L. Modesitt - Natural Ordermage

Khorlya looked at the magister directly. “It seems like you’re more interested in punishing folks than helping ’em. Rahl was on his way to see you to ask for that training.”

“He should have done so earlier. It’s easy to claim you were about to do something.”

“You know he was.”

Kian moved beside his consort, and murmured, “It won’t do any good.”

Rahl could hear the words, low as they were. He had no doubt that the magister could as well.

“Enough, woman.” Puvort gestured to Rahl. “The rear seat.”

Rahl took his time in carefully climbing up and into the wagon.

Puvort climbed up and settled himself beside the Council Guard. He didn’t bother to look back, but as the guard flicked the leads to the pair of horses and the wagon began to move, Rahl could sense that the magister was using order to watch him.

Rahl looked back and waved to his parents, trying to convey a hopefulness he didn’t feel. His father now held Rahl’s truncheon. Rahl would have liked to have used it on Puvort’s skull. It was all too clear that the magister had set matters up to get him off Recluce, or at least to Nylan. For one thing, Puvort had to have summoned the wagon even before Jaired and Jeason had attacked him-long before. Second, there had been that sense of power emanating from somewhere, after which Jaired had attacked and Puvort had appeared. Third, now that he had thought about it, Puvort had been watching him for a while, and far more closely than Rahl had realized.

What Rahl didn’t understand was what he’d done to upset the magister, but from what Puvort had said to his mother, the magister wasn’t about to reveal that.

At the end of the street, the wagon turned east, and before long they were on the High Road, heading up the long, gradual slope toward the Black Holding. Rahl wondered if that was where they were heading, but he wasn’t about to ask Puvort anything. Not a thing.

Neither the Guard nor Puvort spoke until the wagon halted in a black-walled courtyard on the south side of the Black Holding. A pair of Council Guards stepped forward as Puvort swung off the wagon.

“You’ll go with them to the waiting room,” Puvort stated.

“Yes, ser.” Rahl vaulted out of the wagon, almost slipping as his sandals skidded on a patch of fine sand on the dark gray paving stones of the courtyard.

“This way,” said one of the guards, not unkindly.

Rahl could feel Puvort’s eyes on his back as he was escorted through an open gate and along a covered walkway to a small structure with a black-slate roof. The guard opened the door.

Inside was a small chamber with two benches, one against the wall facing the door, the other to the left.

The shorter guard pointed to the wall bench.

Rahl sat down on it. One of the guards sat on the side bench, while the other stood by the door. Each guard bore a short sword and a truncheon.

Time passed slowly. Exactly how long Rahl didn’t know, but the guards changed places several times, and from the light coming through the single small window, it was close to midday when another guard appeared. “They’re ready.”

The three escorted Rahl back outside and along the walkway to the Black Holding itself. Although the courtyard and the small building where he had waited looked old, they were almost newly built in comparison to the original structures of the Black Holding itself, which radiated age.

“In through the door,” stated the shorter guard. “Then just wait for them to summon you.”

Rahl opened the door and stepped into an oblong chamber. The two guards followed.

The room was comparatively low-ceilinged and not that large, no more than eight cubits wide and twelve in length. At the far end was a long black table, set sideways, behind which sat three magisters in black. One was a gray-haired man, another a woman who might have been his mother’s age, save that her face was unlined and her hair nearly white-blonde, and the third was Magister Puvort. Rahl hadn’t realized that Puvort was on the Council.

“This is a disciplinary session, handled by the justicing subcouncil. Bring forth the accused.”

“Step forward and stand before the magisters,” murmured the Council Guard closest to Rahl.

After a momentary hesitation, Rahl stepped forward, then inclined his head.

“You are Rahl, son of the scrivener Kian and the basketmaker Khorlya?” asked the woman.

“Yes, magistra.”

“You are accused of misusing order. What do you say to that?”

“Magistra…” Rahl paused for a moment. What could he say? “I did not even know that I had any abilities with order until Magister Puvort suggested that I might. He told me that I should consider coming here to take training from the magisters. That was less than an eightday ago. At first, that seemed impossible. I did not believe I had such abilities. Then, last sixday, he came to our house and suggested it again. In fact, he said he hoped to see me today. I talked this over with my parents, and we all agreed that I should do what the magister said, but since he said that he would be traveling until today, I waited until this morning. It did not seem that would be too long since Magister Puvort had first mentioned it. Once my chores were done, I set out…”

As simply as he could, Rahl related what had happened. He did not mention the feeling of order from the hidden magister Puvort, but otherwise, he told everything. “…and then Magister Puvort appeared. He said that I had misused order, but I was only defending myself against two men who are both older than I am, and I didn’t use order. I just used my truncheon. I wouldn’t even know how to use order.”

“Yet you broke the wrist of a man who was on the ground,” observed Puvort.

“He wasn’t going to stay there, ser,” replied Rahl, “and they both threatened me.”

“That is supposition, not fact,” said Puvort mildly.

“Be that as it may,” added the gray-haired magister, “you misused order in your seduction of young Jienela, and you attempted to avoid consorting with her. You tried to avoid-”

“Ser! She’s older than I am, and Magister Puvort even said that she was as much at fault as-”

“Silence!”

Rahl decided against saying more. It was clear that Puvort had already persuaded the magisters that everything was Rahl’s doing and fault.

“…and you only decided to seek order training after it was clear that you would risk punishment or exile if you did not.”

The woman in the center looked to Puvort, then to the gray-haired magister. Then she looked back at Rahl. “The Council has decided that you are not suited to remain on that part of Recluce under the control of the Council. You may not be suited to remain in Nylan, either, but that decision will be made by the engineers. You are hereby sentenced to removal to Nylan, and you will remain in the custody of the Council until you arrive in Nylan.” She nodded brusquely. “That is all. Remove the prisoner.”

“But…” Rahl closed his mouth. Nothing he could say would change matters.

“Very wise, young Rahl,” said Puvort quietly. “Very wise.”

Rahl sat on the edge of the pallet bed. His cell was on the lower level of the keep in Land’s End. All that the cell held were the pallet, the pallet frame, a chamber bucket, and a water bucket. He’d been in the cell for close to two days, and all he’d seen were the guards when they brought him his single daily meal-a bowl of gruel. The bucket of water had to last the entire day.

The more he thought about what had happened, the angrier he felt. The Council, or the sub-Council, hadn’t even heard a word he’d said. They’d all decided to send him to Nylan before he’d ever walked into the hearing chamber. Puvort had probably planned it all for eightdays, if not longer, just the way he’d planned to kill Khelyrt and send Fahla and Faseyn off into slavery. He’d told Rahl’s parents that Jienela was equally to blame, and then told the Council that it was all Rahl’s fault. They hadn’t even given him a chance to explain anything, or the fact that Rahl would have consorted Jienela if his parents had insisted.