Natural Ordermage

Nylan
XV

From what Rahl could calculate, the Council Guard wagon came to a slow stop late on oneday-more than an eightday after the Council had sentenced him to exile in Nylan. He heard voices.

“Hallo, Council Guards. What do you have for us today? Another exile? What was the charge?”

“Misuse of order. Here are the papers.”

A long silence followed before anyone spoke again.

“You know where to take him. We’ll expect you back here shortly.”

From that Rahl decided that he and the wagon had finally arrived at the black-stone wall that separated Nylan from the rest of Recluce. With a slight lurch, the wagon moved forward.

Through the barred window in the back of the closed wagon, Rahl could only see the upper section of the wall, but he could sense that the wagon was headed down a gentle grade. Shortly, it came to another halt. After several moments, the rear door opened.

“You can get out now,” said the one of the Guards.

Rahl eased his way out and onto the stone pavement. He was stiff and sore from the long trip. He looked around. The wagon had halted on a flat paved expanse. The sun hung above the ocean to the west. Before him was a city of low buildings built on a hillside that sloped down to a harbor. Every structure seemed to have been constructed of black stone, with slate roof shingles of dark gray or black. Higher on the slope, near where Rahl stood, the houses were far enough apart that grass and trees were plentiful, giving Nylan the air of a park. To his right was a long black-stone building.

A muscular woman wearing black trousers and a short-sleeved black shirt walked toward the Council Guards. Her hair was red and short, barely longer than Rahl’s. Rahl could sense the Guards’ unease.

“Another one your Council doesn’t like?” she asked.

“Here are the papers, magistra.”

The woman radiated power, enough that she made Puvort seem puny in comparison, for all that she was a good head shorter than Rahl. She took the papers without looking at them and walked past the two Guards toward Rahl, stopping several cubits short of him. “What did you do?”

“I was charged with misuse of order, magistra.”

“I’m sure the papers say that. I’d like to know what you did.”

“Two men attacked me. I broke one man’s forearm with a truncheon and his brother’s wrist. Magister Puvort said that I misused order because I had order-abilities and had not asked the Council for training. That was even though I was on my way to make that request.”

She nodded, then read the papers. She turned to the Council Guards. “You can go. One way or another, he’s our responsibility now.”

Rahl didn’t like the words “one way or another.” He said nothing.

The two men quickly climbed onto the wagon seat.

The magistra said nothing until the wagon was headed back up the stone-paved High Road toward the gate in the black-stone wall.

“I’m Magistra Kadara. You’re Rahl?”

“Yes, magistra.”

“What haven’t you told me?”

Rahl didn’t quite know how to answer that. “About what, magistra?”

“A cautious one. Ah, well, let’s get you get washed up and set up with a room in the transient quarters, and then we’ll get you something to eat, and you can tell me what you really don’t want to say.”

As pleasant as Kadara appeared, Rahl felt that she was far more dangerous than Puvort.

“Follow me, if you will.”

Rahl didn’t see much choice.

They took a stone-paved walk that skirted the uphill side of the building to the west of where the wagon had stopped. A long oblong flower garden extended a good fifty cubits farther uphill. Ahead was a two-story stone structure with evenly spaced windows. The path led to a doorway on the downhill side. Kadara paused on the wide stone stoop.

“This building holds the transient quarters, and you’ll eventually meet-or at least see-everyone here. Right now, most of them are still at work.” Kadara opened the door and led him down the hallway to the third door. She opened it. Rahl noted that there was an inside bolt but no lock. The room was small, but still twice the size his own sleeping chamber at home had been. The bed was narrow and set against the far wall, but it was a real bed. Folded on the end were a blanket and a towel. There was a wall lamp, and a set of pegs on the wall for garments, and a writing table and a stool. The floor was polished gray stone. The large window was glassed, with inside shutters.

“All the rooms are the same. In the morning, we’ll find some clothing and boots that will fit you. Those of you on probation all wear light gray. The jakes and the wash showers are in the enclosed area just outside at the north end of the building. I’ll meet you where the wagon dropped you after you take care of things. Don’t be long.” With that, she turned and left Rahl standing in the room.

Rahl hurried, but the lower edge of the sun was touching the surface of the ocean by the time he finished washing up. He hurried to meet Magistra Kadara.

As if she had sensed him, Kadara stepped out of the building. “We’ll walk down to the mess area. It’s a little early, but they should have something for you to eat. How long were you in that wagon?”

“If I counted right, seven days. Most nights I was in a keep cell.”

“Someone must like you, or you’ve been very careful.”

Her words puzzled Rahl, because he didn’t sense any sarcasm behind them. He’d been accused of something he hadn’t done, exiled from his home, and packed off to Nylan, and she was saying that someone must have liked him?

“That amazes you?” Kadara asked.

“Yes, magistra.”

“That’s not completely surprising.” She gestured to the squarish structure ahead. “This is the eating hall, otherwise known as the mess. You get three meals a day here. They’re served at first morning bell, noon bell, and evening bell. That’s when the bells in the tower there ring.” She nodded toward a slightly taller square structure that stood on a low rise to the west of the eating hall. “If you want to eat at other times, the canteen in the corner of the mess is open from dawn to the lamps-out bell. But you don’t pay for the meals in the mess, and you do pay for anything you eat in the canteen. Is that clear?”

