Colors of Chaos

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  Cerryl stepped toward the bedchamber, his own shields still in place.

  “Shields, yet. You do not trust your own High Wizard, Cerryl?” asked Jeslek.

  “I have no reason to trust anyone,” Cerryl pointed out. “Here is the chest.” He gestured the white oak chest, then lifted the velvet cushion that covered the lid.

  “Allow me,” Jeslek said dryly, stepping forward and bleeding away the chaos inside the chest. “A chest more than two cubits long and half as deep, all filled. This may be even more golds than we brought from Hydlen.”

  Cerryl hoped so.

  Abruptly the High Wizard stepped back behind the hangings of the four-poster bed as the door to the outer chamber snicked open. Cerryl found himself standing alone by the open chest as Shyren stood in the door to the bedchamber, breathing heavily, his face flushed.

  Cerryl prepared himself.

  “What are you doing here?” Shyren raised chaos as he spoke. “You’re just his tool, Cerryl. You don’t understand. No, you’re a meddler in things you don’t understand. You will not meddle longer, and I will not be swept aside by an arrogant upstart!”

  Whhstt! Chaos flame sheeted around Cerryl’s shields. Behind him, the satin hangings of the big bed began to char, then to smolder.

  “Oh… you actually know shields.” Shyren flung a larger firebolt that slammed toward Cerryl.

  The younger mage smiled and let his shields catch the chaos energy before adding his own power, turning the force, and narrowing the fires into a bolt of concentrated chaos that drove through the older mage’s shields as if they did not exist.

  “Ohhh…” The brief murmur of surprise was cut off as Shyren’s form flared in chaos flame, then fell in fine white dust. All that remained on the stone floor was a white-bronze dagger, glowing.

  Anya stepped into the room. “He insisted. You did tell me not to destroy him.”

  Cerryl turned, not lowering his shields, to see Jeslek’s reaction as the High Wizard stepped out from behind the bed.

  “Cerryl managed well enough. Better than I would have thought, actually.”

  “He has that habit,” returned the red-haired mage, almost as if Cerryl were not present. She moved easily toward the chest at the foot of the bedstead.

  “I might ask what these are doing here,” said Jeslek, gesturing toward golds lying in the chest he had opened, “save I fear we all know. There must be 3,000 golds there.” The High Wizard straightened and favored Cerryl with a smile. “We will proceed to the viscount. You will agree with everything I say. It will be better that way.” His eyes went to Anya. “You will remain here to ensure that no others succeed in lightening the Guild’s purses.”

  “So long as I’m not blamed for this mess,” Cerryl agreed warily.

  “No… poor Shyren. He forgot that gold is not power.” Jeslek glanced at the chest, ignoring Anya, then back at Cerryl. “Who else might have some more golds?”

  “The finance minister, Dursus, and his assistant Pullid. Pullid actually collects the taxes. I found that out from a local trader. Shyren found I’d talked to the trader and killed him and burned part of his warehouse.” Cerryl had his doubts about who had killed Freidr, but it was clearly better to place the blame on Shyren than on the other suspect.

  “You have been diligent,” observed Jeslek. “That is definitely one of your virtues.” He gave a brisk nod. “We should visit the viscount. Come, Cerryl.”

  The two walked down the corridor from Shyren’s chambers, down another set of steps, then across a high-ceilinged vaulted circular hall and through a set of pillars past two guards in green and gold.

  Another fifty cubits down the lamp-lit hall, Jeslek paused before a set of double doors, where two more guards blocked the way.

  One of the guards took in the two mages in white and the amulet around Jeslek’s neck then offered, “His Mightiness requested he not be disturbed.”

  “Tell him the High Wizard of Fairhaven would like to see him. Now.” Although Jeslek’s tone was mild, the words almost steamed with the power of chaos.

  The guard inched back. “He did say…”

  Jeslek smiled, and a tongue of flame leapt from the floor before the guard. “Tell him.”

  The other guard, without speaking, turned and rapped on the heavy door. After a moment, he bellowed, “The High Wizard seeks the viscount immediately!”

  After another pause, the guard opened the door.

