Colors of Chaos (Saga of Recluce)

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  LV

  CERRYL STEPPED INTO Kinowin’s quarters, still dusty and hot from a long day on his guard duty. He was more worried about what Kinowin might decide than the three days left on his double duty assignment.

  “Sit down. You look as though you could use the rest.” Kinowin poured something from the gray pitcher into a second mug. “And something to drink.”

  “Thank you, ser.” Cerryl sat gingerly and looked at the mug.

  A single bronze lamp in a wall sconce supplied a faint illumination to the lower Tower room, and a light breeze drifted through the open window and from the darkness beyond.

  “Drink it. It’s but fresh cider. Call it a tribute to Myral.” Kinowin leaned forward and lifted his own mug. After drinking, he added, “One of the few crops not damaged or destroyed this harvest.”

  Cerryl took a swallow of the cider, welcoming the cool tang on his dry and dusty throat.

  “You were asked to present an argument. The argument was why exceeding the rules was dangerous to a mage and to the Guild.” Kinowin lifted the parchment. “This is better than I expected, Cerryl. It is also far better than Redark, Esaak, or Broka thought possible. They suggested to Jeslek that, with experience, some years from now, you might be considered to offer some instruction in explaining why the Guild is important to apprentices.” Kinowin’s face crinkled into a smile. “They emphasized the part about some years in the future.” The overmage set the parchment back on the table, then stood and paced toward the window, pausing and glancing at the red and gold hanging, rather than the blue and purple one Cerryl knew he usually surveyed.

  “You thought about what you wrote. That was clear. It was so clear that one could almost ask why you broke the rules of peacekeeping. It was clear enough to let any know you had learned from this error. I did not have to let the three see what you wrote. Beyond showing them that you had gained from your experience, why do you think I shared your words?”

  Cerryl swallowed. He had ideas, but dare he express them?

  “Go on.”

  “Because you wanted others to see my value and the value of your judgment about me?”

  Kinowin turned back to Cerryl. “You could be the greatest mage in many years. No matter how great you might be, you are but a single person. Is Jeslek a greater mage than Isork?”

  “Ah…I would judge so.”

  “How could Jeslek consider the problems in Spidlar and Gallos if he could not rely on Isork to keep the peace?”

  Cerryl could see where Kinowin’s words led.

  “Is the High Wizard a greater mage than Esaak? Certainly, but does Jeslek have time to instruct in mathematicks?” The overmage coughed to clear his throat. “My questions are simple. So simple that even an untutored peasant boy in Fenard could answer them. Yet ruler after ruler, generation after generation, is undone because he cannot or will not find others he can trust to do all the duties that hold a land together.”

  Cerryl nodded. “That is also why there must be rules. So that all can work together.”

  “You have great skills, Cerryl,” Kinowin continued, looking out the window, rather than at the younger mage. “As I know too well, possession of skills others do not have usually leads to equally great mistakes. Sometimes, such mistakes are not discovered because they are so large that no one realizes matters could have been otherwise. Other times, they seem very stupid because others do not understand the thoughts behind them.”

  “Mine was stupid,” Cerryl admitted.

  “You were worried about being more than a Patrol mage, were you not? About people going hungry? About the unfairness of sending a boy much as you might have been to the road crew? All for trying to feed a sick sister?”

  “I did think about that.”

  “In being a mage, you must always balance what must be done now with where that will lead. If you do not survive what you do now, you will not reach the future. If you do not think now about where you go, you will have precious few choices when you reach next year or the years after. But…at your age, you have to survive.” Kinowin laughed gently. “Survive long enough, and few will gainsay your dreams.”

  Cerryl knew that Kinowin was saying far more than his words and that the overmage did not expect a direct answer. “I thank you for sharing your wisdom.”

  “Wisdom? I doubt that.”

  “What happens now?” Cerryl asked carefully.

  “For the moment, after you finish your double duty, you will remain as a gate guard, but only the morning duty. In the afternoons, once you have eaten, you will present yourself to the High Wizard. You will be serving as his assistant. You will not receive any additional stipend for that. Not now. The moment you finish your last double duty, the restriction on remaining in the Halls is lifted—but not until then.”

