“Only a few,” Cerryl confessed.
Esaak laughed. “Not all mages can be engineers or mathematicians. Just so long as you design no aqueducts or sewer tunnels.” The deep-set eyes peered at the younger man. “Have you thought about what you would pursue? You do not strike me as the type to be a gate guard or an arms mage. Especially not for years on end.”
The study of light…“I don’t know. I really don’t know what choices there might be. I know that Myral does much with water and sewers, and I think Kinowin follows trade, and you teach mathematicks…”
“Who taught Kinowin about trade, young Cerryl? I was watching ships unload in Lydiar and Renklaar before Kinowin was born.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No need to apologize. If you do not wish to spend your life supporting armsmen and lancers, you need to find a skill valuable to the Guild. Jeslek…he has studied the depths of the earth. How do you think he knows how to raise mountains?”
“I have seen him, but I don’t possess that kind of power…”
“Remember”—Esaak raised his hand—“it must be practical as well as interesting. Best you think about it. You have time, but do not waste it.” Esaak lumbered to his feet. “And I must instruct yet another untutored apprentice who thinks that numbers are but for counting coins. Good day, young Cerryl.”
“Good day, ser.” Cerryl waited until the older mage was on his way out of the hall before he sat down at the round table in the center, aware that Esaak had left and that, outside of the serving boys in red, he was alone.
He ate quickly, his thoughts flitting. Light…how can that be practical, except for killing? No, letting the Guild know about his skill with the light lances and daggers wasn’t terribly appealing…or safe. His past experiences with Anya and Jeslek had taught him all too well that, according to the written and unspoken rules for jockeying for power—or survival—what had saved Cerryl was his mastery of skills the others had not known about and still did not know that he possessed.
The problem with hidden skills, though, was that he could end up being a gate guard forever, which was what Esaak had suggested would happen if he didn’t show another useful talent. So how much talent and skill should he reveal, and how? What would be a safe yet useful skill?
After he swallowed the last of the bread and conserves, he left the Meal Hall and wandered along the corridor, glancing into the student common, where he used to study—empty except for the goateed Bealtur, who glanced up at Cerryl, offered a polite smile, and returned to the tome before him.
Bealtur had been so certain he would be made a full mage before Cerryl, and he hadn’t been. So had Kesrik, before Kesrik had been maneuvered into trying to trap Cerryl in a terrible mistake. Instead, Kesrik had been found out and destroyed in a blaze of fire by the High Wizard. Except…Cerryl knew full well that while Kesrik had probably tried to poison Cerryl, the brigands that had attacked Cerryl when he was on sewer duty had been sent by Anya, disguised as Kesrik. Cerryl still had no idea why the redheaded mage had tried that, but he watched her as closely as he could and avoided her as circumspectly as possible.
What else could he do? Most mages were restrained by the fact that the High Wizard, the two overmages, and a few others had the power to “truth-read” and discover plots. But Anya was under Jeslek’s protection, and he was not only overmage but also possibly the most powerful chaos wielder in centuries. Cerryl’s most reliable protection, until he mastered more chaos skills, was concealment, but developing skills and keeping them hidden could only get harder.
He crossed the courtyard to the last Hall, the one with the smallest rooms, and went up the steps to his own quarters, nearly all the way to the back. Once inside his room, he took a deep breath and extracted Colors of White from the bookcase. He had most of the day. Perhaps he could find some ideas there.
Perhaps…
VIII
CERRYL WALKED PAST the fountain in the courtyard between the main Hall and the rear Hall. His feet ached, and his head throbbed—the former because he’d walked across the guardhouse ramparts too much during the day and the latter because he’d practiced using the light/invisibility cloak too much. Kinowin had been perfunctory in his questions, as though the overmage’s mind had been elsewhere, and Cerryl hadn’t mentioned his aches, knowing that Kinowin wouldn’t have been terribly sympathetic.
Despite the deep dusk, the courtyard was hot, and the fountain spray across Cerryl’s face felt welcome.