  As the two mages passed, Cerryl noticed the dampness on the foreheads of both guards. He would not have wanted to be in their boots.

  The viscount rose from the gilt chair set behind a broad gilt table, setting down a scroll as he did. “My dear High Wizard, I had expected to see you at dinner. You and your red-haired assistant.”

  Jeslek stepped forward while Cerryl closed the study door behind them, then eased up almost even with the High Wizard.

  “My dear viscount, perhaps you have seen one of my mages. This is Cerryl. He was sent here not only to help prepare for the invasion of Spidlar, but to resolve some… irregularities… in the handling of road tariff golds.” Jeslek flashed his brilliant smile at the blond and burly viscount.

  At each corner of the table stood a guard with an iron blade, and both watched Jeslek.

  “Irregularities, you say?” Rystryr’s voice was thoughtful, barely rumbling in the confines of the private study.

  “Yes. Apparently, Shyren entered into an agreement with your finance minister, one Dursus, I believe, and perhaps his assistant.” Jeslek turned to Cerryl. “What was his name?”

  “Pullid.” Cerryl kept his eyes on the guards and his order-chaos senses on the crossbowman hidden behind the lattice to the right.

  “And what of Shyren? Should he not be here to address such… irregularities? I do not see him.” Rystryr raised his bushy eyebrows.

  “And you will not,” said Jeslek. “Those of the Guild who line their chests at the cost of the Guild usually do not survive.”

  “Ah… yes. I could see how that would not set well with the Guild.” Rystryr nodded blandly.

  Cerryl could sense both dismay and concern behind the words, though the viscount’s voice remained dispassionate.

  “No, it does not. The Guild acts for the good of all of Candar, not for the good of a single man or a single land. Some find it difficult to understand such,” added Jeslek in a tone that seemed almost musing. “Until they act against the Guild, thinking that we do not see or understand.” The bright and false smile followed. “Unlike you, Rystryr. I am most certain you understand.”

  “Of course I understand. How could I do otherwise? You and the lovely Anya have made that most clear.”

  “We are most glad of that.” Jeslek frowned. “You will, of course, seize the golds taken by this Dursus and his assistant and return them to Fairhaven. I would judge you should be able to find 5,000, at the very least, before releasing such brigands to the mercy of chaos.” Another smile appeared on the white-haired wizard’s face. “Five thousand, at least.”

  “That might be difficult.”

  “Oh… I am most certain that you will find a way to trace such coins and return them. Most certain. And I do look forward to seeing the posting of all of the spring levy notices in the next few days,” Jeslek said mildly. “Under the circumstances, I think that would be wise, do you not agree?”

  “We but awaited your arrival, High Wizard, and we will let all know that both Certis and Fairhaven are opposed to the troubles created by the Spidlarian Council of Traders.” Rystryr smiled back.

  He’s going to make sure everyone in Certis knows he was pushed, Cerryl reflected. Is that wise? The younger mage wasn’t sure but wondered if admitting you bowed to a stronger neighbor might not create even more discontent.

  “That will suffice.” Jeslek smiled even more broadly.

  “We look forward to seeing you all this evening.” Rystryr nodded politely.

  “And we you, my dear viscount.” Jeslek turned.

 
Cerryl followed his lead but his senses on the concealed crossbowman until they were out of the study and well down the corridor headed back toward Shyren’s chamber.

  “The viscount was part of it, wasn’t he?” Cerryl asked.

  “If I suggested directly that he had been part of this,” Jeslek shrugged, “then we would need a new viscount-and now is not the time for that. He has been warned in a way that will keep him honest for a time. But only for a time. No ruler stays honest.”

  Cerryl was inwardly amused at that. There’s no difference between honesty over power and honesty over coins.

  “We will need to exercise more control over those such as the viscount, especially after we deal with Spidlar. Especially then.”

  Cerryl kept pace with the taller High Wizard.

  “We leave tomorrow, and not a word of this, not that I should have to tell you such.”

  “Yes, ser.”

  Jeslek’s long strides across the stone tiles of the courtyard were noiseless, and only Cerryl’s boots clumped in the late-afternoon grayness.

