Colors of Chaos (Saga of Recluce)

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  He wanted to shake his head. Even when you tried to explain the rules or help people, some of them just didn’t believe. The taxes weren’t new. They’d been there since the time of Creslin, something like three centuries or more, and there were still people who disputed them, who refused to accept the laws unless you used overwhelming force on them. Or, like the old woman, people who turned the words to what they wanted them to mean and then attacked when their interpretation was denied.

  He hadn’t had any choice at the end. Even for him, the rules were absolute. Anyone who attacked a gate guard died. Had he made it worse by trying to warn her? Or telling her she needed to pay for a medallion? Would it have been the same either way?

  He wiped his forehead again, then glanced obliquely toward the sun, blazing in the green-blue sky. A long time until sunset—too long.

  XII

  KINOWIN HAD A new wall hanging—one with blue and purple diamonds pierced by black arrows, more like crossbow quarrels. The gently flickering light from the pair of wall lamps and the table lamp cast shadows from Kinowin and Cerryl across the hanging.

  Are we as insubstantial as those shadows? Cerryl wondered.

  The overmage followed Cerryl’s eyes. “Do you like it?”

  “The colors are…brilliant, I guess.”

  “It’s Analerian. Jeslek sent it to me with his last dispatch to the Council. He knows I like hangings—and that I dislike being indebted to him.” The big blonde mage took a long pull from the overlarge mug on the edge of the screeing table. “Ah…getting hot too soon this year.”

  “Is he going to be High Wizard someday?” Cerryl had no doubts but wanted Kinowin’s reaction and felt he could only seek it while he was still considered inexperienced.

  Kinowin snorted. “The entire Guild decides that.”

  Cerryl had the feeling that the Guild agreed to support the strongest candidate.

  “You don’t think so, young Cerryl?”

  “I do not know enough to agree or disagree, ser.”

  “Carefully said.” The overmage pulled at his clean-shaven chin. “The Guild often recognizes the strongest mage as the most suitable.”

  Cerryl had understood early that the Guild wasn’t about to deny any mage who was strong enough. Since Jeslek was strong enough to create small mountains, sooner or later he would be High Wizard.

  Kinowin lifted the mug again, then looked at the younger mage. “Cerryl, you’ve been on gate duty for nearly two seasons. You’re going to have morning duty at the north gate before long. It’s a little earlier than I would like, but Bealtur, Heralt, and Myredin will be made full mages at the next Council meeting—that’s but an eight-day from now.”

  Cerryl knew Heralt and Bealtur but not Myredin—except by sight and a few casual conversations in the eight-days.

  “Heralt will take afternoon duty. He’s the most dependable.” The overmage studied Cerryl. “You know them. What do you think?”

  “I don’t know Myredin. I know that Heralt is solid and trustworthy.”

  “Carefully said…once more.” Kinowin laughed. “I’d like it if you didn’t tell anyone. Most know, but I’d still like your silence.”

  “Yes, ser.” Silence was usually a good idea, at least when an overmage requested it. When Kinowin requested it, Cerryl corrected himself mentally.

  “Are you still upset about the old farm woman?”

  “Yes.” Cerryl thought and added, “I know that we have to hold to the laws. I wanted to warn her that she needed a medallion.” He paused and cleared his throat. “What upset me was that she wouldn’t listen. It’s not as though the laws are new. But she wouldn’t listen to anyone, and she drew a blade on a guard, and I had to turn her into ash.”

  “Everywhere there are laws,” Kinowin said slowly. “We have laws. Hamor has laws. Even Recluce has laws. No land can long last without laws, and without the people obeying them. Not without thievery and killing and wastes in the streets. Yet, in every land, there are those who feel that they do not have to obey the laws. Some have so many coins that they attempt to buy their way around the laws. Some have armsmen, and some are like the old woman.” The big overmage stood abruptly and walked to the window without speaking, as if he were debating what to say next.

  Outside, the air was clear, and Cerryl could see the deep purple of the early-night sky past Kinowin’s profile.

