Colors of Chaos (Saga of Recluce)

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  Behind Cerryl, the trading gates stood open. There was no reason to close them, given the state of the river wall, where the work crews still toiled, some two hundred cubits farther north, to rough-repair the city walls. Two squads of lancers waited, mounted, by the open trading gates. With them were a half-dozen spare mounts, since Cerryl had no idea how many might be accompanying Jeslek and who, if any, might need a mount.

  According to Cerryl’s screeing at midmorning, the five barges should have already been nearing Elparta. He wished he could have gotten a better image in the glass, but all the water around the barges made screeing difficult, sometimes impossible, with the shifting blackness of order that running water seemed to create. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, then glanced sideways at Fydel.

  Fydel continued to look southward—upstream, ignoring Cerryl’s momentary scrutiny.

  Cerryl turned and walked a few steps back toward the wall, then out to the end of the pier once more, passing Fydel.

  “The High Wizard will arrive.” The square-bearded mage offered a smile closer to a smirk. “Jeslek wears best in his absence. Especially for those who would be clever. Do not be so eager for his return.”

  It wasn’t Jeslek—but there had been something about the barges in the glass, something…and Cerryl had not been happy to discover that he still could not find Leyladin in the glass. An eight-day before she had been riding somewhere with her father’s traders, and now—now she had vanished. Did that mean she had taken a sea voyage? Cerryl turned and walked back toward the gates, then back to the end of the pier. Jeslek might know about Leyladin. The High Wizard had to know.

  Cerryl paced the pier a dozen times or more before a call rang out from the lookout on the south Tower: “Boat ho!”

  The gray-eyed mage strained, watching the leaden water, squinting for some sign. Then the barge appeared. A thin green and gold banner flew below the ensign of Fairhaven—a trader’s banner. Cerryl smiled. Had Leyladin managed to send something else? What? He shrugged—it didn’t matter. That she had was what counted, because that meant she was all right.

  You hope. He pushed away the thought as Fydel walked across the rough-sawn planks to stand beside him.

  “Best we seem pleased,” said Fydel, almost dryly. The older mage gestured upriver at where yet another barge had appeared. “Perhaps we should be. The High Wizard has doubtless brought us more than flour and salted pork.”

  Cerryl nodded. Although he enjoyed good food, he also remembered the lean years at the mines, and the past winter’s fare, while plain, had been far better than that of the winters of his early youth.

  On the upper level of the wide-beamed barge, above the mounts in tight stalls, above the bales and crates, stood the High Wizard. Cerryl swallowed. On Jeslek’s right stood Anya, but on his left, a pace removed, stood a figure in green. Leyladin’s short golden hair fluttered above her shoulders in the chill wind, and Cerryl felt his own pulse thundering in his ears, in his entire being. He edged forward on the pier, closer to the bollards.

  As the rivermen jumped off the lead barge and snaked heavy hemp lines around the crude log bollards, Cerryl glanced at the second and third barges, packed with armed footmen, looking better than the levies of the summer before, if not as professional as the White Lancers. But his eyes went back to the blonde healer and the smile that made the cold day of late winter an early spring.

  “A surprise for you, I see.” Fydel laughed. “Were there such for me.”

  Cerryl couldn’t help feeling a touch of sadness for the square-bearded mage, foolish as Fydel was to be attracted to Anya. “It comes when you do not expect it.”

  “For some.”

  Cerryl stepped almost to the edge of the pier planks as the boatmen tied the barge in place.

  Jeslek was the first onto the pier. Although ruddier than when he had left Elparta in early winter, he appeared thinner, if not quite gaunt, and some of the circles beneath his eyes remained. “Fydel, Cerryl—you have made much progress.” The sun-gold eyes merely sparkled, and he nodded as he surveyed the rebuilt piers and the river wall.

  Leyladin vaulted over the gunwale of the gray-timbered barge, and Cerryl leaped forward to steady her. He caught her arm, and they stood there, on the heavy crude planks of the river pier, less than a cubit apart, as if neither could believe the other’s presence.

  “I can’t believe…” Cerryl’s mouth felt dry.

