Cerryl blinked, then continued onto the next page, forcing his eyes to read each word and his mind to fix each within his memory.
… Fire is a creation of chaos that in itself replicates chaos, releasing chaos as it destroys what it consumes. Yet the skeptic would say that fire and chaos are limited, in that not all substances can be consumed in fire… That skeptic would be wrong, for in the presence of enough chaos, any substance will replicate the chaos beneath the surface of the world and the points of chaos we call stars…
As in all effort, that which is easy offers little benefit. So, too, with the power of chaos, for those substances with which chaos replication is difficult paradoxically contain the greatest concentrations of chaos… could it but be released…
Thrap!
Cerryl looked up from the book, almost with relief. “Yes?”
“Might I come in?” The voice was definitely feminine. Cerryl marked his place with the strip of leather he used for such and replaced the volume in the bookcase. He walked to the door and opened it.
Anya, wrapped in the strong scent of trilia and sandalwood, stepped into his room, her red hair flaming in the indirect light from the window. “You could close the door, Cerryl.”
“Of course.” Cerryl closed the door but did not slip the bolt shut.
She stepped over to the bed and surveyed it. “So neat. You are always neat and clean, as if you should have been born to the White.”
“I had to learn what comes naturally to others, and I fear I lack the grace you exhibit so easily.”
“You show much more grace than many born to the White.” She turned toward the window, letting the light silhouette her well-proportioned form.
“You are kind.” Cerryl inclined his head. “I would have to differ. Faltar shows far more grace than I, and you certainly know that.”
“One could underestimate you, Cerryl.” Anya smiled easily. “Almost. It is a pity you do not exhibit quite the… strength you did as a student.”
“Strength is not terribly useful if it cannot be focused, Anya. You have shown me that there are other talents besides pure strength of chaos, though you have that in ample measure.”
“Ah, Cerryl, one might almost wish you had more… innocence.”
“Anya, I have more than enough innocence to get me in trouble. More I scarcely need.” Cerryl’s tone was wry as he stood by the bookcase.
She laughed. “Will you be at the Guild meeting?”
“Since it is in the afternoon, I hope to be.”
“Jeslek will not be back, and I thought you might sit with me.” She flashed the warm and false smile he had come to recognize. “And Fydel, of course, since Faltar will be on gate duty.”
“I would certainly appreciate your tutelage, Anya. You are always so kind.”
“I do not think you said yes.” She smiled again, and the warm scent of trilia wafted around him.
“My heart would certainly say so.” Cerryl offered a smile he hoped wasn’t too false.
“Yet you have other commitments?”
“I know that I can be at the meeting.” Cerryl shrugged. “Then, I will have to see.”
Anya nodded. “I believe I understand. You know, Cerryl, that someday you will have to stand free of Myral and Kinowin. They are older, far older, than they might appear.”
“I will look to you for guidance, then.” But not in the way you think… not at all.
“I am flattered.” Anya smiled her broadest smile once more, then slipped toward the door.
“You should be. I meant to flatter you. You deserve it.” Cerryl opened the door for her.
“I do hope you will be able to join us.”
“I appreciate your thoughtfulness.”
With the door shut, Cerryl walked to his chair and sank into it with a deep sigh, sitting for several moments and trying to relax. Finally, he reclaimed Colors of White and opened it.
… for those substances with which chaos replication is difficult paradoxically contain the greatest concentrations of chaos… could it but be released… Yet the unbound chaos in the world must be concentrated most greatly were this to be done…
Thrap.
Cerryl set the book down with another sigh, hoping Anya had not returned. “Yes?”
“Cerryl?”
“You can come in, Lyasa. Please.” He set the book back in its place in the bookcase and walked to the door, opening it.
The black-haired Lyasa wrinkled her nose as she entered. “I thought so.” Her eyes went to the bed. “Good.”
“What did you want?”
