L. Modesitt - Natural Ordermage

“I’m sorry.”

She smiled. “Usually, it’s best when nothing happens.”

Rahl considered that for a moment, then nodded. He hadn’t thought of things that way, but most happenings that were interesting weren’t all that good. His experiences of the past eightday were good examples.

“Has anything interesting happened in Land’s End?” she asked. “We’re always so busy here that sometimes it’s days before we find out things.”

“Well…the Council issued a declaration forbidding trade with Jerans and Jeranyi merchants and goods. That’s because of the pirates. They closed down the chandlery-”

“Old Hostalyn’s place? They closed it?”

“Kehlyrt-he’s a trader from the south-bought it from Hostalyn.”

“Oh…was that why the redheaded woman was there? I thought she was maybe a niece or something and that he’d been ill.” Shahyla absently pressed the side of her thumb against her left eye to still the twitching.

“No, he’s a widower, and his son and daughter help him…or they did. No one seems to know why the Council shut it down and posted guards. Oh, and then the Council Guards carted off Balmor because he did something. I was coming out of the alchemist’s when that happened, and he kept saying he hadn’t done anything.” Rahl took another swallow of the full-bodied ale. He did like it better than the watered ale he sometimes got at home.

Shahyla frowned. “I didn’t know Balmor that well, but he never seemed like he’d do something wrong. All that sounds like the Council is worried about something.”

“And…” he’d wondered about saying anything, but decided to anyway, “I’m probably going to have to take some training with the magisters.”

“That’s wonderful! Will you be a mage, then?”

Rahl shook his head. “Magister Puvort says that I have a little talent with order and that, unless I learn about it, I could get myself in difficulty.”

“Puvort?” Shahyla’s face clouded. “Semmelt says he’s trouble, that he’s always looking for the worst in folks.”

Rahl was glad that someone else felt that way, but he only nodded. “I’ve wondered about that, but he finally came to the house on sixday. I’m supposed to see him tomorrow.”

“Be careful.”

“I’ll be as careful as I can.”

Abruptly, she stood. “You’re hungry. Don’t your parents feed you?”

“Before I leave, but it’s a long walk.”

“If you’re like Semmelt, you need to eat all the time. Let me get you some bread and cheese.”

“I can come in…”

“You’ve had a long walk. I’ll be right back.”

Rahl didn’t protest but sat back in the bench and waited for Shahyla to return. Even if all they did was talk, he was enjoying the afternoon.

Because he was thinking all too much about what oneday might bring, Rahl didn’t sleep very well. It wasn’t because his parents had lectured him, either. When he’d finally walked into the house late on eightday afternoon, his parents had been at the table. Once they’d confirmed that he’d done nothing untoward in dealing with Shahyla, the conversation had quickly turned to innocuous subjects. That had concerned him more than if they had lectured him, but he wasn’t about to bring up anything that would only bring more criticism. He’d had enough of that already, especially when so much of what they found fault with hadn’t been his doing.

Pleasant as his afternoon with Shahyla had been, once he was lying in the darkness of his own small sleeping chamber, the pleasure of the afternoon was not enough to stave off his worries-from the veiled warnings from Puvort, Rahl’s own concerns about Fahla, the more direct threats from Jaired, and the possibility that he might actually be forced to consort Jienela just because he’d gone along with her desire to sleep with him.

He woke early, without prompting from either parent, ate, and finished his chores.

Before he was finally ready to set out for the Black Holding, his father called him aside.

“The less you say to Magister Puvort,” cautioned Kian, “the better. Just tell him that you’ve thought over his words and that you’ve realized the wisdom of his suggestion.”

“Yes, ser.”

“After you return,” Kian said, “then we’ll visit Jienela’s parents.”

“Her parents?”

“Her brother has demanded you consort her, has he not? That’s not properly his position. Her parents may not wish a consorting with a penniless scrivener. Or we may be able to make other arrangements. Much of that will depend on what Magister Puvort determines. You might ask him, as well, if his training has any restrictions. If he asks why, you could certainly tell him that your parents wanted to know.”

Rahl wasn’t sure he wanted to meet Jienela’s parents, but with the way his father was talking, it was clear he had little choice. “I don’t know how long I’ll be.”

“I’ve not seen any of the magisters chewing the wind long.”

Neither had Rahl. “I’ll be back when I can.”

Kian gave Rahl a firm thump on the back. “Off with you.”

Rahl had thought to take the woods path, but if he did, he’d have to explain more to his father than he wished. So, with his truncheon in his belt, he started off. The sky was hazy, and clouds were building to the northwest, but they were still well out over the ocean. Any rain that might come would not arrive until afternoon.

There was no one on the lane-not until he was almost past the orchard wall. Then two figures sauntered out from the gate-Jaired and his older brother Jeason, who was far taller and broader than Jaired.

“We thought you might be sneaking off somewhere.” Jaired’s voice held a sneer.

“I’m supposed to meet with one of the magisters.”

“A likely story,” replied Jeason.

“So…when are you coming to ask for her hand?”

“My father and I will come to talk to your parents after I return from seeing Magister Puvort.” There was no point in not admitting that, not the way Kian had been talking.

“What about right now?” Jaired’s inquiry was anything but a question.

“Because I’m going to see Magister Puvort,” Rahl said calmly. He could sense the rage in Jaired. Was that because Jaired didn’t want Rahl to escape being consorted? Because he’d been forced into agreeing to consort Coerlyne?

“You’re not going anywhere, little scrivener,” Jaired said, “except to see our da. Right now.”

“I’m afraid that’s not possible.” Rahl started to turn away from the two.

A flash of something-power or order-flashed toward Jaired, and all the grower’s restraints dropped away. He charged Rahl.

Rahl’s hand dropped to the grip of his truncheon, and he had it out well before Jaired was upon him.

Jaired attacked like a maddened bull-straight at Rahl.

The younger man dodged, gave a kick to the side of Jaired’s knee that unbalanced him. Then, in the moment while Jaired was struggling to catch his balance, Rahl slammed his truncheon across the other’s lower forearm.

“Ohhhh!” Jaired’s yell was loud, half scream. His truncheon lay on the road stones, and he had to use his left hand and arm to grasp and support his right forearm. It was clearly crooked.

“Friggin’ little scrivener!” Jeason charged wildly at Rahl, his truncheon held far too high.

As his father had taught him, Rahl dropped, then half pivoted and used his shoulder to drop Jeason onto the stone surface of the road. Before the older grower could shake his head to clear it, Rahl slammed his truncheon against Jeason’s wrist. Bones cracked, and Jeason’s truncheon dropped from his hand.

“We’ll get you, we will. You’re a white demon…the magisters will take care of you,” muttered Jeason through nearly clenched teeth.