Colors of Chaos

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “I see that the High Wizard came to that decision as well.”

  “He had no choice. Hydlen provided few lancers and no levies to speak of. Nor did Lydiar. The perfect of Gallos grudged every body that came down the river. Even the second-promised levies from Certis were late and few.”

  “And the Black who commanded the blue forces… Brede… his name has even reached my armsmen… he was far better than expected?”

  “Armsmen talk too much at tunes, Cerryl. Best you not put too much stock in rumors.”

  “I will remember that.” Cerryl nodded. “I take it that the High Wizard-and you-will be occupied this winter.”

  “I see you understand, even without being here.”

  “We were tasked to protect the supply road and your flank. We did so.”

  “You did well, Cerryl.” The smile broadened. “You eliminated almost a quarter of the Spidlarian lancers and never boasted a line about it. Jeslek was impressed.”

  “Yes, I was.” Appearing in the doorway behind Anya, the High Wizard smiled at Cerryl. “Would you join me?” Jeslek’s hair was as white as ever, still shimmering as it caught the light from the candles in their sconces on the wall. His sun-gold eyes glittered as before, but an air of age and tiredness surrounded him, and dark circles had grown under his eyes. An unseen haze, as if of chaos dust, surrounded him. “Anya, if you would finish that scroll about the division of duties… as we discussed? Bring it in when you are finished, if you would.”

  “I will.”

  Cerryl thought he saw a slight softening of Anya’s hard smile but for an instant before she turned.

  Jeslek turned, and Cerryl followed him into what had once been a private library. Half the shelves were bare, and books were stacked randomly among the rest of the polished wooden shelves that took up two full walls. A low fire glimmered in the hearth, and the warmth of the room was welcome.

  Jeslek filled another goblet with a dark red wine from the decanter on the silver tray that rested on the corner of the massive table-desk- supported by four wooden pillars, each carved into the shape of a mountain cat. “You look like you could use this.”

  “It’s been a long year… longer for you, though, I imagine.” Cerryl took the goblet.

  Jeslek seated himself, not behind the desk, but at one side of the circular table ringed by four wooden armchairs. “Sit down.”

  Cerryl sat and, following Jeslek’s example, took a small sip of the wine. He avoided frowning, sensing that the vintage had already begun to turn… and that it should not have done so yet.

  “Yes… a long year… and a longer winter for us both.”

  Cerryl raised his eyebrows.

  “You and Fydel have a task or two here. Anya and I-and Eliasar - have more than a few elsewhere in Candar.”

  “Ensuring we get more support next spring?”

  “Of course. Much of this year was a facade. I had to let them wind enough rope around their own necks.” Jeslek took another swallow of wine and laughed once more. “Unless Fairhaven sees more tariffs and levies, there will be new rulers in a few lands. Enough of that.” The High Wizard smiled, then extended a wrinkled and stained scroll. “These were the terms I offered Elparta. Read them.”

  The younger mage accepted the battered scroll and unrolled it, his eyes flicking across the words, some smudged, others blurred as if water had fallen on the scroll.

  … from the honorable Jeslek, and the commanders Grestalk and Xeinon…

  “Who are Grestalk and Xeinon?” asked Cerryl. “I’ve never heard of them.”

  “The commanders of the Certans and Gallosians. Go on; they’re not important.” Jeslek took another swallow of wine, a healthy one.

  Cerryl tried to hurry through the scroll.

  …beseeching that the citizens of Elparta, in the interests of justice and mercy, lay down their arms and pay homage to the greater hegemony of Candar…

  … that the river gates be destroyed and the water piers be open to all… that the battlements be cast down… that unmarried women be made available as consorts for… that all followers of the Black heresy, including the officers of the Spidlarian Guard who have committed atrocities and used evil magical tools against the hegemony, be turned over to the honorable Jeslek… that reparations from the granaries of the city be made to the forces of the hegemony… that all able horses are to be turned over to the representatives of the hegemony for proper redistribution… that all members of the so-called Council of Traders be returned to the Candarian Traders’ Guild for proper disciplinary action…

  Cerryl tried to keep from swallowing as he laid the scroll on the polished surface of the table. “What do you think of the terms?”

