Colors of Chaos (Saga of Recluce)

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  Cerryl offered the brush to Leyladin, then took it after she finished and brushed his own boots. Then he took off his white jacket and hung it on one of the pegs.

  A huge, heavy man wearing a blue overtunic appeared at the back of the narrow foyer. “Lady Leyladin, your father awaits you and your companion in the study.”

  “We will be right there, Soaris.”

  “Very good, lady.” Soaris bowed again and departed.

  Cerryl turned to her. “Lady Leyladin?”

  The blonde mage blushed. “Some hold Father…in high regard. Since Mother died when I was young and my sisters are gone, I help Father by acting as lady of the household, since he has no consort.”

  Cerryl shook his head slowly. “I knew that you were well off…”

  “Oh?” Leyladin arched her eyebrows. “From your peeking through the glass? I’ll wager you didn’t tell Sterol about that.”

  “I did,” Cerryl confessed. “Except I didn’t tell him who I looked at. You felt me. You told me that, remember? You were so strong that I stopped looking. I never dared try again.”

  “You were saying…” she said gently.

  “Oh…” He shrugged. “I saw the silks and hangings. I thought you were the daughter of a wealthy merchant—but not so high as a lady.” He grinned. “A lady and a mage and a healer. Far above this lowly junior mage.”

  “Stop it.” The healer grimaced. “You’re already more powerful than I am or will ever be. Let’s see Father.”

  Cerryl followed her through the foyer arch into the main entry hall. The floors were blue-green marble squares, polished so smooth that the four bronze wall lamps and their sconces shed light from both the wall and the floor. The air smelled of trilia and roses—together with another scent, a lighter one. The walls, even the inside walls, were smoothed granite block to waist-level and white plaster above.

  Green silks hung from the archway through which Leyladin led Cerryl into a long sitting room, one with two settees upholstered in green velvet and two matching and upholstered wooden armchairs. All were arranged around a long and low table of polished and inlaid woods. The table inlays had been designed to portray the image of a ship under full sail.

  Cerryl paused as he studied the table and then the pair of matched cabinets against the wall, cabinets that almost framed the single picture in a silvered frame on the middle of the inside wall. The image was that of a smiling, narrow-faced woman with generous lips and long wavy blonde tresses. She wore a green vest embroidered in gold thread over a loose white silk shirt. The blue eyes seemed to follow Cerryl. He looked at Leyladin. “Your mother?”

  She nodded. “That was her favorite outfit, and it’s how I remember her.”

  The end of the sitting room held a hearth, with a brass screen before it. In the wall to the left of the hearth was an archway. Leyladin led Cerryl through the arch and then through a door to the right, ignoring the archway on the left. The study was but ten cubits on a side, perhaps five long paces, and three of the walls were paneled in dark-stained red oak. The fourth and inside wall contained only shelves, though, but a third held scattered displays of books, the remainder holding decorative items—malachite vases, a curved silver pitcher, a narrow and ancient blade.

  A heavy man rose from the desk in the corner, angled so that the heat from coals in the hearth bathed him where he had been sitting. The top of his head was bald and shining, and on each side of his head blonde hair half-covered his ears. A wide smile burst from his clean-shaven face, and green eyes, lighter than those of his daughter, smiled with his mouth.

  “Father, this is Cerryl. Cerryl, this is my father, Layel.”

  “So…you’re one of the young mages?” Layel stepped around the polished dark wood of the desk and offered a polite head bow.

  “A very junior mage among many.” Cerryl bowed in return.

  “He’s got a sense of place, Daughter! Maybe too modest for the Halls, from all I’ve seen.”

  “He is modest.”

  “We should be eating. Meridis will be letting me know for days that I let the food suffer.” Layel gestured and then let Leyladin lead the way out of the study and through the archway she and Cerryl had not taken on the way to the study.

  “What are we having?” asked the blonde as they entered a small dining hall.

