L. Modesitt - Natural Ordermage

Rahl shook his head.

Given the whiteness he’d sensed around the head clerk the year before, and Daelyt’s consort’s inability to walk far, he doubted that Daelyt had left the Association. Then, what would happen when Shyret was rotated to another port? Did the clerk remain? Follow the managing director? Find another position?

Rahl didn’t know and wished that he did.

He turned his attention to the cantina immediately on his right, glancing in through the one window. Seorya was serving a couple-obviously consorted or related, or they wouldn’t have been at the same table. She looked up as he passed, but he sensed no real interest or recognition, and that was for the best.

Rahl walked another two blocks, then crossed the boulevard and walked back on the south side. He did not change his pace as he passed the warehouse yard gates once more, although he did try to sense anything out of the ordinary. All he could feel was a sense of whiteness, not overpowering, but stronger than when he had been a clerk.

At least, he thought it was stronger, but, honestly, how would he know, with all the changes that had affected his order-abilities. He also sensed the presence of a pair of guards, not near the gates, but one near the doors to each of the two warehouses. The additional guard was a change. He did not sense anyone within the main building as he passed, but that did not surprise him greatly.

By the time he’d walked back to the avenue, the couple had vanished, and the walkway and the stone benches were all deserted. His boots echoed hollowly on the stone, the sound matched only by the clopping of the now-infrequent carriages.

He had to wonder about the greater chaos-mist around the warehouses-and the night guards-but there wasn’t much that he could say or do. Not for now. He continued to make his way back to the mage-guard quarters.

Sixday morning began as any other morning had over the past eightday at the duty desk, except that Rahl was paired with Carlyse, the older red-haired chaos mage-guard who sparred verbally with most of the men.

Her first words to Rahl were delivered softly and with a smile. “You were a pretty boy before Luba, weren’t you?”

Her words did not so much take him off guard as bring up the image of Deybri saying, “You’re too much of a pretty boy.”

When he didn’t answer immediately, Carlyse laughed, not mockingly. “You’ve had to live with that, haven’t you?”

Living with memories and thoughtless words was just a small unpleasantness in life. That Rahl knew, but he could still feel a torrent of rage that the words had stirred up. Had Puvort gone after him because he was good-looking? Had the magisters dismissed him because his looks had convinced them that he couldn’t learn or think?

“That’s the advantage of being a mage-guard, Rahl,” Carlyse went on conversationally. “Your looks don’t matter nearly so much. The uniform and what you accomplish do.” She glanced at what he had already written. “Good hand, too. Mind if I ask how you ended up as a mage-guard?”

“I was a clerk, and I saw something someone didn’t want me to, but I didn’t think they knew I’d seen it. I was wrong, and I woke up working in Luba, without any memories at first. The overseers discovered I could write and handle numbers, and they made me a checker. Then Taryl found me and told me I’d been dosed with something. He made me a mage-clerk and started training me.” Rahl shrugged.

“You were a mage, but you were a clerk?” Carlyse raised her finely drawn left eyebrow.

“I had limited abilities, and Recluce tossed me out because they said I wasn’t trainable. I got a job as a clerk here. I did register, of course. But Taryl discovered that Recluce hadn’t been training me right.”

“He’s good at that. He did something like that with Saelyt, and some others.” Carlyse looked up as Captain Gheryk neared the desk. “Nothing happening, ser.”

“That’s always good.” The captain paused. “Portmaster says we may be getting another Jeranyi ship. If you’d pass that along to the pier mages.”

“Yes, ser.”

Gheryk glanced at Rahl. “You finding your way around, Rahl?”

“Yes, ser.”

“Good.” With a warm smile and a nod, Gheryk turned and headed toward his study.

“Two Jeranyi ships here at the same time…that’s always more work.”

“Because the crews are disorderly?”

“Half of them act as if they don’t care if they live or die, so long as they get what they want right now. We end up flaming or sending one or two to Luba or the quarries nearly every single time they port.”

“Is that a lot worse than the ships from other lands?”

“They all have problems at times, but the Jeranyi make the others look like scared schoolchildren.” Carlyse stood. “Just hold the desk. You know enough. I want to tell Suvynt about the Jeranyi while he’s still at the pier gate. I won’t be long.”

While he sat alone at the duty desk, Rahl struggled to deal with the anger raised by Carlyse’s question. Why did everyone have expectations based on what they thought they saw?

“Ser…?”

Rahl looked up to see a youth, barely old enough to have the first hints of a beard, walking toward the duty desk. His accent was Hamorian, but not from a region Rahl recognized. “Yes? Can I help you?”

“I’m supposed to do something like get a bracelet that says…I don’t know.” The young man was trembling.

“Let’s start at the beginning,” Rahl said, extending his own order-senses and discovering the weak, but definite, hints of chaos, around the youth. “What’s your name? Were you born in Hamor?”

“Kiehyt, ser. I was born…ah…in Cienta. That’s near Heldya.”

“Who told you to come here, and why?”

“I was working in the bakery, I mean, we came to Swartheld ’cause my uncle has a bakery, and the drought burned out the old place…ground wasn’t that good anyway…”

Rahl listened politely.

“…and Uncle Jeahat, he couldn’t get the coals to light, and I just sort of looked at them, and they did, and he got scared and told me to come here and never come back there, and that if I didn’t, he’d tell the mage-guards, and you’d send me to the quarries.”

“No one is sending you to the quarries.” Rahl hoped that was so, because the youth didn’t look strong enough to lift a shovel, let alone massive stones. “We do need to…take care of some things, but you’ll have to wait a few moments for another mage-guard to help.”

Carlyse showed up within moments, looking from the youth to Rahl.

“Kiehyt. He’s a chaos type,” Rahl explained. “Not too strong yet, and he lit the oven coals in the bakery, and his uncle threatened him with the quarries and worse if he didn’t come here. That much reads true.”

Carlyse studied the youth, then nodded. “He’ll have to go to school in Diancyr. He’s older than most of them, but that’s not a problem.”

Kiehyt looked from Rahl to Carlyse and back to Rahl.

“You could be a type of mage,” Rahl said, “but you need to go to a special school.”

“I know my letters…I do. Don’t put me in gaol.”

“You need to learn more,” Rahl said.

“No one’s going to put you in gaol,” added Carlyse.

“Come with me, Kiehyt.” Carlyse’s voice was gentle. Then she looked at Rahl. “I’ll be with Saelyt beyond the undercaptain’s office if anything comes up.”

Rahl’s anger had been submerged by his concerns for the very frightened Kiehyt, but once the youth left with Carlyse, even more questions burned through his thoughts. Why did people just throw out people who were different? Or those who didn’t-or couldn’t-obey every word slavishly? Was there really that much difference between Puvort and the boy’s uncle?