“But they attacked me. I was only defending myself,” Rahl protested.
“You used order in your defense, and you injured two men. The use of order is not necessarily forbidden, nor is self-defense, but after Jeason was on the road stones, you broke his wrist. That was unnecessary and showed your lack of control.”
“I was supposed to let him get up and attack me again?”
“Silence. You can tell it to the Council.”
“Can we…see what happens before the Council?” asked Khorlya.
“Council hearings involving order misuse are always closed. I’m sure you can understand why,” replied Puvort smoothly.
Although Rahl could sense the truth of the magister’s words, he had the feeling that Puvort was pleased.
“But…he’s our son,” protested Khorlya.
“If the Council finds against exile or removal to Nylan, you’ll see him this afternoon.”
“If not?” asked Kian.
“You might do well to say good-byes now. Once someone has been found guilty of improper order usage, he cannot be allowed to roam free.”
Khorlya rushed forward and threw her arms around Rahl. He could feel her shivering with silent sobs. Finally, she straightened. “If…if things…don’t…please take care…We love you. We always have.” Then she hung on to him.
Rahl heard the sound of a wagon approaching from behind him.
“If you have anything to say, scrivener…” offered Puvort.
Khorlya released Rahl.
Kian stepped forward and grasped Rahl’s forearms. “Whatever happens, son…we care.” He paused, gathering himself together. “Try to think things out first.”
For a moment they stood there.
Rahl didn’t know what to say. Finally, he nodded. “I’ll do my best. Take care of Mother, and…” He just shook his head. He’d always been able to find words, but at the moment none came to mind.
Puvort cleared his throat.
Kian stepped back.
The magister’s face was impassive, but Rahl still felt that Puvort harbored a hidden inner satisfaction.
The wagon stopped short of Puvort. It was the same type of small black wagon with two seats that had carried Balmor away. A single Council Guard drove.
“Do we need to chain you?” Puvort’s voice was not quite ironic.
“No.” Stunned as he felt, yet furious beneath the shock, Rahl knew that resistance at the moment would be useless. Even if he could escape the magister and the Council Guard, where could he go? Between the magisters and people who didn’t wish to anger them, he’d be tracked down within days, if not sooner, and probably face worse than whatever was about to occur.
“You can be very sensible, Rahl. It’s too bad you weren’t that sensible earlier.”
“He’s barely more than a boy,” protested Khorlya.
“He’s enough of a man to do a man’s work and get a woman with child,” countered Puvort. “That means he’s enough of a man to understand the laws of Recluce. A man doesn’t misuse order without paying for it.”
Khorlya looked at the magister directly. “It seems like you’re more interested in punishing folks than helping ’em. Rahl was on his way to see you to ask for that training.”
“He should have done so earlier. It’s easy to claim you were about to do something.”
“You know he was.”
Kian moved beside his consort, and murmured, “It won’t do any good.”
Rahl could hear the words, low as they were. He had no doubt that the magister could as well.
“Enough, woman.” Puvort gestured to Rahl. “The rear seat.”
Rahl took his time in carefully climbing up and into the wagon.
Puvort climbed up and settled himself beside the Council Guard. He didn’t bother to look back, but as the guard flicked the leads to the pair of horses and the wagon began to move, Rahl could sense that the magister was using order to watch him.
Rahl looked back and waved to his parents, trying to convey a hopefulness he didn’t feel. His father now held Rahl’s truncheon. Rahl would have liked to have used it on Puvort’s skull. It was all too clear that the magister had set matters up to get him off Recluce, or at least to Nylan. For one thing, Puvort had to have summoned the wagon even before Jaired and Jeason had attacked him-long before. Second, there had been that sense of power emanating from somewhere, after which Jaired had attacked and Puvort had appeared. Third, now that he had thought about it, Puvort had been watching him for a while, and far more closely than Rahl had realized.
What Rahl didn’t understand was what he’d done to upset the magister, but from what Puvort had said to his mother, the magister wasn’t about to reveal that.
At the end of the street, the wagon turned east, and before long they were on the High Road, heading up the long, gradual slope toward the Black Holding. Rahl wondered if that was where they were heading, but he wasn’t about to ask Puvort anything. Not a thing.
Neither the Guard nor Puvort spoke until the wagon halted in a black-walled courtyard on the south side of the Black Holding. A pair of Council Guards stepped forward as Puvort swung off the wagon.
“You’ll go with them to the waiting room,” Puvort stated.
“Yes, ser.” Rahl vaulted out of the wagon, almost slipping as his sandals skidded on a patch of fine sand on the dark gray paving stones of the courtyard.
“This way,” said one of the guards, not unkindly.
Rahl could feel Puvort’s eyes on his back as he was escorted through an open gate and along a covered walkway to a small structure with a black-slate roof. The guard opened the door.
Inside was a small chamber with two benches, one against the wall facing the door, the other to the left.
The shorter guard pointed to the wall bench.
Rahl sat down on it. One of the guards sat on the side bench, while the other stood by the door. Each guard bore a short sword and a truncheon.
Time passed slowly. Exactly how long Rahl didn’t know, but the guards changed places several times, and from the light coming through the single small window, it was close to midday when another guard appeared. “They’re ready.”
The three escorted Rahl back outside and along the walkway to the Black Holding itself. Although the courtyard and the small building where he had waited looked old, they were almost newly built in comparison to the original structures of the Black Holding itself, which radiated age.
“In through the door,” stated the shorter guard. “Then just wait for them to summon you.”
Rahl opened the door and stepped into an oblong chamber. The two guards followed.
The room was comparatively low-ceilinged and not that large, no more than eight cubits wide and twelve in length. At the far end was a long black table, set sideways, behind which sat three magisters in black. One was a gray-haired man, another a woman who might have been his mother’s age, save that her face was unlined and her hair nearly white-blonde, and the third was Magister Puvort. Rahl hadn’t realized that Puvort was on the Council.
“This is a disciplinary session, handled by the justicing subcouncil. Bring forth the accused.”
“Step forward and stand before the magisters,” murmured the Council Guard closest to Rahl.
After a momentary hesitation, Rahl stepped forward, then inclined his head.
“You are Rahl, son of the scrivener Kian and the basketmaker Khorlya?” asked the woman.
“Yes, magistra.”
“You are accused of misusing order. What do you say to that?”
“Magistra…” Rahl paused for a moment. What could he say? “I did not even know that I had any abilities with order until Magister Puvort suggested that I might. He told me that I should consider coming here to take training from the magisters. That was less than an eightday ago. At first, that seemed impossible. I did not believe I had such abilities. Then, last sixday, he came to our house and suggested it again. In fact, he said he hoped to see me today. I talked this over with my parents, and we all agreed that I should do what the magister said, but since he said that he would be traveling until today, I waited until this morning. It did not seem that would be too long since Magister Puvort had first mentioned it. Once my chores were done, I set out…”