  The dining hall was small only comparatively, thought Cerryl. While three places were set at one end, the long white golden table could have easily seated twenty. Each chair around the table was of the white golden oak, and each was upholstered in the dark green velvet. The pale white china sat upon place mats of light green linen, and matching linen napkins were set in holders beside the silver utensils flanking the china. Fluted crystal goblets were set by each plate.

  “Your favorite,” answered Layel, “the orange beef with the pearapple noodles.”

  Orange beef? Pearapple noodles? Pearapples had been scarce enough in Cerryl’s childhood, and to be savored on those few occasions when Uncle Syodor or Aunt Nall had produced one. Now Cerryl was about to have noodles made from them—as if they were as common as flour!

  “I broke out some of the white wine from Linspros.” Layel glanced at his daughter. “I needed some excuse for something that good. Couldn’t very well drink it by myself.”

  The trader sat at the head, with Cerryl and Leyladin at each side, facing each other across the end of the table. No sooner had the three seated themselves than a gray-haired woman in the same type of blue overtunic that Soaris was wearing appeared with two large platters of the same fine white china, then scurried out and returned with two more.

  Cerryl glanced across the offerings—thin cuts of beef interspersed with thinly sliced oranges and green leaves and covered with an orange glaze; fine white noodles; long green beans with nuts and butter; and dark bread.

  Layel served himself the beef and noodles. After he had finished, Leyladin nodded at Cerryl. “Please.”

  “Can’t say that, outside of the white, I’d be taking you for a mage.” Layel took the big glass bottle and poured the clear wine into the three crystal goblets one after another.

  Wine from glass bottles—another luxury Cerryl had heard about but never seen. “I know. I look more like a scrivener. I was once, an apprentice scrivener.”

  “Now that’s something I don’t know much about.” Layel laughed. “Books, you can’t buy ’em cheap. So I don’t. Means I don’t sell them, either. Don’t have time to read them.” He lifted his goblet. “To friends, daughters, and companions.”

  Cerryl followed their example but took only the smallest sip of the wine. Even with that sip, with the hint of bubbliness and the lemon-nut freshness, he could feel that it was far stronger than anything he’d ever tasted and far, far better.

  “Ah…better than I remembered,” said Layel.

  “It is good.” Leyladin lifted the porcelain platter that held the still-steaming dark bread and offered it to her father. Layel broke off a chunk, and the blonde offered the platter to Cerryl.

  Cerryl took a chunk of the warm bread and glanced toward the older factor.

  Layel smiled, as if waiting for Cerryl to speak.

  “All of this…it’s different from the Halls,” Cerryl said slowly. “We don’t see that much outside…I haven’t anyway, even before I came to Fairhaven.” He paused. “There’s so much I’ve read about, but…Leyladin has told me you’re a trader, and I don’t know much about trading. What do you trade in?”

  “Anything that sells, young mage. Anything that sells. You trade in grain, and if the harvest is bad, you lose everything. You trade in copper, and when someone opens or closes a mine, you lose. I trade in what I can buy cheap and sell dear.” Layel refilled the crystal goblet before him and then Leyladin’s. He glanced at Cerryl’s goblet, still three-quarters full. “You haven’t drunk much.”

  “With me, a little wine goes a long way, but it’s very good. Very good.”

  “Father is not telling you everything. He hoards goods
,” Leyladin interjected with a smile, passing the pitcher with the orange glaze in it. “He buys them cheaply this season and sells them dearly the next. He has two large warehouses here and one in Lydiar.”

  “You’ll be giving away all my secrets, Daughter.”

  “Just the two of you here?” Cerryl asked.

  “Now. My brother Wertel has a house in Lydiar. He runs the business for Father there, and my sisters live with their consorts here in Fairhaven. I’m the youngest.” Leyladin grinned. “And the most trouble.”

  “How could you say that, Daughter?” Layel shook his head in mock discouragement. “Trouble? You never brought in every stray dog in Fairhaven to heal it? You never had your head nearly split open because you would heal the fractious carriage horse? You never—”

  “Father…”

  “No…you couldn’t find a nice fellow and give me grandchildren.” The factor turned to Cerryl. “She had to become a healer. She was trying to heal everything—the dogs, the warehouse cat that got kicked by the mule, the watchman’s daughter…”

  Leyladin’s face clouded ever so slightly at the last, but the expression passed so quickly Cerryl wasn’t sure he’d seen it.

