Natural Ordermage

XXIII

On oneday, Leyla met Rahl outside the small study. “We’ve decided to change what you’re doing. You won’t be working with Magister Sebenet any longer.”

What had he done wrong there?

“It’s not your work. In fact, Sebenet’s not at all happy about it. He thinks you have the makings of a good typesetter and printer, but that’s not going to help you. From here on, you’ll be spending all morning in Hamorian classes. Magister Thorl says you have a great ability with languages, and your experience there and with the printing indicates that you learn better by doing than by reading.”

Rahl had only been trying to tell the magisters that for an eightday, but he just nodded.

Leyla glanced at his arm. “You’ll be doing arms training in the afternoon. There’s plenty you can do with that while you’re healing. Deybri says it’s not that deep.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me. It was Kadara’s suggestion-after your difficulties over the end-days. She said you’re one of those who has to learn everything the hard way. Learning arms will be very hard for you. Probably not the truncheon or the staff, but everything else.”

“What about studying order?”

“That’s up to you. You have your copy of The Basis of Order. We’ll answer any questions you have.” Leyla’s eyes met his. “Frankly, if you don’t figure out better control, you won’t be able to stay in Nylan, but you’re spending as much time and effort fighting us as trying to learn. We think that your only hope is to learn on your own-at least for the next few eightdays. Then we’ll see.”

Rahl found himself bristling inside once more. They hadn’t wanted to tell him all that much, and now they were saying that it was because he was fighting them. Of course he was fighting them. He was trying to get them to tell him something useful. The only one who’d really been all that helpful hadn’t been a mage at all, but a healer. Rahl wasn’t certain that Kadara would have said nearly so much as she had if Deybri hadn’t been there.

“Oh, Rahl,” Leyla said tiredly, “please do stop it. You want us to give you easy and simple answers on how to handle a set of complex skills you haven’t investigated, haven’t tried to figure out, and don’t seem to want to. You have natural order-talents, but they’ll never be more than that until you look into yourself and see what you’re doing and how, and that’s not something we can do for you.”

“You could tell me how things are supposed to work.”

“Such as?”

Rahl found his thoughts going in all directions. He hated being put on the spot, trying to come up with a quick reply, as if it were all his fault if he didn’t. “How do you put order into things?”

“Unwisely, if you look at it that way.” Leyla sighed. “Let me try to explain this in very simple terms. You have both order and chaos in your body. If you use the order in your body and put it elsewhere, you’re going to unbalance your body, and you’ll get sick or die, because the remaining chaos will overpower the order and break down parts of your body. Now…there is a certain amount of free chaos and order around us all, but it’s spread out thinner than the air we breathe. A strong mage can gather either and use that. If he gathers too much, it’s likely to result in attracting an equal amount of chaos-or draw someone who holds that much free chaos within them. If there are reasons why that does not happen, then a focus of the opposite force will appear somewhere in the world, more likely nearer than more distant. You have the ability to draw some of that free order from around you, but you’re not really aware of it, or how you do it. I suspect that’s why the thief had to attack you, although he wasn’t aware of it, because his chaos was drawn to your order. That’s why we maintain strong defenses against chaos here in Nylan, because the black iron of our machines represents concentrated order. That’s also why we discourage order-magery in Nylan, except for healing, because it makes matters worse.”

“You’re saying I caused the thief to attack me? I caused it?” Rahl couldn’t believe that.

“Not directly. Not in the way you’re saying. Let me give you an analogy. Let us say you have a coal stove, and you need to add more coal, but when you open the door to the fire chamber to shovel in the coal, there’s a hidden string from your coal scoop to a pitcher of lamp oil in the rafters overhead, and the oil runs down the string all at once into the stove. What will happen?”

“You’ll get a flare-up in fire, I suppose.”

“Well…that’s sort of the way you’re going about things right now. You have a hidden order string that attracts chaos because you aren’t aware of that tie, and every time you use your order-skills you’re risking some sort of fire. Now…you’re potentially a powerful mage, and your shields are strong enough that most of us can’t sense what you’re about to do until you do. Frankly, we’d rather not get burned in your fires. Do you think you’d want to if you were in my position?”