“Hello there.”
He looked up to see blonde hair and a green short-sleeved shirt and armless tunic of darker green—and another mage. Lyasa and Leyladin stood in a corner, also enjoying the cool of the fountain court. Cerryl turned and joined them, the immediacy of his various aches subsiding. “When did you get back?”
“I’ve been here all along.” Lyasa grinned.
“This afternoon, a little past midday.” Leyladin offered a warm smile. “I came in the southwest gate.”
“Leyladin, Cerryl,” Lyasa interjected, “I need to go. Anya has requested my presence for supper.”
Cerryl winced.
“Her preferences don’t run that way,” said Lyasa lightly, “but it will be interesting to see what she wants.”
“Be careful.” Cerryl worried about anything involving Anya.
“I always have to be careful. That’s the everyday rule for women…and Blacks.” Lyasa nodded to Leyladin. “I hope we can talk before—”
“Tomorrow morning?”
“I can do that. It’s my last free morning before I take over duty on the west gate.” Lyasa grimaced.
“You’re going on gate duty?” asked Cerryl.
“Don’t all new mages? Kinowin was just waiting for Elsinot to finish a reasonable tour.”
“Elsinot?” Another mage Cerryl didn’t know, at least by name.
“Blocky, brown-haired—he seems nice enough. He’ll take the relief duties now. You’re lucky. You’ll probably get morning duty in the summer.”
Cerryl wasn’t sure if that would be luck, to get up even earlier than he was now.
“I do have to go. I’d rather not give the esteemed Anya an excuse to be upset.” Lyasa gave a half-wave as she stepped away from the pair.
“Have you eaten yet?” Cerryl studied the dancing green eyes, sparkling even in the gloom of the courtyard, and the wide mouth he thought of as kind. “We could go over to The Golden Ram.”
“How about Furenk’s?”
“Ah…all right.”
“I have some silvers. That way you won’t have to go back to your quarters. I’m hungry. Lyasa and I got to talking…and then it was dark.”
“Your father’s not expecting you?”
“No. He’s in Vergren, and I told Meridis not to fix anything tonight.” Leyladin smiled. “I was afraid she’d fix so much that I wouldn’t be able to walk. She does that when I’ve been away.” She turned toward the archway that led to the front Hall that fronted on the Wizards’ Square.
Cerryl stepped up beside her. “I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you, too. It was interesting, but”—the blonde shrugged—“it’s good to be back.” A faint frown crossed her face and vanished.
The Avenue was dark as they crossed the square and headed east.
“You don’t sound happy about it.”
“I’m happy to be back. I wish Father had been here, but he had to go…something about problems with the lambing in Montgren.”
“I thought he was a trader.”
“He is, but the lambs born this year will affect wool in the years ahead. Also the price of grain and cattle…many things…”
Cerryl held back a sigh. Did the entire world revolve around coins and trade? The more he learned, the more it seemed as though it did. “How long will he be gone?”
“Soaris told me he left yesterday. That means an eight-day before he’s back.”
No signboard proclaimed Furenk’s. Letters carved in a marble plaque beside the
door to the two-story pink granite edifice stated: “The Inn at Fairhaven.”
The two climbed the two wide pink marble steps and stepped inside. Cerryl glanced around, but before he could determine even where to go, a tall functionary in a pale blue cotton shirt and a dark blue vest appeared. “This way, Lady Leyladin, and you, ser.” The man in blue turned and led the way to a table for two in the back dining room. He seated Leyladin.
Cerryl sat down across from her. The back dining room was empty, except for them.
“It’s early,” Leyladin said quietly.
“They obviously know you.” Cerryl glanced around the room, which held only ten tables. Unlike the front room, where the polished tables were bare, all the tables in the rear dining area bore pale blue linen and full sets of cutlery. The rear dining area emphasized that Furenk’s was the most expensive inn in Fairhaven, where all the wealthy factors stayed, and where Cerryl had dined once—with Faltar, for a dinner that had cost him three silvers, with a single goblet of wine and no real extras. That had been a dinner in the front room—not that Cerryl had even known about the rear dining area. A lighted small polished bronze lamp rested in the middle of each table, the ten the only illumination, giving the room a low and discreet illumination.
