“What do you think?” asked Faltar.
“I just don’t know. They make some of their Blacks, the ones that don’t fit in, travel through Candar. That’s what Myral told me once.”
“That’s the Blacks for you. You don’t fit in, and they throw you out. I guess you can do that if you live on an island.”
“Every place has rules,” Cerryl pointed out, using his own dagger to cut the meat and then spear a chunk of the roasted potato. “That’s why we have the city patrol.”
“One of the mages who had been helping Eliasar when I became a student went with the Patrol. Klyat. He’d been an arms mage with the lancers.”
“What does he do?”
Faltar shrugged. “I don’t know. I haven’t talked to him in a while, and he wouldn’t say when I was a student. Keep the peace, I guess.”
Cerryl nodded but wondered. He’d seldom seen the patrols, for all the talk about them when he’d been an apprentice.
“Recluce has always been trouble, from the time of Creslin on.” Faltar chewed for a moment. “Now they’re even shipping stuff from Austra and Nordla, and some of it’s cheaper than what we can grow and make in Candar. Derka and Myral were always insisting we’re going to have trouble with Recluce. Then these Blacks show up. Of course, it could be coincidence. These things happen.” Faltar swallowed the last of his ale and lifted the mug.
“More?” asked the serving woman, drawn to the raised mug as a moth to light. “That’ll be two.”
Faltar fumbled out two coppers.
“Maybe… or it could be an order-chaos conflict.”
“You just found about those, and now everything’s an order-chaos conflict.” Faltar laughed. “It could be trade.”
“What does trade have to do with three wandering Blacks from Recluce?” Cerryl sipped the red wine, not nearly so clear or so good as that he’d had at Leyladin’s house, trying to make it last.
“They could be spies. They’d been at the Traders’ Square, looking for work as blades, supposedly.”
“How did you find that out?”
Faltar raised his eyebrows. “I have my ways.”
“I don’t see that of young wanderers-they were young, weren’t they?”
‘“The healer didn’t look as old as you.”
“That young?” Cerryl grinned. “Not ancient like you?”
Thump! The second ale slopped on the table. “Here you be.” The server was leaving before she finished her words.
“Good ale.” Faltar took another swallow. “I’m glad you recognize the wisdom of your elders.”
Maybe there’s something there… but I don’t think young travelers are the problem.“
“Perhaps they’re having troubles and throwing out more people. Did you think of that?”
“Then why would they be a problem for us?”
“I don’t know. But there’s something. There are shipwrights headed for Sligo…”
Cerryl looked hard at Faltar.
“Everyone in Fairhaven knows that,” protested Faltar. “I heard it in the square.”
“That may be… but if Kinowin-and he’s still in the corner there- heard you…”
“You’re probably right.” Faltar sighed and took another swallow.
“Still doesn’t make much sense.”
Many things didn’t make sense to Cerryl. Fairhaven didn’t have a port that was really its own but maintained warships and relied on trade, but Hydolar had three ports and didn’t trade as much as the White City… and so it went.
He yawned. He felt like he happened to be yawning all the time. Was it just that the days were so long? Or was his practice with light daggers that tiring? “I suppose I’d better get back and get to bed.”
“Summer will be easier. They split the day into two duties… but if you get first duty you have to be there before dawn, and if you get the afternoon one you guard well into evening. I’m going to stay here a bit.”
“That’s fine.” Cerryl stood. “I’ll talk to you later.”
He walked slowly out, noting that Eliasar and Kinowin had been joined by another mage, one Cerryl didn’t know, but that the three were eating and apparently joking.
Although it was full dark outside on the Avenue, the evening was warmer than it had been earlier in the day. Maybe Faltar was right, that spring had come to stay.
Back in the rear hall, as he reached for the latch to his door, his eyes went to the white-bronze plate mounted on the wall, where the Old Tongue script spelled out: “Cerryl.”
Inside, he looked around-so much larger than any quarters he had ever had… and so bare compared to Leyladin’s house. Two real shuttered windows, a wide desk, a wooden armchair with cushions, a full-size bed with cotton sheets and a red woolen blanket-even a rug by the bed, a washstand, a white oak wardrobe for his garments, and a bookcase against the wall beside the desk.
He closed the door, but Kinowin’s advice continued to rattle around in his head-more skills. But what skills? He walked over to the bookcase and picked up his well-thumbed Colors of White, turning to the second half. He read slowly, skipping over the passages he’d read so well he knew them by heart, trying to find those he’d really not studied and those that had bored him. Finally, he settled into the chair, his jacket still on.
… in all of the substance of the world are chaos and order found, and oft are they twisted together, so tightly that none, not even the greatest of mages, can separate them. Yet were they separated, such chaos would be without end. For the world is of chaos, and all the substance of this world is nothing more and nothing less than chaos bound into fixed form by order…
Cerryl frowned. If he understood what the words said, the writer meant that anything, even the book itself in which the words were scrived, was nothing more than chaos bound into its form by order.
He scratched his head. Yet light was nearly pure chaos-or as pure as could be stood by living things. An involuntary yawn broke his concentration. Tomorrow would come early, far too early. He set aside the book and disrobed, carefully hanging out his clothes.
For a time, he lay there in the luxury of the wide bed, the words of Colors of White twisting in his thoughts… “were they separated, such chaos would be without end… were they separated…”
While tomorrow would come early, he could look forward to the day after. That was his, as was every fourth day, and then he wouldn’t have to struggle to rise before the sun with the predawn bells.
VII
Cerryl stood at the edge of the Meal Hall, almost empty and nearly too late to get anything to eat. Finally, he went to the serving table and took a large chunk of bread, some cherry conserve so thick it was like molasses, and a pearapple, slightly soft.
As he turned, Esaak beckoned from a side table. Cerryl’s heart fell. Was the older mage about to reproach him again for his mathematical deficiencies? He carried his platter and a mug of water toward the heavy and mostly bald mage.
“Young Cerryl…” Esaak shook his head. “You may be the worst mage in mathematicks in the history of the Guild.”
“I’m still reading the book, ser.”
“And doing the problems?”
“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 lan
cers, 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 in
n 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.”
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