Colors of Chaos

XIX

HERE YOU BE. Ten for the lot.” The serving woman set down the two mugs of wine and then the two of ale.

Cerryl glanced past her toward the archway that held the door into The Golden Ram, thinking he had seen Anya’s red hair. He decided he’d seen but a glint of something off the bronze reflector of a wall lamp. He extended seven coppers before Leyladin could reach her wallet, eased the two mugs of ale across the table, then slid one of the mugs of wine before Leyladin.

Bealtur and Myredin each extended two coppers, and the serving woman swept them all up and headed back to the kitchen. Past her, in the far corner, past the cold hearth, sat Broka and Elsinot with a third, ginger-haired mage-Redark, Cerryl thought.

Cerryl reached under the table and squeezed Leyladin’s hand, even as he looked at the two other mages. “How is guard duty going for you?”

The goateed Bealtur shrugged. “Mostly, it’s boring.”

Myredin’s fine black hair drifted across his forehead. “I had a farmer walk up and ask why he had to pay for a medallion when his potatoes and maize fed the city. I told him everyone pays to trade. He wasn’t happy, but he came back and bought a medallion.”

“Does everyone pay? I sometimes wonder.” Bealtur fingered his goatee, then took a sip of ale.

The serving woman set down four bowls. “Three each, twelve in all.”

Cerryl frowned. “Stew used to be two, didn’t it?”

“Was till last eight-day. Hioll says he can’t get the fixings for what he used to.” The server shrugged. “Whatever…he says what it is, and I tell you.”

“And we pay,” said Myredin.

“Better you than me, ser mage.”

Cerryl grinned and extended his coins, as did the others.

After the server took the coppers and slipped away, Leyladin glanced at Cerryl. “Three for stew? There’s not as much as there was last eight-day.”

“Food must be getting dearer.”

“It does anyway in the summer before harvest,” added Myredin.

“What does this have to do with…anything?” mumbled Bealtur. “Guard duty is guard duty. It’s boring.”

“The farmers,” Cerryl said. “More are selling goods in the city.”

“They don’t pay if they carry goods on their backs,” said Leyladin.

“But they can’t sell in the squares,” pointed out Myredin. “Not without a cart, and you can’t bring a cart into the city without a medallion.”

“Some folk sell to people they know.” Cerryl recalled a woman who had brought spices to Beryal when he had been working as an apprentice to Tellis. “They can do that.”

“They have to know people. They can’t peddle on the streets.” Myredin’s bulging eyes protruded a shade more as he took a deep swallow of ale. “More medallions mean more farmers selling in the squares.”

“Have any of the older mages mentioned anything about more farmers getting medallions?”

His mouth full, Bealtur shook his head. So did Myredin.

“They wouldn’t know, would they?” Leyladin dipped a chunk of bread into her stew. “Esaak-he reviews the Guild accounts, but it’s only a few coppers for a farm medallion, isn’t it?”

“Five,” announced Myredin. “For a cart. A silver for a wagon, but most use carts.”

“So,” continued Leyladin, “if twoscore more farmers sought medallions, that would only be twenty silvers-two golds.”

“I see what you mean.” Bealtur nodded vigorously, his thin goatee almost swinging. “That’s but two golds, and a factor’s wagon alone is sometimes that.”

“The accounts wouldn’t show anything,” Cerryl mused.

“Maybe you should say something at the next Guild meeting.” Myredin glanced at Cerryl.

A glint flitted across Bealtur’s eyes.

“Maybe…” More likely I’ll bring it up to Kinowin first. Cerryl took a mouthful of stew, prompted by a growl from his stomach. “That’s a few eight-days away. Let’s see if we get more farmers wanting medallions.”

“Oh, they all want them,” said Myredin with a laugh. “Most won’t pay for them. They know not how lucky they are. Those who make their trade in Fairhaven pay tariffs on their shops. The farm folk sell and run.”

“And complain,” added Bealtur.

Cerryl ate more of the stew with a chunk of the crusty white bread, then followed it with a sip of wine, glancing at Leyladin. “Do the traders and factors complain as much?”

