The White Order

LXIV

CERRYL RAPPED ON the door to Myral’s tower quarters. Almost immediately, he felt the sense of being watched in a glass.

“Come on in, Cerryl.”

As the sense of being scanned vanished, the student mage opened the door and entered, closing it behind him firmly. “I’m here, as you requested, ser.”

“Yes, you are here. That’s good.” Myral stood from the chair by the round table. “It means that you got the lock open and closed. I would have heard if you hadn’t gotten that far. Jyantyl also would have reported if you hadn’t been able to clean anything.” The round-faced mage pointed to the chair. “Have a seat. You’ll be on your feet all day. Would you like some hot cider?”

“Yes, please.” Cerryl waited until Myral poured another mug of the steaming liquid and had reseated himself. He could see the faintest of white chaos residue around Myral, far less than he sensed around Jeslek or Sterol. Do other mages sense that around you?

“You were up in the old tanners’ section, along the old warehouses.”

Cerryl nodded, taking a quick sip of the spiced cider, so much better than the water or ale that were the morning choices in the meal hall.

“It’s been a while since it’s been scoured. How was it?”

“The drainage way was clogged, not more than a dozen cubits from the steps.” Cerryl managed another sip, despite the heat of the beverage.

“That happens a lot. People push things through the grates. The rubbish flows some distance, sometimes quite a distance, before it catches on something and creates a block.” Myral cocked his head slightly. “Did you find out what it was?”

“No, ser. I didn’t figure that out until I saw something sticking out of the scum and fired it. Then it was too late.”

“It burned, I take it.”

“The scum burned off and so did whatever jammed the drainage way.”

“It could have been worse. You can get quite a jolt if you hit polished iron or steel and you’re not expecting it. Quite a jolt.” Myral fingered his bearded chin thoughtfully. “Have you reached that cluster of third-level inlets on the south side?”

“No, ser.”

“How far did you get?”

“Not very far, ser. Yesterday, I’d guess maybe forty cubits. The slime was almost shoulder high on the walls.”

“That secondary hasn’t been thoroughly cleaned in three or four years, I believe. The cluster should be another fifty cubits or so beyond where you are now. When you get there, spend some time cleaning the inlets as far back as you can press with your chaos-fire.”

“How far should I be able to reach?”

Myral shrugged. “You have just begun to handle chaos-fire. I don’t have any idea. You ought to be able to press it fifteen or twenty cubits back, and the steam should clean it even farther. You can use the steam to your advantage, you know? Block the conduit with your shield, and the steam can only go the other way.”

“Ah. . yes, ser. I hadn’t thought of that.” How much else hadn’t he thought about?

“You’ll learn. You have to do things to learn.” Myral smiled politely and stood. “Oh, there’s one other thing I forgot to tell you. Never use all the chaos force you have.”

Cerryl nodded.

“No. I mean it. You can feel the force build up within you, right? Before you release it?”

“Yes, ser, in a way.”

“If you spray out everything each time, you get tired quickly. Also, unless you’re like Jeslek-with so much power to spare that it doesn’t matter-you’ll find that your ability to handle chaos diminishes over time.”

“Won’t holding chaos back. .?” Cerryl wasn’t certain exactly what he wanted to say.

“Mayhap. . I didn’t say that as well as I could have. Use the force you have, but don’t strain. Don’t try to push that last bit out that you may not have.”

That made more sense.

“Well, best you get to work. Stop by tomorrow-every morning, in fact-and give me a report.”

“Yes, ser.” Cerryl stood.

“Think about what you do. Do not just act.” Myral inclined his head toward the door.

Cerryl nodded and left, closing the door behind him and starting down the stairs, then pausing as he heard boots coming up from below.

He stepped back up to the landing as a blond-haired figure in green appeared. “Good morning.” He eased to one side of the landing to give the green-eyed young woman access to Myral’s door.

“Good day.” Leyladin smiled pleasantly but made no move to enter Myral’s quarters or to continue up the steps.

Cerryl felt tongue-tied, wanting to say something but not knowing what he could say-or dared to say. Finally, he forced a smile and said, “Good day.” He headed down the steps, conscious of her eyes on his back, wishing he had said something more profound-or less banal.

He’d dreamed of her for years, and all he could say was “Good day.” He looked back up the steps, but she had gone into Myral’s quarters. He took a deep breath. He had sewers to clean.