The Magic of Recluce (6 page)

Tamra raised her eyebrows, saying nothing.

“High-handed…” murmured Wrynn.

Krystal began eating the apple slices she had laid out around her plate.

Myrten pocketed two hard rolls and an apple, and Sammel frowned, either at Talryn's departure or Myrten's theft…or for some reason of his own. I took a last swallow from the mug, deciding against another slice of cheese. Enough was enough, and I was ready to find out what lay in store for me.

Tamra and I were the first ones on our feet. She hadn't eaten everything on her plate, either.

As I glanced at her plate, our eyes crossed, hers looking at my partially-eaten meal. I had to grin, and, this time, she grinned back momentarily, although her expression hardened into a bored look.

I held the door for her, but she nodded. “Go ahead, Lerris. I'll hold my own doors.”

“As you wish, lady.”

“And I'm certainly no lady, not in the way you meant.”

“I didn't mean anything, other than courtesy. If you don't like simple manners…” I let go of the black wood of the door and stepped back into the hallway toward the washrooms where my staff and pack were stored.

“Touchy, too. You should have red hair.”

I ignored her comments, although I could feel the flush in my face.

“Healthy circulation, if thin-skinned.”

Did the bitch needle everyone, or just those she could bully? I wished my thoughts were as quick as hers, but trying to match her would just make the situation worse.

The staff was where I left it, the lorken wood a shade warmer to my touch. Was that because we were in Nylan? Did it have some response of its own to magic or danger? I shook my head.

“Why the frown?” Sammel's voice was concerned. He probably always sounded concerned. He looked like his vocation was trying to do good whether anyone wanted it or not.

“Just thinking…wondering about all the black, whether it meant magic.”

“It probably does. The Brotherhood couldn't have shaped the harbor or the cliffs without some fantastic forces. But they mean well, I think.”

“So did Heldry the Mad.”

Sammel smiled. “The Brotherhood doesn't hold mass executions.”

I shrugged on my pack. “They settle for dangergeld and exile. That way the deaths are on someone else's hands.”

“You are rather bitter for someone so young.”

“That's easy when you're forced on a dangergeld for a reason you don't know by a group that enforces unspoken rules in unsaid ways.”

That stopped him long enough for me to step around him and past Myrten. Tamra's back was in front of me as she passed by the table. No one was left there. Even Krystal had left several of the delicately-cut apple slices on her plate, where they were now turning brown.

I followed Tamra into the waiting room beyond.

“…That's no choice.” The voice was Dorthae's, and she was facing Talryn.

Talryn smiled a smile that wasn't really a smile, since his black eyes were hard as the stone of the paved floor underfoot. “You can choose either. Your actions already made that choice necessary.”

“What…because I wouldn't stay with a man who turned out to be an unfeeling and unthinking brute?”

“No. Because you crippled him before you left him.”

I winced. While there was a hardness to Dorthae, I hadn't seen just how hard she was. Yet she looked vulnerable standing before Talryn, even though he was no taller than she was.

Dorthae turned away, her lips tight.

Myrten and Sammel had followed me. Only Wrynn and Krystal were missing.

Dorthae glanced at me, saw my black staff and stumbled back toward Tamra, also carrying her staff. Dorthae cringed away from the redhead.

Tamra and I exchanged glances. She shrugged. After a moment, so did I.

Clearly, as I had recognized from the encounters with Shrezsan and the trader, I had some power, associated with the staff. What it was…that was another question. Unfortunately, everyone else thought I had some power, too, and they were just as clearly very wary of it. Wonderful—heading into a dangergeld cursed with an ability I hadn't even known I'd had, with the whole world ready to pounce on me for it. Sent for reasons I still didn't understand and which no one would explain. Just wonderful.

As I pondered, Krystal and Wrynn had appeared.

“You are all here. Good,” said Talryn. “Follow me.”

