Natural Ordermage

XII

Because he was thinking all too much about what oneday might bring, Rahl didn’t sleep very well. It wasn’t because his parents had lectured him, either. When he’d finally walked into the house late on eightday afternoon, his parents had been at the table. Once they’d confirmed that he’d done nothing untoward in dealing with Shahyla, the conversation had quickly turned to innocuous subjects. That had concerned him more than if they had lectured him, but he wasn’t about to bring up anything that would only bring more criticism. He’d had enough of that already, especially when so much of what they found fault with hadn’t been his doing.

Pleasant as his afternoon with Shahyla had been, once he was lying in the darkness of his own small sleeping chamber, the pleasure of the afternoon was not enough to stave off his worries-from the veiled warnings from Puvort, Rahl’s own concerns about Fahla, the more direct threats from Jaired, and the possibility that he might actually be forced to consort Jienela just because he’d gone along with her desire to sleep with him.

He woke early, without prompting from either parent, ate, and finished his chores.

Before he was finally ready to set out for the Black Holding, his father called him aside.

“The less you say to Magister Puvort,” cautioned Kian, “the better. Just tell him that you’ve thought over his words and that you’ve realized the wisdom of his suggestion.”

“Yes, ser.”

“After you return,” Kian said, “then we’ll visit Jienela’s parents.”

“Her parents?”

“Her brother has demanded you consort her, has he not? That’s not properly his position. Her parents may not wish a consorting with a penniless scrivener. Or we may be able to make other arrangements. Much of that will depend on what Magister Puvort determines. You might ask him, as well, if his training has any restrictions. If he asks why, you could certainly tell him that your parents wanted to know.”

Rahl wasn’t sure he wanted to meet Jienela’s parents, but with the way his father was talking, it was clear he had little choice. “I don’t know how long I’ll be.”

“I’ve not seen any of the magisters chewing the wind long.”

Neither had Rahl. “I’ll be back when I can.”

Kian gave Rahl a firm thump on the back. “Off with you.”

Rahl had thought to take the woods path, but if he did, he’d have to explain more to his father than he wished. So, with his truncheon in his belt, he started off. The sky was hazy, and clouds were building to the northwest, but they were still well out over the ocean. Any rain that might come would not arrive until afternoon.

There was no one on the lane-not until he was almost past the orchard wall. Then two figures sauntered out from the gate-Jaired and his older brother Jeason, who was far taller and broader than Jaired.

“We thought you might be sneaking off somewhere.” Jaired’s voice held a sneer.

“I’m supposed to meet with one of the magisters.”

“A likely story,” replied Jeason.

“So…when are you coming to ask for her hand?”

“My father and I will come to talk to your parents after I return from seeing Magister Puvort.” There was no point in not admitting that, not the way Kian had been talking.

“What about right now?” Jaired’s inquiry was anything but a question.

“Because I’m going to see Magister Puvort,” Rahl said calmly. He could sense the rage in Jaired. Was that because Jaired didn’t want Rahl to escape being consorted? Because he’d been forced into agreeing to consort Coerlyne?

“You’re not going anywhere, little scrivener,” Jaired said, “except to see our da. Right now.”

“I’m afraid that’s not possible.” Rahl started to turn away from the two.

A flash of something-power or order-flashed toward Jaired, and all the grower’s restraints dropped away. He charged Rahl.

Rahl’s hand dropped to the grip of his truncheon, and he had it out well before Jaired was upon him.

Jaired attacked like a maddened bull-straight at Rahl.

The younger man dodged, gave a kick to the side of Jaired’s knee that unbalanced him. Then, in the moment while Jaired was struggling to catch his balance, Rahl slammed his truncheon across the other’s lower forearm.

“Ohhhh!” Jaired’s yell was loud, half scream. His truncheon lay on the road stones, and he had to use his left hand and arm to grasp and support his right forearm. It was clearly crooked.

“Friggin’ little scrivener!” Jeason charged wildly at Rahl, his truncheon held far too high.

As his father had taught him, Rahl dropped, then half pivoted and used his shoulder to drop Jeason onto the stone surface of the road. Before the older grower could shake his head to clear it, Rahl slammed his truncheon against Jeason’s wrist. Bones cracked, and Jeason’s truncheon dropped from his hand.