“This is the only inn in Fairhaven that Father will frequent. So…we’re known here.”
“Lady Leyladin.” Cerryl wondered why the title bothered him.
“You make that sound so cold.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Lady…ser?” A thin older woman—also in the dark blue trousers and vest with the pale blue shirt—stood beside the table. “This evening, we have the special chicken breast or the tender beef over Furenk’s pasta.”
“The chicken,” said Leyladin.
“I’ll have that, too.”
“And the good red wine,” added the healer.
“The same.” Cerryl didn’t know what else to say.
The serving woman inclined her head and stepped away.
“What did Lyasa mean when she said she hoped you could talk before?” he asked after a moment of silence. “Before what?”
“Oh, Cerryl.”
“Before what?”
“Before I leave for Lydiar.”
“You just got back from Hydolar,” Cerryl said, almost peevishly.
“I probably shouldn’t have left there as soon as I did, but Gorsuch said it was clear that the Duke was much better.”
“Gorsuch? Is he the mage there?”
“He’s the mage and the Council’s representative. He promised to summon me if things changed. Now I know why he and the High Wizard wanted me back in Fairhaven.” Leyladin spread her hands, almost helplessly. “Sterol has requested that I attend Duke Estalin’s only son. The boy is weak and ill from the bloody flux and does not seem to be improving.”
“Why you?”
“I’m young and strong, devoted to Myral, and attracted to you. My father relies on the roads.”
“What does all that about you—”
“Those are all reasons why I can be trusted to go to the seaport nearest to Recluce. Good healers are scarce enough in Candar.”
“People leave…I suppose.” Cerryl still wasn’t sure why people would leave Fairhaven. The city was orderly, clean. Life was good so long as you obeyed the rules, but any land had rules. “I wish you weren’t going.”
“So do I.”
Two fluted crystal goblets appeared on the table. “Here you be. Two of the good red. That’ll be six.”
“There.” Leyladin slipped a silver onto the table before Cerryl could even reach his wallet. “I’ll take care of it.”
Four coppers reappeared on the table, but the blonde healer left them there.
“You’ll let me get the dinner?” Cerryl didn’t like relying on generosity, even Leyladin’s.
“How about half of it?”
Cerryl wasn’t sure even about that, but he nodded, then looked back into Leyladin’s green eyes.
Leyladin took a sip from the goblet. “Not bad.”
Cerryl followed her example. To him, the wine tasted excellent, better than any he’d had except for the dinner at Leyladin’s. “It tastes good, but I’ve had a long day.” He yawned.
“It’s better like this, right now. You’re so tired, anyway.”
“I’m not that tired.”
“You’re yawning, and I just got back.” Her eyes danced in the lamplight. “You’re tired of me already?”
“That’s not—” He shook his head. “You are impossible.”
“I’ve tried to let you know that. So did my father. He agreed that I was the most trouble, if you recall.”
“I seem to recall something like that.”
The server slipped a heavy gilt-rimmed pale blue china plate in front of Leyladin and then one in front of Cerryl. On each was a boned chicken breast covered in a cream sauce. Beside the chicken was a dark rice that Cerryl had never seen, also topped with the cream sauce. A second small plate contained freshly cut slices of early peaches, covered with baby mint leaves and a clear glaze. Cerryl hoped he had enough silvers in his wallet. He nodded to the server. “Thank you.”
“We hope you enjoy your dinner, ser and lady. Would you like anything else?”
Cerryl glanced at Leyladin and got the faintest of headshakes. “No, thank you.”
The server nodded and left them alone in the quiet room, so quiet that only murmurs from the main dining area drifted to them.
Leyladin cut a small bit of chicken and tasted it, then smiled. “It’s good.”
