The White Order

LXXX

CERRYL OPENED THE door and stepped into Myral’s room. The heavyset mage finished a sip of cider and pointed toward the chair. Cerryl left the door ajar, hoping Myral wouldn’t mind, but he wanted the breeze that existed with the open door. He eased into the chair and waited.

After a moment, Myral cleared his throat. “How long will it take you to finish that secondary tunnel?”

“Two, perhaps three days.”

“I need to inform Sterol about that.” Myral took a sip of cider. “Your meeting with him last night went well.” The older mage smiled as Cerryl raised his eyebrows. “No, I have not talked to the High Wizard. After yesterday, had it not gone well, you would not be here today. Jyantyl did tell me that you were forced to deal with Ullan, and that you handled his execution well.”

Cerryl swallowed slightly.

A series of coughs racked Myral, and Cerryl leaned forward in his chair.

The balding mage raised a hand, as if to insist Cerryl remain seated, coughed several times more, then took a very small sip from his mug. “Chaos dust does not do the lungs well, but when one is a mage, the dust follows wherever one is, and I’m not one for wasting away on a breezy hilltop.” Myral snorted. “You need to keep working on whatever you’re doing to keep the chaos out of your system. It’s effective, it appears, but sometimes you flicker very brightly. Do you understand?”

“I take it that flickering that way is not good?”

“Not if you are a very young mage, it’s not.”

“I’ll keep working on it.”

“Good. I will see you again tomorrow morning.”

Cerryl rose.

“And, Cerryl?”

“Yes, ser?”

“You can close the door all the way when you leave. I’m not as hot-blooded as you are.”

Cerryl flushed as he closed the door behind him. On the way down the steps, he took several deep breaths, then nodded to Hertyl. He went down the stairs to the foyer quickly and turned left toward the courtyard and the rear barracks, where he usually met Jyantyl.

At the doorway to the courtyard, he saw a blond figure in green.

Leyladin smiled as he neared. “Good day, Cerryl.”

“Good day, Leyladin.”

She stopped, as if she wanted to talk. So did Cerryl.

“Cerryl. .?”

“Yes?”

“How did you find Myral this morning?”

Cerryl kept his pleasant smile in place. “He was in good spirits. He gets tired more quickly now, I think.”

“More quickly than when you first began to work the sewers?”

He nodded.

“That has been less than three seasons.” She frowned, then smiled gently. “He is older than he looks, and I fear for him. I suppose all healers worry about those they tend.”

Cerryl repressed the exuberant smile he felt. “He has said that you help him, but he has never said what it was that you did.”

The young healer glanced around the foyer and lowered her voice. “All mages who handle chaos. . the chaos ages them faster, even those like Myral who are careful. I can help restore a little of the order-only a little, because too much order is worse than too little. It helps-or it did. Now I worry.”

Cerryl could sense no one was near or watching them in a glass. “Thank you.”

Her brows knit in puzzlement. “For what?”

“For not mentioning that I once saw you in the glass.”

Leyladin laughed, a warm laugh, a soft sound, and her eyes sparkled enough that Cerryl could see the amusement. “Oh. . Cerryl. . I never knew you were the one. I thought. . after I first saw you. . but you never said anything.”

“I only tried twice,” he confessed.

She shook her head; then her face turned calm. “I thank you, ser.”

Cerryl nodded as he heard the footsteps, even before he saw Bealtur. “You are most welcome. May your healing continue to bring results.”

With a quick nod, she was gone.

Bealtur kept his eyes from meeting Cerryl’s, and continued toward the tower, following Leyladin up the steps from the foyer.

Cerryl hurried through the courtyard, glad for the brief cooling afforded by the fountain and the light breeze before he entered the rear hall on his way to the rear barracks. But most of all, he was glad he had told Leyladin. He’d hated carrying that as a secret, and her reaction had relieved him. . at least somewhat.

Waiting outside the weathered granite building with Jyantyl were four lancers Cerryl had never seen before.

“Good morning, ser,” offered the weathered lancer.

“Good morning.” Cerryl’s eyes took in the new guards. “What about Dientyr?” he asked quietly. “I would not-”

“He would be glad that you thought of him.” Jyantyl gave a quick smile. “His punishment is over, and he has returned to his company. They are departing for Jellico tomorrow.”

“Are you? You had mentioned something. .”

Jyantyl lifted his shoulders, then dropped them. “Some day soon, but no one has said.”

More and more lancers heading west, reflected Cerryl as the group of six started southward and out to the avenue. Something was definitely happening.

The light breeze ruffled Cerryl’s fine hair, and he brushed it off his forehead, glancing up at the morning sky. The faintest haze of high clouds tinted the green-blue sky, imparting a slightly bluer cast to the heavens.

Cerryl walked in silence, conscious of the heavy tread of the lancers’ boots as they turned onto the avenue and continued southward.

As they passed the row of inns that catered to the richer travelers, he glanced down the side avenue that led to the traders’ square to the southwest. Was it less crowded?

Ahead on the paved sidewalk, two women eased toddlers into a shop-a wine cooper’s shop.

Cerryl frowned. Why would they go there? He tried to catch the sense of the words from the women and the cooper’s assistant gathered under the overhang of the shop entrance.

“Student mage or not. . red stripe. . still kill a man as look at him. .”

“. . not so much as a reason. . threw Kelwin and his folk out of the city. .”

“. . chaos. . dirty way to fight. . not like a blade or a lance. . them’s clean at least. .”

Cerryl wanted to answer all of them, but he kept a smile plastered on his face as he strode toward the last sewer grate. He hoped the grate was the last, and the collector the last he had to scour, but he supposed he could be like Kinowin had been, spending more than a year beneath the streets of Fairhaven.

He repressed a shudder. I hope not. I hope not.