Colors of Chaos

LVIII

CERRYL STOOD BY the wall, trying to avoid Anya’s glance, as Kinowin and Redark walked into the High Wizard’s chambers. Fydel stood with his back to the bookcase on the other side of the table.

“Why did you want us here now? You gave us little warning,” said Redark as he slumped into a seat at the table.

Kinowin took the chair between Anya and Redark but said nothing, his eyes on the white-haired, sun-eyed High Wizard.

“You may recall that I have been concerned that Recluce was playing a larger part in Spidlar than those in Gallos or Recluce would admit,” Jeslek said easily.

“You have said that for several years, as I recall,” replied Kinowin. “There has been little proof.”

“I hope that I am about to remedy that.” Jeslek nodded toward Anya and the screeing glass that still held residual chaos from the red-haired mage’s earlier efforts. “Anya has been following certain activities in Spidlar, and she tells me that it appears likely that we will be witnessing just how certain matters have escaped the notice of our neighbor the Viscount Rystryr. I have also asked Fydel to be present, since he will be involved more in Gallos.”

Kinowin’s eyebrows flickered, Cerryl noted, but the overmage did not speak.

“Let us watch now.” Jeslek gestured to the glass where the white-silver mists swirled away to reveal the brown fall grasses of the upland meadows somewhere north of Fenard and south of Elparta. In the center of the mirror, a trader’s wagon plodded southward. A red-haired woman drove the wagon, and a man rode beside her, hunched and shrouded in a dark cloak.

Over the top of the hill waited another group, wearing the dark green tunics of Certis. As the wagon neared the hill crest, the riders fanned and charged toward the two traders.

Just as quickly, the redhead halted the wagon, and two men with bows stood in the wagon bed, throwing off brown cloths and aiming their arrows at the charging raiders. A pair of swords appeared in the hands of the redhead, and from behind the raiders Spidlarian guards appeared, led by a blonde giant who strewed bodies before him.

Not a single Certan raider survived. As the shovels appeared for grave digging, Jeslek waved his hand, and the image vanished from the mirror. “Bah…no magic at all. Just good tactics and cleverness. No one survives; no bodies are found, and the rumor spreads that the Spidlarians are using magic.”

“It doesn’t exactly help to tell that to either the viscount or the prefect,” observed Anya from the chair closest to the window.

“Or to admit it took more than a season and magic to figure it out,” added Fydel. “That’s hard when they claim to have lost nearly a hundred men over the last two seasons.”

“Do we know who is responsible?” asked Cerryl deferentially, with a nod toward the High Wizard. “Beyond the obvious?” He gestured toward the blank mirror.

“Our…sources…in Spidlar would indicate that most of the damage has been caused by one squad formed for this purpose last spring. Supposedly, the squad leader and assistant are outcasts from Recluce. Those are the big blonde warrior and the redhead who drove the wagon.”

“Supposedly? That’s rich! They exile two people, and those two people just happen to be in the right spot to block everything. Do you really believe that, honored Jeslek?” asked Fydel.

Jeslek did not correct Fydel’s mathematicks. “I said supposedly. There is also the Black mage who is a smith in Spidlar. You may recall his name, Fydel. Dorrin, is it not?”

“I believe so,” Fydel replied blandly.

Cerryl refrained from wincing.

“What do you plan to do?” asked Redark.

“Now…nothing.” The High Wizard held up a hand, as if to forestall objections. “I’m not playing Jenred’s waiting game. But do any of you really want a winter war? It nears the end of fall already.”

Headshakes crossed the Tower room. A frown accompanied Kinowin’s headshake.

“Once the roads clear in spring, I will personally direct our forces in the invasion of Spidlar. Over the winter, we should step up efforts to close off as much trade as we can-and, as possible, minimize the impact of Reduce’s meddling. The newest ships should help in this matter.” Jeslek smiled at Fydel, then at Redark. “We need to make it a hard winter indeed in Spidlar. We also need to use the winter to ensure that the other lands of eastern Candar will provide the golds that they should.”

“Spidlar isn’t the real enemy; Recluce is,” reminded Fydel.

“You and I know who the real enemies are.” Jeslek smiled with his mouth. “And their time will come.”

“So clever, and so cryptic,” murmured Anya under her breath.

Jeslek’s eyes fell on her, and her lips closed. His eyes glittered, and she shivered. Fydel swallowed, and Cerryl looked out the Tower window, wishing that he had not spoken at all, though he did have leave to ask a question and that had been his first in more than three eight-days.

“Are there others from Recluce in Spidlar?” asked Kinowin.

“We do not know of others, but the number of Austran traders carrying goods from Recluce has increased. We need to close off the ports until the winter ice appears. Then we need to make sure that those traders do not begin to use Ruzor.”

“You do not trust the prefect?” asked Redark.

“Would you?” Jeslek smiled broadly.

From the one time Cerryl had observed Prefect Syrma, he had to agree with the High Wizard.

“I would not impose further upon you.” Jeslek gestured toward the overmage Redark. “You have seen what there was to see.”

Redark lifted himself from the chair. “Would that the prefect had seen that. It would help more than us seeing it.”

“The prefect will see what he needs to see, I am certain.” Jeslek turned to Fydel. “You may go, Fydel, Anya.”

“Yes, ser.”

“And you also, Cerryl. A word with you, Kinowin.”

Cerryl nodded and followed Redark, Fydel, and Anya out of the Tower chambers.

Redark clumped down the steps alone.

Fydel glanced at Anya. “That Black blade was good.”

The chamber guard remained impassive, but the blonde messenger on the bench listened, wide-eyed.

“I worry more about his ideas than his blade,” Anya said. “Too many Certans are dead for it to be luck.”

Cerryl agreed with that as well. With a nod to the pair, he started down the stone steps. His feet hurt from an already-long day, and his stomach was growling.

Even though his feet hurt, he had to frown. Once again, the smith who was a Black had come up-and had been dismissed. But why was Jeslek not worried about the smith? Or did the High Wizard have something else in mind?

Cerryl shook his head.