  “Yes, ser. Do you know what the High Wizard expects?”

  “Outside of reminding you of your place? And me of my lack of judgment in recommending you for the Patrol?” Kinowin’s tone was dry. “For all his faults, Jeslek takes his position most seriously. He sincerely believes that the trade difficulties with Spidlar and Recluce represent a basic problem that Fairhaven must address, and soon. He has continued Sterol’s policy of opening the Guild to all with possible talent, but that is making things worse right now.”

  “Lack of coins?”

  “The Treasury is being depleted, and the road tariff payments from other lands are arriving later and later.” Kinowin turned back toward the window and the scattered points of light beyond. “For what the Guild does we have never had enough mages of great talent, and each one that we lose…” He shook his head. “Myral was a great, great loss, though most will not understand why. Too many think that a great chaos wielder is a great mage.” Kinowin’s eyes fixed on Cerryl. “Jeslek is more than a mage who can unleash great amounts of chaos. I do not always agree with him, but he thinks as much of Fairhaven as himself.”

  “I will do my best for him.”

  “Good.” Kinowin pivoted on one foot to face Cerryl. “Do your best and watch all corners, from the moment you leave here.” Kinowin’s lips offered his crooked smile, or one that seemed so because of the blotch on his cheek. “All mages need to watch all shadows in the years to come. Now go get some sleep.”

  Cerryl rose from the chair. “Thank you.”

  “You’ll thank me—and Myral—well enough by surviving, thank you.” Kinowin walked toward the door. “You have a few years to learn. Use them.”

  Cerryl nodded again.

  What Kinowin had said, and not said, echoed through Cerryl’s mind as he headed down the main steps from the White Tower to the front entry foyer. In effect, the overmage had told him, in several different ways, to do Jeslek’s bidding and to survive. And to learn. The last reference to Myral had not been accidental or sentimental, not at all.

  Cerryl shivered. What had Myral seen and passed on to Kinowin? How could Cerryl believe that he would do great things, as Kinowin had vaguely suggested, or become High Wizard, as Myral had told Leyladin? How…when he could not see the simplest things necessary to survive?

  He shook his head. Do what you have to do and survive. He looked toward the empty foyer, extending his perceptions, but the Hall was empty for the moment. You’d better get back into the habit of studying everything again.

  He smiled. At least, he had a future to look out for—if he made no more stupid mistakes. If…

  LVI

  AFTER GULPING DOWN some leftover bread and cheese from the Meal Hall and washing up quickly, Cerryl hurried up the steps to the upper level of the White Tower, glad that his gate-guard duty was only a normal duty period, rather than two.

  The guard outside the High Wizard’s chambers was neither Gostar nor Hertyl, but a grizzle-bearded veteran unfamiliar to Cerryl, who studied Cerryl suspiciously, his hand on the short iron blade. “Ser?”

  “Cerryl. I’m here as directed by Overmage Kinowin.” Cerryl stood there, conscious that he no longer wore the wide red belt
of a Patrol mage and was no more than a very junior mage—once again. He was also conscious that the guard wore an iron shortsword, not one of white bronze, and that, he thought, was new. Why? Does Jeslek fear attack from other mages? A single guard with an iron blade would not stop most mages. Cerryl repressed a frown.

  The guard stepped to the door and rapped once. “A Mage Cerryl is here, ser. He says the overmage Kinowin sent him.”

  “He’s expected, but have him wait out there.”

  “Yes, ser.” The guard nodded and gestured to the bench. “If you would like a seat, ser?”

  “Thank you.” Cerryl dropped onto the seat. His feet were still sore. He wondered if they’d ever recover.

  After a time, Redark left the chamber, glancing briefly at Cerryl but saying nothing. Then Anya departed, offering a dazzling smile but no words, leaving a faint scent of sandalwood lingering around the upper landing.