“Just to make sure you survived your last visitor. Leyladin is my friend, too.” Her olive-brown eyes rested on Cerryl. “I trust you more than most men, but Anya I trust not at all.”
Cerryl had to smile.
“I’m not sure I find it amusing.”
“I haven’t trusted her since she found me in the street by the scrivener’s,” Cerryl admitted. “I see no point in angering her.”
“She’ll be angry if you don’t bed her-sooner or later,” predicted the black-haired mage.
“Not if I flatter her enough.” Cerryl added, “I hope.”
Lyasa dropped onto the bed. “You don’t mind, do you? My feet hurt.”
“Darkness, no. I haven’t seen you lately. What have you been doing?” Cerryl turned the chair and sat down, leaning forward.
“After an eight-day or so, they decided my talents were better used elsewhere than on the gates-for a while. I’m working with Myral’s masons on repairs to the offal treatment fountains and basins.” Cerryl winced. “That sounds worse than gate-guard duty.”
“It stinks more, but I don’t have to turn old ladies into ashes.”
“I didn’t want to…” And try not to think about it too much… or for too long…
“I know. Leyladin told me.”
The silence drew out for a moment, and a brief breath of hot air gusted through the open window into the room for a moment before subsiding.
“I wonder… do the Blacks on Recluce have problems like we do?”
“They have problems,” Cerryl asserted. “Everyone does. I doubt they’re the same. They just throw out people who don’t agree. Then we, or some other land, has to deal with them.”
“We don’t kill their exiles.”
“They don’t kill people who leave Fairhaven.” He laughed. “Unless they agree with the Black doctrine, they just don’t let them stay.”
“We have to kill people who make trouble.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if they don’t do some killing, one way or another.”
“I don’t know.” Lyasa ran her hand through her short and thick black hair. “I think it’s harder for the Guild to govern Candar than for the Blacks to run their isle.”
“Even eastern Candar is bigger,” Cerryl pointed out. “I think Gallos alone is bigger than the whole isle.”
“That’s not it. You know what I think?”
“What?”
“That it’s all because Creslin was a ruthless bastard. He killed off anyone who didn’t agree right in the beginning, and they throw out dissenters, and they’re on an isle. Nobody’s left to disagree.”
“Could be.” Cerryl shrugged. “That would be Anya’s style. Jeslek’s, too, I think.”
“Why are you telling me that?”
“Because I trust you.”
“Have you told Faltar that?”
“No.”
“He’s your friend.”
“You know why,” Cerryl said with a laugh.
“Alas… men.” Lyasa made a woeful face. “You are different. A little different.”
Cerryl made a bowing gesture with his right hand. “My deepest gratitude, lady mage. If you would but convey that to the absent lady who is your friend…”
Lyasa shook her head, then yawned and stood. “I need a nap or something.”
Cerryl rose and slipped toward the door.
“Whatever it is you do to kee
p her away, keep doing it.”
As if I’d ever dare to do anything else. “Your request is my command.” He put his hand on the door lever.
“Would that you had told me that before you met Leyladin.”
“That couldn’t happen. I’ve known her longer.” Cerryl smiled at Lyasa’s puzzlement as he opened the door. “Ask her.”
“I just might.”
As he closed the door, Cerryl glanced toward the bookcase, wondering if he would be able to read more than a page before being interrupted again. Finally, he sat and took out Colors of White, looking at the half-familiar words where the book opened:
… iron, being that which draws free chaos unto it, never should it be employed around those who employ chaos for good, for it will drain chaos as it can…
He smiled ruefully. There were times when he’d felt that-when he’d had to climb the iron gate in Fenard while he had been holding a light shield, but usually iron did not burn him the way he knew it would Jeslek or Anya. He flipped back to his place marker and resumed his search.
