Natural Ordermage

LIII

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.

After that, Rahl sat alone for a time. Belatedly, he realized the full impact of Chalyn’s warning and last words. Better blades suggested more accomplished assassins. As he considered that, he could feel a slow-burning anger rekindle-or perhaps he just recognized it. Because he stopped a killing, he was going to be more of a target? He was likely to be in even greater danger…and it had all started with that sow’s ass Puvort! Just because Puvort hadn’t liked Rahl, he’d made Rahl’s self-defense into a crime. The bastard had twisted the truth and misrepresented what had happened and exiled Rahl to Nylan, and there the magisters hadn’t been much help, either. Everyone wanted to blame, but no one really had wanted to help or explain. And now, Rahl was stuck in Swartheld, and he not only had to worry about the mage-guards, and what he would do in less than a season, but he also had to worry about assassins, and that didn’t take into account cutpurses, and the schemes of Shyret and Chenaryl.

The more he thought about it, the angrier he got. No matter what he tried to do, the future was looking grimmer and grimmer, and no one cared. Puvort certainly hadn’t cared, and Kadara hadn’t been much better. The only one who’d tried to explain anything had been Deybri, and she was a healer, not a magister.

He was still seething when Daelyt returned.

“Is everything all right, Rahl? You look…disturbed.”

“Just thinking.” Rahl forced a laugh. “Sometimes, it’s hard to get used to a new place.”

“That’s true. My first year here was hard.” Daelyt paused at the desk. “I’ll be back in a moment. I need more ink.”

Before Daelyt returned, two traders walked in, looking for wool and various dyestuffs. From that moment on, both clerks were busy until late in the afternoon.

When the last of a continuous string of traders had left, Daelyt smiled crookedly. “Didn’t I tell you that it would get busier?”

“You did.”

The door opened again, and Rahl turned his head.

A swarthy young man in a clerk’s summer tunic walked to the desk. “Daelyt!”

“Hylart, what are you doing here? You walk all the way from the north piers?”

“Hardly. There’s a wagon outside with Sumyl and a driver. I’ve got what Waolsyn owes your director. With twenty golds in the pouch, no one was going to let me walk.”

Daelyt inclined his head, and Rahl hurried back to Shyret’s study.

“Director, Hylart is here with twenty golds from Waolsyn.”

“Now? After the Exchange is closed?”

“Yes, ser.”

With a sigh that seemed forced to Rahl, rather than resigned, Shyret rose from behind the fruitwood desk. “Tell him I’ll be right there.”

“Yes, ser.” Rahl turned and headed back to his own desk. As he neared the other two clerks, he slowed slightly, taking in what they were saying.

“…anyone else who might have known that Waolsyn was going to pay the Association?” asked Daelyt.

“If Waolsyn knows it, so does all Swartheld,” replied Hylart. “He never says what he receives, but he’s always complaining about all the factors he owes.”

Both stopped talking as they saw Rahl.

“He’ll be right here.”

“Oh…Hylart, this is Rahl. He’s new with us, the past two eightdays.”

Rahl inclined his head. “I’m pleased to meet you.”

“From Atla?”

“Just my speech,” Rahl said, offering a smile.

“He’s from Nylan,” Daelyt added, “but he learned Hamorian in Atla.”

As he took his seat at the desk Rahl decided against correcting Daelyt.

“You think the rain will continue?” asked Daelyt.

“For a few days. The first rains of fall always last a few days. Makes the mage-guards edgy, though. Have to be careful around them when it rains.”

“That’s what they say.”

“That’s the way it is,” insisted Hylart.

Shyret approached, clearly his throat loudly, before speaking. “You have something for me, Hylart?”

“Yes, ser. The last remittance on the last purchases.” The clerk handed a cloth pouch to the director. “Ser Waolsyn would like a receipt, ser.” Hylart drew an envelope from his tunic. “If you would not mind signing…?”

“If you would not mind my counting the golds first,” countered Shyret, opening the cloth pouch and easing the coins onto the desktop before Daelyt. “…eight, nine, ten…thirteen, seventeen…nineteen, twenty…all here.” He swept the golds back into the pouch, then took the pen that Daelyt handed him and signed the receipt already spread on the desk. “There you are.”

“Thank you, ser director.” Hylart bowed, then turned, and departed.

Shyret picked up the pouch. “We’d better have Rahl eat first tonight, before you go, Daelyt.”

“Yes, ser.”

Without explaining more, the director turned and headed back to his study.

Rahl looked to the older clerk.

“The director hates getting large remittances after the Exchange closes,” Daelyt said. “He doesn’t want to risk taking them home. So he locks them away in his study. That’s why he wants you to eat first tonight and not go out after that. I doubt anything will happen, but he’d feel better knowing that someone will be here until he can take the golds to the Exchange when it opens in the morning. Tyboran and Yussyl can go with him.”

Despite his genial tone, Daelyt was clearly uneasy.

“Just tell me when you want me to go,” replied Rahl. What else could he say?