  LXXXV

  Cerryl found himself beside Fydel and behind Anya and Jeslek as the White force rode out from the north gates of Jellico with the sun barely rising over the eastern walls. The flat fields beyond the causeway and flanking the road were damp and brown, with furrows that showed seed to have been planted, seed that had perhaps an eight-day before it would show green against the rich dark brown of the tilled bottomland. The road itself was damp packed clay, not the smooth stone of a White highway, and rutted from wagons and carts.

  The High Wizard turned in the saddle, again and again, until all the lancers and the wagons were more than five kays beyond the causeway and well onto the road that followed the western bank of the River Jellicor. Even then, Jeslek continued to glance back every so often.

  At the head of the first block of lancers, directly behind the mages, rode Captain Senglat. Somewhere near the middle of the column, by the second white and crimson banner, rode Teras, the other captain.

  At least the spring rains meant that there was little dust, reflected Cerryl. Then, the softer clay might well slow the wagons at the rear of the column. Farther north, too, the river might be flowing higher with the meltwaters from the Easthorns and the run off from the rains, perhaps high enough to flood the road and create additional delays. The scattered trees that bordered the river had begun to show new leaves and the gray winter leaves had begun to green, giving the trees a mottled appearance.

  Cerryl rode silently, lost in his own speculations, while a low conversation continued between Anya and Jeslek.

  “He’ll send the levies… Cerryl made sure of that…”

  “… over four thousand in the chest…”

  “… help… for a while… so will the 5,000 Rystryr will send to Fairhaven…”

  “… think he will?”

  Jeslek laughed, harshly, jolting Cerryl out of his reverie. “He will. I made sure that someone told him about Lyam, the former prefect of Gallos, and about the late Duke Berofar. Rystryr will do exactly as he is told-for the next year or so. Rulers have such short memories. So we shall have to keep providing reminders.” Another laugh followed, softer than the first.

  Do rulers have shorter memories, or do we just notice their faults because they are obvious? Cerryl didn’t know but strongly suspected the latter.

  The sun stood clear of the eastern horizon, shedding a golden light across the green-blue sky, when the road widened slightly and Jeslek motioned for Cerryl and Fydel to ride abreast of him and Anya.

  “Fydel, you and Cerryl will travel with the main body of lancers, and Anya and I will lead the van. Once we are another ten kays north on this river road, well away from Jellico, we will part. You two and Teras will care for the heavy wagons and the extra provisions. We will await you at Axalt.”

  “Axalt?” asked Fydel. “We are headed through the Easthorns there?”

  “That is the shortest way to Spidlar without traversing Gallos,” answered the white-haired High Wizard. “We shall assure ourselves that the road to and through Axalt will be clear for the Certan levies that will follow in another four or five eight-days, after the spring planting is complete.”

  As Jeslek spoke, Cerryl glanced over his shoulder, back at the nearly vanished walls of Jellico.

  “Axalt has never allowed lancers and armsmen…” Fydel’s voice trailed off as Anya’s pale eyes fixed on him from where she rode, half-turned in the saddle to follow the conversation.

  “Axalt has not heeded our advice, nor paid any tariffs. Axalt has certain tariffs of its own to pay.” The High Wizard smiled. “Axalt will pay.”

  Cerryl winced inwardly at Jeslek’s expression. The gray-eyed younger mage had a good idea of exactly what sort of tariffs the High Wizard meant to levy upon the mountain city.

  Jeslek drew ahead of the other mages once more, momentarily, until Anya joined him, and the two rode silently in front of Cerryl and Fydel.

  More than another kay passed before Cerryl eased his own gelding forward. “Who will replace Shyren in Jellico? Or has that been decided?” Cerryl finally asked the High Wizard.

  Jeslek did not turn, nor answer immediately, but Cerryl continued to ride on Jeslek’s quarter until the High Wizard turned slightly in the saddle. “I have sent a summons to Gorsuch. He, at least, understands what happens when lands do not heed Fairhaven. Just as you now understand the need for rules in governing and in peacekeeping.”

