The Magic of Recluce - L. E. Modesitt [46]
Tamra had left her door open as well.
By the time I stepped outside—my feet moving from the smooth stones of the interior hall to the heavier, weathered, paving-stones of the walkway that would eventually lead to the harbor—everyone was waiting.
Waiting with Tamra and the rest was a woman I had not seen.
“My name is Isolde,” she announced. “I will be your guide from here to Freetown.” Her hair was silver-blond, cut squarely across the back of her neck, and her eyes were dark gray. She wore a faded green one-piece coverall and black boots. At her belt were a pair of knives, one on each hip. The belt was wide, of black leather with a triangular silver buckle. “The Eidolon is a Nordlan half-steamer registered out of Brysta. We have two cabins, which shouldn’t be that much of a problem since Freetown isn’t much more than a day and a half under normal conditions…”
Problem? Why would two cabins be a problem? I glanced over at Tamra, but the redhead was staring at the ground, ignoring Isolde and me. Even from nearly ten cubits away, I could see Tamra’s fingers were white from how tightly they gripped her staff.
“…make the transition easier, we have an inn in Freetown where you will all stay, assuming you wish to, tomorrow night. Once we reach the inn—it’s only a short walk from the harbor—you’ll receive a last briefing on the current conditions in Candar. Things like which provinces or duchies to avoid, and why.
“Two days from now, you’ll be on your own. Any questions?”
“…Uhhhhmmmm?” coughed Myrten. “Who pays the passage costs?”
“Those have been taken care of by the Brotherhood. So have your meals and lodging at the Travelers’ Rest. After that, all expenses are yours.” Isolde glanced around the group, looking for other questions.
“Why are we going on a Nordlan ship?” Wrynn’s voice seemed to silence even the breeze.
“Why not?” Isolde’s tone was amused. “The Eidolon is headed where you are going, and it’s a lot cheaper than sending a Brotherhood ship on a special run.”
“It also tells the world that Recluce is harsh enough to throw out its own.” As she spoke, Tamra barely glanced toward Isolde.
The brittleness of Tamra’s voice surprised me, as did its ragged sound. Was this the confident woman who had thrashed me so soundly with the staff in our initial sparring? The woman who understood order theory better than Magister Lennett?
“That is also partly true. By your actions or beliefs, you have chosen not to accept Recluce. Until you do, you are from Recluce, but not of Recluce.”
I almost shivered. Isolde’s matter-of-fact tone was more chilling than any of old Kerwin’s lectures had been. No threats, no scare tactics—just a statement. Unless you believe, you don’t belong.
Tamra glanced up from the grass, and I tried to catch her eyes. No wonder she was upset. All the excellence in the world didn’t matter, only what she couldn’t bring herself to accept. The redhead looked away, back toward the harbor.
“If there are no other questions, let’s be on our way.”
Slinging my pack onto both shoulders, I straightened, ready to leave. Sammel and Dorthae stood on each side of Isolde. Myrten picked up his pack.
Without another word, Isolde left, leading us straight down the main walkway, straight through a market square largely deserted, except for a pie vendor who was closing up and a sailor from somewhere stretched out on a table, sleeping.
The Eidolon, moored at pier number one, the one closest to the sea, carried one square-rigged mast and whatever they called a sloop’s mast. A mizzenmast, I thought. Amidships, between the masts, were two paddle wheels, one on each side. A black stack, slashed with a diagonal green stripe, ran up between the masts as well.