She favored him with a wry smile. “No one complains more than traders. Traders are not happy unless they have something to complain about. They prefer to complain about those taxes or circumstances that allow them to ask for more coins for their goods, and of those they talk at great length.”

“That I’d believe.” Myredin took a gulp of ale.

“Of course,” added Leyladin, eyes twinkling, “mages complain all the time about how much good they do for the people and how low the taxes they impose are for all the good they do. And they are not happy unless they can boast of how no one understands what they do.”

Bealtur almost choked on his ale, swallowing hard and gasping for air.

“And healers?” asked Myredin.

“Oh…healers don’t complain much.” Leyladin grinned. “They suffer silently and think how ungrateful are all those that they have cured. Since they say nothing, few of their patients consider their fortune, and fewer still are willing to pay for their services.”

“You, lady healer, are dangerous,” pronounced Myredin.

“Me? A quiet and uncomplaining healer?”

“Very dangerous,” added Bealtur with a smile, turning to Cerryl. “Best you watch out, Cerryl, or she’ll heal you right out of being a mage.”

“I wouldn’t do that.” Leyladin frowned, then looked straight at Bealtur. “Maybe I could try with you.”

“Ha!” Myredin laughed. “Said she was dangerous.”

Despite his best resolve, Cerryl found himself yawning.

“You…you have to get up tomorrow, don’t you?” asked Leyladin.

“Sometime,” he admitted.

“Sometime well before dawn.”

“Yes.”

“Then we’d better be going.”

“I think we’ll stay,” said Bealtur.

Cerryl and Leyladin rose and made their way out, Cerryl noting that Broka and the others had already left. Cerryl pushed open the door and stepped into the slightly cooler night air, air that had been far warmer before dinner.

“They’re trying to figure out why you asked them to join us.” The blonde healer looked at Cerryl.

“It doesn’t matter if they figure it out.”

Cerryl and Leyladin walked slowly up the Avenue, arm in arm, enjoying the comparative cool of evening. He glanced around, but there was no one nearby. “Leyladin…would you do me a favor?”

“What sort of favor?”

“A magely favor. Just watch me for a moment.” He let go of Leyladin’s arm, stepped away from her, and stood there concentrating. He tried to let the light flow around him, not to direct it or create a full light shield that would render him invisible to the eyes but all too visible to any mage who could sense perturbations in the order-chaos fabric of the world.

“You’re not quite there. My eyes…somehow they have trouble seeing you.”

“What about your order senses? Do you feel any use of order or chaos?” Cerryl could feel the dampness on his forehead-another skill where he needed more practice.

“No. Not more than a tiny bit, and I couldn’t feel that, I don’t think, if I weren’t right next to you. You’re not there to order senses, either, though.”

Cerryl let the light slip back to its normal flows.

The blonde healer blinked, shaking her head. “That was strange. I knew you were there, sort of, because you…are. I could see you, with my eyes, in a way, but I couldn’t.”

“Thank you.” Cerryl extended his arm again.

“Why did you ask me?”

“I trust you.” And somehow I’ve always cared for you, from the first time I saw you through a glass when I was so young and didn’t even know exactly what screeing was…

“Why did you want me there tonight?” asked the healer.

“I like being with you.” Cerryl grinned.

“I know that. But that’s not the only reason.”

“You know why,” he answered.

“You don’t want them to know.” She shook her head. “And it was my suggestion.”

“I listen,” he pointed out, taking her hand as they walked around the south end of the Market Square. “I especially listen to you.”

“I’m not sure whether I like it better when you do or you don’t.”

He could feel the humor in her words. “Well…if you don’t want me to listen…I could try that.”

“I could take another trip-say to Naclos,” she countered.

“Naclos? That’s where the druids are. People don’t come back from there.”

Leyladin shrugged playfully. “Then you wouldn’t have to listen to me.”

“Oh…now I have to listen to you?”

“No…”

He waited.

“Only if you want me to stay around.” She squeezed his arm, then smiled.

Cerryl shook his head slowly.