Cerryl followed her example. The spice and cream chicken, flavored with orange, trilia, and peppers, was excellent. He saw why Faltar preferred eating out of the Halls, but then he had to wonder how his blonde peer could afford such food. “I fear I could get too accustomed to this kind of food.”
“Furenk serves better than at the duke’s table in Hydolar. Much better.” The healer grimaced. “Much of the food in the mages’ Meal Hall is better than the duke’s fare.”
“That’s another reason why you shouldn’t go to Lydiar.”
“Duke Estalin serves a better table. That’s what Anya told me.”
“How did she know you were going?”
“She was with Sterol when he requested that I go.”
“Hmmmm…” Cerryl took another sip of the wine. “Do you get some sort of escort?”
“I had a full score of lancers to and from Hydolar.”
“I got ten of Eliasar’s worst when I went to Fenard.” The White mage mock-snorted. “You are definitely of greater value to the Brotherhood.”
“That was before the Council made you a full mage.”
“Now, you think, I might get a full score of the worst?”
Leyladin half-laughed, half-chuckled at Cerryl’s dry tone. “Perhaps a score and a half.”
“You are so encouraging.”
“I said I was trouble.”
For a long moment Cerryl just looked across the low lamp into the deep green eyes, letting the silence draw out.
“Cerryl? Why were you looking at me like that?”
“Because you have beautiful eyes.” Because I could fall into them and never emerge.
“Do you tell all the girls that?”
Cerryl flushed. “I’ve never told anyone that.”
“I’m sorry. I must have sounded cruel. I didn’t mean it that way.” She looked down at the goblet in her long fingers.
“There haven’t been—”
She held up a hand. “You don’t have to explain. Sometimes I forget. That’s all. How do you like the chicken? You didn’t say.”
What did she forget? That I’m not the son of a trader or a merchant? That I haven’t had mistresses and the like? “Ah…the chicken…I liked it very much. The rice, too.” He glanced down at the empty pale blue china. “And the peaches.” That plate was equally empty, and he hoped he hadn’t gulped them all down. He didn’t even really remember eating them.
“The glaze was good.”
He stifled a yawn, swallowing it and hoping Leyladin didn’t notice.
“You’re tired. I can tell that.”
“I’m fine.”
“You are tired, and you are going to walk me home. Then you are going to walk to your apartment and get a good night’s sleep before you go on duty tomorrow.” Leyladin rose, deftly leaving four silvers on the table.
“I was—”
“It’s the least I can do if you think I’m going off to abandon you.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“But you feel that way, and I don’t want you to.” She offered a warm smile. “Come on. I’m tired, too.”
Cerryl found himself nodding, realizing that she had been traveling for at least two days—yet she looked wonderful. He wouldn’t have appeared nearly so good. That he knew. He offered his arm as they stepped through the main dining area, now nearly filled.
“She’s the lady healer…a White mage…could be a relative…”
“…look good together, though…”
“Lady Leyladin…don’t know him…”
In the foyer, the tall man in blue bowed. “Good evening, Lady Leyladin…ser.”
Leyladin smiled and turned to the functionary. “Dassaor, this is the mage Cerryl. My father thinks most highly of him.”
“No one would ever question your father’s judgment, lady. We hope to see you both more often.” Dassaor bowed.
Cerryl inclined his head ever so slightly. “Thank you, Dassaor.”
Once they were outside and headed toward the Wizards’ Square, Cerryl glanced at the blonde healer. “You never told me your father thought highly of me.”
“He does. He’s amazed at you, particularly at how well you speak.”
“I’ve worked hard at it. I didn’t want to sound as though I’d just come from the mines.”
“You’ve done more than that. Kinowin speaks well, but there’s a roughness around his words. Yours are polished. You should feel pleased. Not because my father is amazed, but because of what you’ve made of yourself.”
What have I made of myself? A junior mage who must still watch his back and every hint of intrigue? A man who cannot even pay for the dinner of the woman he loves? “I don’t know that I’ve made that much of myself.”
Colors of Chaos (Saga of Recluce) Page 6
