L. Modesitt - Natural Ordermage

“We will have to handle you differently, dear boy,” came the languid words from the chaos-wizard who stepped inside the front door.

The words chilled Rahl, but he forced himself toward the white-shadowed figure.

More chaos flared around his shields, but he kept moving.

At the last moment, the wizard lifted a falchiona, but one not of iron. It seemed to be made of something else, a whitish bronze, perhaps even true cupridium. Belatedly, Rahl realized that the wizard wore the khakis of a mage-guard, although his visored cap was nowhere to be seen.

Despite the greater length of the blade, Rahl managed a parry, and then to evade the blade enough so that the truncheon touched the wizard’s forearm. He could sense the agony as the wizard tried to swing the blade back toward him.

Rahl stepped inside the blade, ramming the truncheon into the wizard’s throat, knowing the lorken and iron had to touch bare skin to have any great effect. The wizard shuddered and brought the falchiona up, but not quickly enough. That hesitation allowed Rahl to slam the weapons aside, then smash the truncheon back across the wizard’s temple with a solid crunch.

Light flared from where the black iron touched skin, and the wizard gave a last shudder, and then began to collapse in upon himself.

Rahl stood there breathing heavily, still almost aghast at the disintegration of the wizard. He glanced around, trying to determine if anyone else happened to be nearby. He could not see, hear, or sense anyone else. After a moment, he looked down. All that remained was a rough pile of ashes and dust and small objects coated with both. The air seemed filled with glittering reddish white motes of chaos that seemed to disperse as soon as he had become aware of them.

He eased toward the door, truncheon ready, but the sidewalk and boulevard outside were almost silent, except for the distant bells from the harbor, the faint patter of a light rain, and a muted unharmonic discord from the evening insects.

Quickly, he rebarred the door.

How exactly would he explain what had happened?

Rahl snorted. He was more than a little tired of explaining anything. This time, he wasn’t about to explain. He returned to his cubby and pulled on his trousers and boots.

Then he belted his truncheon and picked up a broom and dustpan and walked back to the building entry.

He thought there should have been three blades around, but there were only two, both the bronzelike falchiona and the regular falchiona. He set them against the wall and began to sort and sweep.

Among the ashes, dust, and scraps of cloth that were all that remained of the chaos-wizard were coins-a gold, four silvers, and seven coppers. Rahl carefully wiped each off with a rag before placing it in his wallet. He had over four golds-more than he’d ever been able to call his own-and nowhere truly safe to put them, let alone any way to explain how he had gotten them. Still, he could now send a letter to Recluce, but he’d have to do it without Shyret or Daelyt learning about it, or there would be questions he didn’t want to answer.

Something nagged at him, and he looked among the debris for something, what he didn’t even know at first. Then, he swallowed. The mage who had appeared had been wearing a mage-guard uniform. Did that mean he was a renegade of some sort, trying to gain extra coins doing something he shouldn’t be doing? Or were the mage-guards trying to cause trouble for Shyret?

Once more, Rahl had more questions than answers. But questions or not, he needed to remove all evidence of what had happened.

After unlocking the door and checking outside, he took the contents of the dustpan and walked through the light rain several hundred cubits, scattering the contents in the gutter, which had a modest flow. Then he returned to the Association and took the two falchionas and carried them back westward to the gates to the warehouse courtyard, where he set them just inside the grillwork, where they would be easily visible from inside the courtyard, but not immediately obvious from outside. He certainly could have sold the blades to Chalyn for even more coins, but everyone would know that he had, and that was the last sort of notice he needed, especially since the bronzelike falchiona would have raised far too many questions.

After that he locked up, and replaced the bar, and then went back to his pallet bed. But he left his trousers on and his boots beside his bed. Had the renegade mage-guard and his accomplices come because they had known about the golds Waolsyn had sent to Shyret? That didn’t seem exactly right, but what else could it have been? Or was it an attempted burglary-another part of someone trying to get to Shyret, one way or another?

Were Shyret’s methods making enemies in Swartheld as well?

Again, there were far more questions than Rahl had any way to answer or even speculate accurately on the possible answers. One thing he did know. It was unlikely that he would sleep well for the remainder of the night.

Rahl took the precaution of getting up early on threeday and mopping the entry area with some of the water left in the storeroom. He also polished the brasswork, including the inside and outside door levers and kick plates, and the woodwork in the area around the door, as well as that around the clerks’ desk. The clouds that had brought the rain the night before had lifted, but not vanished, and a gray dawn had given way to a gray morning by the time Rahl had gotten his day-old loaf of dark bread from Gostof and returned to the Association building. He thought it might rain later, but he’d learned in Nylan that he was far from accurate in predicting the weather.

He was at the desk, cleaning his pen, when Daelyt arrived, with a frown on his face.

“Is everything all right?” asked Rahl.

“Have you been out through the courtyard?”

“No. I brought in a bucket of water last night so I wouldn’t have to this morning. I usually do because it takes so long to unlock the gates and relock them.” Rahl paused, then asked, “Why?”

“Something…” Daelyt shook his head. “Chenaryl found some weapons by the gate. I wondered if you’d seen them.”

“I wasn’t out there this morning…well, except I walked by the gates when I went to get some bread, but they were still locked.”

“Daelyt!” Shyret’s voice was harsh, as well as a trace higher than usual.

Without a word, the older clerk turned and headed back to the archway where the director stood.

Even with order-senses, Rahl could not make out what they discussed, except that Shyret was gesturing and clearly unhappy. Then both walked toward Rahl.

“Did you hear anything…unusual last night?” asked Shyret.

“I woke up once,” Rahl admitted. “I was hot all over and sweating, and I thought I heard something in the street outside, but then it all went away.”

Shyret looked to the older clerk, who frowned.

“Ah…ser, could you tell me what’s the matter? Did I do something wrong? Is this about the weapons? What kind of weapons?”

“There were two blades left on the pavement inside the courtyard,” the director explained. “One was an ancient Cyadoran blade. It had to belong to a mage. The other was a falchiona.”

“Why would anyone leave blades like that?” asked Rahl. “They’re valuable. At the least you could sell them. I got several silvers for that dagger.”

“You couldn’t sell the wizard’s blade without Chalyn telling the mage-guards,” Daelyt pointed out.

“But even if whoever left it knew that, why would they leave the falchiona?” Rahl did his best to look puzzled.

Daelyt shrugged.

Shyret looked at Rahl, then at the older clerk.

“Is anything missing from the warehouse?” Rahl asked, trying to instill concern in his words.