Colors of Chaos (Saga of Recluce)

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  Kinowin stepped forward and onto the dais, followed by Redark.

  “Now that the business of Recluce has been handled for now,” Cerryl said, more warmly, “let us bring in the new mages.”

  Cerryl waited on the dais, Kinowin to his right, Redark to his left, 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’s voice rumbled, and he barely managed to avoid coughing before stepping to the side.

  Cerryl stepped forward, looking down at the three student mages he’d scarcely known. They’d come from the crèche and gone through training while he’d been in Elparta working for Jeslek and then in Spidlar for the better part of three years. After a short silence, he nodded, calling forth the names, “Eidlen, Dumal, Ultyr…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 wondered if they really did, if any of the Guild members in Fairhaven itself—except Kinowin—truly understood what Fairhaven and the Guild offered for the future of Candar. “…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, both of those in Fairhaven and of those throughout Candar.” Cerryl paused.

  “Do you, of your own free will, promise to use your talents for the good of the Guild and for the good of Fairhaven, and of all Candar?”

  “Yes,” answered the squat and bushy-haired Eidlen.

  “Yes.” Dumal squared his painfully thin shoulders.

  “Yes.” Ultyr was a small blonde girl/woman with the same dark green eyes as Leyladin had.

  “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, nearly 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.”

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

  Cerryl raised that shimmering touch of chaos to brush the sleeves of the three—and the red stripes were gone, as if they had never been, as had been the case when he had become a full mage.

  “Welcome, Eidlen, Dumal, and Ultyr…” Cerryl smiled at the three and then studied the mages behind them. “Now that we have welcomed our newest mages, our business is over. All may greet them.”

  Murmurs, and then conversation, broke out across the chamber. Cerryl’s eyes took in Anya, leaning to one side and whispering to Fydel. He forced his smile to remain in place and stepped off the dais toward the three young mages, each of whom carried a half-bewildered expression.

  Dealing with Anya could wait. For the moment…only for the moment.

  CLXXVII

  AS SOON AS she seated herself at the table in the High Wizard’s quarters, Anya raised her eyebrows. “Come. Show us what your precious smith has done now, Cerryl.”

  “I would be most happy to show you what Jeslek’s precious smith has done,” answered the High Wizard, pausing to blot sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. He concentrated, and the silver mists formed, then parted.

  A small schooner with sails was tied at a sturdy stone pier. The ship’s sails were furled, and a black pipe protruded from the main deck. Beside the schooner was a small two-masted fishing boat and, on the other side, another ship, jet-black, without masts, but with a slant-sided deckhouse, an open cylinder behind it, and smooth, curved hull lines. Workers attached black metal plates to the rear of the Black ship’s deckhouse. The three White wizards studied the scene in the mirror.

  “What in darkness is it?” asked Fydel.

  “Do we really want to find out?” Cerryl’s voice was sardonic. “You can sense the order he has poured into the iron.”

  “Cerryl dear, you are so cautious. Look at the hillside. Those are tents beyond the first houses. Clearly, this…settlement is scarcely begun.”

  Fydel raised his eyebrows. “The stone buildings appear rather solid, Anya.”

  “As do the piers,” added Cerryl.

  “You…men! If you can call yourselves that. We need to stop this before the Black Council decides this smith should build more such vessels. Right now, all he has is two small ships and a fishing boat and a few buildings. We wait much longer, and it gets that much harder.”

  Cerryl cleared his throat. “Anya, we are not in the Council Chamber. The Guild has agreed to your plan. The southern fleet is already gathering in the Great North Bay. Within the next two eight-days, depending on the winds, it will be ready to set forth—exactly according to your plans.” He offered the redhead a broad smile. “What else would you have us do?”

  “You are too accommodating, Cerryl.” Anya’s voice was smooth. “But I appreciate your thoughtfulness. I do trust that the fleet’s departure will be as you have projected and that there will be sufficient troop support to level this Black settlement.”

  “You wish to prove to the Blacks that we can strike even upon their beloved isle?”

  “It would aid our effort, would it not?” asked the redheaded wizard.

  “If you so believe, then I bow to your wisdom, and I will make certain that all understand your words and observations.” Cerryl inclined his head. “I will ensure that the fleet leaves as you have planned. With some lancer detachments aboard.”

  “Thank you.” Anya stepped back and inclined her head. “By your leave, Highest of High Wizards?”

  “Of course.” Cerryl inclined his head in return, standing and watching as she left, waiting until she was outside his apartments.

  Fydel waited impassively until the door shut. “You push her too much, Cerryl. With all her supporters, she could have your head tomorrow.”

  “Perhaps. But would you want this position? Now, particularly?” The High Wizard looked down at the amulet, then turned and glanced out the window into the hot late-summer day, where the white-orange sun burned through the green-blue sky. Too bad you cannot remove her as you did Lyam and the others…but too many in the Guild know of your skills that way, and all would turn on you…now, anyway.

  Fydel shook his head.

