Colors of Chaos

LXVI

IN THE WELCOME, if slight, warmth of the midmorning sun Cerryl walked along the side of the Great White Highway. He’d been walking since dawn, and his boots were cut and dusty, and his feet ached. His whole body ached, but not so badly as two days before, when he doubted he had walked more than five or six kays, or the day before, when he might have covered more than ten to finally reach the Great White Highway.

Along the way, he had found some water and a few fruits that he snitched from crofters’ trees, but he was weaker than he would have liked, and his vision had a tendency to blur, still. The cramps in his lower gut had continued, as had his shivering, but had lessened in the last day. Not enough by far. He wasn’t sure what had happened. Even when he’d eaten bad food as a child, the gut flux hadn’t been as painful as the initial cramps had been this time. Perhaps you’ve gotten too used to good food?

He gave himself a weary headshake and kept walking, looking back to see if he could make out any trace of travelers.

On the highway he hoped he could pick up a ride with some carter or teamster. You hope…

He’d been walking, on and off, with rests that tended to get longer each time, since dawn, but he hadn’t seen a single wagon or team, not one, not even a lancer group. He wasn’t the most experienced traveler, but the lack of other travelers bothered him.

After what felt like another kay but was probably far less than that, he stopped and turned to survey the road. A faint dark spot had appeared on the shimmering pink-white stone of the highway, a spot seemingly too big to be a single rider.

Hoping it was a wagon whose driver he could persuade to carry him back to Fairhaven, Cerryl turned and walked another few hundred cubits, then looked back. The spot had turned into a wagon, accompanied by two riders.

Cerryl took a deep breath and walked some more.

Then, he turned and stood, waiting under a sun that was too cool for his chilled body, a body that was sweating beneath the white leather jacket, even as he fought off shivers.

As the wagon neared, it slowed and stopped…well back of Cerryl. The wagon bed was of a light wood, recently oiled, and a canvas was roped over the contents. Cerryl could sense, but not see, the Guild medallion on the far side of the wagon bed. Two guards reined up their mounts beside the driver, both with their blades out.

“Those White garments mean something?” asked the driver, raising his voice.

Cerryl mustered a bit of chaos, ignoring the increasing headache and the stars that seemed to flash in front of his face, then flared it into a fireball that he flung in the direction of Fairhaven. “Just that I’m a footsore mage, trying to get back to Fairhaven.”

“What might you be doing here, ser mage, if a humble trader might ask?” The wagon driver peered at Cerryl.

“I was in rough country, and my mount went down,” Cerryl lied. “So I hiked here to the highway and hoped I could find a ride back to Fairhaven.” He offered a grin. “I could provide some additional protection.”

“Wouldn’t dare do less than offer you a seat. Not much, but better than by shank’s mare.” The teamster shook his head. “Almost worth it to see a mage walking.”

The two mounted guards concealed smiles.

“Might as well hop up here. Name’s Narst.”

“Cerryl.” Cerryl forced himself up onto the hard wagon seat. It felt wonderful.

The teamster flicked the leads, and the wagon rumbled from a creep into a solid pace. “Thought you folks always went in large groups, seeing as you be so well liked.”

“Those who are more senior and better liked do indeed travel in large groups. Some of us are sent out by ourselves.” Cerryl shrugged. “I’ve been a full mage but two-odd years, and we do the smaller tasks, deliver special messages, guard the city gates…”

“And you?” asked Narst.

“Coming back from delivering something. Thought I could go a different way. Didn’t work out that way.”

The teamster smiled. “You young fellows…even mages. No shortcuts in life, none that work well, no ways.”

“I’ve been finding that out lately.” Cerryl took a deep breath.

“There be water in the jug behind the seat. Look as you could use some.”

“Thank you.”

After Cerryl took several swallows, gratefully, he asked, “If I wouldn’t be intruding, might I ask what you are trading in?”

“No surprises there, ser mage. Bolts of brocade from Sarronnyn, gold and silver threaded through the rich green and blue. What doesn’t go to Muneat I can always sell in Lydiar.”

“You started in Fenard?”

“Aye.” Narst shook his head. “Always they want brocade for the coins one would spend on coarse wool. Save for Willum, but he’s out of Spidlar and cold as the stone, done in by brigands. So needs I must travel farther to the east with more than I’d wish.”

“They say there have been more brigands in Spidlar lately.”

Narst frowned, then said flatly, “Some go so far as to say those brigands wear green under their gray.”

Cerryl returned the frown. “I’d not heard that. Has the viscount some quarrel with Spidlar?”

“Who might know that, ser mage, save the viscount himself? Would you be knowing him?”

“No. I saw him once, years ago, when I was an apprentice. I was at the bottom of the table.” Cerryl forced a laugh. “A long table. I could not see him clearly, nor hear his words.”

Narst paused, then spoke slowly, deliberately. “I know not if this be true. Yet some say it be so. They tell me that upon each tariff collected by him upon those who use the White roads in Certis, upon each, he adds another part, claiming this be required by the White Brothers, save they never see it.”

“That I had not heard, but I will see that it is heard by those who should know in Fairhaven.” Cerryl didn’t have to counterfeit that frown. The last thing the Guild needed was blame for taxes it wasn’t getting and that were lining Viscount Rystryr’s pockets or strong rooms.

“That disturbs you?” asked Narst.

“Greatly. It is hard enough to raise the coins to keep the roads open and in good repair. Many already feel that the tariffs are too high. To find that the tariffs are yet higher and that anyone would use the Guild as a way to take more coins from those who trade and those who buy their goods…” Cerryl broke off, afraid he was getting too windy, perhaps because he was too tired. “I’m sorry. Let’s just say it is not good.”

“That it be.” Narst nodded and lapsed into silence.

So did Cerryl, hoping he could last the distance to Fairhaven under a winter sun that offered little besides light.