  “I was not here,” Cerryl temporized.

  “No, you weren’t. You think they’re harsh. They are. Even Fydel, good loyal Fydel, swallowed when he read them. I made the terms as difficult… as difficult as I could.” Jeslek smiled, even more broadly.

  Cerryl’s forehead wrinkled. “Why?”

  “Because I needed to destroy Elparta. Because I needed to frighten off those who were honest.” Jeslek laughed.

  “Destroy Elparta? As a lesson to Lydiar and Hydlen?”

  “Exactly.” Jeslek shook his head, then refilled his glass. “You do see, Cerryl. Better to destroy two cities that will seldom benefit the Guild than one that will. Though that may be necessary. I trust not, but folk can be stubborn unto death.”

  “I see that,” Cerryl grudged. “But frightening the people?”

  “After all the dead and wounded, and all the nasty devices the blues used… whatever happened in Elparta would not have been good. You cannot control soldiers who have been ambushed and attacked for seasons. Not without killing a number, and then they won’t fight well for you in the next effort. So you make sure that most of those who would fear you leave.” Jeslek shrugged. “I even told them that I offered honorable terms, especially given the depredations committed upon all Candar, the unfairness in trading, and the slaughter of defenseless traders.” The High Wizard laughed, then coughed, once, twice, before clearing his throat. “That’s also why I didn’t want you around.”

  “Oh.” Cerryl could feel his guts tightening.

  “You get to put the city back together. You are the mage in charge of Elparta, the one to restore it and to ensure keeping the peace. You wanted to bend the Patrol’s rules to benefit people. Here you can make or break the rules any way you want… so long as you get the city back together by late spring.”

  After this… ? Cerryl did swallow.

  Jeslek ignored Cerryl’s almost inaudible gulp. “Fydel will deal with the Spidlarians, should it be necessary. You are to work together, if required.”

  “I see.”

  Thrap. After the brief knock on the door, Anya stepped inside. “I have what you asked for.” She walked over to the table and extended a single sheet of parchment to the High Wizard.

  Jeslek motioned to the vacant chair to his left and began to read silently. Anya sat and waited, her face expressionless.

  “Yes, this will do.” His sun-gold eyes glittered as he handed the parchment to Cerryl.

  The youngest mage took the document and began to read.

  … and know ye all that the commander of the city and all that be within it shall be the honorable mage Cerryl…

  A long, long winter…

  From where she sat between Jeslek and Cerryl, not looking at either man, Anya’s eyes glittered.

  CV

  If he had to take over as city commander or council chief or whatever like it or not, Cerryl needed some building that could serve as his quarters and as a place where lancers and others could meet with him-one separate from Jeslek’s building and where he wouldn’t freeze once the ice and snow came. He needed such a place soon, since Jeslek was already readying his departure-with a goodly portion of the White Lancers who had taken Elparta.

  Cerryl had found Hiser and given him the task of locating possible dwellings, ones
where adjoining or attached dwellings could be used to house Riser’s and Ferek’s companies-and ones close to Jeslek’s putative headquarters, even if Jeslek would not be in Elparta.

  Now, as the fall rain misted down around him, Cerryl leaned forward in the saddle and looked down a wide avenue-for Elparta-just on the north side of the slope that held the High Wizard’s quarters toward a large, but comparatively more modest, dwelling set behind a low wall.

  “This one… well, it be the best Ferek or me could find.” Hiser coughed. “Better than those leaking inns by the river. Smells, though. Everything does.”

  Cerryl rode slowly the last hundred cubits, stopping short of the wall. The house was sturdy enough, despite the red roof tiles that had cracked in the upheavals that had rumbled the city walls. The front stone wall rose nearly six cubits. On one side the carriage gate had ripped off the iron brackets, although the smaller wrought-iron foot access gate remained locked in place. Behind the carriage gate was a stable separated from the main house by a courtyard.

  After easing the gelding through the carriage gate, Cerryl tied his mount to a hitching post under the overhanging front eaves of the stable and dismounted. Hiser and two lancers quickly did the same and then led the way through the light rain to the front door.