  “Only the young bulls like Muerchal would want to be High Wizard.” Cerryl laughed and turned back to Fydel. “Mages like Disarj, Gorsuch—even Heralt and Lyasa—would have him turning in circles within days. Old and cautious as Kinowin and Redark are, either would be a far better High Wizard.”

  “They don’t wish to be,” suggested Fydel. “It takes strength and skill, and cunning. You and Anya are the only ones left with such, save Gorsuch and Disarj, and both of them are rock lizards.” Fydel stood.

  “You have your strengths,” Cerryl pointed out. “I would like you to consider being the fleet commander.”

  “Me? If all is not well with the ships…”

  “Anya will blame me, and then you.” Cerryl frowned, then added, “You have seen me. You know I do not lay my failures on others.”

  The square-bearded mage shook his head. “You do not, but Anya would.”

  “If you do not command, then she will seek someone like Muerchal or Zurchak—and then, should anything be amiss, she will blame you for not putting your expertise to work for the Guild.” Cerryl grinned lopsidedly. “After she blames me before the entire Guild for not insisting that you take the post.”

  Fydel
laughed. “Best I make preparations to go to Lydiar.” His face clouded, then cleared, and he nodded somberly. “By your leave?”

  Cerryl nodded in return. As the door closed, Cerryl’s eyes went to the papers on the side of the desk, with the commission for Brental from Wertel, who, at Cerryl’s request, had found some buyers interested in quality-cut timbers and planks. You hope that it will help more than a little. Brental had been as good as his father to Cerryl when the High Wizard had been a sawmill boy there.

  Can you repay them all? Probably not, but you have to try…just as you have to try to be the best High Wizard—knowing you can’t be.

  CLXXVIII

  I UNDERSTAND CERRYL has suggested that you command the fleet.” Anya glanced across the table to Fydel, then at Cerryl. Her pale eyes avoided Leyladin. “I thought I was directing the plan.”

  “I have followed your plan, Anya.” Cerryl poured more water into his goblet and then into Leyladin’s.

  Even as Leyladin took a sip of the chaos-cleaned water, the healer’s dark green eyes never left Anya.

  “Then, you will direct the fleet, Fydel.” Anya smiled winningly. “I had wanted you, but I had hoped the High Wizard would let me tell you that.”

  Cerryl kept his face impassive.

  The wizard with the square-cut brown beard frowned, looking from the High Wizard to Anya. “You want me to go against that demon ship? It’s seaworthy now, and it moves faster than the other one.”

  “It’s only one ship, and you’ll have a dozen well-armed war schooners,” Anya replied. “Besides, you don’t even have to land. Just use your skills to fire the town.”

  “What if the…whatever he is…comes after us?”

  “You sink his ship,” Cerryl said quietly. “I recall your once saying that would be possible were you in command. You’re the wizard in charge.”

  “Fine. I’ll need some more assistants.”

  “Pick whom you need. Except for Lyasa and Heralt—I need them to make sure the tariff coins keep flowing from the northlands. Let me know, though, and I’ll inform those you pick.”

  Fydel pursed his lips, then inclined his head. “By your leave?”

  After Fydel had departed and the Tower door had closed again, Cerryl massaged his forehead and looked out the window into the cold rain pelting Fairhaven. “Demon-damned rain, always gives me a headache.”

  The redheaded woman sat, legs crossed, before the table. The circular mirror that lay upon the white oak was blank. She smiled, first at Leyladin, then at Cerryl.

  “You really don’t care if we win, do you?” asked Cerryl.

  “What ever gave you that idea?”

  “Everyone who supported you has been given a position on those fleets. At your request. That’s a page from Hartor’s book.”

  “You’ve read a great deal of history. It makes you much more appealing.” Anya paused. “I did not select them all. Some you added.”

  “That is true, but was that not what you wanted?” The High Wizard fingered the amulet once worn by a High Wizard named Hartor and more recently by Sterol. “If they win, they owe you—”

  “They owe you, High Wizard.”

  “That is so thoughtful of you.” Cerryl inclined his head to Anya. “Humor me, if you please, and listen. You owe me that, at least.”

  Anya smiled faintly, but only with her mouth.

  “If we somehow destroy or humiliate this Black builder of magic ships, then all your supporters will be indebted. If this unknown Black proves as great as, say, Creslin, then no one is left to challenge you. And,” Cerryl added wryly, “like Hartor, no one will want this position for at least a decade, or until their memories grow somewhat fainter. You are rather astute, Anya dear.” He paused. “Of course, if they fail, but return, then I will follow Sterol.”

  “Then why did you accept my proposition?” Anya asked.

  “Why not? All life is a gamble. Besides, like Sterol, I suspect attacking Recluce is doomed to failure.”

  “You admit that and yet are sending out those fleets?”

  “I could be wrong.” Cerryl smiled.

  “So you could.” Anya returned the smile, stood, and stepped around the table toward him, lips parted. She bent down and brushed his cheek.

  Cerryl took the kiss, and the swirl of sandalwood scent and chaos, without wincing.