  “Healers are far more scarce than White mages,” Cerryl said brightly, taking a small mouthful of the beans and nuts with the fork that felt unfamiliar, copying Leyladin’s usage. They were so tender he barely had to chew them, and they hadn’t been cooked into mush in a stew pot.

  “Would that it were like trade, where what is scarce is dear,” mumbled Layel.

  “Father…finish eating…” Leyladin grinned.

  “Always on me, you and your mother. Best to enjoy good food.”

  “Talking with his mouth full is about his only bad habit,” Leyladin said.

  “And you’ve never let me forget it.” Layel turned to Cerryl. “She’ll find any of your ill ways and try to heal you of them. Fair warning I’m providing.”

  “Father…” Leyladin blushed.

  “Turning the glass is fair for both.”

  Cerryl took another sip of the wine, amazed at how good it tasted, uncertain of what he should say.

  Layel glanced at Cerryl. “I’ve embarrassed my daughter enough. She may know how you became a mage, but I do not. Perhaps you could shed a word or two about how you came to Fairhaven.”

  “I’m afraid that my life is quite common, compared to yours,” Cerryl protested.

  “Best we should judge that. A man’s no judge of himself.”

  “Well…as Leyladin might have told you, I’m an orphan. Both my parents died when I was so young I remember neither. I was raised by my aunt and uncle…” Cerryl went on to detail his years at the mines, his apprenticeship at Dylert’s mill, and then his work as an apprentice scrivener for Tellis. “…and then, one day, one of the overmages arrived at the shop and summoned me to meet with the High Wizard. He examined me and decided I was suitable to be a student mage. That took two years, and last harvest the Council made me a full mage…a very junior mage. Now I’m one of those who guard the gates to Fairhaven.”

  “Good thing, too.” Layel shook his head. “I don’t mind as paying the tariffs and taxes for the roads, but I’d mind more than a hogshead full of manure if the smugglers got off with using the roads and then coming into the city and selling for less than I could.”

  “Father…no one sells for less.”

  “They could. Aye, they could. Take stuff in Spidlaria and sneak through Axalt or take the old back roads from Tyrhavven, and afore you know it they’d be in the Market Square.”

  “Doesn’t everyone pay the taxes?” Cerryl asked.

  “No. Even all the mages in the Halls couldn’t find every ferret who turns a good. That’s not the task of the city patrol, either. They keep the peace, not the trade laws. Thank the light, don’t need armsmen to make trade and tariffs work, not in the city, anyway. See…there’s coins in Fairhaven, and the best roads are the White highways, the ones that can take the big wagons.” Layel shrugged. “So traders and exchanges are here. Smaller traders can take carts over the back roads, but most times they can’t carry that much, and the Traders’ Guild makes sure the road gauges are kept.”

  “The road gauges?” asked Leyladin.

  Cerryl had the feeling she had asked the question for him, but he was grateful. He’d never heard of the road gauges.

  “You should remember, Daughter. If a road is more than four cubits wide, it’s a highway, and the ruler must collect tariffs, and only those with the medallions may use it. See, that way, the pony traders have to go on the slow and muddy tracks that wind out of the way. And most times, a trader with fast teams and wagons is a prosperous trader, and the great highways are fast.”

  Cerryl nodded. Another fact he’d not known.

  “Meridis! What have we for sweets?”

  The serving woman reappeared. “Be you ready for sweets, ser?”

  “Why’d you think I called?” Layel’s stern expression dissolved into a chuckle.

  “Father…you don’t have to put on the stern front for company.”

  “Can’t even be master in my own dwelling, not even over sweets.” The trader glanced at Cerryl. “You’ll see…leastwise, much as a mage can that way.”

  “Father…”

  “Fellow ought to know.” Layel turned to Meridis. “Sweets?”

  “I baked a fresh nut and custard pie.”

