Colors of Chaos

LIV

CERRYL WALKED TIREDLY down the corridor and into his room, glancing around. One eight-day almost done-one more day-and one to go, but he still had to finish the written argument for Kinowin. His stomach growled.

There hadn’t been any food left out at the Meal Hall, and he hadn’t seen any street vendors or even an open chandlery on the way back from the south gate. That had been the way things had been going lately-ever since Myral’s death.

But you didn’t cause his death. How could there be any connection? Or was the connection that, with Myral’s death, there was no one to offer subtle advice to counterbalance the scheming that pervaded the Halls? He turned back and closed the open door. Wondering wasn’t going to get the last of his writing done. His stomach growled again.

He should have saved some of the cheese he’d bought at the chandlery two days earlier. He’d been lucky to catch the owner leaving a closed shop, but he couldn’t count on that often. Should have…should have…should haves don’t matter.

He took a deep breath and sank into the chair to take the weight off his aching feet. The blank screeing glass reflected nothing, not in the darkness of the room.

Almost as soon as Cerryl slumped into the chair, Faltar peered in the door, and dim light from the corridor gave the room a gloomy cast.

“Hungry?” asked the blonde mage.

Beside Faltar, Lyasa held the door but did not speak.

“I can’t leave the Halls,” Cerryl said tiredly. “You know that.”

“We know.” Faltar stepped into the room, followed by Lyasa. He had a full loaf of bread in one hand, the other behind his back. Lyasa carried something wrapped in cloth.

“A half-wedge of white cheese,” she announced, setting it on the desk beside the bread Faltar deposited. Then she lit the bronze lamp with a spark of chaos. “We need a little light to get rid of the gloom.”

Faltar set the bread beside the cheese one-handed.

Cerryl looked at the bread and cheese, feeling his mouth water.

Faltar grinned and produced a mug from behind his back. “And ale! Warm and a little flat, but we do what we can.”

“Thank you. You didn’t have to do this,” Cerryl protested, smiling even as he did. “You didn’t.”

“We did if we didn’t want you to starve. Jeslek’s been telling the serving boys not to leave anything out after dinner, and it’s hard to find any street vendors in the middle of the evening.” Faltar’s mouth twisted. “I know. I’ve had enough evening duty.”

“They were hard on you,” said Faltar, perching on the side of one end of the bed. “After all, the boy was a peacebreaker, wasn’t he? He’d have lost a hand or his life in Certis.”

Lyasa sat on the other end while Cerryl used his belt knife to slice a sliver of the cheese-still cool-and eat it with a chunk of bread.

“No.” Cerryl shook his head after swallowing. “Not so hard as they could have been. I wasn’t thinking. Besides, Fairhaven isn’t Certis.” He took a sip of the ale. “Even this tastes good.”

Faltar glanced at the stack of papers on the corner of the desk. “Surely you’re still not writing Patrol reports?”

“No. Part of my punishment. I have to write an argument on why transgressions on the part of the individual mage are bad for the mage and the Guild.”

Lyasa grimaced. “Jeslek’s treating you like an apprentice.”

“Probably. But I made a mistake even an apprentice shouldn’t have made. How can I complain about the punishment?”

“I hate to be so blunt,” Faltar said. “But if what you did was so bad, why are you still around?”

Cerryl swallowed more of the bread and cheese before laughing harshly. “I don’t know, but I can guess. First, I only hurt and did not injure permanently a poor boy who was already a peacebreaker. Second, the Guild can blame me and give the family of a proven peacebreaker four golds as recompense-and that’s more than they probably see in years. Third, the trading situation and the problems with Spidlar, Hydlen, and Gallos are getting worse, and Jeslek is going to need every mage he can find. If I get through this, I’ll probably be going with the lancers somewhere. That will get me out of Fairhaven for long enough for everyone to forget-if I even survive.” Cerryl shrugged, then took another sip of the warm ale. “Thank you both again. I wasn’t sure how I was going to get through tonight.” It’s hard enough to write something when you feel good; it’s near impossible when you’re tired and hungry.

“You have to finish that tonight?” asked Lyasa, pointing toward the stack of papers.

“I’ve been working on it for the last five days. I have to give it to Kinowin in the morning-or leave it for him.”

“As soon as you eat, we’re leaving, then.”

Faltar looked at Cerryl, then at the papers. “I still say it’s not fair.”

“I wasn’t really fair to the boy,” Cerryl said. “And he’ll hate the Guild forever.”

“It won’t matter on the road crew,” Faltar answered.

“You never know,” Cerryl temporized, not wanting to reveal Isork’s planned “adjustment.” He added after a moment, “Besides, I’ll know.”

After Cerryl had eaten what he needed-about half the cheese and the bread-and drunk most of the ale, Faltar and Lyasa stood and departed.

In the silence and the dim light of the lamp he barely needed, Cerryl glanced at his scrawled words on the rough paper, then at the blank parchment before him.

Finally, he began to write, sifting words from the draft and thoughts from his mind.

After a time, he looked at the parchment and read over the words:

Each mage holds some power to marshal chaos, and that chaos can change or even destroy the lives of others…For those with such power, to live and work together requires trust. Trust among those who can marshal chaos requires that the use of chaos power be restricted to what all have agreed is needful. Rules describe what is needful…

Cerryl paused. That wasn’t an argument. What he had so far just said why rules were necessary. So why was exceeding the rules dangerous? Because Jeslek and the Council will destroy you unless you’re powerful enough to destroy them.

His lips twisted crookedly. He certainly couldn’t write that out. Because if you get away with it, others will try? He picked up the quill, sharpened it with his bronze penknife, then dipped it into the inkstand.

If a mage transgresses the rules of the Guild, he must be punished, for if he be not so disciplined, others well might follow his example, each in greater measure than the previous transgressor. Thus, a transgression of the rules must subject either the transgressor to punishment or the Guild to an example leading to greater transgression. Likewise, by transgressing, a mage places himself outside the protection of the Guild and exposes himself to possible retribution for his transgression…

Cerryl replaced the quill in the holder. Was that really true? He rubbed his forehead, then looked at the parchment. The night would be long and the gate duty the next day longer.