L. Modesitt - Natural Ordermage

“Thank you.” Rahl felt that he’d gotten the first really informative reply from anyone. “Why can’t the magisters explain things that simply?”

“Why should they?” Deybri’s tone was not quite mocking. “You’re assuming that they have an interest in making order-magery widely available. Their main concern is engineering and in minimizing chaos and the misuse of order-magery. Too many ordermages is as bad as too many chaos-mages. They’re the same thing, really.”

Rahl had to think about that. How could too many ordermages be the same as too many chaos-mages? “The Balance?”

Deybri nodded. “Having more ordermages leads to more concentrated free order, and that requires more concentrations of chaos.” She rose. “I’m sure I’ll see you around.” She smiled…warmly.

Rahl sat at the table, thinking. What Deybri was implying was that the magisters were more interested in weeding out those would-be mages who couldn’t find their own way than in helping those who didn’t understand.

That meant, like it or not, he had to figure things out. He also needed to get away from the training center.

He finished the last of his meal with a final swallow of ale, and then rose and made his way to the rinsing buckets. From the mess he headed outside, where a brisk but warm wind was blowing out of the south and up from the harbor. At the side of the main road, he paused and glanced back.

With a shake of his head, he turned and started downhill, toward the harbor. The dark gray paving stones of the road, as well as those that formed the sidewalks flanking the road, were so closely fitted together that almost no mortar was needed to provide a smooth surface. He glanced down toward the western piers, where the black ships were supposedly moored. He could barely make out the western piers, because there was a haze around them, yet the other piers were clear. Some sort of order shield? He’d have to see when he got closer to the harbor.

Each dwelling was orderly, not that he would have expected otherwise, but Nylan was even more so than Land’s End. Not only was there no garbage or trash in the road or side lanes, but there were no loose shutters, no peeling paint, not even cracked slate roof tiles. Seeing such profound order made him even more uneasy.

Despite the breeze and the light summer tunic he wore, he was sweating after he’d walked little more than a few hundred cubits. Before long, he entered an area where shops fronted dwellings, and where he could see an occasional eating place. He saw more and more folk on the streets, most moving briskly toward whatever their destinations might be. The side streets became slightly narrower, but only slightly, and the house-shops were side by side, their walls touching, although he could sense courtyards farther back. The smell of the harbor wafted toward him, but it held only the odors of the sea itself-salt and seaweed, and a faint fishlike scent-fresh fish, rather than spoiled or rotten.

As he neared the harbor and was able to catch a glimpse of the ship masts and the water, the sidewalks became more crowded, not uncomfortably so, but with far more bodies close together than he’d ever seen in Land’s End. People hurried along the sidewalks, swiftly, but pleasantly enough, avoiding each other. Those who stopped and talked stepped back almost against the stone-walled buildings.

Rahl stopped at the glass display window of a cabinetmaker, as much for the shade of the awning as to look at the furniture. In the center was a square table with inlay work that displayed a large ryall in the center, a black bloom done in lorken, outlined in golden oak. A smaller and more delicate bloom adorned each corner. While Rahl marveled at the crafting skill, for what would such a table be practically used? Playing plaques? But only the wealthiest factors and merchants could afford such crafting. Then, perhaps it was on display for the traders from the ships in the harbor.

He made his way to the waterfront and the wide stone avenue that ran along the edge of the water. The seaward side of the avenue was marked by a waist-high stone wall that dropped straight into the waters of the harbor-except where the piers extended from the avenue out into the harbor. On the shoreward side were factorages specializing in specific types of goods, chandleries, and other commercial enterprises, interspersed with taverns and an inn or two. At the foot of each stone pier was a guard stand, and each had a pair of patrollers. The patrollers faced the harbor. Moored at one of the piers was a two-masted, red-hulled steamer with paddle wheels on both sides. Behind it was a long schooner. The wagons on the pier suggested that both were loading or unloading cargo.

Rahl turned westward, in the direction of where Khalyt had said the black ships were moored. Just ahead was an open square off the avenue on the shore side past the foot of the closer pier. As he neared the square, he could see vendors and buyers, and tents whose sides billowed in the strong breeze off the water. The sounds of voices haggling and talking mixed with orders and epithets from the teamsters and stevedores on the piers. He could also smell food being cooked, roast fowl and sausages and other items he could not identify.

Toward him walked a pair of patrollers in black, with the uniforms trimmed in white. One of the patrollers glanced at Rahl, took in the grays, and nodded politely, before turning his eyes back to the peddlers.

As he stepped into the market square, with the neat lines of carts, small tents, and tables with wares upon them, Rahl sensed something ahead-a fainter reddish whiteness. He glanced around, but could not see anything obviously amiss. He passed a table displaying knives, from some of which emanated a dull reddish whiteness, but he could still feel a stronger sense of the reddish white elsewhere.

Then, just ahead of him, he saw a smallish man wearing faded blue trousers and shirt, who ambled along the line of vendors’ tables, then slowed. Rahl could almost sense the man getting ready to dart toward an older woman at a small table piled with dried fruits. She was engaged with a bearded man well dressed in a maroon tunic and dark blue trousers, who was gesturing vociferously.

“…not more than three coppers for the whole tenth!”

“…I could not part with them for less than a half-silver…”

Rahl stepped forward, about to speak, when the man in blue darted toward the older woman and grabbed her cashbox.

The woman lunged for him, but got tangled with the would-be buyer.

“Thief! Thief!”

Rahl stuck out his foot, and the thief sprawled forward, then curled into a ball, still holding on to the wooden box, and straightened. Rahl pivoted and slammed his booted foot into the side of the man’s knee.

As the fellow toppled, Rahl grabbed the box and stepped back, looking for the woman. The man in maroon had his arms around her. Seeing Rahl, he let go of her and turned, vaulting over another table.

Rahl handed the cashbox to the vendor. “I think everything’s there.” He glanced around, but the thief in blue had vanished, and so had his accomplice.

Several of the nearby vendors were offering comments.

“…went that way…”

“…patrollers’ll catch them…”

“…won’t either…”

“Oh…thank you…young man.” The fruit-seller drew herself up. “They were a pair. I should have known better. No one haggles that much over dried fruit, but I so seldom get to bargain.”

Rahl couldn’t help smiling.

“Would you like to buy some, young man?”

Rahl laughed. “I can’t. I don’t have a copper to my name. I don’t get paid until the end of the eightday.”

Clutching the cashbox, she smiled at him. “Well, take one morsel anyway. I’d offer more, but it’s been a hard year.”