XXII
Cerryl stood in the shadows by the columns at the back of the north side of the Council Chamber, not erecting a light shield exactly, but letting the light sift, or blur, around him, as though he were not quite there. People’s eyes shifted from him, and he could see them, if not clearly, unlike when he hid behind the total light shield, which rendered him invisible to all-except mages who looked for concentrations of order and chaos. That was one reason not to use the full light shield in the Halls, that and that it left him blind, except for his chaos-order senses. He couldn’t explain the reasons for the difference, but Leyladin had assured him that no concentrations of order or chaos accompanied the effort, and she could sense such better than most Whites. With the blur shield he was now using he could see colors and forms, enough with his order senses, to recognize those he knew.
Esaak waddled in, accompanied by Myral, whose wheezing reached even Cerryl. After them came a mage wearing a crimson and gold sash. Gorsuch? Were the sashes to signify in what lands they represented the Guild?
Shyren appeared, his shock of graying sandy hair standing out and wearing a green sash-green for Certis. Eliasar, the battle mage, walked with him but did not wear a sash.
Then came the slender red-haired figure of Anya, accompanied by Fydel. She paused at the back of the chamber and peered around.
Cerryl almost held his breath, wanting to clutch the white marble column that partly shielded him.
“He’s not here yet,” Fydel said in a whisper, barely audible to Cerryl.
“I thought I had made it clear to him.”
“That could be, but he still reports to Kinowin.”
“Kinowin and Myral won’t live forever,” Anya hissed. “He will deal with us.”
Cerryl shivered and waited. Once Anya, a puzzled expression on her face, finally walked down the aisle and seated herself beside Fydel, Cerryl let the light filter go and allowed himself to be cloaked only by shadows as the rest of the Guild entered the chamber.
“So you’re here?” Lyasa slipped up beside Cerryl. “I didn’t see you before.”
“I’ve been here. I just didn’t want to be seen at first.”
“Why are you back here?” she asked in a low voice, her eyes going around the chamber, which was almost full. “You can’t see everything from the back.”
“I have a feeling.”
“A feeling?”
“Just wait.”
“If you say so.”
For a time the two young mages stood in the shadows, watching. Then Cerryl smiled faintly as the sun-eyed and white-haired Jeslek strode into the chamber, marching up the center aisle, exuding the raw odor of chaos. “I thought so.”
“Thought what?”
“Anya told me that Jeslek wouldn’t be here and asked me to sit with her. She was looking for me earlier.”
“What did you do to her? Besides refuse her advances? And her charms?”
“Isn’t that enough?” he whispered dryly.
At the front of the chamber, Sterol stepped onto the dais, along with Kinowin and Jeslek.
“Let’s go farther up.” Cerryl slipped along the outer edge of the columns until he was within a dozen or so cubits of the gold-shot marble of the speaking dais.
“… we face most difficult times, even more difficult than I had predicted at the last meeting.” Sterol’s face could have been carved out of granite when he paused, so hard did it appear. “Guild revenues have dwindled. At the same time, we have been forced into sending more lancers into Certis.” He turned to Jeslek.
“The Great White Highway is now more protected than before, and by early fall we should have that protection completed.” Jeslek’s smile was dazzling. “Then we will bring in lancers to ensure that the prefect meets his obligations to Fairhaven.”
“Bringing the lancers to Gallos will likely cost another 2,000 golds,” Sterol snapped. “Two thousand golds to enforce what we should not have to enforce.”
Kinowin and Jeslek nodded.
“Even raising mountains across the middle of Gallos has not fully convinced the prefect,” Sterol continued. “His scrolls are polite, but his golds are not forthcoming.”
“Because they are not forthcoming, the merchants and holders of Certis question why they should pay to maintain trade and highways,” Kinowin added.
“As does, in a most polite way, Duke Estalin of Lydiar,” inserted Jeslek smoothly, “though he is a longtime friend of the High Wizard. As did the late Duke Berofar, also a longtime friend of the High Wizard.”
Cerryl shifted his weight.
“Don’t say anything,” suggested the black-haired White mage.