“We’ll get you, we will. You’re a white demon…the magisters will take care of you,” muttered Jeason through nearly clenched teeth.

“I don’t believe anyone will be getting anyone,” added another voice, “and the magisters will indeed take care of matters.” Seemingly from nowhere, Magister Puvort had appeared.

Rahl swallowed hard. He’d sensed the order bolt, and that meant he’d been set up. But why would Puvort do that? Why would a magister use order to encourage Jaired to attack Rahl?

“You…” Rahl thought about asking that question, then closed his mouth. How could he prove it, except by showing he had more order-ability? That might mean he’d broken some other rule. Puvort had already implied that more than minor order-ability required training. No matter what Rahl did, he was in trouble.

Puvort nodded, but only said, “I told you that you needed training.” He turned to the injured growers. “You both need to see the healer. I suggest you start off to her place right now.”

“Yes…magister,” replied Jeason.

Jaired said nothing. He just held his arm gingerly and followed his brother in the direction of the healer’s cottage.

“We’ll wait for your parents,” Puvort said. “They heard the yells, and they’ll be here in a moment.”

“But…”

“Silence. Drop the truncheon.”

Rahl did. He couldn’t see any point in protesting. Who knew what Puvort could do to him? He wouldn’t have put it past the magister to be provoking him. He just didn’t understand what Puvort had against him.

“Rahl!” called Khorlya, coming to an abrupt stop a good dozen cubits from her son as she saw the magister standing there. “What happened?”

Kian was only moments behind. He halted, and his face settled into impassive stolidity when he beheld Puvort, but Rahl could sense both fear and concern behind the facade.

“Your son used order and his truncheon against the two growers,” Puvort said mildly.

“But they attacked me, and there were two of them,” Rahl protested, now that his parents were there.

Magister Puvort smiled sadly. “You could have killed them.” He paused. “You did know that someone killed one of the smuggler’s guards, didn’t you? He was killed with a truncheon.”

“Smuggler’s guard?” asked Rahl. “Who…?”

“Oh, the factor who bought Hostalyn’s place was really a smuggler. He was fronting for the Jeranyi. He found out what was going to happen a day earlier than we’d thought he would.” Puvort looked at Rahl again. “But it didn’t matter.”

“What happened to them?” asked Kian.

“Oh…the smuggler and the guards were executed. They even had barrels of cammabark. What need does an honest chandler or factor have for explosives? At least, they were wetted down with water and vinegar. The two young people were indentured to an Austran merchant. They’ll be leaving on the next ship that comes in bound that way. His agent here has a standing order for those exiles who’ve been involved in wrongdoing and are talented or good-looking.”

Rahl stiffened. He wanted to use his truncheon on the magister, not that he could with it lying on the road. Puvort looked so smug. What were Fahla and Faseyn supposed to do? Turn their father over to the magisters? For not doing that, they were enslaved?

“But Rahl…he might be a father, and he was going to be consorted,” offered Khorlya.

“I’m afraid that doesn’t matter,” said Puvort.

“What do you mean?” asked Khorlya. “Of course it matters.”

Kian winced at his consort’s tone.

“Not now. Rahl used order improperly, and he injured two men. If he hadn’t been attacked, he’d be on trial. He could even have been executed. The Council will make the final decision. But he’ll either be exiled or be on the next Guard wagon to Nylan. He might fit there. If not, he’ll be exiled from Nylan as well. He certainly doesn’t belong here. He’s been given advice a number of times, and he doesn’t seem inclined to listen.”

“But…Jienela…the child?”

“As you said earlier, Khorlya, it takes two. Rahl was telling the truth. Jienela did encourage him, and she, as well as he, should have known better.”

Rahl had been angry before, but he was close to seething. Puvort had known about it all, and he’d been toying with Rahl, like a cat with a mouse, just waiting to set things up so Rahl would be forced to do something that could get himself killed or exiled. Even Jienela was a tool, or so it seemed.

Puvort smiled.

Rahl thought it was a greasy smile, the kind that traveling peddlers used, but he said nothing.

“What are you going to do with Rahl?”

“What is necessary. He’ll be taken before the Council immediately. Then, after the Council decides, he’ll either be released or held at the keep until he’s put on a ship or sent to Nylan. That’s for everyone’s protection.” Puvort looked at Rahl. “As matters stand, I can’t imagine that you won’t be sent to Nylan at the very least.”