  “Neither can I.”

  “How…?” he stammered.

  “Let us say that Kinowin’s tongue and Father’s golds were persuasive.” Leyladin’s hands reached out and took his.

  He squeezed hers, wanting to draw her closer.

  “Leyladin has already proved most useful.” Anya’s smile was tighter yet slightly less false than usual.

  Cerryl turned, jarred by the redhead’s words. He hadn’t even sensed her approach, but close as she stood, the trilia and sandalwood were overpowering.

  “I did what any good mage would do for others.” Leyladin’s gentle smile turned as hard and false as Anya’s, and her green eyes glittered like frozen emeralds.

  “We are all appreciative, Leyladin dear, especially young Cerryl, I’m sure.” Anya turned to Jeslek even before finishing her words.

  Leyladin’s lips tightened for a moment.

  “Another reason for shields?” His fingers squeezed hers again.

  The chill left the healer’s face and eyes. “I don’t need them now.” She slipped forward, disengaging his hands and wrapping her arms around him in a firm hug. “I missed you.”

  “Missed you.”

  For a time, they just held each other.

  The pier shuddered as the second barge rebounded from it and then against the ropes. Even as he released Leyladin and turned toward where Jeslek and Anya stood talking to Fydel, Cerryl couldn’t help but feel some satisfaction as the barge was tied into place against the new solidity of the pier.

  “…few more attacks, but we only lost a handful of lancers…Cerryl has been busy supporting us with all the rebuilding…good at support.”

  Cerryl wanted to wince at the belittling comment but didn’t, forcing a smile as he and Leyladin, still holding hands, stepped toward the other three.

  The pier shivered again as the third barge was moored downstream of the first two. Cerryl glanced out at the river, seeing that yet another barge made for the lower piers.

  Jeslek followed his eyes. “Just the first. A mere fifteen score. Prefect Syrma has committed to sending a hundred score within the next three eight-days. We yet have another fifteen-score lancers two days south of here.”

  How did he do it?

  “How? I suggested that he would not want the fate of Elparta to befall Fenard. I also told him that there were a dozen mages that could do so and that the Guild would put up with no more nonsense.”

  “He also turned the subprefect into ashes at dinner—and the arms commander and about ten enraged captains,” said Anya dryly.

  “Anya offered some assistance.” Jeslek smiled. “Prefect Syrma decided that cooperation was preferable to annihilation.”

  Both Cerryl and Leyladin continued to smile faintly, but Cerryl could tell she felt the same emptiness as he did.

  For all that Fairhaven offered, was the only way to force its prosperity on the other lands of Candar? Lands that unceasingly wanted the benefits of prosperity and good roads without contributing to them.

  Seeing a lancer captain Cerryl did not recognize, Jeslek gestured abruptly. “Get the mounts off first.”

  “Aye, ser.” The captain turned and called back to a figure in purple standing on the bow, “The mounts be first!”

  “The mounts, aye. Up with the ramp.”

  Two rivermen slid a wooden ramp into place between the barge and the pier.

  “The walls are new,” Leyladin said.

  “Look to the north, at the end there. That’s the way it all was,” Cerryl said.

  A shadow fell across the pi
ers, accompanied by a gust of wind, cold and foretelling yet more snow before the turn of spring.

  “Your mount, High Wizard,” said a lancer, leading forward a bay with crimson and white livery, although some of the white trim was almost yellow. “Been watered, but I’d not ride far.”

  “Only to my quarters.” Jeslek eased himself into the saddle, and Anya had to hurry to mount and ride alongside him. Behind the two rode a good score of lancers who had been on the barge.

  Fydel stood back, a sardonic smile on his face.

  As he turned to watch the High Wizard depart, by the left gate Cerryl glimpsed the spritely white-haired Jidro, a smile on his face as he looked at the piers and barges.

  Another lancer appeared with a black mare. “Lady Leyladin, our thanks.”

  “I am glad I could make things easier.” The healer smiled, then mounted.

  Cerryl walked alongside Leyladin as she rode the several dozen cubits to where his gelding was tethered next to the squad of lancers headed by Hiser.

