L. Modesitt - Natural Ordermage

The director glanced around, then shuddered ever so slightly. His hand touched his midsection, his fingers lingering there for a moment as his eyes dropped to the weapon on the floor. He looked up and moistened his lips. “Have either of you seen him before?”

“No, ser.” Daelyt’s and Rahl’s words were almost simultaneous.

“He’s not one of Waolsyn’s men that I’ve ever seen.”

Daelyt bent down and picked up the envelope, then straightened and handed it to Shyret. “It’s light, but there’s something in it.”

Shyret did not take the envelope, instead looking at Rahl. “How did you know he had a blade?”

“I didn’t, ser, not until I saw that he had something in his other hand. It just felt wrong.”

“It was indeed.” Shyret’s laugh was hollow. His eyes dropped to the dagger on the floor. “Since you were the one who stopped him, Rahl, the blade is yours.”

“Thank you, ser. Ah…is it all right to sell it?”

“Whatever you wish.” Shyret opened the heavy envelope. He looked anything but happy, and he manifested a tenseness as he extracted a short sheet of heavy paper, which he read quickly and thrust inside his beige fharong. He handed the empty envelope to Daelyt. “Burn it.”

Then he turned and strode back toward his study.

Rahl looked at Daelyt. “Why would anyone do something like that?”

“This is Swartheld. You can pay for anything here.”

“Even here, there has to be a reason,” Rahl pointed out. “Is he undercutting other traders? Or did he do something to anger someone?”

Daelyt shrugged. “He doesn’t say much about things like that.”

The older clerk was lying. That Rahl could tell.

“Still smells like something got burned,” mused Daelyt.

Although Daelyt was changing the subject, Rahl realized that there was the faint stench of burned hair hanging in the air.

“Watch things,” Daelyt added. “I need to burn this.” He held up the envelope, then glanced at the weapon still lying on the floor. “That’s yours, remember.”

“Oh…” Rahl shook his head. “There’s something on it. I’ll get a rag from the storeroom.” Before Daelyt could protest, he dashed to the back and returned almost immediately.

As soon as he did, Daelyt headed toward the rear door.

Rahl could sense that the substance on the edge of the blade held something like chaos. Poison? He was careful to wrap the entire dagger in rags and slip it into his lower drawer. Later, after he was alone, he’d clean it, and study it.

On twoday, Rahl ate his midday meal quickly and hurried out from Eneld’s to Chalyn’s-the weapons shop just to the east of the cantina. As he stepped inside, he noted that the shutters were iron-backed.

A muscular balding man moved from the counter toward him. “You must be the new clerk at the Association.”

“You’re Chalyn?”

“The very same.” The proprietor made a sweeping gesture that was clearly a mockery of a formal bow. “And you?”

“I’m Rahl. I heard your name, but I’ve never met you. Daelyt said that you often bought weapons as well as sold them.”

“It depends. They have to be usable, and salable. Especially salable. I’m not a collector the way Eklar is.”

Rahl brought out the cloth-covered dagger, unwrapped it, and set it on the counter. The dark blade was a span and a half long, dark oiled iron, with narrow gutters on each side of the blade. The hilt looked to be bone, cut in a cross-edged pattern to make it easier to grip. “What about this one?”

Chalyn moved behind the counter.

Rahl stepped to one side to avoid blocking the light from the high side window.

The proprietor lowered his head slightly and studied the dagger, then lifted it and balanced it on the side of his hand, before turning it in the light. Finally, he laid it gently on the oiled wood countertop.

“It’s not a new blade. Not a real old one, either. It’s a copy of a Cyadoran dagger. Assassin’s weapon. Sharp edges and points, and strong enough to cut a silk vest in a direct thrust. Tang is almost as wide as the blade, but a touch thinner. It could be used as parry blade for use with a rapier or a falchiona, but this one hasn’t been. Might be threescore years old, might not. Good condition.”

“Who would carry this?”

“Is it not yours?”

“Only because I knocked it out of the hand of a ruffian who was assaulting the director.”

Chalyn’s eyes flicked to Rahl’s belt. Then he nodded. “Ironbound lorken. Recluce weapon, but not the kind that gets the mage-guards upset.”

Rahl waited.

“Footpad wouldn’t carry this. Not that good for anything but killing…or showing off. It’s not that decorated. No inlays on the hilt and not a hint of scrollwork or engraving on the blade or guard. Either a bravo who wants to be an assassin or an assassin apprentice, that would be my judgment. Might be a tough who was given the weapon.”

“What would you offer for it?”

Chalyn laughed. “Blades are always worth something, but there’d only be a few who’d be interested in this. Sometimes, Vadoryn comes by looking for decent blades for apprentices. He’d be the only one I’d be able to count on. Say…a silver and a half.”

“You could get three and a half from him,” replied Rahl.

“And you’re just the clerk?”

“The newest one,” replied Rahl with a smile. “But I listen and watch.”

“I still have the carrying costs, and the tariffs on inventory, and Vadoryn won’t pay near what it’s worth, and there might not be anyone else for seasons,” countered Chalyn. “A silver and eight.”

“You don’t have another like it in the case or the display window,” Rahl pointed out. “If Vadoryn came by tomorrow and you didn’t have it, it might be eightdays, or seasons, before he returned.”

“I still have to pay tariffs to the mage-guards and the patrollers, and the local enumerators. A silver and nine.”

“Two and two,” suggested Rahl.

“Two silvers and one. That’s the best I can do.”

Rahl sensed that was close to what Chalyn could-or would-pay. “Done at two silvers and one.”

Chalyn left the blade on the counter, but two silvers and a copper appeared next to it, almost instantly.

“Thank you.” Rahl swept up the coins.

“Young fellow…”

“Yes, ser?”

“I’d be watching your back. Even apprentice assassins don’t like having to go back to their masters without their blades. You’ll probably be having an eightday or so while he recovers from the whipping, but after that…”

That was something else Rahl hadn’t considered. He nodded, then slipped the coins quickly into his belt wallet. “I’m always learning something new about Swartheld. Thank you.”

Chalyn laughed. “If you stay alive longer, you might find me some even better blades.”

By the time Rahl left Chalyn’s, the clouds had lowered, and the first drops of rain had begun to fall. He hurried across the street, ducking behind a heavy-laden lumber wagon pulled by four drays, and scurried into the Association.

“It’s wet out there,” Rahl said as he took his place behind the wide desk. “I thought it didn’t rain much here.”

“It doesn’t, most of the year,” replied Daelyt. “We often get more rain in the last eightday or so of summer and the first two eightdays of fall than in the whole rest of the year.” The older clerk rose. “I’m headed to Eneld’s. I won’t be long. You can handle consignments, except if they want to pay right now. Then you’ll need to check with the director. Selling goods, you’ll have to fetch him.”

Rahl nodded and watched as Daelyt hurried out into the light rain.