  The guard didn’t speak, and Cerryl didn’t feel like trying to make conversation. What does Jeslek want from you? Why would you be his personal assistant, especially after Sterol used you against him? So he can watch you closely? That didn’t seem to make sense, but Cerryl wasn’t sure what did—except Kinowin’s words about doing what was necessary to survive.

  In time, perhaps midafternoon, Jeslek opened the door. “You may come in, Cerryl.”

  A red-haired student mage—Kochar—stood by the table as Cerryl entered.

  “Kochar…you may go. I will see you in the morning.” Jeslek gave a perfunctory nod to the apprentice mage.

  “Yes, ser.”

  After the door closed, the High Wizard turned to Cerryl. “Kochar will be starting sewer duty in the next few days. He is getting more and more able,” Jeslek announced as he glanced at the table and the blank glass. “For a brief time Esaak has agreed to take over those duties that Myral had held.”

  Cerryl waited.

  “For the moment, Cerryl, I have little enough for you. You may have the rest of the afternoon to do as you please. I would like you here every afternoon after your morning duty. You will listen. You will observe. You will not speak of what you see or hear here. You will offer no statements, no advice, no words whatsoever, unless you are asked. You may ask an occasional question. Choose it carefully.” Jeslek’s smile was hard and bright. “Do you understand?”

  “Yes, ser.”

  “Good. I will see you tomorrow.”

  Cerryl bowed slightly, then turned, his shields ready, though he knew Jeslek had raised no chaos, and slipped from the High Wizard’s chambers and back toward his own quarters.

  He needed to rest—and think.

  LVII

  AFTER HIS DUTY, Cerryl hurried, but did not run, back to the Halls of the Mages. There he ate alone. That was because any of those he knew well enough to sit with were on duty or elsewhere and he had no desire to exchange meaningless words. He gulped down rye bread and cheese and fresh pearapples before returning to the rear Hall, where he washed. Then he made his way to the top of the White Tower, where Gostar guarded the High Wizard’s chamber.

  “Be not here, Mage Cerryl. None of them,” offered Gostar.

  “I guess I’ll wait.” Cerryl sat down on the bench. Despite the smooth polished oak surface and probably generations of usage, there was a faint grittiness to the wood. Cerryl looked down. Was everything around the Tower slightly gritty? The effect of too much chaos? He frowned.

  Gostar glanced around, then lowered his voice. “Begging your pardon, ser. Some say that you were removed from the Patrol for hurting a boy; some say it was because the High Wizard cares little for you…”

  Cerryl looked at Gostar. What could he say? Finally, he answered. “The boy stole some bread. I didn’t want to send him to the road crew and I put a small brand on his forehead to warn him, but he ended up on the road crew anyway. I was wrong, and he ended up in the same place with a brand on his forehead.”

  Gostar looked at Cerryl and nodded, apparently neither pleased nor displeased.

  Cerryl couldn’t detect whether the guard was upset or relieved and sat on the bench, waiting for Jeslek and whatever the High Wizard wanted Cerryl to do. This time, he had to wait but a short time before Jeslek returned, trailed by Anya and Redark and Kinowin.

  Behind the group followed one of the messengers in red from the crèche, who glanced at the bench before which Cerryl stood.

  Without speaking, Jeslek motioned for Cerryl to follow the group into his chambers. Once all were inside, after Cerryl closed the door, Jeslek handed a scroll to Cerryl. “Read it while we talk.”

  While the four sat at the chairs around the table, Cerryl stationed himself by the wall closest to Jeslek’s right hand and began to read through the scroll, focusing on the parts that followed the flowery greeting.

  …knowing that we of Gallos have the highest regard for the White Brotherhood of Fairhaven and for those highways which the Brotherhood has developed and maintained to ensure peace and prosperity for Fairhaven and, to a lesser but still important degree, for other lands in Candar…

  …fair trade is considered vital to all lands, particularly those of us not so blessed as Fairhaven…

  …yet a tax upon the craftsmen and merchants of Gallos, for that is what the tariffs levied for the use of the White highways must in all fairness be termed, such a tax falls heavily upon a land already troubled by the whims of nature…and in all fairness, we must suggest, cannot be long maintained by any ruler in Gallos even in deference for past services as great as constructing the highways that all could use to greater benefit were not tariffs levied upon the users…

  …all know of the past power and glory of Fairhaven, and few would wish to believe that any in present-day Fairhaven would stoop to preserve unpopular and unnecessary tariffs through banditry or raids upon neighbors or neighbors of neighbors…

  …moreover, no power in Gallos could stand against its people and their unwillingness to be taxed for that from which they see little benefit…

  The seal and signature were those of Syrma, prefect of Gallos.