  Jeslek nodded curtly, then eased his mount farther ahead of Fydel and Cerryl, back beside Anya, and behind Senglat. The captain had moved up in the column and now rode behind the half-score of fore-riders, not really a true vanguard, at least not yet.

  Why the mention of rules and peacekeeping on an invasion force? Cerryl frowned, teasing the thoughts back and forth and finding no ready answers, finding his thoughts more on a blonde healer as he wondered how Leyladin was, half-wishing he were still in Fairhaven, and fully wishing he could talk to her and to see her laughing deep green eyes and hear her words. Instead, he took a long and slow breath and shifted his weight in the saddle.

  LXXXVI

  Cerryl guided the gelding around the gray rock on the right side of the road, a pile of squarish irregular stones that was nearly to his mount’s shoulder and left but enough passage for little more than a single rider at a time. As he followed Fydel, he glanced up at the rock face to the north of the road that tracked the winding canyon cut by the river. The darker rock and the line of gray stone indicated that the rockfall was recent, and the second he and Fydel had encountered in the last kay of riding. Each time they had been required to stop while the trailing lancers removed enough rock to allow the supply wagons to pass.

  The younger mage cast his chaos senses ahead, but he could find nothing he would not have expected and no sign of other riders, except for Captain Teras and the twenty-odd-score lancers and the wagons. The canyon walls were high enough that shadows cast by the not - quite - midmorning sun still covered the road. Occasionally, in sections of the road where pockets of chill remained, Cerryl’s breath steamed in the shadows.

  Once past the rocks, Cerryl drew his mount alongside Fydel’s “Those rockfalls seem large.”

  “You always get rock coming loose in spring,” Fydel answered. “The ice breaks it loose. It’s worse in the Westhorns.”

  Cerryl looked back and up at the cliff. He still wasn’t sure that so much rock could have been broken loose by meltwater or ice. His eyes dropped to the cold foaming water to the left of the road-high, but still within its banks and comfortably below the level of the road. Only the brush within three or four cubits of the water had been flattened by an earlier and higher stream flow. That could change with a hot rain or a series of hot days. There was still all too much snow in the higher reaches of the Easthorns that flanked the canyon area they traveled.

  Rawwwkk! A black vulcrow flapped off the end of a dead pine trunk that had fallen against an older and healthier fir. />
  “Scavengers…” muttered Fydel.

  Cerryl half-stood in the stirrups, then settled back down and tried to get more comfortable in the saddle.

  Neither man spoke for another kay or so-until they reached a third and far larger rockfall in a fractionally wider section of the canyon. The rock slide had ripped trees off the canyon wall and bought down chunks of granite from the left side of the canyon, filling most of the streambed and creating a small lake that stretched upstream. The new lake’s surface had risen almost to the level of the road itself.

  “We need to get through here quickly.” Fydel turned and looked at Teras.

  “We’re still waiting for the supply wagons,” Teras pointed out. “The water isn’t rising that fast. There’s enough water, and it’s near enough to water the horses. We’ve the space to gather.” He pointed ahead to the right of the road and an open and cleared space that had obviously been used as a staging point or a campsite, with fire rings and clay packed by all too many hoofs. “It might be a good time to stand down.”

  A frown crossed Fydel’s face, but he nodded. “So long as we can mount up quickly if needed.”

  “That we can do.” Teras nodded to the herald beside him, who took out his horn and bugled a call that Cerryl had come to recognize as the stand-down signal.

  After taking advantage of his position at the head of the column and watering his mount, Cerryl rode farther up the road. He was glad to be able to dismount and stretch his legs in a different way and to refill his water bottles. He was also careful to chaos-boil them, even if he had to wait before drinking the water-and it was hot even then.

  Fydel joined him, dismounting easily.

  “Don’t know why you bother,” said Fydel. “The water isn’t that bad up here.”

  “It can’t hurt.” Cerryl shrugged, still holding the chestnut’s reins. “Besides, I don’t feel right about those rock slides. Who knows what else might have fallen into the water?”

  “You’ll never be an arms mage if you worry about that sort of thing.” Fydel laughed once.