“Yes, magistra.” It was also clear that he’d be eating in the mess because he didn’t have a copper to his name.

The mess was large and simple-with a half score of long tables, flanked by benches on each side. Each table looked to seat between ten and twelve people. At the east side of the hall was a set of serving counters, and several men and women were in the process of setting out large earthenware crocks and covered platters.

“Just pick up a platter at the end there and fill it with whatever you’d like,” Kadara said. “You can have as much as you can eat, but if you’re not sure, just take a little and come back for seconds. Your eyes might be bigger than your stomach after an eightday on low rations. We’d prefer you didn’t waste food. When you’re done, you take your platter and mug to the cleaning area and rinse them and set them in the racks.”

Rahl followed her advice and took only moderate portions of the mutton in brown sauce and the lace potatoes. He took a slightly larger portion of the baked pearapples, and a small mug of ale. Then he carried his food-and the utensils he’d found at the end of the serving tables-to the table where Kadara stood.

“You’re not eating, magistra?”

“I’ll eat later. I haven’t been starved for an eightday.”

Rahl settled onto the bench. He looked at Kadara.

“Go ahead.”

He didn’t need any more encouragement.

“While you eat, I’ll fill you in on a few matters I’m sure that the magisters in the north have failed to mention,” Kadara began. “First, if anything, Nylan is more concerned about order and the Balance than is the rest of Recluce. Because we deal with black iron and machines, we have to be. We don’t tolerate any free chaos at all, and we don’t allow any chaos-wizards anywhere except on passing ships in the harbor. Second, everyone here works. Third, if you commit any offense or wrongdoing, and that includes failing to work, you’ll face immediate exile. Are those points clear?”

Rahl swallowed a mouthful of the baked pearapples, then nodded. “Yes, magistra.”

“Now…” Kadara laughed gently. “I doubt that you’ve told me the entire story, Rahl. No one ever does. Let’s start at the beginning, though. What skills do you have?”

“My father is a scrivener. I was his apprentice and assistant.”

“So you can write High and Low Temple?”

“Yes, magistra. High Temple is a little harder.”

“Do you know Nordlan or Hamorian?”

Rahl frowned. “Do Nordlans speak differently from what they write? I’ve copied their books, and the word order’s different, but not that bad.”

“Some would say so.” She seemed absently pleased by his response. “What about Hamorian?”

“No, magistra. I’ve copied their books once or twice, but I just had to copy the words letter for letter…”

“Have you read most of what you have copied? In Temple, that is?”

“Yes, magistra.”

“Do you understand what you have read?”

“Mostly. I had trouble with the higher mathematics book and the Philosophies of Candar.”

Kadara laughed again. “Most would.”

The questions seemed to go on and on. Rahl could tell that it had taken a while because the mess area had filled up with people eating, then mostly emptied out. While several people had looked in his direction, none had approached him or the mage, as if they knew what was happening and not to interfere.

Finally, when the light outside had faded into late twilight, Kadara looked straight at Rahl. “You’re going to have a hard time here in Nylan. I can tell you that. I can’t promise that you’ll stay here, and if you do, you won’t be a scrivener, but we do have a need for translators and printers. Usually, people with some order-skills who work with words can pick up other languages quickly. We’ll start you with Hamorian, and then, if you have a talent for it, with the finer points of High Nordlan. That is, if you’re willing to work.”

“I’ve always worked, magistra.” Rahl was willing to work at whatever it took not to be exiled to Hamor.

“For at least the next three or four eightdays, you’ll be expected to study order and languages in the mornings, and work in the print shop and wherever Magister Sebenet needs help in the afternoons.”

“The print shop?”

“Oh…we have a printing press. It makes multiple copies of books. The typesetting is harder than writing, but once it’s set, we can print as many copies as we need.”

Rahl could only wonder at how his mother’s friend Eldonya had known, or from whom she had heard what she had said about scriveners no longer being needed. “Is this…machine…new?”

“No. Not really. It’s something else that the Council of Recluce would prefer we hadn’t developed.” Kadara smiled. “Now…one last thing. You’ve danced around it, but never really explained why those two men attacked you.”

Rahl swallowed. “They claimed that I had gotten their sister with child, and they wanted me to go with them at that very moment to ask her father for her hand. My parents and I had planned to go later that morning, after I had seen Magister Puvort…” Rahl repeated all the events of that morning.

“Did you get her with child?”

“I didn’t see how I could have, but I did sleep with her. Not many times, and it was her idea, and she is several years older.”

“Would you have taken her as consort?”

“If I had had to,” he admitted.

“Did you want to?”

“No.”

“At least, you’re mostly honest.”

Mostly? Rahl thought he’d been more honest than anyone else in his position would have been.

