L. Modesitt - Natural Ordermage

“Why did I do this?” asked the mage-guard, looking at the younger man.

Still sweating and breathing heavily, Rahl stared at Taryl. After a moment, he said, “Was it to prove my shortcomings?”

“In a way, but not in the way you think. Inside, you were still arrogant. You still are, but now there are some doubts. You have always had the feeling that you could overcome anyone, if the odds were anywhere close to even. Rahl…the odds are almost never close to even. Most times, the thieves and brigands-and the others you’ll have to bring to justice-won’t stand a chance against you. Some few times, it will be the other way. You have to understand, not just with your head, that there’s always that slight chance that you might come out on the short end of the staff.”

Rahl knew that. He did…didn’t he? Except…

“Have you ever lost a fight anywhere except here?”

Rahl wanted to look down. “No. Not really.”

“Would it have made any difference if you had been surrounded by three men with staffs or blades in that darkness, rather than me? Until the end, that is?”

Rahl had to think about that. “Until I could sense you…ah…probably not.”

“Oh, you could have killed one or two, but not all three, and that’s an instance where, if you’re not totally successful, it doesn’t matter. Ah, yes, I killed two, but the third killed me.”

Rahl winced. He hadn’t thought that, and yet…

“Good.”

“I meant what I said about fairness. Life is not fair. Some people have ability; some do not. Some have wealth; most do not. Some are fortunate; some are not. Horrible things happen to good people, and fortune often smiles on the evil. That is the way of the world. A mage-guard’s duty is no more and no less than to make the world less unfair by reducing the unfairness created by evil. But never think that you will make matters fair or just. You will not. You will only make them less unfair and less unjust.” Taryl smiled ruefully. “Why else did I do this?”

“To force me…to become one-I think that’s it-with my order-senses?”

“Exactly. You have still been thinking of yourself and your abilities as two separate and different things. For a natural ordermage, such as you, there can be no separation. This would have been easier if you hadn’t been dosed with nemysa. It has a tendency to separate a mage from his abilities, in addition to suppressing memories.” Taryl paused, then added, “Although it would have been hard for you in any case. The magisters in Nylan didn’t do you any favors by insisting on all that book learning without also working on feelings.”

Rahl stiffened. Was that why he’d been drawn to Deybri? Because she operated more on feelings?

“You remembered something important?”

“I was thinking about the only one whose words and acts made sense there, and she was the one who dealt more with feelings and acts.”

Taryl laughed gently. “That’s obvious.”

“Ser?”

“You’ll have to deal with that on your own, Rahl. Now, go get a shower. You smell like a slogger. After that, you can go back to copying. You won’t feel like much more than that for a few days. Oh…and I’ll take the staff.”

Silently, Rahl handed the staff to the mage-guard.

“And for the sake of both order and chaos, stop thinking about fairness in personal terms. With the skills you have, the world has been more than fair to you.” Taryl nodded. “Go get cleaned up.”

“Yes, ser.” Rahl turned and began to walk slowly-and painfully-toward the showers. He had no doubts that the aches and pains would increase, but, he marveled as he closed his eyes for a moment, he could still sense everything around him, even the wound chaos of the rat dying of poison within the walls to his left.

By eightday morning, when Rahl showered and dressed, his bruises had turned yellow and purple. All of them hurt to the touch, some more than others. Thankfully, most were concealed by his khaki uniform. Every movement still caused lingering pain or soreness…somewhere. Yet the dull aches and occasional sharp pains didn’t matter so much, not now that he had his order-sensing back. He’d tried to create shields, but that skill evaded him-so far.

After a hurried breakfast, he stood outside the station building with Talanyr, waiting for the wagon. Rhiobyn was talking to Klemyl several cubits away.

“…don’t know what he did to upset Taryl…beaten within a span of his life…could hardly move yesterday morning…”

“…Taryl…doesn’t do anything without a reason…”

“Are you sure you can stand a wagon ride to Guasyra?” asked Talanyr. “You had trouble sitting still at copying yesterday.”

“I can handle a wagon ride fine, and I’d like to get away from the station, even if it’s a touch uncomfortable.” Rahl adjusted his uniform visor cap, almost the same as that of a mage-guard, except there was no starburst above the black visor. With the heat of summer and the clear sky, he was grateful for the cap.

Under the early-morning light, Talanyr surveyed Rahl. “He really beat you up, didn’t he?”

“He had to.”

Talanyr nodded. “Sometimes, it’s that way.”

“I see Klemyl over there…and Rhiobyn.”

“Rhiobyn fancies he can learn something from him, but Klemyl just wants to get to Guasyra to see his consort and his son.”

“Doesn’t Rhiobyn see that?”

“He was raised in Cigoerne, and that’s where Rhiobyn wants to be.” Talanyr laughed. “It’s not impossible…but it’s not likely.”

The two turned as the long wagon rumbled up.

Rahl had to steel himself as he climbed aboard, and he let out a slow breath as he settled onto the hard seat in the fourth row.

“You’re sure you’ll be all right?” asked Talanyr.

“I’m fine.” Rahl did have to sit with more weight on his left buttock. “Tell me about Jabuti, since I’ll probably never get there.”

“It’s a little place smaller than Guasyra. There’s only one market square, and it’s not even on a paved highway. That doesn’t matter much because it almost never rains or snows there. All the rain falls in the western forests below the highlands…”

Rahl sat back, if gingerly, and listened as the wagon began the long ride up the road to the pass, and then down to Guasyra.

Prompted by an occasional question, Talanyr was still talking when the wagon neared the twin-spired Kaordist temple, and the muted sounds of song wafted toward them on the still air.

“Their song sounds ordered,” Rahl pointed out.

“They have disordered drums sometimes, I’ve heard.”

Rahl was still half-listening to Talanyr and pondering why anyone would worship order and chaos-they just were -when the wagon came to a stop opposite the market square in the small town.

“…anyway, despite what my father hoped, there wasn’t much point in carrying the timber up over the passes, except for the little that people in Jabuti needed. It was so much cheaper to float it down the river and ship it to the coastal ports…”

“Always the golds,” agreed Rahl as he eased off the wagon, concealing a wince. The odor of burning charcoal wafted past him, suggesting that the vendors were preparing their braziers for a day of cooking. He glanced toward the raised platform of the square, where some sellers were still setting up awnings and tents.

“Let’s head south, toward the river park,” suggested Talanyr. “The vendors are running late. We can come back later. Are you game for trying a place that serves Sylpan food? Not now, but this afternoon?”

“What’s it like?” asked Rahl warily. Hamorian cooking seemed to be prepared either as hot and spicy or hotter and spicier.