Colors of Chaos

CXLVI

CERRYL STEPPED INTO the overmage’s quarters. Kinowin was standing by the table, beside the purple wall hanging with the blue arrows. His face was impassive.

“What’s the matter?” Cerryl concealed a frown. “Did I do something wrong?”

Kinowin shook his head. “You did nothing wrong. I have been requested to bring you to the High Wizard.”

Cerryl did frown and began to raise, slightly, his order shields.

“You won’t need those. Eliasar was killed. Sterol is sending you to take his place.” The overmage offered a grim smile.

“Me? To get me out of Fairhaven? How did it happen?”

“That and because you are the best one to send. You know the land better than any others here. You’re strong with chaos. Although you’ve taken great pains to conceal that, Sterol is no fool, and more perceptive about that than either Jeslek or Anya.”

“And I’m away from you.”

“That, too, but you don’t need my advice, not that much, anymore.”

“I don’t know about that,” Cerryl protested. “What happened to Eliasar?”

“Iron crossbow bolts…that’s what Lyasa’s scroll said.”

“Lyasa? She’s there. She could handle things. Or Syandar. What happened to Buar?”

“Neither the older members of the Guild nor the folk of Spidlar would take kindly to rule by Fairhaven under a woman. That also wouldn’t give Sterol an excuse to send you there. As for Syandar, he’s all right as an administrator, but he can scarcely muster enough chaos to light a fire. And Sterol already sent Buar back to the blockade fleet.”

“I think I’m going to Spidlaria.”

“Sterol has insisted on confirming that-as soon as you arrived.” Kinowin gestured toward the door. “Shall we go?”

The two walked up the stone steps, Cerryl being careful to walk slowly, all too conscious of Kinowin’s heavy breathing, marveling sadly at how quickly the big and powerful mage had become a gaunt old man. Will that happen to you?

The guard on the landing outside the High Wizard’s quarters opened the door and announced, “Overmage Kinowin and Mage Cerryl.”

Sterol did not rise from where he sat at the table, with his back to the open window. The light summer breeze had not carried away all the scent of sandalwood.

“If you would sit.” Sterol inclined his head to the chairs across from him.

Cerryl waited for Kinowin to sit, then seated himself.

“I presume the overmage has told you that I would like you to go to Spidlaria and complete the tasks Eliasar had begun.” Sterol’s words were deliberate, evenly spaced.

“Yes, ser.”

“I would like you to find those responsible for his death and ensure they are executed publicly.”

“I will do my best on that,” Cerryl said cautiously.

“You do not promise that so readily.”

“If those responsible come from Recluce or beyond the Westhorns…” Cerryl shrugged.

“Young, but cautious.” Sterol steepled his fingers for a moment, then cleared his throat. After another silence, he continued. “You are younger than would be best for what I have set before you, but caution may assist you. The malefactors of the Black Isle have cost us grievously.” Another pause followed.

Cerryl forced himself to wait.

“There will be a blockade ship waiting for you in Lydiar, Cerryl.” Sterol looked mildly across the circular table. “You will leave on the post coach in the morning. I will draft a scroll with your commission. You may obtain it from Kinowin in the morning.”

“What do you expect from me?” Cerryl brushed back hair he feared was thinning like Myral’s had. “In Spidlaria.”

“Anya reported that you had managed to set matters right in Elparta. I expect the same in Spidlaria. After Syandar and Eliasar reduced Diev, Eliasar sent Syandar to Kleth. Syandar will remain there, but he will answer to you. Kalesin remains in Spidlaria and so does Lyasa. With their assistance I’m sure you can manage. We look forward to the resumption of tariff coins.”

“There are not likely to be many ships in the near future.”

“The Guild and the Council are confident you will find a way to resolve the problem.” Sterol’s words were flat, their tone indicating he had said what he would say. “I expect written reports on your progress each eight-day.” The High Wizard stood.

So did Kinowin and Cerryl.

They walked back down to Kinowin’s quarters. There the overmage settled into the chair behind the table. Cerryl remained standing.

“Sterol wants either the tariff golds or a way to blame me,” suggested the younger mage.

“He needs the golds more,” Kinowin said. “He has been going through those set aside for lean times, and there are but a few thousand left.”

A few thousand-once you would have marveled at that number of golds. “How long before those set aside are gone?”

“I do not know, but no more than a half-year, less if Rystryr and Syrma delay their tariff payments.” Kinowin laughed, half-humorously, half-bitterly. “Sterol can no longer stir their fears with the threats that Jeslek could.”

“He can suggest that they could vanish as have other rulers.”

“He already has,” Kinowin said. “How long can he use such a threat before he must carry it out? A year? Two? One cannot remove rulers too frequently, or they ignore the threat because they fear they will be removed whatever course they follow.”

“Hmmmm…So what would you do were you the High Wizard?”

“Try to gather more coins and spend less. Let matters settle so that traders again fill the roads.”

“And try to make sure that outland traders pay the surtax on goods from Recluce?”

“That is more difficult because the ships for the blockade are costly.”

“What should I avoid in Spidlaria?”

“Being too lenient and too understanding. Remember, all men and all traders-and all women-serve themselves above others.” Kinowin gave a crooked smile. “No matter what they profess or how earnestly they affirm their allegiance. Study the coins and follow their course, not the words of the men who gather them.”

“Should I seek for Leyladin to join me?”

“Not unless it appears that you will be in Spidlaria as the mage adviser for many years.”

Cerryl nodded. “I am being sent as the head arms mage, then.”

“If that. Your power is what you make it.”

“I’d better make ready.”

“Spend most of that time with the healer.” Kinowin’s smile was faint, almost self-mocking. “Trust the words of an aging mage there, Cerryl.”