  As Cerryl swung up into the saddle, Hiser eased his own chestnut forward. “Ser? You be heading back to quarters?”

  “Yes. The healer will be coming with me.” Was he being too abrupt? But where else would she stay? He turned. “If that’s all right?”

  “I’d say that would be best.” Her lips almost curled into a smile, and her eyes did smile.

  “…don’t think she’d be with anyone else,” murmured Fydel in the background.

  Cerryl guided the gelding through the open trade gates toward the main avenue, and Hiser and his squad fell in behind them. Leyladin rode so closely that their legs almost brushed.

  Cerryl found his eyes wandering to her. “What did you do for the lancers?”

  “Brought some dried fruit, nuts, some good travel bread, and cheese.” Her voice faded out as they rode past the refurbished quarters’ dwellings and turned onto the avenue, where most of the damage from Jeslek’s attack remained untouched. One house stood gaping like a skull, shutters gone, door vanished. “Is it all like that?”

  “More than half of Elparta. It’s been hard enough to get the piers rebuilt and the gates and walls—and enough houses to quarter everyone.” Cerryl coughed. “With another thirty score coming in…I don’t know. The winter’s long here, and it’s not over yet.”

  “Most will not linger here that long,” prophesied Leyladin.

  “If the Spidlarians do not hold them back.”

  “There is yet another duke in Hydlen, and this one will send levies.”

  “Jeslek and Anya paid a visit to Hydolar?”

  “No. Eliasar seized Renklaar. The port belongs to Fairhaven now.”

  Cerryl nodded. That made sense. If the Hydlenese valued coins more than loyalty, then take that which controlled their coins. Should Fairhaven take Lydiar? And Ruzor—after Spidlaria?

  “That was Sterol’s idea. I don’t think he thought Jeslek would heed it, but he did.” Leyladin laughed, softly, bitterly.

  A flurry of white flakes shivered from the clouds, and the wind picked up until it whistled intermittently.

  “I’m glad you got here before the storm.”

  “You didn’t know I was coming, remember?” she teased.

  “I can still be glad.” Cerryl gestured. “This way—up the long, narrow street there.”

  “Is it far?”

  “Less than a kay.”

  Whuff! Leyladin’s mare sidestepped as the wind blew a scrap of gray cloth across the way before them. “It’s so…empty.”

  “Jeslek’s terms were hard. Most of the people fled. A few have returned.”

  “Your terms aren’t so hard?”

  “I try to apply the Patrol rules here, even to lancers. Sometimes I haven’t been that popular.”

  “Why? The rules are fair.”

  “I’ve executed three or four lancers and several locals. One lancer raped and killed a local woman—a harlot, and she shouldn’t have stayed, but that didn’t mean she could be killed.”

  “Still trying…” She turned in the saddle and smiled sadly. “Even if you became High Wizard, you’d be disappointed.”

  “Probably more so. Things wouldn’t work out, and I couldn’t blame Jeslek.”

  They turned onto the short hilltop lane that held the quarters’ dwelling.

  “There, at the end.”

  “I like it better up here,” Leyladin affirmed.

  “Jeslek’s is the big mansion—over there to the north. There’s a back lane, and it’s about two hundred cubits.”

  “Don’t tell him. Make him ride the long way.”

  “I’m the one who goes to him.” Cerryl’s mouth quirked. “Remember?”

  Leyladin giggled as they reined up by the carriage gate. They groomed both the mare and the gelding and put them in the two adjoining stalls in the small stable of Cerryl’s quarters, then made their way through the light snow into the front foyer, stepping past the two lancer guards.

  Cerryl turned. “Zoyst, Natrey, this is the Lady Leyladin—one of the few healers. She’ll be staying here.”

  “Yes, ser.”

  “I’m pleased to meet you both.” Leyladin smiled warmly.

  Though neither guard returned the smile, Cerryl could feel their reserve lower. She can do that, and I can’t. They respect me, I think, but everyone loves her. Almost everyone, except Anya.

  Cerryl gestured toward the front sitting room.

  “These are your quarters? I expected…” She crossed the room and peered through the archway at the desk and table in the rear study.

