The White Order

LXVI

CERRYL GLANCED THROUGH the gloom of the secondary sewer tunnel at the line on the bricks where the slime began, then concentrated on raising his order shield and then channeling chaos. His nose twitched at the noisome odors rising from the scum on the section of drainage way to his right.

As in his dream, a globule of chaos-fire barely arced out before him, burning clear a patch of bricks no more than two cubits across, leaving the slightest of white residues. If you can’t do better than that, it will be a long day, and seasons in the sewers.

He straightened his shoulders and took a deep breath. The second time, he forced his shields down at an angle.

Whhssstt! The chaos-fire sprayed across the bricks, almost like liquid, scouring a patch nearly twice the size of the first.

Behind him, Ullan nervously clunked his spear butt on the bricks of the walkway, and the muted thunks echoed around Cerryl. The student mage paused, not wanting to say anything. . but the sound was distracting.

“Stop it,” whispered Dientyr to Ullan.

Cerryl waited until the echoes died away, and then turned the chaos-fire on the tunnel wall across the drainage way.

Whhhssttt! This time the fire arced too low, barely scouring the bricks a cubit above the water level.

Cerryl frowned. He’d done so much better before he’d started thinking about how to handle and direct the chaos-fire. Why was that? He knew he didn’t want to spew fire wildly-or even half-wildly. He’d seen how little good that had done for the fugitive back at Dylert’s mill.

“Less order. . more chaos. .” he murmured, and tried a third time. The results were better but not much-a patch on the walkway perhaps three cubits long and one wide.

Doggedly, he kept at it, slowly scouring the bricks on the walkway and the wall. When he had a section nearly ten cubits long cleaned, he turned the fire on the scum in the drainage way. A quick-running fire burned across the surface, leaving the turbid and slow-flowing water free of the scum and an odor that mixed ashes, dung, and worse.

Slowly, he cleared the bricks, noting almost absently that he had to take longer and longer breaks between each effort. . and that Ullan had started tapping the lance on the bricks again. He glanced back at Ullan for a moment.

“Sorry, ser.” Ullan bobbed his head, and the thin mustache twitched.

Without speaking, Cerryl turned back to the work at hand.

Once, as a firebolt seared a chunk of branch, Dientyr whispered to Ullan again. “Stop banging that lance. He’s no Jeslek, but he’s got enough flame to fry us.”

No Jeslek? Not yet. Cerryl tightened his lips for a moment, then just let the fire fly.

WHHHSSSTTTT! The fire cascaded into the tunnel wall across the drainage way and splattered in all directions, scouring clear an irregular patch nearly ten cubits long and half again as high.

“Ulppp!” The gulp from Ullan was followed by stillness.

Cerryl smiled to himself, but the expression faded quickly. Somehow. . somehow, he had to manage to combine control with the relaxed flow of chaos. . somehow. And that was hard when he still didn’t really understand what he was doing.

Recalling what Myral had said, Cerryl tried to concentrate on separating chaos into a stream of red light and one of green. . but that wasn’t what he got. Instead, three separate beams flared-yellow, blue, and red-flashing across the slime on the walkway, leaving a hint of steam but not scouring the glazed bricks clean.

“. . was that?” murmured Ullan.

“Shut up. . don’t know, and don’t want to find out,” muttered Dientyr. “Get us both turned into ash.”

“Ooooffff.”

Even without turning, Cerryl had the feeling that Ullan had gotten an elbow, or something, in the gut. He glanced at the faint miasma of steam that dissipated as he watched. Three colors?

He took another deep breath and faced the wall across the drainage way.