  “The Guild has laws, too. We are the White Order, and yet…some here also find it difficult to abide by those laws.” Kinowin turned. “Sterol told you how difficult it was for an outsider to become a White mage, and yet, in some ways, you—and I—for the same reasons, understand better than those raised in the crèche the need for order. Yet order, because of the Blacks of Recluce, has a bad name in Fairhaven.”

  Cerryl tried not to hold his breath, knowing Kinowin might have more to say and afraid that if he spoke the older mage would stop. He still couldn’t help but think about the old woman, though he knew he could have done nothing else, not as a junior mage and gate guard.

  “The ways to corrupt order are many. The allure of sex, or power, or the desperate desire to be respected—they can all corrupt. Who of us does not wish to be loved and wanted and respected and powerful?” The overmage laughed. “If anyone tells you any of those are not appealing to him—or her—watch that mage most carefully.”

  “Ah…yes, ser.”

  Kinowin turned. “Elsinot will stand your duty on the day the Council meets to confirm the new mages. I will summon you to the dais to tell the story of the old woman. Do not linger over it. Tell it briefly, but tell it with truth. Do you understand?”

  “I will be there, ser. I cannot say I understand why.”

  A sardonic smile crossed Kinowin’s face. “Let us just say that I see the need to let some of the brethren know that we are not universally loved and that our laws—fair as they are—do not seem fair to all.” He gestured to the door. “I have kept you long enough.”

  Cerryl rose from the chair.

  XIII

  THE DARK SHIPS fitted by Creslin began to ply the Gulf of Candar, seizing all that they could and repaying none, yet all of the plunder laid up upon the stone piers of Land’s End was not enough to feed and clothe and shelter all those who flocked to the once-desert isle.

  The former dark guards of Westwind craved iron for their blades and blood to be shed upon those blades, and the wretched refuse from Renklaar and far Swartheld and Brysta and even those from Valmurl demanded that the Black mages feed and clothe them as befitted the wealthy.

  To draw yet more coins from storm-battered and valiant Candar, Creslin sought greater enchantments and turned foul juice into a green brandy that so bewitched the mind and senses of all that betook of it that they would pay any number of coins to achieve yet another taste.

  With those coins and those minted from the jewelry taken from captives, Creslin sent forth his vessels once more and had them pay whatever the grain factors of the ports of Candar asked, save that those who refused to trade found their warehouses torched by mysterious fires and flames that appeared from nowhere.

  Yet even those coins were not enough, and the black-hearted Megaera mixed both the White and Black and swirled the oceans and had them cast forth all the coins and metals and previous goods that had sunk with the Hamorian fleet…disregarding the lost souls that wailed with the use of each silver, each copper…

  Colors of White

  (Manual of the Guild at Fairhaven)

  Preface

  XIV

  AS INSTRUCTED BY Kinowin, Cerryl sat behind a desk in the second row on the north side of the Council Hall, watching and listening as the meeting continued. Both Kinowin and Sterol stood on the dais, but Jeslek had remained in Gallos, and his place beside the High Wizard was vacant as mages stood and spoke and then reseated themselves.

  “…we see no change in trading…”

  “…a season has gone by, and still the Gallosian traders are accepting goods from Recluce.”


  “Not directly, Disarj. They ship the ironwork and spices to Spidlaria, and then the Spidlarians barge it upriver to Elparta.”

  “So? They still evade the surtax.”

  Sterol stepped forward, his hand raised. “Peace! The surtax was imposed here, not a season ago, but by the time scrolls were drafted and messengers sent it has been less than a handful of eight-days since all traders have been notified. Some traders may not yet know. They cannot summon ships back or change cargoes in a matter of eight-days.”

  “They will not change,” snapped the frizzy-haired and balding Disarj. “A serpent will slither all its days.”

  “That may be,” conceded the gray-haired Sterol, his hand touching his trimmed iron-gray beard, his red-flecked brown eyes mild. “We have agreed that Eliasar should be dispatched to Fenard shortly with a suitable complement of lancers to offer encouragement to the new prefect.”