“So what am I supposed to do?”

“Learn Hamorian, read The Basis of Order, and learn more about arms and how they’re used. Every time you use order-skills, try to feel how you’re doing things. You might even try to figure out other ways to do things, even if they’re not as easy, because that will help you understand.”

Rahl understood that Leyla was trying to help him, but what she said didn’t seem all that useful or practical. Besides, he’d already been trying some of that, and while it helped some, he hadn’t had any great insights from what he’d tried.

“Now…you can join Magister Thorl. I’ll meet you at the weapons center after you see the healers. It’s the square building about two hundred cubits west of the infirmary.”

Rahl left the study half-understanding and half-angry. Why couldn’t anyone explain anything clearly? Leyla had explained why he was a problem, but she hadn’t given him any solid advice or suggestions except to consider what he was doing. People had been doing that for years, and Rahl hadn’t found such advice to be particularly helpful. It was just an easy way of making sure it was his fault whenever anything went wrong.

Magister Thorl did offer a smile when Rahl appeared, and both Coraza and Yanyla ran to greet him.

“Mes amias!” Rahl declared.

“Ista tuo de ceriolo…”

Rahl caught most of what Coraza was saying and smiled.

He felt far more cheerful when he left Thorl for dinner in the mess. He wasn’t even upset when Anitra joined him at his table.

“Sokol said you killed a thief in the market on sevenday. That true?”

“He tried to knife me because I stopped him from stealing a vendor’s cashbox.”

“He was Hydlenese. They’re all thieves. Even their traders are thieves.”

Rahl nodded and kept eating, listening and occasionally making a remark or two.

After he finished and rinsed his platter and mug, he made his way to the infirmary. He had to sit and wait a while before Deybri appeared.

“Good afternoon, Rahl,” said Deybri. She hadn’t been the duty healer on eightday. That had been an older man-Natran. “How’s the arm?”

“Sore, but not quite as stiff.”

“Let’s take a look.” She didn’t actually remove the dressing but merely let her fingers rest on his skin above and below the cloth. “Another few days, and you won’t need the dressing. We’ll give you some ointment to put on it. That will keep it from itching and keep the scarring from being too bad.”

“Is that all?”

“For today. You’re fine. I have some others who aren’t.” She smiled, then turned, heading toward the long wards to the rear of the building.

Rahl felt vaguely let down as he left the infirmary and followed the walk westward toward the squarish building where Leyla had said she would meet him.

She stood just outside. “How’s the arm?”

“Deybri says the dressing will come off in a few days.” He paused. “Can I get another summer tunic…or do I have to wait until I have enough coppers to pay for a replacement?”

Leyla laughed. “Just stop by the wardrobing building and tell them I said it was all right. You probably saved us more coins than the tunic cost.”

“Ah…?”

“If the thief had escaped, people would have lost coins. If he’d been captured, he would have had to appear before a justicer, and he would have had to be fed for a day or two. All of that costs. Even quick justice isn’t free.”

Rahl understood. He just hadn’t thought of it in that way.

The weapons hall was a long building, and most of it was just open space between walls with areas for practicing. In some places, there were mats on the floor. In other areas, the stone was covered loosely with sand. In one section was what looked to be part of a ship’s deck.

Leyla led him into one of the few separate rooms, in which there were long rows of plain wooden tables. There, the man who bowed to Leyla wore black, but trousers and a shirt that were neither tight nor loose-fitting, but somewhere in between. He also held a slight aura of order.

“Rahl, this is Magister Zastryl.”

“Magister.” Rahl bowed slightly.

“If you would, Rahl,” said Zastryl, “I’d like you to walk up and down the tables and pick the weapon that feels the most comfortable. Not the one you think would be best, but the one that feels that way.” He gestured toward the tables. “It doesn’t matter whether you know how to use it…you’ll learn.”

