L. Modesitt - Natural Ordermage

“Nothing. Not anymore. I’m going to be an assistant purser on one of the trading ships. I’ll find out which one in the next eightday or so.”

“Is that good?” Rahl honestly didn’t know.

“Good? No. It’s better than the alternatives.” She smiled to Rahl, then nodded to Khalyt and slipped away.

“I’d better be going,” Khalyt said. “I’ll see you here and around.”

As Khalyt left, Rahl realized that he stood alone in the hall. After a moment, he shrugged and began to retrace his way out of the hall and back to his quarters. On the way, he saw others, usually in pairs, seated on benches or on the low stone walls, but no one else made any move to approach him, and he certainly didn’t feel like approaching them.

He was tired, and he could use a good night’s sleep-if all the thoughts and feelings swirling through his mind would let him sleep.

Rahl had been tired enough, but sleep eluded him for a long time as he lay in the solid bed in his new quarters, looking up into the darkness. It wasn’t the bed; it was more comfortable than his own had been. The easy charm of Khalyt had disturbed him more than the hidden sadness of Meryssa, but both had bothered him. The chilling matter-of-fact statements by Magistra Kadara hadn’t helped much either, nor had her skeptical and almost dismissive manner. Nor had the number of people bustling through the eating hall. How many exiles were there, and where had they come from?

Eventually, he did sleep…and woke with the dawn bell.

He only washed up, rather than showering, since he had showered the night before, and he wasn’t ready for another cold shower. He did shave, not that his beard was that long, with the small razor that had been wrapped in cloth and under the towel on his bed, along with the square of soap.

He was more than a little surprised to find several women swathed only in towels making their way back from the washstones. While one was more than a little shapely, another looked to be more the age of his mother. None of them gave him even a single glance, and from that he decided that manners meant not looking.

Back in his room, he finished dressing, then made his way to the eating hall. As he stepped forward to serve himself, he realized that most of those in the hall were dressed in gray, and that his brown and tan garments made him stand out.

He filled his platter and found an empty corner of a table. Someone sat down. He looked up to see a girl seated across from him. Then he realized she was older than that. She just looked girlish because she was thin and had a narrow face and long brown hair braided and coiled into a bun at the back of her head.

“Hello.”

“Hello,” Rahl replied cautiously.

“I’m Anitra. I just got here last eightday. I’m from Huldryn. You’ve probably never heard of it. It’s a hamlet west of Enstronn.”

“I haven’t heard of Enstronn,” Rahl admitted. “I’m Rahl.”

“You must be from the north.”

“Land’s End.” He took a sip of ale.

“Is the Black Holding really on a hill that overlooks the harbor? Have you ever been there? Is there anything about it that makes you think of Megaera?”

“I’ve been there. Once. That was when the Council decided to send me here. I never saw anything that might have been made by the founders…except the stonework. It was good.”

“I’m sorry. I just wondered. I didn’t mean to bother you.” She put her hands on the edges of her platter, as if to slide it away or move down the bench away from him.

“Don’t go. I’m sorry. You just surprised me.” Rahl tried to study her, to feel what she was like. He could sense nothing.

She laughed, ruefully. “You look like all the mages when they meet me. They can’t sense anything about me. That’s why I’m here. It makes them uncomfortable. Are you a beginning mage?”

“I was a scrivener. I don’t know what I’ll be. They said I might learn languages.”

“Oh…that would be so good. I’d love to learn how people in Hamor and Nordla and Austra speak.”

“The Nordlans and the Austrans speak pretty much the same as we do. At least, the letters in their books look the same.” Rahl took a large mouthful of the heavy bread, slathered with thin mixed fruit conserve, and then a bite of the breakfast sausage. He followed it with a swallow of ale, thinking, as he did, that it was far inferior to what Shahyla had given him. He almost wished that he’d just courted her and left Jienela alone-except he still recalled the gelding knife and how that had bothered him…both the knife and the casual way in which Shahyla had handled it.

“I’m studying to be a machinist.”

“A machinist?” Rahl had no idea what that even was.

“Machinists work with the engineers to cut and grind metal for machines, especially for the black ships. I’ve got good hands for that, Ludwyn says.”

“How do you cut metal? With a chisel?”

“I suppose you could, but we use wheels with sharp edges…and grindstones to smooth the edges. Special grindstones. The engines power ’em all.” Anitra stood up.

Rahl realized that she’d been eating as fast as she’d talked.

“I’ll see you later, Rahl.”

“Oh…yes.”

“Better finish that up quick. Won’t be long afore you got to be somewhere.” With a wave she was gone.

Rahl didn’t exactly gulp down the remainder of his food, but he did hurry.

Even so, there was a magistra approaching him as he rinsed his dishes.

“You must be Rahl. I’m Leyla.” She had an open cheerful face and attitude.

“Yes, magistra.” Rahl inclined his head. Behind her facade, he could feel even more of the blackness that he associated with magisters than he had with Kadara, and far more than with Magister Puvort.

“You’ve eaten. So we’ll get you some proper garments and some boots that fit, and then we’ll come back to the academy building, and I’ll give you the basics on the Balance and handling order. After that, you’ll be in the lower-level order tutoring and the introductory Hamorian language and customs class. Later on, we’ll get you into weapons training.”

Weapons training? Rahl didn’t verbalize the question.

“Sooner or later, everyone with order-skills of your potential will have to fight or defend themselves. We teach you how to do it properly.”

Even in Nylan?

Leyla did not answer that unspoken question. “This way. The wardrobing shop is west of here, past the bell tower.”

The wardrobing shop was partly set into the hillside. It looked more like one of the livestock sheds on Bradeon’s holding than a shop, except that the stonework was far better, and it had several small windows, and the roofing slates were lighter and of far better quality. The oak door was slightly ajar.

Leyla stepped inside. “Elina! I’ve brought you another one to outfit.”

Rahl entered the dimness of the shop.

There stood an angular woman of indeterminate age, raking him with her eyes. “Hmmm…northerner…broad shoulders. No hips to speak of…We’ll see what we can do.” She turned and walked down an aisle between open cabinets in which were stacked all manner of folded garments.

Before long she returned with several, all of them of a pale gray color, the same color most of those in the eating hall had worn. “Trousers, drawers, undertunic, summer tunic, belt.” She gestured toward the front corner of the shop, where a curtain hung on a bar. “Try ’em on.”

Rahl took the garments and walked to the corner. He pulled the curtain closed…or mostly closed, since it did not quite stretch from one end of the bar to the other. Even with the curtain shielding him, he felt uneasy disrobing. He shook his head and climbed out of garments that were far too soiled, and began to don the new ones.