P
RETTY MUCH IN
silence we walked up a set of wide black stone stairs. The side walls were of the same black stone. All the stone was smooth but unpolished, and it seemed to absorb light with almost no reflection. Each stone was set so tightly in place that the mortar between each was less than half a fingertip in width. That thin line of mortar was black. So clean were the steps they bore no trace of dust, although the light from the overhead skylights did not fall on the steps directly.

Talryn and Sammel were at the front of the group. I was at the back, just behind Wrynn and Krystal. From Krystal's blue leather belt, darker than her faded blue blouse and trousers, hung two sheaths, both containing knives, one barely a span in length. She wore a small matching blue pack.

“All this black…depressing…” muttered Wrynn, shaking her head, her blond hair fluffing out for an instant. She wore a brown pack like mine, except hers was stuffed to the bursting point and had several small bags tied to the outside.

“It smells like power,” answered Krystal, touching her hand to the long black hair she had wound up into a bun after our rather late lunch. Then she emitted the faintest giggle.

If only she didn't giggle…I shook my head. She was nearly a decade older than I was, at least, with the hint of lines around her eyes—almost scrawny, except for her nicely-formed breasts.

“Creepy, if you ask me,” muttered Wrynn again. Her right hand rested awkwardly on the haft of a long sheathed knife.

At the top of the steps was a foyer of sorts, windowless, and, on the far end, a set of doors that Talryn held open.

The breeze blowing toward me held a hint of spring, or rain—that clean smell that follows a good rain when the dust is washed out of the air. Yet I could see that the sky was as blue and nearly cloudless as when I had walked under the gates and into Nylan at midday.

“Gather round…”

So we gathered. I gave Myrten a wide berth. Smooth voice or not, he looked like he'd steal anything available just to prove he could. Dorthae didn't have that problem. She practically cuddled up next to him. I stood a pace or so behind Wrynn and Krystal, facing Talryn.

“Right ahead of us are the transients' quarters where you will be staying. Each of you will have a separate room,” explained Talryn. “You can sleep there, or with anyone else in your group, as you please—but only with that other person's consent. Forcing yourself on someone else is a good way to immediate exile.”

“
Now
…it's that way…” complained Dorthae.

Myrten sniffed. Wrynn grinned as if no one were about to force
her
—a thought with which I certainly agreed, wondering absently if, with her,
I
might need that protection.

I glanced around to find Tamra looking at me. She nodded once, then transferred her attention back to Talryn, who had continued droning on.

Had she understood what I had been thinking? How?

“…washrooms and showers are at the end of the hallway. The small building on the other side of the square garden with the fruit trees is the dining hall where your meals will be served. You may eat there, or you may pay for meals anywhere in Nylan. The choice, again, is yours.” He grinned broadly. “But the Brotherhood's meals are good, and the price is right.”

“Only your life,” said Dorthae softly, but loudly enough to stop Talryn momentarily.

He frowned, then shook his head. “Believe it or not, our interest is in saving your lives, not spending them.” He cleared his throat before continuing. “Your introduction to the elements of the dangergeld will start tomorrow after breakfast in the classroom building—that's the one with the red square by the doorway toward the harbor from the dining hall. Now I'll show you your rooms. If you wish to trade a room with someone else, you certainly can, provided you both agree.”

Without another word, he turned and opened the black-oak door, not even looking to see if any of us followed him. Of course, we all did. What else could we do?

My room, like all the others, had a narrow bed, just wide enough for one comfortably. The wooden frame was, thankfully, of polished red oak. A single sheet covered the mattress, and a dark-blue blanket was folded across the bottom of the bed. No pillows, not that I had slept with one since I had apprenticed with Uncle Sardit, and only a single small oil lamp on the table. There was no closet, but a square red-oak wardrobe, half hanging space and half open shelves.

A braided and multicolored oval rag rug perhaps three cubits across covered most of the blue floor tiles between the door and the bed, which was nearly against the outside stone wall. The half-open single casement window was in the middle of the wall, just short of the foot of the bed.