  Anya glanced at Leyladin. “I trust you do not mind, healer. He has been most helpful.”

  The White mage’s smile was broad and false.

  “I am glad for you, Anya.” Leyladin’s eyes were cold, her voice level.

  “You are such a coward, Cerryl.” The redhead stepped away.

  “That is one way of putting it, and I admit it.” He laughed gently.

  “If there were anyone else…anyone who could be High Wizard…”

  “There isn’t.” Cerryl smiled as falsely as she had. “Not who needs you.”

  “You must remember that, especially before the next full meeting of the Guild,” Anya said, overly sweetly, inclining her head briefly to Leyladin. “And you also, healer.”

  Cerryl did not wipe his cheek until the door shut.

  “I hate her. Did you have to let her do that?”

  “Let her kiss me? No. I could turn her into ash and have half the Guild at my neck.”

  “You’re stronger than all those left here.”

  Cerryl nodded. “But I can’t fight them all, day after day. You know I’m working on it. If I let Anya humiliate me in private…well…there’s less chance she’ll expect what’s coming.”

  “She’s planning more than a confrontation before the Guild,” predicted Leyladin. “There aren’t that many who will follow her. Not if you show your power.”

  “Probably, but what is she planning? I’ve checked with the lancers and the lancer officers. The companies that were loyal to her were the ones I sent to the southern fleet. Every one of her four young mages—Muerchal, Zurchak, Aalkiron…and the other one…I can’t remember his name…”

  “Giustyl,” Leyladin supplied.

  “They’re with Fydel and the fleet. Broka is also her tool, but I can’t do much about him. Still, he’s about the only older one left here, except maybe Gyskas, and I can’t see what he sees in her…”

  “Lust…sex.” The healer smiled. “Even High Wizards have been known to experience it.”

  “Woman…”

  “Well? Can you deny it?” Her smile grew broader.

  “No.” Cerryl frowned. “We’ll have to watch those two closely, but neither is that strong in chaos.”

  “Treachery of some sort, then.” Leyladin frowned. “I think I’ll have some of Father’s trade guards watch the house at night.”

  “That couldn’t hurt. Should we sleep here?”

  “At the house, they can’t tell where you sleep. It’s order-spelled against most glasses now. Besides, if Broka and Gyskas are involved, are you any safer here?”

  “Probably not.”

  “You could remove her…” Leyladin suggested, tentatively.

  “That wouldn’t work well for the future. By now, everyone knows that I can remove people without anyone seeing anything. If Anya disappears, it all points to me. And I can’t hold on as High Wizard just by sheer force. Removing people without the support of the Guild…look what happened to Sterol at the end. No one even said a word. They were all relieved. I have to position Anya as totally unreasonable…and leave her without supporters.”

  Leyladin raised her eyebrows. “If you look too much to the future, we may not have one.”

  “I know. I know.” The longer you’re High Wizard, the worse it seems to get. No wonder Sterol was so arbitrary. Cerryl took a deep breath.

  CLXXIX

  LEYLADIN SAT UP in bed, then slipped in the darkness from under the quilt and coverlet to the window, where she peered through a crack in the shutter—out at the heavy fat snowflakes that followed the afternoon’s cold rain, leaving a thin coat of slushy snow on the bushes and the ground. />
  “There’s something out there,” she whispered.

  Cerryl climbed out of the silken sheets, wearing but a loose nightshirt, still groggy. He’d barely gotten to sleep, and deep as his sleep had been, it had not been restful. He shook his head, throbbing from the storm. Despite the pounding in his skull, he could sense something beyond, not exactly chaos, not exactly order.

  “A lot of iron…I can feel that,” she added in an even lower voice.

  “Iron…weapons.” Cerryl blinked and rubbed his forehead.

  Thurummmm…thurrummm…The thunder of the snow shower rumbled across Fairhaven and through Cerryl’s skull as he pulled back the inside shutters and fumbled open the window.

  Had there been a muffled yell…a clank of some sort?

  Through the heavy flakes of snow, the intermittent glow of the single outside house lamp glinted off dark iron. Figures in dark leathers slipped along the shadows by the wall, and a heavy pounding came from the front of the house.

  “Cerryl…there must be twoscore armsmen out there, and…”

  And someone mustering chaos. Concentrating was hard, with his sleep-befogged mind and headache. You have to concentrate…you have to…“I know…there’s a pair of mages—I don’t know whom, though.”

  “He’s at the window there!” hissed a high male voice.

  Cerryl frowned. Despite the headache he began to muster chaos, as much as he could.

  Whhhstt! A firebolt flared toward the window, curving away and splatting against the bricks of the wall.

  Cerryl swallowed. He hadn’t even sensed the chaos. Leyladin’s shields had diverted it while he’d been fumbling, trying to create a larger chaos focus through the ground and storm.

  Leyladin touched his hand lightly, letting her dark order support him, adding to his shields, actually shielding him as he worked. “Go on…You can do it.”