Natural Ordermage

III

Rahl wasn’t too late getting home, just late enough that his parents were already half-asleep and relieved that he had returned. He’d gone to bed happily, with pleasant memories of the evening-and Jienela. It had been her idea, even if he had encouraged it subtly.

The next morning he was up as usual-just one moment before his mother was about to yell. He had to gulp down breakfast-gruel and bread-then get on with his chores. Finally, he made it to the workroom, where he settled into copying Tales of the Founders.

“Might be better if you got up a mite earlier,” suggested Kian. “Your mother was reaching for the spare frying pan-the big iron one. And you were supposed to spar with me before we got to work. You’re still not good enough with that truncheon, and there are times when a man needs to be able to defend himself.”

“Yes, ser.” Rahl hadn’t realized about the frying pan, but he sensed his father was telling the truth about it and his sparring. Why did they always want more? It wasn’t as though he were a child anymore. He was up in time, and he worked hard. He did his chores, and he didn’t complain, yet whatever he did was never quite enough. He pushed back that retort and concentrated on the copying before him.

The morning was long and uninterrupted. Not a single person came by, either to have a letter written or to purchase anything. Rahl was more than ready when his mother called.

“Dinner’s ready!”

He still was careful to clean and rack his pen, cap the inkwell, and close the copy of Tales of the Founders from which he had been copying.

Dinner was far heartier than breakfast had been or supper would be. There were chunks of mutton in brown gravy and roasted potatoes, and freshly baked bread. Of course, there were dandelion greens and winter roots, but the roots didn’t taste bad in the gravy, and the greens were fresh.

Rahl only managed two mouthfuls before his mother cleared her throat.

“Rahl?”

“Yes, Mother?” He didn’t like the feel behind the way she’d pronounced his name.

“Alamat’s niece Quelerya said you didn’t go to Sevien’s last night. She saw you going through Dhostak’s orchard.” Khorlya looked at her son. “I’d hate to see you get tied up with Jienela. She’s pretty enough, but she’ll have nothing. The orchard’s barely large enough to support Dhostak and his family, and she’s got two older brothers. Word is that even the younger one’s going to be consorted before long-and to Coerlyne. Drover’s daughter, and she doesn’t so much as have a single copper penny to her name. And Jienela, she’ll not have much more than that, not with those two good-for-nothing louts they call her brothers. Three families’ll have to live off that orchard, four if you count Dhostak and Aryla.”

“She is pretty,” Rahl admitted, “but I don’t intend to get tied up with anyone now. I’m too young to take a consort.” Why were they always nagging him about a consort?

“Intentions are all well and good, Rahl,” interjected Kian, “but actions count more than intentions, and there are grass stains on the cuffs and sides of your trousers.”

Rahl managed not to flush.

“There’s enjoying being young,” added Kian, “and there’s stupidity.”

“It’d be stupid to have to consort a girl with nothing,” said Khorlya.

Left unsaid was the point that his father had little enough. Scriveners seldom did, especially those who did not work for the Council in Land’s End.

“A girl’s looks fade fast in life,” continued his mother. “So you’d best find one with something other than looks. It’s better to find one with coins for a dowry, but even one who’s hardworking or one who can help with your scrivening would be better than Jienela. She’s sweet, but she has little enough in the way of brains and less than that in coins.”

Rahl understood all Khorlya was saying. He generally agreed with her, and he had no intention of consorting Jienela. He just wished his mother would stop hammering him with her words. She didn’t know when to stop.

“It only takes once to trap a young fellow,” Kian added.

Not in this case, thought Rahl, especially since he’d been careful and counted the days since her time of the month. He still had some time to enjoy her favors. Rather than argue or reveal anything, he just nodded and took a swallow of the weak ale, enjoying it since they often did not have it.

Despite the hearty meal, Rahl was more than glad to leave the table and follow Kian back to the workroom and the copying table. He settled himself on his stool and opened the book from which he was copying.

“How are you coming on that, son?”

“I’m about finished with the first part. Creslin and Megaera have been consorted by the Duke of Montgren.” Rahl paused. “How come Montgren had a duke, but Sarronnyn has a Tyrant, and Hamor has an emperor? Aren’t they all just names for a ruler?”

“No. Rulers in different lands have different powers. The High Wizards of Fairhaven are the most powerful chaos-mages in the world, and they rule through those powers. The Duke of Montgren was not all that powerful. That is why there is no duke now, and Fairhaven rules Montgren. The Tyrant is always a woman and takes her powers from the Legend-”

Thrap!

At the knock on the door, Rahl looked to his father.

“You get it.”

Rahl rose from his copying table, then crossed the workroom and opened the door. He paused as he saw Sevien’s red hair. “I’m copying, Sevien.”

“I thought you would be. I’m on my way down to the main keep with the amphorae that the Guards ordered from Da. I just thought you might want to come by after supper. Thorkel sent a whole bushel of early redberries, and Mother’s made some pies…” Sevien grinned and lowered his voice. “Jienela might come.”