I pulled my cloak from the pack and hung it up, as well as my single spare set of trousers and tunic. The order-locked purse was there, with my apprentice wages, as was another purse I did not remember. I opened it. Inside were ten more gold pennies, worn, nothing more. I swallowed.

For some reason, I had trouble seeing for a minute, perhaps because I recalled the gold penny with the small clip out of it. My mother had remarked on it as coming from the buyer from the Emperor of Hamor. She refused to let me see her tears, but left me what she could. I grasped back in the bag for something…anything.

There was also a short-sleeved summer shirt, but I left it folded and put it on the second shelf. My leather case with the razor and soap I put on the top shelf. The few other underclothes I had fit in with room to spare, as did the small book my father had clearly tucked into my pack.

The Basis of Order
…of all things. Who knew? I figured reading it might be something to do. Especially if the training got boring. I didn't leave it out in the open, but tucked it under the shirt. The purses I put back in the pack, which I folded and put on the top shelf. They would be safe—that I knew. I took ten coppers and a silver penny.

None of the rooms had locks, just bolts that could only be closed from inside. Then again, who was going to try to steal anything with the Brotherhood around? Even Myrten would hesitate…for now.

I shook my head. The hour was early, and even if it were kays down to the harbor, a good walk, and even if my feet were blistered, I intended to try it, just to see if I could get a better idea about what Nylan really represented. And I didn't want to sit around and think about either the book or the extra purse.

The staff stayed in the wardrobe along with the cloak.

With a last look at the small room, I closed the door. Outside, the central hallway was empty, although I could hear voices in the neighboring room—Wrynn and Krystal. Their words were low.

The pathway toward the harbor was easy enough to find, since there were stone pedestals every hundred rods or so along each of the paths, with names and arrows pointing out the way.

 

Harbor—3 kays

Northway Depot—2 kays

Administration—1 kay

 

I kept following the arrows until I reached a black stone wall that ran north and south from one side of the peninsula to the other. It was low, a little over two cubits. Nor was it really a barrier, since there were no gates at the openings where the paths went through it. On one side were the almost park-like grounds that had stretched for more than a kay, with scattered low buildings.

From where I stood at the top of a long set of wide steps, I could look over the central part of Nylan—or the commercial district, whatever it was called. Behind and over the building tops, I could see the blue of the harbor and the tops of several masts.

Right beyond the wall, the ground fell away, in a grassy slope that dropped a good fifteen cubits in less than a hundred. On the other side of the downslope, the buildings began—all black stone, roofed in black slate. Each stood separately, set back from the black stone-paved streets and the shinier black curbs. Unlike Enstronn or Mattra or even Wandernaught, there were no hitching posts. Despite the width of the streets, they did not seem to be designed for horses or wagons.

People walked the streets, some carrying packages, some carrying nothing, some in black, some in all colors of the rainbow.

No one even looked up the hill. So I headed down.

Halfway down, I looked back up. The wall that had looked so low from the uphill side appeared at least fifteen cubits high from the base of the hill. Even accounting for more stone exposed on the downhill side, I didn't think the wall was nearly that high. But speculating on optical illusions wouldn't tell me any more about Nylan.

Once on the streets of the harbor area, everything felt more normal. People talked, and I could hear the babble of the market square ahead. With all the black stone, the city should have felt warmer, especially on a summer afternoon, but the breeze from the west was cool enough, apparently, to keep the temperature comfortable.

A sailor, red-haired and red-bearded, gave me a long glance as I entered the square. Half the booths, those on the north side, seemed permanent, workmanlike and well-crafted. Those on the south side, some of which were no more than half-tents or canvas-covered tables, seemed shoddy by comparison. Several seemed untended.

I nodded. The outland traders and ships had their wares on the south side.

“Young fellow—come see the amber from Brysta!”

