L. Modesitt - Natural Ordermage

“Yes, ser. Thank you, ser. Can I deliver the envelope first?”

She nodded. “On your way.”

Rahl walked back to the trap and climbed up.

“What did she want?”

“To tell me what I needed to do after we deliver this.”

The trap moved forward, past the patroller, and then right into a narrower way that headed due east past the small brownstone building that had to be the harbormaster’s. Less than fifty cubits from the eastern end of the brownstone was a larger structure with a domed roof, constructed of a reddish sandstone.

Guylmor slowed and then halted the trap short of the main entrance. “Can’t block the entry. If I have to move, I’ll be farther down.”

Rahl nodded and vaulted down. His feet hurt when his boots hit the stone pavement, reminding him, again, how far he’d walked on end-day. He walked another thirty cubits or so, up the three wide stone steps, and in through the sandstone archway. There, he looked around, catching sight of a guard with both falchiona and a long truncheon, one weapon on each side of his belt.

“I’m looking for the tariffing clerk.”

“The arch to the left.”

“Thank you.”

The guard did not reply.

Rahl continued to the arch, turning there and stepping into a chamber with a waist-high oak counter set back five cubits from the arch and running from wall to wall. The wooden counter was so old that it was brown rather than even golden.

Two men stood behind the counter.

“The tariffing clerk?” asked Rahl.

“Either one of us,” replied the younger man, although he was clearly close to Rahl’s father’s age, while the other was graying and stern-faced.

Rahl went to the man who had spoken, tendering the envelope. “This is from the Nylan Merchant Association.”

“The last moment, as usual.” The clerk shook his head as he opened the envelope and scanned the sheet of paper and the draft that accompanied it. After several moments, he turned to a black ledger and began to write-entering the name of the Association and the amount of the draft, Rahl thought.

Then, he took a square of parchment, roughly a span by a span, and filled in several lines, then signed it. After waiting for the ink to dry, he took a circular press-seal and fitted it over the signature part of the parchment and pressed the handles. The receipt went into an envelope that he handed to Rahl. “Your receipt.”

“Thank you.”

The tariffing clerk only nodded, although Rahl sensed a certain disdain.

Rahl hurried back outside to where the teamster waited and climbed back up into the seat. “We need to go somewhere else, Guylmor. Because I’m an outlander, I need to register with the mage-guards. It’s in the building up there against the bluff.” Rahl pointed.

“Daelyt always came right back, Rahl.”

“He probably did, but he’s been here a while, and they know him. Anyway, the mage-guard said that I’d have to go through that every time I saw one of them unless I registered. I don’t think the director would like that.”

“Suppose not. Never had this happen before.”

“It’s been a while since anyone came here directly from Nylan or Recluce.”

“They get those travelers in black, sometimes, with black staffs. Most of ’em end up in the quarries, I hear, without any memory, either.” Guylmor lifted the leads, and the mare started forward.

Rahl was not looking forward to registering, whatever that meant, but he had the feeling that not registering would be worse. That might have been because of what had happened with Magister Puvort.

At that thought, Rahl had to push back anger he had managed to forget. Here he was, having to deal with Hamorian mage-guards just because Puvort hadn’t wanted to go to any trouble to explain things-and in fact because the dishonest bastard had framed Rahl. Magistra Kadara hadn’t been that much better, either. She’d been skeptical of him before she’d even seen him more than a few moments.

Being angry would only make matters worse. Rahl took a deep slow breath.

“You all right?”

“I’m fine.” Rahl sat quietly beside the teamster as the trap moved toward the registry building. He concentrated on calming himself.

When the teamster stopped the trap, he looked at Rahl. “I’ll be turning the trap around if you come out and don’t find me.”

Rahl doubted he would be anywhere near that quick. “Thank you. I hope I won’t be long.” He climbed down and crossed the paved space between the street and the entry.

There were no mage-guards outside, and two corridors branched from the entry. Rahl stepped into the one to the right, but he could tell two things. There were no mages around, not nearby, and all the doors were closed. He went back and stepped through the other archway into a foyer with a desk. A mage-guard sat behind it.

Chaos swirled around Rahl, and he barely managed to avoid losing his balance.

The older mage-guard looked up from the table desk. “Yes?” Then he smiled, coolly. “You’re here to register?”

“Yes, ser.” Rahl was getting more than a little tired of saying “ser” to so many people, but he offered a polite smile. “I’m new here in Swartheld, and I work at the Nylan Merchant Association…” Rahl explained everything he had told the mage-guard who had stopped him on the pier avenue and what she had said. “…and she told me it would be best if I registered.”

An ordermage had somehow appeared, although Rahl had not seen him, and he nodded. “He’s clean. Almost every word true.” He grinned. “He’s a little fuzzy about his abilities.”

“Tell me more about your order-skills,” asked the chaos mage-guard.

“I can’t really, ser. I mean, I can sometimes tell how people are feeling, and I see better in the dark, but I can’t sense weather or what’s under the ground. I can sort of see and feel when people are sick, but when I tried to help a healer, it didn’t help much. I didn’t hurt the man, but I couldn’t heal him.” Rahl shrugged helplessly.

“That’s about got it,” said the ordermage-guard. “He could develop more skills here, or stay the same, or even lose skills. He doesn’t look to be a danger, and…if he’s a registered outlander…”

There were more questions, but not many, although Rahl had the feeling that matters would have been much worse had he not been a clerk at the Association.

In the end, the chaos mage-guard measured Rahl’s left wrist before departing for a time. He returned with a copperlike bracelet. On it were Rahl’s name, the letters NMA, and inscription OUT-437. The mage-guard took out a ledger and, at the bottom of a half column of names, wrote out Rahl’s name, place of work, and what was inscribed on the bracelet.

Rahl sensed that not many entries had been made recently, and that concerned him.

“Sign here-you can sign your name since you’re a clerk, right?”

“I can sign.” Rahl did.

“You don’t have to wear the bracelet,” the chaos mage-guard said, “not as an outlander, but you do have to have it with you if you leave Swartheld for any other part of Hamor. It will be easier for you if you have it with you whenever you leave your dwelling or work.” He extended the bracelet.

Rahl nodded as he took it and slipped it on his left wrist. “Is that all? Do I have to do anything else?”

“As an outlander, you are forbidden to use active order-or chaos-skills outside your dwelling or place of work, except in self-defense. Any claim of self-defense will be tried by the justicers of mages. If you choose to leave your employer and do not work for another outlander, you must reregister and be tested and instructed like any mage born in Hamor. That costs a gold, but if you don’t have the funds, just say so, and the funds will come out of whatever you get paid in the future. Don’t let the lack of coin stop you. Failure to reregister could get you a flogging or worse.”