go back to gambling?”

  “You think I cheated?”

  “You said you didn’t cheat as much as others. That suggests that the best cheaters win. If you don’t win, there’s little point to gaming, and, even if you win without cheating, people will think you cheat. Sooner or later, someone will break your hands again … or do worse.”

  “Everything in life is a gamble of some sort.”

  Beltur nodded. “You’re right.”

  “Then why are you against my gambling?”

  “From what you’ve said, you can’t win. It seems to me that there are gambles worth taking and those not worth taking. You’re telling me that gambling at plaques will always have you ending up losing, one way or another. Is that a gamble worth taking?”

  “You’re twisting my words.”

  “I just repeated what you told me. If I misstated them, I apologize. The question stays the same. Is going back to gambling at plaques worth it? That’s your decision, not mine.”

  “Have you ever gambled for anything really worth it, Mage?”

  More than you know, Klaznyt. More than you know. “That’s something I’ve had to decide, just as you’ll have to.”

  “That’s not an answer.”

  “It’s enough of one,” replied Beltur, smiling pleasantly as he headed for the door.

  “You don’t understand…”

  Beltur resisted the temptation to reply and kept walking.

  When Beltur entered Errakyn’s room, the logger was alone, the two other loggers having left on oneday, according to Jessyla, and he sat morosely on one side of his bed dealing out plaques in a form of solitaire that Beltur didn’t recognize.

  “How are your leg and foot coming?”

  “The stump’s sore, but the pain’s the same as before.”

  “The same as before what I did on eightday … or afterwards?”

  “The same as after.”

  “Then we’ll try another round. Just the second type,” Beltur added quickly as he saw the logger’s face tighten. “I couldn’t tell which would work better without trying both.”