  “…make sure there are enough lancers for that encouragement…”

  “…too bad young Cerryl didn’t flame a few more…”

  Cerryl winced at his name but kept his eyes on the High Wizard.

  Sterol waited for a lull in the soft comments. “For us to act before the traders know of the tax will raise unrest even within our own lands.”

  “Our traders are already uneasy,” pointed out the pudgy Isork. “They claim they lose coins every eight-day.”

  Kinowin stepped forward and nodded to Sterol, who nodded back.

  The overmage cleared his throat. “We hear from the traders. That is truth. The traders are not all of those we govern. Those who have the coins or the power to reach us are not a tenth part of the people who depend on us—or from whom we draw our armsmen and lancers. Nor is everything always as peaceable as it seems, even within and around Fairhaven itself.”

  Low murmurs whispered across the chamber.

  Kinowin squared himself on the dais. “One of our younger mages has been guarding the north gate. He told me of a meeting there. I also asked the guards, and all swore that it occurred exactly as told me. That is as it should be and speaks highly of the training he was given by the honorable Jeslek. Before we discuss matters further, I would like you to hear this story.” He gestured to Cerryl, who stepped forward. “Up here, Cerryl, where all can hear you. Now…tell all of the Guild what you told me.”

  As Sterol eased off the south side of the dais, Cerryl stepped onto the gold-shot marble of the dais. He had to clear his throat before starting. He tried not to look at Anya, with Fydel seated beside her. Faltar was on duty at the south gate. Nor did Cerryl look at Myral, who was in the first row. “It was about two eight-days ago, and I was on duty. I looked out along the highway, and there was this old woman with a staff leading an old farm cart with some baskets in it. I could tell that she didn’t have a medallion. She looked poor and maybe ill. So I called down to Gyral—he was the lead lancer on duty—and I asked him to warn her that she needed to either pay for a medallion or get off the highway.” Cerryl cleared his throat gently, trying to overcome his nervousness before the assembled mages.

  “She wouldn’t stop or get off the highway. She yelled at all of us something like, ‘The roads be for everyone!’ She said she was a common person and she needed the road to sell her baskets so that her family could live until harvest and that she had no spare coppers for the White ninnies. I told her she’d have to give up the cart and the baskets, since she wouldn’t pay for a medallion, and she screamed that the roads were for everyone. She took her staff and threatened the guards.” Cerryl swallowed. “I used a firebolt and turned the staff into ashes. Then she screamed that darkness and the Black angels should take us. She grabbed a knife and attacked the guards. I had to flame her.” Cerryl glanced toward Kinowin.

  The overmage murmured, “Stay here for a moment.” Then he turned to the Hall. “I think that young Cerryl was attempting to be both fair and understanding while upholding the laws and ways of Recluce.”

  “…more than fair,” came a murmur from somewhere.

  “…demon-damned peasants.”

  “…ignorant beasts.”

  “Yet,” continued Kinowin, his voice strengthening to silence the murmurs, “this peasant woman had no interest in his fairness or the laws. All she wanted was the easiest way to market and the most coins. Was she that different from the late Prefect Lyam? Or from all the smugglers who try to avoid taxes and tariffs? We meet, and too often, I think, we forget that the rules of law, and the need for such rules to ensure prosperity, they are merely nodded at even by those in Fairhaven. Too often our merchants take for granted the smoothness and the directness of our roads. Too often we do not see the anger at us, because we have forged a glorious city and prosperity for all Candar. Too often we would rather be loved than respected.” Kinowin paused. “Before I let Cerryl resume his seat, are there any questions?”

  A tall mage halfway back in the chamber rose. “You said that this woman called us ‘White ninnies.’ Did she use those words?”

  “Yes, she did. She also said that she had rights under the land that no man dressed in white and riding in a gold carriage could take away.”

  Another mage—Isork—stood. “Did she actually say that the Black angels should take you?”

  “Yes.”

  Isork sat down.