“But they attacked me. I was only defending myself,” Rahl protested.

“You used order in your defense, and you injured two men. The use of order is not necessarily forbidden, nor is self-defense, but after Jeason was on the road stones, you broke his wrist. That was unnecessary and showed your lack of control.”

“I was supposed to let him get up and attack me again?”

“Silence. You can tell it to the Council.”

“Can we…see what happens before the Council?” asked Khorlya.

“Council hearings involving order misuse are always closed. I’m sure you can understand why,” replied Puvort smoothly.

Although Rahl could sense the truth of the magister’s words, he had the feeling that Puvort was pleased.

“But…he’s our son,” protested Khorlya.

“If the Council finds against exile or removal to Nylan, you’ll see him this afternoon.”

“If not?” asked Kian.

“You might do well to say good-byes now. Once someone has been found guilty of improper order usage, he cannot be allowed to roam free.”

Khorlya rushed forward and threw her arms around Rahl. He could feel her shivering with silent sobs. Finally, she straightened. “If…if things…don’t…please take care…We love you. We always have.” Then she hung on to him.

Rahl heard the sound of a wagon approaching from behind him.

“If you have anything to say, scrivener…” offered Puvort.

Khorlya released Rahl.

Kian stepped forward and grasped Rahl’s forearms. “Whatever happens, son…we care.” He paused, gathering himself together. “Try to think things out first.”

For a moment they stood there.

Rahl didn’t know what to say. Finally, he nodded. “I’ll do my best. Take care of Mother, and…” He just shook his head. He’d always been able to find words, but at the moment none came to mind.

Puvort cleared his throat.

Kian stepped back.

The magister’s face was impassive, but Rahl still felt that Puvort harbored a hidden inner satisfaction.

The wagon stopped short of Puvort. It was the same type of small black wagon with two seats that had carried Balmor away. A single Council Guard drove.

“Do we need to chain you?” Puvort’s voice was not quite ironic.

“No.” Stunned as he felt, yet furious beneath the shock, Rahl knew that resistance at the moment would be useless. Even if he could escape the magister and the Council Guard, where could he go? Between the magisters and people who didn’t wish to anger them, he’d be tracked down within days, if not sooner, and probably face worse than whatever was about to occur.

“You can be very sensible, Rahl. It’s too bad you weren’t that sensible earlier.”

“He’s barely more than a boy,” protested Khorlya.

“He’s enough of a man to do a man’s work and get a woman with child,” countered Puvort. “That means he’s enough of a man to understand the laws of Recluce. A man doesn’t misuse order without paying for it.”

Khorlya looked at the magister directly. “It seems like you’re more interested in punishing folks than helping ’em. Rahl was on his way to see you to ask for that training.”

“He should have done so earlier. It’s easy to claim you were about to do something.”

“You know he was.”

Kian moved beside his consort, and murmured, “It won’t do any good.”

Rahl could hear the words, low as they were. He had no doubt that the magister could as well.

“Enough, woman.” Puvort gestured to Rahl. “The rear seat.”

Rahl took his time in carefully climbing up and into the wagon.

Puvort climbed up and settled himself beside the Council Guard. He didn’t bother to look back, but as the guard flicked the leads to the pair of horses and the wagon began to move, Rahl could sense that the magister was using order to watch him.

Rahl looked back and waved to his parents, trying to convey a hopefulness he didn’t feel. His father now held Rahl’s truncheon. Rahl would have liked to have used it on Puvort’s skull. It was all too clear that the magister had set matters up to get him off Recluce, or at least to Nylan. For one thing, Puvort had to have summoned the wagon even before Jaired and Jeason had attacked him-long before. Second, there had been that sense of power emanating from somewhere, after which Jaired had attacked and Puvort had appeared. Third, now that he had thought about it, Puvort had been watching him for a while, and far more closely than Rahl had realized.

What Rahl didn’t understand was what he’d done to upset the magister, but from what Puvort had said to his mother, the magister wasn’t about to reveal that.

At the end of the street, the wagon turned east, and before long they were on the High Road, heading up the long, gradual slope toward the Black Holding. Rahl wondered if that was where they were heading, but he wasn’t about to ask Puvort anything. Not a thing.