  “Something more like a lancer’s?” Cerryl asked. “I do have a few rooms to myself, but I eat what the lancers eat.”

  “And you make sure they know that, I’m sure.” Leyladin’s eyes twinkled. “You don’t sleep here, do you?” She gestured toward the conference table.

  “I spend more time here.” He paused, then added, “Oh…I’ll show you.” He took her hand, and they walked to the foyer and the narrow steps up. “Up there.” He pointed to the top of the staircase.

  “Do you mind if I look?”

  “There are two other bedchambers up there. One is empty. I mean…there’s a bed and everything.”

  Leyladin smiled again. “I understood.” She started up the steps, and, after a moment, Cerryl followed.

  The healer looked into the bedchamber on the left, then crossed the landing and stepped into the larger chamber. “This is lovely.” She studied the four-poster bed, the small settee, and the curved rails of the wash table. “You’ve even kept it neat.”

  “There’s nothing like the showers of the Halls,” Cerryl said, “and I have to heat the water with chaos.”

  “You’ll be…good…to have around.” The healer took a half-step toward the still-shuttered window, then turned, still smiling.

  “Are you hungry? There are some biscuits and cheese in the kitchen. Nothing like Furenk’s around here. I’m not sure there ever was.” Cerryl started for the doorway and the steps down to the kitchen.

  “Cerryl?”

  He stopped.

  “You may have seen me through your glass, but I haven’t seen you in more than a year. You don’t have to rush off after biscuits.”

  “I do,” Cerryl confessed. “I’m starving. I haven’t been able to see you in the glass for more than an eight-day. I haven’t eaten much.”

  An even softer smile appeared. “I actually worried you? I just wanted to surprise you, and I didn’t want to worry you. It was work, holding those shields on the road.”

  “You surprised me.”

  “I could stand something to eat.” She shook her head. “But there’s something more important.”

  Cerryl froze. What had he overlooked?

  “Nothing like that.” She stepped forward. Not only did her arms encircle him, her lips on his, but her body was against his as well, far warmer, far more yielding, and far more demanding…

  Forget about biscuits…His arms went around her.
/>   CXIX

  CERRYL GLANCED OVER at the blonde head on the pillow beside him, then leaned back in the grayness before dawn. After all these years…why now?

  “…waited all these years…” Leyladin’s voice was thick with sleep, but she turned toward him. “…you waited, too.”

  “I saw you in the glass…more than a half-score of years ago.” He propped himself up on his left elbow to study her, and his fingers traced the line of her chin.

  “I didn’t know who you were, then.”

  “I didn’t know who you were, either.”

  “I haven’t changed much.”

  “You still like green.”

  Leyladin wrapped her shift around her as she sat up against the headboard, a pillow behind her.

  “You don’t need that,” teased Cerryl. “The shift, I mean.”

  “Oh?” She arched her eyebrows.

  “You didn’t last night.”

  “That was last night.” The archness of her voice broke into a laugh.

  Cerryl laughed with her.

  After a moment, she cleared her throat. “Oh…I’d better tell you. Kinowin made me promise.”

  “Promise what?” Cerryl didn’t want to talk about Kinowin or Jeslek or anyone else.

  “He had a message, one he didn’t want to write down.” Leyladin shook her head. “He’s getting old, like Myral did. He was always so tall and strong, and now he’s a little stooped, and he has to concentrate when he walks so that he doesn’t shuffle.”

  “So quickly?”

  “It happens quickly.” Her eyes misted as she looked at Cerryl.

  He shivered, knowing yet another reason why she had come to Spidlar.

  “It’s not that—yet.” Her voice thickened. “Life is short enough…It’s too short.”

  Cerryl was already discovering that. “Ah…what?”

  Leyladin swallowed. “He said…you did not need to fight Jeslek. Just follow Myral’s teaching about keeping chaos from you when you channel it, and you’ll do what Myral expected.”

  “I wasn’t thinking about fighting Jeslek.”

  “Kinowin didn’t think so, but he wanted you to understand that Anya is the real danger to Fairhaven.”