  “Perhaps we should send Eliasar to Gallos sooner rather than later,” suggested Fydel from the middle of the chamber, Anya practically whispering in his ear as the square-bearded mage spoke.

  Sterol stepped back onto the dais from the columns at the south side of the chamber, waiting for another round of murmurs to die down. “The Council has decided that Eliasar should not depart until closer to harvest.” He turned and gestured to Cerryl. “Remember what happened at the gates. Cerryl attempted to handle the old woman gently. The guards know that, and they will tell others. Unhappily, there will always be those who respect little but force. There will always be those who do not pay willingly for the prosperity and peace that the Guild has provided Candar. There will always be those who believe the lies and deceptions of the Black Isle. We cannot make all our people happy, but we can make them respect the Order. And that we will do.

  “Many of you know that the overmage Jeslek is working in Gallos to ensure that the new prefect will indeed respect the Guild. We are also building more warships to patrol the gulf and the Eastern Ocean. All Gallos—and the Black traders—will respect Fairhaven before we are done. That will be the occasion to send Eliasar and the lancers.” Sterol laughed. “Shortly, I will begin assigning mages to those warships that will be completed sometime this winter, and the Black traders will pay tariffs or they will not trade with Candar.”

  Kinowin nodded to Cerryl, who stepped down and back to his seat.

  Sterol gave a nod to Kinowin, who returned it with one barely perceptible.

  “Now that our business is complete,” Sterol said in a warmer tone, “let us bring in the new mages.”

  Sterol waited on the dais, Kinowin to his right, as Esaak escorted the three figures in the tunics of student mages forward and down the center aisle of the chamber.

  “High Wizard, I present the candidates for induction as full mages and members of the Guild.” Esaak inclined his head, then stepped back and to the side.

  Sterol let the silence draw out for a moment before speaking. “Bealtur, Heralt, and Myredin…you are here because you have studied, because you have learned the basic skills of magery, and because you have proved you understand the importance of the Guild to the future of all Candar…”

  Cerryl smiled at the words that deviated not at all from those Sterol had employed when Cerryl himself had stood before the dais.

  “…we hold a special trust for all mages, to bring a better life to those who follow the White way, to further peace and prosperity, and to ensure that all our talents are used for the greater good, of both those in Fairhaven and those throughout Candar.” Sterol paused, surveying the three. “Do you, of your own free will, promise to u
se your talents for the good of the Guild and for the good of Fairhaven, and of all Candar?”

  There were three quiet assents.

  “And do you faithfully promise to hold to the rules of the Guild, even when those rules may conflict with your personal and private desires?”

  “Yes,” answered the three simultaneously.

  “Do you promise that you will do your personal best to ensure that chaos is never raised against the helpless and always to benefit the greater good?”

  “Yes.”

  “And finally, do you promise that you will always stand by those in the Guild to ensure that mastery of the forces of chaos—and order—is limited to those who will use such abilities for good and not for personal gain and benefit?”

  “Yes.”

  “In the powers of chaos and in the sight of the Guild, you are each a full mage of the White Order of Fairhaven…”

  A shimmering touch of chaos brushed the sleeves of the three, and the red apprentice stripes were gone.

  “Welcome, Bealtur, Heralt, and Myredin…” Sterol offered a broad smile and looked across the assembled group. “Now that we have welcomed the new mages, our business is over, and all may greet them.”

  Scattered murmurs broke out across the chamber.

  Sterol glanced down at the three. “I’m very pleased that all of you have succeeded. You have different talents, and in the difficult days before the Guild we will need each of those talents, I suspect.”

  Cerryl waited for the older mages to congratulate the three before he stepped forward, beginning with the dark-eyed and curly-haired Heralt. “Congratulations, Heralt.”

  “Thank you. You and Kinowin made it easier.”

  Cerryl offered a smile. “Don’t forget the High Wizard. He seeks talent.” With a nod, Cerryl stepped up to Bealtur. “Congratulations.”

  “Thank you.” The goateed young mage’s words were polite, even, and without warmth.