Colors of Chaos

CLVIII

CERRYL HAD FINALLY given up and had another chair brought into the study, and both Lyasa and Kalesin sat across the ancient desk from him in the gloom of another gray and cloudy fall morning.

“We have another twenty golds from tariff collections,” Lyasa announced. “We’re nearing a hundred for this season.”

“Twenty golds. Sterol will not find that adequate,” prophesied Kalesin. “Nor even five score or ten score. Not after a mere three and a half score for the summer.”

“He won’t,” Cerryl agreed amiably. “But another coaster from Suthya entered the harbor yesterday, and Tyldar told me that yet another was sailing here out of Quend.”

“Still…” murmured Kalesin.

Gloomy as Kalesin was, Cerryl knew the stocky mage was right. Both Sterol and Anya would find his performance inadequate. They probably already had and doubtless would have sent his replacement, save for the fact that there wasn’t anyone any better to send. Not yet.

“Another coaster will help,” Lyasa said.

Now…if Layel would only arrive-or send someone-or Wertel. “A full trader from Hamor or Sarronnyn would help more,” Cerryl admitted. “But we have more than half the fall remaining.”

Thrap!

“Come in.”

Subofficer Suzdyal peered in, holding a pair of scrolls. “For you, ser.”

“Thank you.” Cerryl rose.

Lyasa took them and handed them to him. Kalesin eyed the scroll with the crimson ribbons speculatively.

Cerryl ignored the look. “I haven’t seen your wool factor report.”

“I have two other factors to visit.”

“Perhaps you should.”

“One remains in Kleth.”

“Then visit the first and complete the report. The other might remain in Kleth for seasons.”

“Let us go, Kalesin.” Lyasa rose from her chair. “The arms mage has much to do, and so do we. I do, I know.”

After the two mages had left, Cerryl eased open the first scroll, glad that Teras or Hiser had made sure it came directly to him. The High Wizard’s seal crumbled away, as though it had been invested with far too much chaos.

Cerryl, greetings-

The three-and-a-half-score golds which you sent were, the Council finds, most disappointing for one of your skills. As arms mage of Spidlar you are expected to regain all those golds unpaid by the traitors…

Cerryl wanted to grit his teeth. Four parts out of five of the old traders’ fortunes had been taken by Jeslek and sent to Fairhaven even before Eliasar had taken over from Jeslek. By the time Cerryl had arrived, every stray gold had fled or been hidden who knew where. He forced himself to continue reading.

…greater efforts will be required in Hydlen, and Spidlar must be brought into line and speedily, so that at least half of the lancers there can be returned to Fairhaven and mustered for the spring campaigns…

Campaigns? In Hydlen and where else?

We look forward to at least a thousand golds before the turn of the year…Our wishes and those of the Council for your success in carrying out your duties…

The scroll was not even signed by Sterol but by Anya, “at the direction of the High Wizard, His Mightiness Sterol.”

“His Mightiness?” Cerryl took a deep breath. What did Sterol expect? Or Anya? It had taken over two years to destroy Spidlar, and now the High Wizard expected great flows of golds in less than two full seasons? After Jeslek had plundered the great fortunes? Except for that onetime rape of Spidlar, Cerryl doubted Fairhaven had ever collected 4,000 golds in a year from Spidlar-or a thousand in a full year. That was the problem, though.

He took several deep breaths to calm himself before opening the second scroll-the one with the green ribbons, the one he hoped would be more cheering. The greeting alone lifted his spirits.

Dearest-

I have sent this with Hiser’s courier and trust it will arrive in a timely fashion.

Father is preparing to undertake the task which you had suggested, and I hope that you will see the results-if you have not-before long. You have asked much, although we both think that your suggestions will be helpful for all of us. The climate there may be better for his health in his declining years, also. Wertel agreed with that, as do I…

Declining health? Cerryl swallowed, wondering if Anya and Muneat and Jiolt were already making matters more difficult for Layel in Fairhaven-and for Leyladin. Not if…how…He hadn’t seen such in his glass, but Anya’s maneuverings wouldn’t be obvious that way.

We all wish you both the best and look forward to seeing you before too long.

He smiled at the “love” with which Leyladin had signed the missive, but the smile faded as he considered all the implications of both scrolls, separately and together.

After rereading both once more, Cerryl stood and glanced out through the window into the almost cold fall day. The clouds were darker, promising more of the cold rain that seemed so common.