The White Order

XCII

CERRYL REFASTENED THE white leather jacket against the damp wind out of the north. His eyes went back along the column of lancers stretched eastward on the Great White Highway, reined up and waiting.

Ahead, Jeslek gathered chaos around him, so much that his jacket and trousers seemed to glitter silvered white under the midmorning gray. A light misting rain swept from the low clouds.

A trumpet sounded, faintly at first, then more loudly. A row of armsmen in purple appeared on the hill to the north of the Great Highway.

“So. . the Gallosians have decided upon a show of force.” Jeslek laughed, and his laugh carried easily to Cerryl. “Much good it will do them.”

Beside the overmage, Klybel remained silent as the armsman in dark purple rode down the hill and toward the mages. He bore a polished iron oval shield, the blue-trimmed messenger’s pennant drooping from the staff rising out of the lance holder. Scattered raindrops slid across the cold metal as he reined up a good thirty cubits from Jeslek.

Cerryl massaged his neck. So far the headache was but faint.

“You bring a message?” asked Klybel.

“I am bid to tell you that the way of the road is yours, o mages, but only the way of the road.”

Jeslek glanced from the messenger to the mass of armsmen on the rolling hill to the north. A crooked smile crossed his thin lips, and the misting rain swirled away from him. “You may bid your captain that the way of the road is indeed ours, and all that it takes to protect the rights of trade upon the road. And the rights of Fairhaven, long established in Candar, and respected by those of wisdom and power.”

The messenger frowned. “I will so relay your message.”

“You may also tell your captain that it would be to his advantage to proceed eastward with great care and reflect upon what he will find there.” Jeslek’s eyes flashed.

The messenger’s face was like stone, stone damp with the mist that coated all the riders. “He will hear your words, o mage.”

“He had best think upon them long and hard,” said Jeslek. “Most long and hard. You may go.”

The messenger nodded, his jaw tight as he turned his mount and rode northward up the gentle slope to the waiting Gallosian force.

“Your words will not please them,” offered Klybel.

“I do not intend to please them. How many tens of years have we labored and poured gold into the Great White Highway to ensure that Candar will be strong and united?” Jeslek’s eyes blazed. “Now that the road has reached the Westhorns, this. . puppy of a prefect would seize it for his own use.”

“They outnumber our lancers greatly.” Klybel’s eyes remained on the Gallosian host.

“Numbers. .” A broad smile revealing yellowing teeth crossed Jeslek’s face. “You will not have to concern yourself with numbers, Captain Klybel.”

“As you say, ser.”

“I do say.” Jeslek watched as the Gallosian force began to move northward, almost paralleling the line of white lancers but riding eastward, rather than westward.

Once the purple-clad lancers had vanished behind them, Jeslek began to probe the ground again with what felt to Cerryl like tenuous darts of chaos. “Indeed, they will find much to reflect upon, and even more should they return. Even more.” He lifted his eyes and glanced at Anya, Fydel, and the three students. “This afternoon will we raise yet another set of hills to join the first.” The sun-gold eyes fixed on the square-bearded wizard. “Fydel, you are charged with following the Gallosians through your glass. I wish to know if that group of armsmen-or any other-nears us.”

“As you command, overmage.” Fydel inclined his head.

“I trust all this will meet the approval of the High Wizard,” Anya said mildly.

“I was sent to use my discretion as overmage,” Jeslek returned pleasantly, although chaos boiled unseen around him.

Unseen but not unsensed, and Cerryl shivered in the rain, and not from the cold. . or the weather.