L. Modesitt - Natural Ordermage

The black-stone houses along the street seemed far older than those along the more traveled main route to the harbor, and several, neat and well kept as they were, looked old enough to have dated back to Nylan’s early days. One bore a brass plaque, but Rahl would have felt strange crossing the street just to read what it said.

Just above the harbor, he came to a walled area where the street he had followed ended at another street perpendicular to it. The wall rose at the edge of that street’s sidewalk. All Rahl could see above the wall were three long slate roofs. There was no gate in the northern section of the wall, which stretched almost half a kay to his left and right.

Rahl turned west, walking a good three hundred cubits before coming to another street that ran southward to the harbor. Small neat stone dwellings stood side by side, separated by only narrow gardens, on the west side of the street, opposite the wall. Belatedly, he realized that the wall enclosed the engineering hall and its outbuildings.

When he reached the end of the wall, he looked eastward, then nodded. A large gate stood in the middle of the southern wall. He decided against walking back to view the gate, because just ahead, past a cluster of workshops, he could see what looked to be a harbor wall and the vague outline of piers beyond.

As he passed the closed doors of the workshops, still smelling of hot oils, metal, and even sawdust, he could see that the street he followed also ended at a black-stone wall. Several hundred cubits to his right, at the intersection of the street in front of the wall with another street was a guard post. It stood in front of the open iron gate manned by two soldiers or marines in black uniforms.

Since Rahl couldn’t see the piers or through the gate from where he was, he turned and began to walk westward. The closer he got to the gate, the more puzzled he was because the guards bore strange-looking weapons. Were they rifles? Why would anyone bear a rifle when loading one of the clumsy weapons was slow and when even the hint of chaos would cause gunpowder to explode?

He frowned. The large barrels were of black iron. Would that contain chaos? Still, the barrel seemed too large for a rifle. In addition to the weapon each guard bore, there were racks beside them that held similar weapons.

He refrained from shaking his head, but he couldn’t help but wonder what the weapons were, if they weren’t rifles. He glanced through the gate but managed to keep walking. Afternoon sunlight fell on the piers, and yet there was a shadow of some sort-an order shadow!

Rahl had to remind himself not to use any active order investigation. He definitely wasn’t ready to go to Hamor. Even so, he could sense the solidity of several vessels at the piers, although he could not see them with his eyes-clearly some sort of black magery. He wished he dared explore that, but shook his head. Not now.

Ahead of him was another black-stone wall.

He shrugged and turned, walking steadily, but not hurriedly, back eastward, staying on the sidewalk across the street from the guards. He could feel their eyes on him, but he did not hesitate. Before long, the wall to his right made a right angle into the harbor. He glanced at it, but since it ran well into the water, he could not see the vessels tied at the piers.

He had no doubt that they were the feared black ships, but why did they need to be hidden? Especially in Nylan? Was that because so many vessels visited Nylan and because it would be easier to study them closely when they were moored? Or was it to add to their mystique?

Rahl laughed silently. So much for seeing the black ships.

There was a wide expanse of water, a good half kay, if not more, between the walled mooring of the black ships and the next set of harbor piers. Only a small fishing boat was moored on the west side of the first pier, clearly battened down and empty. On the east side was a larger schooner, and crewmen were carrying crates of fish to a wagon on the pier.

Rahl didn’t want to see any more of the piers, not for the moment. He turned to his left, away from the water, at the next lane. Immediately, he found himself walking up between the small shops that lined both sides of the way. The first offered scarves of all sorts, in more shades and colors than he could have dreamed possible.

The next held leather goods-vests, belts, scabbards, sturdy belt wallets, and even small decorative leather boxes, some of them gilded. Then came a shop filled with decorative brasswork.

Rahl took his time, looking, because that was all he could do with his limited coins. Even so, he had far from explored more than a few square blocks around the harbor, or so it seemed, looking through shops, then going to the seawall and taking in vessels from Hamor and Candar, as well as from Nordla and Austra, and viewing more goods in more shops, before he realized it was getting close to the evening bell, when he was to meet Magister Thorl.

He didn’t know exactly where he was, but he recalled the directions that the magister had given him, based on starting at the market square. He had to walk quickly, but it wasn’t that far, he discovered, and he reached the bright green-and-yellow awning of the eatery that was less than two blocks from the market square before the magister did.

At least, he didn’t see Thorl when he stepped inside.

A slender graying man dressed in spotless khaki trousers and shirt, with a crimson vest edged in silver thread, turned to Rahl and offered an apologetic smile. “You wish a table, ser? I fear that we cannot…”

“I’m supposed to meet Magister Thorl here.”

“Ah…ha…he said you would be here. I apologize, ser. This way…” The vested man turned.

Rahl followed him to a corner table under a brass lamp suspended from the beamed ceiling by a large brass chain. The table held two people and one vacant chair. With Magister Thorl was Deybri.

“Ah…good evening,” Rahl offered.

Thorl gestured expansively to the empty chair. “I did not mean to upset you, Rahl, but Deybri is my niece, and since you two get along, I thought it would be more enjoyable with three of us.”

His niece? Thorl didn’t look that much older than Deybri. “Oh, I’m not at all upset. I’m surprised, but pleasantly surprised. Very pleasantly surprised.”

Deybri laughed. “You’re gallant, but it’s nice to know that you also meant it.”

Rahl slipped into the chair.

Thorl was speaking to the man who had escorted Rahl to the table. “The leshak with the pashtakis for the first course, and then…”

“Your uncle,” murmured Rahl to Deybri, “I didn’t realize…”

“Talents for handling order-or chaos-do tend to run in families. You’ll find that many of the magisters and magistras and healers are related,” Deybri explained. “That can be a problem.”

“Oh, because people don’t like consorting with those who have order-talents? And those who do can only find relatives?”

She nodded.

“Your timing was excellent, Rahl,” began the magister in Hamorian. “We had only been seated a few moments. I wanted you to have some understanding of Hamorian food. That was Kysant himself who brought you here. I asked him to look out for you. His place is the only true Hamorian-style eatery in Nylan. His grandfather was the cook on a Hamorian warship. He claims it was the fleet commander’s vessel. I’ve had my doubts about that, but the cooking is authentic.”

Rahl nodded, wondering how Thorl might have known that.

“Uncle Thorl spent several years in Atla,” Deybri added, if in halting Hamorian.

Rahl almost laughed ruefully. When those around him could sense what he felt, before-and whether-he expressed it or not, the whole nature of conversation changed. “This takes getting worked…used to, I mean,” he replied, also in Hamorian.