  “Wonderful! It takes company for me to get my favorite.”

  “It does not,” suggested Leyladin. “You always tell poor Meridis not to bother because you’d look like a shoat if she fixed it just for you.”

  “You see?” asked Layel. “An answer for everything.”

  Cerryl nodded, feeling somewhat overwhelmed by the banter and byplay.

  “Then let’s have it.”

  The empty dishes vanished into the next room, a kitchen, Cerryl thought, but he was far from certain about anything, and Meridis returned with three smaller china plates, each filled with a golden-crusted pie.

  “Try it,” urged the trader.

  “It is good,” added Leyladin. “Rich, but good.”

  Everything felt rich to Cerryl, but he took a small bite and then a larger one. Before he fully realized it, his plate was empty.

  “See? Your mage friend agrees with me.”

  “It was…I’ve never tasted a sweet that good,” Cerryl confessed. “In fact, I’ve never had a dinner so good.”

  Layel and Leyladin exchanged glances, and Leyladin added, “I’m so glad you enjoyed it. The Meal Hall isn’t known for good food. Most of the full mages don’t eat there unless they have to for some reason or another.”

  “I have noticed that,” Cerryl said dryly. “I’m beginning to see why.” He found himself yawning, perhaps because of the fullness in his stomach, or the warmth of the dining room, or the length of the day. “I’m sorry. It has been a long day.”

  “You have to be at the gates when they open for trade?” asked Layel.

  “Yes. Otherwise they have to hold wagons until a mage arrives. I’d not want to face Kinowin if I caused that.”

  “Neither would I,” said Leyladin with a laugh. “Perhaps…it may be getting late for you.”

  “Don’t shoo him out.”

  “He has to rise early, Father.”

  Cerryl held up a hand. “Your daughter is doubtless correct. I’ve enjoyed the meal and the company…but I do have to be up before the sun.”

  Leyladin rose, and Cerryl followed her example, following her back through the house, lamps still burning in unused rooms, throwing shadows on polished and glistening floors.

  In the foyer, he eased on his jacket, thinking about the short, but certainly chill, walk back to his cold room, a room that had seemed so luxurious—until he had seen Leyladin’s house.

  “What do you think?” asked Leyladin as she stood by the door.

  “About what? Your father? He cares a great deal for you.”

  “Cerryl. You are
as dense as that mule my father mentioned.” A smile followed the words, but one that held concern, and her green eyes, dark in the dim light of the polished bronze lamps, fixed his.

  He took a deep breath. “I don’t know what to think. I could say pleasant things, and I would, to anyone but you. Right now…I’m…overwhelmed. I grew up an orphan in a two-room house. It was clean, but my pallet was on the stone floor, and my uncle felt lucky if he could grub a good piece of malachite and sell it for a silver once every few eight-days. I went to work in a mill not much past my tenth year, and I was lucky to have a pearapple to eat once or twice a year. Those noodles tonight—they were wonderful, but they probably used more pearapples than I’ve eaten in my whole life. I’ve never had good wine from bottles.”

  “Cerryl…I know that. I’ve known that from the beginning, but I couldn’t keep pretending that I wasn’t different.” She reached out and touched his cheek. “With you…I don’t want to pretend.”

  “That means more than you know.” He offered a smile.

  “I think I know that.” She bent forward and brushed his cheek with her lips. “Good night. I’ll see you soon.”

  As he walked through the night, through the light gusts of cold wind, through the intermittent snowflakes with the slight headache he’d almost forgotten, his thoughts swirled like the snow. What happened next? Could anything happen? Jeslek, Sterol, and Anya had all cautioned him against consorting with a Black. Yet Leyladin was a healer who was mostly Black, and he was a White mage—perhaps at best a White mage fringing toward gray. He repressed a slight shiver at that. No one liked gray mages, neither the White mages of Fairhaven nor the Black Order mages of Recluce.

  He and Leyladin could hold hands…but how much more? Was she worried about that? Was that why she kept a certain distance?

  He frowned as he kept walking. Her kiss had been warm, but not order-chaos conflict warm.