  Great benefit from the highways, yet the people see no benefit? Cerryl puzzled over the apparent contradictions even as he continued to listen to the four around the table.

  “It’s a veiled threat,” Kinowin observed. “He’s saying that he knows Fairhaven is behind the banditry and raids on Spidlarian traders.” His fingers touched the purple blotch on his left cheek momentarily.

  “What are we supposed to do?” asked the ginger-bearded Redark. “Just let them take over the highways and still maintain them out of our vast treasury and generosity?” Bitterness dripped from his words.

  “What do you—and Sterol—think, Anya?” Jeslek asked the red-haired mage. “I am certain you know the thoughts of the former and esteemed High Wizard.”

  “You grant me too much insight, ser.” Anya smiled.

  “Then, what do you think?”

  “My thoughts matter little. What matters not is truth. What matters is what those with whom we must deal think. They seem to think that we have less power than in years past and that they can avoid paying their obligations. Unless we can compel them in some fashion, they will not pay.” Anya finished her statement with a brisk nod.

  Kinowin nodded with her, but Redark frowned.

  “Gallos is lagging,” Jeslek said. “I’ve already sent messages to Gorsuch, as regent for young Duke Uulrac, Duke Estalin, Viscount Rystryr, suggesting that it may be necessary for them to raise levies to deal with the problem of Spidlar.”

  “They won’t do it—except for Gorsuch,” interjected Kinowin. “They all think it’s our problem.”

  “That is very clear,” said the High Wizard. “The problem is Syrma. Rystryr will do as we suggest if given a push. Gorsuch will also.”

  While Gorsuch would do exactly as Jeslek told him, Cerryl reflected, Gorsuch’s direct power lasted only so long as Uulrac remained alive. Pushing Gorsuch to require levies might well shorten the sickly young duke’s life span�
�and possibly Leyladin’s. The young mage pursed his lips and continued to listen.

  “Syrma’s power as prefect is recent, and he must defer to others, especially to those of coins and the great factors who continue to profit from the trade with Recluce and Spidlar. So we will ask for levies, and he will demur. He will not refuse. He will say that it is early yet and that he respects Fairhaven.” Jeslek snorted. “He may say anything, but he will not post the listings.”

  “And then what do we do?” asked Redark.

  “We find a way to convince them all.”

  “You wouldn’t turn Fenard into a mountain, I trust?” said Kinowin, his voice dry.

  “Not Fenard. What would be the point? All those golds we need would be lost.” Jeslek smiled. “No. We need another more…subtle reminder for our friend Syrma. I will have to think about that.” His eyes flicked toward Cerryl, if but momentarily. “We will talk that over later, when I have a better thought of what might be required.”

  The cold expression behind the High Wizard’s smiling mouth chilled Cerryl, but the younger mage kept on his face a look of mild interest.

  “Now, we need to review what coins we must disburse in the next season.” Jeslek glanced at Redark. “Do you have the numbers I asked for, Redark?”

  “Yes, ser.” From somewhere Redark produced a set of papers, placing one in front of each of the others at the table. “You see…there are the golds required to fit the last three ships and the extras for the White Lancers. Below are what must be spent on the Guild, or stipends, and support, and there are the requirements for supplies for the masons, and for the Patrol and for the sewers and aqueducts…”

  Cerryl stifled a yawn. He had the feeling that the meeting would be getting duller.

  LVIII

  CERRYL STOOD BY the wall, trying to avoid Anya’s glance, as Kinowin and Redark walked into the High Wizard’s chambers. Fydel stood with his back to the bookcase on the other side of the table.