“I’m going to repeat a few simple rules, Rahl. First, and it may seem obvious, but some people don’t understand, you are not to go through the wall gate. We could care less, but the Council cares a great deal, and there is an outpost of Council Guards less than half a kay to the north. If they capture you and discover you’re an exile, your life is forfeit on the spot. Second, you will obey any magister. You can question how to do something, but not whether to do it. Third, you are to realize that only if you fit within Nylan can you remain here permanently.”

“If you decide I do not fit, what will happen?”

“You will be exiled, although you will be given training and information about where you will be exiled. We’re far less cruel with those we exile.”

Rahl had his doubts. Exile was exile.

“Do you have any other questions?”

“Do you meet every exile?”

“Darkness, no. I’m the duty mage. Whoever has the duty takes care of exiles. Yesterday, it was Tamryn, and tomorrow it will be Leyla. It’s not that much of a problem. We don’t get that many exiles.”

Rahl couldn’t help but frown.

“It’s simple. If someone is chaos-tinged they get exiled immediately from here or from the north because we don’t take someone with chaos in their blood. Likewise, we don’t take anyone who has killed someone or anyone who has committed a premeditated offense. That doesn’t leave that many.” Kadara looked squarely at Rahl. “You’re very lucky not to have been exiled directly. You have promise, but you have this tendency to want things to go your way, regardless of what it costs others. That’s very close to chaos.”

He hadn’t meant to kill the smuggler, and didn’t everyone want things to go their way? What was wrong with that? She wasn’t suggesting that Rahl couldn’t have things go his way if there happened to be any costs to anyone else, was she? It certainly sounded that way. Rahl was getting the feeling that Kadara didn’t care that much for him, and she was sounding a lot like Magister Puvort. Still…the last thing he wanted was to be shipped off to Hamor.

“I have a lot to learn.” That was certainly safe to say, and honest as well.

“That you do.” Kadara sighed. “I just hope you can.” Then she stood. “You can wander around and meet people after you take care of your dishes.” She gestured at the handful of people around the hall. “Or you can walk the grounds. I’d suggest you stay close to the buildings you know until you’re more familiar with Nylan. You’re expected to be in your room-or at least in the transient quarters-shortly after the lamps-out bell. That will be the next bell you’ll hear. It won’t be for a while yet. In the morning, wait here after you eat, and Leyla will find you and get you some proper clothes and boots.”

With a brief smile and a nod, the magistra turned and walked from the hall.

Rahl just stood stock-still for a moment, then carried his platter and mug to the corner and dipped them in the rinsing buckets and racked them.

He turned and took several steps, then stopped, wondering exactly what he should do next.

A muscular young man, perhaps a year or two older than Rahl, walked over. “You’re new, aren’t you? I’m Khalyt.”

Rahl could sense the other’s charm, a charm fueled by order. He forced a smile. “I’m Rahl. Are you from Nylan?”

Khalyt shook his head. “I’m from Feyn. That’s where Brede came from.”

Rahl had no idea who Brede was.

“Brede was the one who saved Dorrin and made Nylan possible. Kadara’s named after his consort.” Khalyt shrugged. “Not many people know that.”

“What do you do here?”

“Work and study, the same as anyone else, the same as you’ll do. I’m studying to be an engine designer. They say that the engines on the black ships can’t be improved, but anything can be made better. Have they told you what you’ll be doing?”

“Studying languages.”

Khalyt shook his head. “Better you than me.” He turned as a petite young woman approached. “This is Meryssa. Meryssa, this is Rahl.”

Meryssa’s short black hair glistened almost with a light of its own. Her black eyes fixed on Rahl. She smiled politely. “Welcome to Nylan, home of the dedicated, dispossessed, and distressed.”

“Which are you?” replied Rahl.

“All three. Most of us are. Recluce doesn’t want us, and the rest of the world would only enslave us. So we become very dedicated to avoid further dispossession and distress. If we can. You’ll see.”

Rahl was afraid he might. “Work hard and well or see the world?”

“That’s the way it is. The magisters don’t put it quite that way,” replied Meryssa.

“You’re giving him a bad impression.” Khalyt looked to Rahl and offered a smile, one short of falsity and not quite ingratiating, but barely. “She’s so direct it can be unsettling.”

“That’s true.” Meryssa continued to study Rahl. “I work at it.”

He thought he sensed something-sadness, perhaps-behind her bright black eyes. “What are you studying?”

“Nothing. Not anymore. I’m going to be an assistant purser on one of the trading ships. I’ll find out which one in the next eightday or so.”

“Is that good?” Rahl honestly didn’t know.

“Good? No. It’s better than the alternatives.” She smiled to Rahl, then nodded to Khalyt and slipped away.

“I’d better be going,” Khalyt said. “I’ll see you here and around.”

As Khalyt left, Rahl realized that he stood alone in the hall. After a moment, he shrugged and began to retrace his way out of the hall and back to his quarters. On the way, he saw others, usually in pairs, seated on benches or on the low stone walls, but no one else made any move to approach him, and he certainly didn’t feel like approaching them.

He was tired, and he could use a good night’s sleep-if all the thoughts and feelings swirling through his mind would let him sleep.