Rahl could sense that every weapon had somehow been infused with something. To him, some even held the reddish white that had to be a form of chaos. He slowly walked along the nearest table. He could have played games with Zastryl, and picked up one of the blades or a long knife, but Leyla, standing on one side, would have caught that. He suspected that was one reason she was there. He looked up and smiled at her.

She did not return the smile.

In the end he was honest. There was no reason not to be. He brought both a truncheon and a staff to the armsmaster. “I can’t decide. I might be favoring the truncheon because I’ve used it, but I don’t think so.”

Zastryl looked to Leyla.

She nodded. “There’s no discernible difference.”

“That’s interesting,” noted Zastryl, looking at Leyla.

“Until later,” she said, turning and leaving the narrow chamber.

“Since you have a sore arm, and you know something about the truncheon,” Zastryl began, “we’ll start with the staff. Later, you’ll get the basics of handling a blade, mainly defense, and a dagger.” He turned and walked out of the weapons room and into the main area, expecting Rahl to follow.

Rahl did.

Zastryl stopped at one of the racks on the wall, from which he removed two dark wooden staffs. Both were heavily padded on the ends.

On one side of the large chamber, Rahl noticed two solid-looking men in olive black uniforms he hadn’t seen before. Both of them were looking at him.

Zastryl followed his gaze. “Naval marines. We train them, too, and make them go through refresher courses periodically.” After a moment, he raised his voice. “Khaesyn, Stendyl! You aren’t sparring when you’re looking.” He turned back to Rahl. “If you don’t concentrate, the padding won’t help much. Let’s start with your feet…”

Rahl was sweating heavily by the time Zastryl dismissed him in late afternoon. He was also exhausted although he’d never actually crossed staffs with the arms magister, just practiced moves and footwork, time after time.

Leyla was waiting for him when he finished the session.

“You were considering picking up one of the blades just to confound everyone, weren’t you?” she asked.

Rahl understood that the question was almost rhetorical. “I thought about it. I decided there wasn’t much point to it.”

“Could you have picked up one of the razor-edged blades?”

“Yes, magistra.” It would have been hard, but he could have.

She nodded. “We need to have a talk, Rahl. A very serious talk.” She looked toward the mess. “It won’t be that long.”

Rahl waited.

“It’s early to tell, but you may be one of those mages who can handle a certain amount of disorder and chaos. This is both desirable and undesirable. It is desirable from your point of view because it makes you less vulnerable to chaos-attacks. It is undesirable because you will attract even more free chaos than a practicing pure black ordermage. In your case, this could prove dangerous or fatal if you do not attempt to learn more about how you use order.” She paused. “Believe it or not, I understand your frustration. You are looking for guidance on how to use order. There’s one problem with that. Order-use cannot be taught. It remains an art that can only be learned by each mage on an individual basis. No two mages use order in precisely the same way. That is one reason why The Basis of Order provides only observations and statements about how order and chaos appear in the world and what the results of balanced or unbalanced use may be.”

“But…magistra, in a way, that is true of everything. When I was learning to be a scrivener, my father could not take the pen and move my hand, but he could show me what the letters looked like. He could show me the best way to hold the pen.”

“True,” Leyla acknowledged. “Now…what if you could not see the letters he wrote on the page, and he could not see those you wrote? And the only way in which he could determine how well you copied was by how well someone else read what you wrote? That’s not a perfect analogy, but it should give you an idea of the difference. When you attempt to manipulate order, I can tell that you are doing it. I can tell that you have done it, and I can view the results, but because the means by which you do so are within you, I cannot see or sense what techniques you use.”

Rahl was silent, thinking over what she had said.

“Until you can describe and feel what you are doing with order and how you are doing it,” she went on, “we cannot offer ways in which you might improve your skills.”

“But I don’t really know how.”

“Exactly. And if you can’t say how you are doing it, how do you expect us to offer advice on what techniques might be useful when we cannot see or sense how you do what you are doing?”

Rahl didn’t have an answer to her question, but he still felt that the magisters were being singularly unhelpful.

“Think about it, Rahl. I’ll see you on fourday.”

Rahl watched as she took the walk northward. After a moment, he started toward the mess. He was hungry…and irritated, if not as angry as he had been.