Neither the Guard nor Puvort spoke until the wagon halted in a black-walled courtyard on the south side of the Black Holding. A pair of Council Guards stepped forward as Puvort swung off the wagon.

“You’ll go with them to the waiting room,” Puvort stated.

“Yes, ser.” Rahl vaulted out of the wagon, almost slipping as his sandals skidded on a patch of fine sand on the dark gray paving stones of the courtyard.

“This way,” said one of the guards, not unkindly.

Rahl could feel Puvort’s eyes on his back as he was escorted through an open gate and along a covered walkway to a small structure with a black-slate roof. The guard opened the door.

Inside was a small chamber with two benches, one against the wall facing the door, the other to the left.

The shorter guard pointed to the wall bench.

Rahl sat down on it. One of the guards sat on the side bench, while the other stood by the door. Each guard bore a short sword and a truncheon.

Time passed slowly. Exactly how long Rahl didn’t know, but the guards changed places several times, and from the light coming through the single small window, it was close to midday when another guard appeared. “They’re ready.”

The three escorted Rahl back outside and along the walkway to the Black Holding itself. Although the courtyard and the small building where he had waited looked old, they were almost newly built in comparison to the original structures of the Black Holding itself, which radiated age.

“In through the door,” stated the shorter guard. “Then just wait for them to summon you.”

Rahl opened the door and stepped into an oblong chamber. The two guards followed.

The room was comparatively low-ceilinged and not that large, no more than eight cubits wide and twelve in length. At the far end was a long black table, set sideways, behind which sat three magisters in black. One was a gray-haired man, another a woman who might have been his mother’s age, save that her face was unlined and her hair nearly white-blonde, and the third was Magister Puvort. Rahl hadn’t realized that Puvort was on the Council.

“This is a disciplinary session, handled by the justicing subcouncil. Bring forth the accused.”

“Step forward and stand before the magisters,” murmured the Council Guard closest to Rahl.

After a momentary hesitation, Rahl stepped forward, then inclined his head.

“You are Rahl, son of the scrivener Kian and the basketmaker Khorlya?” asked the woman.

“Yes, magistra.”

“You are accused of misusing order. What do you say to that?”

“Magistra…” Rahl paused for a moment. What could he say? “I did not even know that I had any abilities with order until Magister Puvort suggested that I might. He told me that I should consider coming here to take training from the magisters. That was less than an eightday ago. At first, that seemed impossible. I did not believe I had such abilities. Then, last sixday, he came to our house and suggested it again. In fact, he said he hoped to see me today. I talked this over with my parents, and we all agreed that I should do what the magister said, but since he said that he would be traveling until today, I waited until this morning. It did not seem that would be too long since Magister Puvort had first mentioned it. Once my chores were done, I set out…”

As simply as he could, Rahl related what had happened. He did not mention the feeling of order from the hidden magister Puvort, but otherwise, he told everything. “…and then Magister Puvort appeared. He said that I had misused order, but I was only defending myself against two men who are both older than I am, and I didn’t use order. I just used my truncheon. I wouldn’t even know how to use order.”

“Yet you broke the wrist of a man who was on the ground,” observed Puvort.

“He wasn’t going to stay there, ser,” replied Rahl, “and they both threatened me.”

“That is supposition, not fact,” said Puvort mildly.

“Be that as it may,” added the gray-haired magister, “you misused order in your seduction of young Jienela, and you attempted to avoid consorting with her. You tried to avoid-”

“Ser! She’s older than I am, and Magister Puvort even said that she was as much at fault as-”

“Silence!”

Rahl decided against saying more. It was clear that Puvort had already persuaded the magisters that everything was Rahl’s doing and fault.

“…and you only decided to seek order training after it was clear that you would risk punishment or exile if you did not.”

The woman in the center looked to Puvort, then to the gray-haired magister. Then she looked back at Rahl. “The Council has decided that you are not suited to remain on that part of Recluce under the control of the Council. You may not be suited to remain in Nylan, either, but that decision will be made by the engineers. You are hereby sentenced to removal to Nylan, and you will remain in the custody of the Council until you arrive in Nylan.” She nodded brusquely. “That is all. Remove the prisoner.”

“But…” Rahl closed his mouth. Nothing he could say would change matters.

“Very wise, young Rahl,” said Puvort quietly. “Very wise.”