Standing by the third column back from the speaking circle on the right side of the room, Cerryl nodded and murmured, “That is good advice, Lyasa.”
“With Sterol in the mood to incinerate anyone who disagrees, I’d wager it is.”
And with Anya watching closely for Jeslek’s interests… and her own, whatever they may be. “Unless one were to agree with the mighty High Wizard… and support him.”
“You’re too junior. They wouldn’t even recognize you.”
“It is better to be recognized.” Cerryl shrugged and added in a low voice, “Then one’s disappearance raises questions.” He eased out to the side of the pillars on the north side of the chamber toward the dais.
“That’s still dangerous.”
“Life is dangerous. Death more so.”
Kinowin raised a hand, then spoke. “Not all of us see the signs closer to Fairhaven itself, the very disturbing signs that are already appearing in our midst. You all know that I do not get around quite as I used to, but I do listen to those who do.” He gestured to Cerryl. “You ay recall Cerryl. He has been serving as a gate guard, and serving observantly. He mentioned something the other day, and I’d like him to tell it in his own words.” Kinowin nodded. “Briefly, though, Cerryl.”
Cerryl swallowed. “Several eight-days ago, we started getting more farmers buying medallions. One farmer sought a medallion for his cart.
The cart was older, but it had never had a medallion. That seemed odd. I checked the ledger. There have been more than a score of farmers just at the northeast guardhouse since midsummer. Last year there were five; the year before, seven.“ He turned to Kinowin.
“Thank you, Cerryl.”
As Cerryl stepped down, Kinowin began to speak. “Cerryl got me thinking, and I went back over the records and ledgers. The most medallions given out from all guardhouses in a full year has been slightly over two score. This year, as of an eight-day ago, we have issued three score.”
“Farmers are getting smarter…”
“What’s the point?”
“The point, Isork, is simple. Farmers can pay five to ten coppers and make coins selling in the city. They couldn’t before. Why? Because food prices are higher-much higher. Crops will be poor this year, especially in Hydlen and Kyphros. Tarif
f and tax collections on trade are less, because of what the Black Isle and Spidlar are doing. With crop prices going up, people have fewer coins to buy things, and that means Guild revenues are going down-as they already have…”
Cerryl reclaimed his spot beside the column.
Lyasa leaned over and whispered in his ear, “Don’t say any more. Junior mages should be heard only on request.”
Cerryl nodded, but his nod was of acknowledgment, not of agreement.
“You’re going to get in trouble,” she predicted.
“I’ve been in trouble my whole life,” he whispered back, watching as Sterol resumed speaking.
“Recluce may have even tampered with the winds… to weaken us, and now with crops becoming scarce, they are shipping more and more goods into Spidlaria to evade the surtax. Lydiar is almost deserted at times, and so is Tyrhavven.”
“While Spidlaria and Fenard prosper,” Jeslek declaimed theatrically.
“Let them…” came a murmur from the back of the hall.
“… don’t need another war… not with the Blacks…”
Kinowin nodded.
The heavyset Myral heaved himself onto the dais, glancing around. “Those are fine words… but prosperity is not paid for with cowardice and ease. Most of you know me as the sewer mage, but we have less flux and raging fever than any city in Candar. Our people are healthy. Yet we cannot maintain sewers without masons and mages, and none of you would forgo your stipends. All that takes coins.” Myral’s eyes raked the chamber, and he coughed once, twice, clearing his throat before continuing.
“No sooner do we take action against Recluce than traitors here in Candar steal the livelihoods and the coppers from our people.” The words of the heavyset and black-haired wizard garbed in white rumbled across the chamber.
“Proud words, Myral…”
“… not the one to go with the lancers…”
“Silence!” snapped Sterol. “If you wish to speak, then stand forth and speak. Do not hide your words in murmurs and mumbles.”
Cerryl smiled wryly, then stepped back onto the dais.
Kinowin opened his mouth, then shut it.
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