What sort of love had the overmage known and relinquished-or lost? Cerryl nodded. “I will.”

“Then be on your way.”

Cerryl gave a last nod and departed. On his way back to his quarters, to pack what he would need, Cerryl paused at the archway to the Meal Hall, looking in at the double handful of apprentices scattered across the tables. He knew not a single one-that was how out of touch he was with the Halls. Even Kiella had become a full mage and stood gate duty. Idly Cerryl wondered if the redheaded apprentice sitting by herself was Viedra, the one poor Faltar had fallen for before he’d left to fight in Spidlar.

Myredin and Faltar, and even Bealtur, were dead. Of those who had become mages when Cerryl had, only Heralt and Lyasa were left. Heralt was still in Ruzor with Shenan. Of course, Cerryl would be in Spidlar if Heralt ever did get to Fairhaven. You’ll probably spend the next ten years in Spidlar, so long as Sterol is High Wizard-or whoever Anya maneuvers to succeed him.

Cerryl swallowed. How could he have been so stupid? Anya had wanted him to take the amulet in Diev. If he had, then he and Sterol would have been at each other. Even if Cerryl had prevailed, he would have had to rely on Anya for her contacts, especially with the large trading families, and politicking to keep the older members of the Guild, or enough of them, behind him. But he probably wouldn’t have prevailed-Anya would have seen to that.

He frowned. He had to do something. Did he dare to take the chance? Then he shrugged and turned, hoping he could find the redheaded mage.

Anya surprised him. She was in the Library, poring through a thick and ancient tome. “Cerryl.”

“Anya. Have you a moment?”

Anya flashed the broad smile, and the scent of trilia and sandalwood flowed around him. “For you, Cerryl, I can spare a moment.”

“I am most grateful.”

They walked to the fountain courtyard. There Cerryl walked into the shade in the corner where the falling water would mask their voices.

“What do you want?” For once, Anya was not smiling as she turned to him. Her eyes darted to the far corner, toward the door from the main Hall.

“I’ll be but a moment. I was thinking, and I wanted to thank you.”

“I don’t know as I merit thanks.” Puzzlement and interest appeared in her pale eyes, eyes neither quite green nor blue.

“After Jeslek’s death, you offered me the amulet, in a way. I think I understand why now, and I appreciate the gesture. I’m leaving for Spidlaria in the morning to take Eliasar’s place, but I wanted you to know that I did appreciate your suggestion.”

“Thank you, Cerryl.” A faint smile appeared and vanished. “Is that all?”

“Well,” he added, “you seem to work well with Sterol. But you know where you can reach me, and Leyladin can get me a message if you need something I can provide.”

That brought a faint smile, one not quite real, but one with a hint of self-satisfaction and wistfulness, an expression that faded as she spoke. “I forget at times how young you were when you became a full mage. You continue to grow. I thank you for your offer.” The bright smile appeared. “You had best be readying yourself.”

“I will.”

Together they turned back toward the rear Hall. Once inside, Anya slipped toward the Library and Cerryl toward his quarters. He packed what he thought he might need-including two sets of whites, smallclothes, spare boots, and his ragged-edged copy of Colors of White-and set it on the narrow single bed.

Then he left, walking quickly through the Halls and up the Avenue toward the Market Square, before turning left at the side street leading to Layel’s dwelling.

Soaris opened the door, his eyes widening slightly as he beheld the White mage.

“Is Lady Leyladin here, Soaris?”

“I believe so, ser. Would you come in?”

“Thank you.” Cerryl followed the blue-vested and huge man into the sitting room.

“I will tell her you are here. It may be a moment.”

“Thank you,” Cerryl repeated. He did not sit but studied the portrait of Leyladin’s mother, studying the blue eyes that seemed to follow the beholder.

Leyladin appeared nearly immediately-wearing green trousers and a light silk shirt without a vest. Her red-gold hair was ruffled, half-disarrayed. “It’s barely afternoon.” The usually dancing green eyes were somber and fixed on Cerryl’s gray orbs. “What happened?”

“Eliasar was killed. The High Wizard is sending me back to Spidlaria to take his place. Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

He nodded.

She was silent, then stepped forward and slipped her arms around him. For a time, they just embraced.

Then the healer eased back, her arms still loosely around him. “This is all a ploy to get you out of Fairhaven…and to discredit you.” Her voice was low, pitched as if to keep it from others.

“I know. Making me responsible for obtaining and collecting tariffs when there’s no trade. Why me?”

“Neither Sterol nor Anya wish you around.” She snorted. “You might actually come up with the tariff coins. No one else could, and the way we’re losing mages, you’re already one of the few really skilled ones left.”

“Recluce is winning this war, if it is a war.” He paused. “I told Anya you could get me a message if she needed one.”

“You what?” The healer stiffened.

“I worry about Kinowin’s health, and I’m not so sure about Sterol. It’s just a feeling. He’s not quite the same, and I don’t know why. Anya can be counted on to preserve herself.”

Abruptly Leyladin smiled. “You’re more devious than you let on, dear mage. You implied that she could count on you if something happens.”

“I suppose I did. Was that wrong?” Cerryl frowned.

“No. Not since you told me.” Her eyes narrowed. “But when did you tell her this?”

“Just before I came here.”

“Ah…coming from another woman to me?”

“That’s not…” He grinned as he realized she had been teasing. “You!”

“You’d best remember that.”

“I promise.”

“Now…I know you have to leave early in the morning, but you are staying here the rest of today and tonight.”

“Are you sure?” asked Cerryl, grinning in spite of himself.

“Of that I’m quite sure.”

They both smiled…bittersweet smiles.