Rahl frowned, then smiled. “I’d love to.”

“Good. Till later.” Sevien smiled and turned, then hurried back toward the street.

The younger scrivener squinted in thought as he closed the door. How had Sevien found out about Jienela? Had she told Sevien’s sister? That wasn’t good, not at all.

“Who was that?” asked Kian.

“Sevien. He asked me over after supper. His mother is making some redberry pies.” Rahl walked back to his table. For a moment, he glanced out the window, looking out into the bright spring afternoon toward the gray stone wall beyond the corner of the garden.

“Suppose it’d be all right,” mused Kian, adding with a smile, “leastwise, if you don’t go by way of Dhostak’s orchard.”

Rahl managed not to flush. “I don’t plan to.” He didn’t have to, not if Jienela would be there anyway. Still, he’d have to ease away from her carefully. In time, but not yet.

“Best you plan not ever to go by way of that orchard.”

“You and Mother have made that very clear, ser.”

“I would hope so.”

Saying anything more would merely have prolonged an unpleasant topic, and one that got less and less pleasant for all the repetition. Rahl smiled politely and went back to copying Tales of the Founders. He finished another page before there was another thrap on the workroom door.

Rahl immediately got up to answer it.

A trim figure in a black tunic and trousers stood outside in the sunlight. His brown hair was cut short, and he was beardless. He also bore the aura of order.

“Magister Puvort,” Rahl managed, opening the door and stepping back. “Please come in, ser.”

“Thank you, young Rahl. It’s refreshing to hear such courtesy.” Puvort studied Rahl a moment, and the faintest hint of a frown appeared and vanished before the magister turned to Kian, who had risen from his own copying table.

The scrivener bowed his head, then asked, “How might I help you, Magister?”

“I’ve been hearing things, Kian,” began the magister. “You wouldn’t have a copy of The Basis of Order, now, would you?”

Kian laughed. “Knowing how the Council feels about that, Magister Puvort, I’d not be foolish enough even to copy one belonging to another, let alone have one.”

“I thought not, but these days, we need to ask.”

“Are the engineering devils making trouble again?”

“When haven’t they? A bad bargain it was the Council made with the cursed smith, but he was the only one who could turn the white demons away.” Puvort shook his head sadly. “More and more of the outland traders port in Nylan, and now…”

Both scriveners waited.

“Now…they’re asking the Council to let them handle the exiling for all of Recluce…as if we did not know who embodies chaos and who does not.”

“What will the Council do?” asked Kian.

Puvort shrugged. “It has not been decided.” Then he smiled. “I’d best be going. Thank you, scrivener, and you, Rahl.” With a nod, the black magister turned.

Rahl found that he was still holding the door. After Puvort was out of sight, he closed it. He didn’t think it had been his imagination that the magister’s eyes had lingered on him before Puvort had left.

“How can the Council agree to that?” Rahl finally asked.

“How can they not?” replied Kian. “The black devils build and crew the ships that protect all Recluce. They have weapons that we cannot match. These days more than half the trade goes through Nylan. The Council must accede to them more and more.”

“You’ve never spoken of that.”

“It’s not wise to do so. Being critical of the Council can put you on a ship to Hamor or Candar, or Brysta if you’re lucky-unless you can get to Nylan first.”

“Just for talking about them?”

“If you’re not talking favorable words about the Council these days.”

Rahl turned and looked out the south windows. He already knew that no one was around. That was something he’d always been able to sense, but his father had never believed him. So it was just easier to look.

“There’s no one here.” He closed the door and walked back to the copying table, where he sat down and looked at his father. “What is The Basis of Order?”

“It’s the book of the Black Engineers in Nylan. They’re forbidden outside the Black City.”

“Why did Magister Puvort think you had one?”

“He probably didn’t,” Kian said. “But the magisters can tell when someone tells the truth or lies. If he asks, and I say I don’t, and I’m telling the truth, then he’s done.”

Rahl frowned. “But…if you had had one, and you hid it away from the house, and said you didn’t have it, you’d be telling the truth, too.”

“I wouldn’t be telling all the truth, and many magisters can sense that also.”

“But why don’t they like the engineers? They’re part of Recluce, and they protect all of us, you said.”

“They build machines, great creations out of metal and black iron, and when they build those machines, that creates more chaos and more of the white demons. Fairhaven gets stronger every year. Now, the white mages effectively rule most of Candar east of the Westhorns.” Kian shook his head. “There’s no point in saying more. Just don’t talk down the Council or praise the engineers.”

Rahl nodded. What his father had said didn’t make total sense. Without the ships of the engineers of Nylan, the mages of Fairhaven would have conquered Recluce years and years ago, yet the Council was complaining that using the ships strengthened the white demons? It sounded to him like the Council was more afraid of losing power to the engineers than of the dangers of the white mages.

Still…there wasn’t much a scrivener could do about that. Other things were another matter.

He smiled, thinking of redberry pies and what well might follow.