“…fire-diamonds from Afrit! Here alone!…”

Still, the calls from the hucksters were muted. Perhaps thirty shoppers filled the entire square, split among nearly as many vendors. Most of the shoppers were young, not much older than me. Dangergelders, those doing duty with the Brotherhood, I guessed as I looked first at the booths on the north side of the square.

The first displayed some ceramics. Good work, but nothing to compare to my mother's. The colors were too vivid. A man sat behind them, perched on a stool, who gave me a passing grin as if to acknowledge I would buy nothing.

In quick order, I passed some carved and gilded mirrors; a goldsmith's display of rings, necklaces, and pendants; a smith's array of assorted steel tools, which seemed of high quality; leather goods, including purses, belts, packs, and sheaths for various sizes of knives; a bootmaker's display with several gaudy, if well-tooled, sets of boots.

At the woodworking stall, I stopped, surveying the items on display. All were small—breadboards, book holders, and mostly carved boxes. No furniture, except a tiny pedestal table and a two-shelf bookcase of gray oak.

“You know wood,” observed the boy minding the display. His brown eyes almost matched his brown hair, and he wore a tan shirt.

“Some. You do any of these?”

“Only the breadboards. My older brother did most of the rest, except the table and the shelves.”

“Your father?”

“Mother. She sells mostly on consignment to Hamor.”

The breadboards were adequate, as were the boxes, but I had been doing better when I had left Uncle Sardit. Only the pedestal table was clearly better than I could do.

“You think you do better work?” asked the boy.

“It doesn't matter now,” I answered absently. Whatever I did from there on out, it wouldn't be woodwork.

I left without saying more and walked across the square. The first cloth-draped table was the trader who had been screeching forth about amber. A single look told me that the amber was fair at best, and the silver settings in which most of it was encased were worse.

The trader glanced away from my scrutiny, not even speaking.

The adjoining table was filled with uncut fire diamonds. Even from the spread stones, I could pick out three or four clearly superior to the others. Not bigger, just better. Displaying what I might have called more order. But I couldn't afford them, and there wasn't much point in bargaining over a lesser stone, not when I would need funds more than diamonds before very long.

Several tables were vacant, their canvas flapping in the breeze, barely held down by stones.

Further toward the corner closest to the harbor was a tiny man sitting behind a half-dozen small and elaborately-carved ivory figures. Those alone matched the quality of crafts displayed on the north side of the square.

For a long time, I studied the figures. One, that of a young man carrying a dark staff, appealed to me. Once again, I passed on without even trying to bargain. Nor did the trader or carver try to entreat me.

From the square I walked down toward the four long wharves. Each gray stone structure rose out of the dark blue water of the harbor more than five cubits, with a central paved roadway more than ten cubits wide. At the first wharf, the one closest to the harbor mouth and farthest from the center of the market area, was a huge twin-masted and steel-hulled steamer. A thin wisp of smoke rose from the forward funnel. The ensign I did not recognize, but, with the blue-green background and the golden crown, I would have guessed the ship was from somewhere in Nordla.

A half-dozen loading carts, stacked with square wooden packing cases of differing sizes, waited for the ship's crane to transfer each into an open forward hold. What was in the crates I couldn't see. I walked down toward the pier. Although there was a small stone booth for a guard, the booth, spotlessly clean, was empty. Nor was there a guard around.

Click…click
…My boots nearly skidded on the smooth pavement underfoot.

Whhhsssss
…Ahead, steam drifted from the small tractor linked to the loading carts, though they were long like farm carts, each nearly ten cubits in length. The sides were of smooth-milled red oak, held in place by steel brackets.

“Stand clear, fellow.” A woman I had not seen, wearing a set of black coveralls, waved in my direction then gestured toward the ship.

Whhheeeepppp
…The crane lifted two more crates, cradled in a heavy mesh net, up off the next-to-last cart. The end cart was already empty.