L. Modesitt - Natural Ordermage

A muscular woman wearing black trousers and a short-sleeved black shirt walked toward the Council Guards. Her hair was red and short, barely longer than Rahl’s. Rahl could sense the Guards’ unease.

“Another one your Council doesn’t like?” she asked.

“Here are the papers, magistra.”

The woman radiated power, enough that she made Puvort seem puny in comparison, for all that she was a good head shorter than Rahl. She took the papers without looking at them and walked past the two Guards toward Rahl, stopping several cubits short of him. “What did you do?”

“I was charged with misuse of order, magistra.”

“I’m sure the papers say that. I’d like to know what you did.”

“Two men attacked me. I broke one man’s forearm with a truncheon and his brother’s wrist. Magister Puvort said that I misused order because I had order-abilities and had not asked the Council for training. That was even though I was on my way to make that request.”

She nodded, then read the papers. She turned to the Council Guards. “You can go. One way or another, he’s our responsibility now.”

Rahl didn’t like the words “one way or another.” He said nothing.

The two men quickly climbed onto the wagon seat.

The magistra said nothing until the wagon was headed back up the stone-paved High Road toward the gate in the black-stone wall.

“I’m Magistra Kadara. You’re Rahl?”

“Yes, magistra.”

“What haven’t you told me?”

Rahl didn’t quite know how to answer that. “About what, magistra?”

“A cautious one. Ah, well, let’s get you get washed up and set up with a room in the transient quarters, and then we’ll get you something to eat, and you can tell me what you really don’t want to say.”

As pleasant as Kadara appeared, Rahl felt that she was far more dangerous than Puvort.

“Follow me, if you will.”

Rahl didn’t see much choice.

They took a stone-paved walk that skirted the uphill side of the building to the west of where the wagon had stopped. A long oblong flower garden extended a good fifty cubits farther uphill. Ahead was a two-story stone structure with evenly spaced windows. The path led to a doorway on the downhill side. Kadara paused on the wide stone stoop.

“This building holds the transient quarters, and you’ll eventually meet-or at least see-everyone here. Right now, most of them are still at work.” Kadara opened the door and led him down the hallway to the third door. She opened it. Rahl noted that there was an inside bolt but no lock. The room was small, but still twice the size his own sleeping chamber at home had been. The bed was narrow and set against the far wall, but it was a real bed. Folded on the end were a blanket and a towel. There was a wall lamp, and a set of pegs on the wall for garments, and a writing table and a stool. The floor was polished gray stone. The large window was glassed, with inside shutters.

“All the rooms are the same. In the morning, we’ll find some clothing and boots that will fit you. Those of you on probation all wear light gray. The jakes and the wash showers are in the enclosed area just outside at the north end of the building. I’ll meet you where the wagon dropped you after you take care of things. Don’t be long.” With that, she turned and left Rahl standing in the room.

Rahl hurried, but the lower edge of the sun was touching the surface of the ocean by the time he finished washing up. He hurried to meet Magistra Kadara.

As if she had sensed him, Kadara stepped out of the building. “We’ll walk down to the mess area. It’s a little early, but they should have something for you to eat. How long were you in that wagon?”

“If I counted right, seven days. Most nights I was in a keep cell.”

“Someone must like you, or you’ve been very careful.”

Her words puzzled Rahl, because he didn’t sense any sarcasm behind them. He’d been accused of something he hadn’t done, exiled from his home, and packed off to Nylan, and she was saying that someone must have liked him?

“That amazes you?” Kadara asked.

“Yes, magistra.”

“That’s not completely surprising.” She gestured to the squarish structure ahead. “This is the eating hall, otherwise known as the mess. You get three meals a day here. They’re served at first morning bell, noon bell, and evening bell. That’s when the bells in the tower there ring.” She nodded toward a slightly taller square structure that stood on a low rise to the west of the eating hall. “If you want to eat at other times, the canteen in the corner of the mess is open from dawn to the lamps-out bell. But you don’t pay for the meals in the mess, and you do pay for anything you eat in the canteen. Is that clear?”

“Yes, magistra.” It was also clear that he’d be eating in the mess because he didn’t have a copper to his name.

The mess was large and simple-with a half score of long tables, flanked by benches on each side. Each table looked to seat between ten and twelve people. At the east side of the hall was a set of serving counters, and several men and women were in the process of setting out large earthenware crocks and covered platters.

“Just pick up a platter at the end there and fill it with whatever you’d like,” Kadara said. “You can have as much as you can eat, but if you’re not sure, just take a little and come back for seconds. Your eyes might be bigger than your stomach after an eightday on low rations. We’d prefer you didn’t waste food. When you’re done, you take your platter and mug to the cleaning area and rinse them and set them in the racks.”

Rahl followed her advice and took only moderate portions of the mutton in brown sauce and the lace potatoes. He took a slightly larger portion of the baked pearapples, and a small mug of ale. Then he carried his food-and the utensils he’d found at the end of the serving tables-to the table where Kadara stood.

“You’re not eating, magistra?”

“I’ll eat later. I haven’t been starved for an eightday.”

Rahl settled onto the bench. He looked at Kadara.

“Go ahead.”

He didn’t need any more encouragement.

“While you eat, I’ll fill you in on a few matters I’m sure that the magisters in the north have failed to mention,” Kadara began. “First, if anything, Nylan is more concerned about order and the Balance than is the rest of Recluce. Because we deal with black iron and machines, we have to be. We don’t tolerate any free chaos at all, and we don’t allow any chaos-wizards anywhere except on passing ships in the harbor. Second, everyone here works. Third, if you commit any offense or wrongdoing, and that includes failing to work, you’ll face immediate exile. Are those points clear?”

Rahl swallowed a mouthful of the baked pearapples, then nodded. “Yes, magistra.”

“Now…” Kadara laughed gently. “I doubt that you’ve told me the entire story, Rahl. No one ever does. Let’s start at the beginning, though. What skills do you have?”

“My father is a scrivener. I was his apprentice and assistant.”

“So you can write High and Low Temple?”

“Yes, magistra. High Temple is a little harder.”

“Do you know Nordlan or Hamorian?”

Rahl frowned. “Do Nordlans speak differently from what they write? I’ve copied their books, and the word order’s different, but not that bad.”

“Some would say so.” She seemed absently pleased by his response. “What about Hamorian?”

“No, magistra. I’ve copied their books once or twice, but I just had to copy the words letter for letter…”

“Have you read most of what you have copied? In Temple, that is?”

“Yes, magistra.”

“Do you understand what you have read?”