  One of the lancers turned the bronze door lever and pushed the door open. The odor welling out immediately turned Cerryl’s guts, and he stepped back for a moment to see if the light breeze would help clear the stench. While the worst did dissipate, Cerryl found himself breathing through his mouth as he stepped into the green-tiled and walnut-paneled front foyer of the dwelling. The four drawers of the oak chest set against the right wall hung out, except for the third, which rested on the floor, various colored linens strewn around it.

  The single floor chest in the sitting room had also been ransacked, with shards of pottery sprayed across the green tiles and the braided gold rug in the center of the floor.

  Cerryl repressed a retching gag as he stepped past the settee and through the squared archway into the small study adjoining the sitting room. Three bodies, already putrefying, lay on the pale green ceramic tiles between the corner table-desk and the circular table.

  One had been-he thought-a young woman. The others might have been her parents. He tried not to swallow as he gathered chaos.

  “Darkness,” whispered Hiser.

  One of the young lancers ran for the front door, and Cerryl could hear retching outside.

  Whhtsttt! The firebolt removed the putrefying corpses and the worst of the odor.

  “Open the shutters, and the windows.” Cerryl walked to the nearest window, opening the shutters and then the glass. Unlike most dwellings in Elparta, the house did have blown-glass windows, with shutters both inside and outside the sliding glass.

  For a time he stood before the open shutters, letting the cold and damp air flow around him and into the rear study. The study would serve as a conference room-it had a circular table and even a corner desk.

  He turned and crossed the sitting room, going past the carved balustrade of the narrow staircase to the second floor. The dining area was to the right of the kitchen and partly to the rear.

  “Who do we have that can cook?” Cerryl shook his head, his thoughts going back to the three bodies. Had the young woman/girl been raped and killed? Or had the three killed themselves? The doors did not appear to have been forced, and the limited looting could have come later, but Cerryl wasn’t sure that meant anything.

  Maybe they thought their wealth would protect them?

  Cerryl frowned as he stepped through the kitchen with its neat worktables and peered into the pantry-also undisturbed. Whoever had lived in the house had been well-off, wealthy even. And innocent of everything but ignorance. Despite Jeslek’s cruel “terms,” they had chosen to stay. How many others had, preferring near-certain death to exile?

  The more he saw, Cerryl was convinced, the less certain he was about the wisdom of anything.

  The dining area was untouched, as were the three bedchambers upstairs, with the exception of a single small chest, less than a cubit square, that lay smashed on the landing upstairs. A single silver that had rolled against the top of the balustrade indicated what the chest had once held.

  Yet clothes had not been taken, nor any of the silver dishes in the sideboard in the dining area. Was that because there were so many empty houses and so comparatively few lancers and levies? Or because coins were easier to carry and hide?

  Cerryl turned and studied the largest bedchamber from the small upper hall landing-four-poster bed, with solid dark wood posts at each corner, a silk-covered chair in one corner, two matching wardrobes with a full-length wall mirror between them, two windows, each shuttered and framed with maroon silks, and a door to a bathing chamber.

  And three bodies…

  Cerryl walked down into the front foyer. Riser followed him. Both lancers waited by the still-open front door. A faint green tinge suffused the face of the younger blond lancer.

  “This looks good. We need to keep airing it out for a while. What about the houses on each side?” Cerryl looked at the blond subofficer.

  “The dwellings on each side be not quite so good,” confessed Hiser. “Better than those below, mayhap.”

  Cerryl smiled grimly. The work required might keep the lancers’ thoughts off other matters. Maybe.

  His eyes drifted in the direction of the study, and he hoped that the odor would fade before too long. He tried not to think about how many more bodies there had been-or might be.

  CVI

  The High Wizard is expecting you.“ The lancer subofficer opened the door as Cerryl walked toward the guards stationed at the end of the short hallway. The candles in the smudged wall sconces were unlit, leaving the corridor dim and smelling faintly of burned wax.

  Cerryl stepped through the door into the private library of the mansion that Jeslek had appropriated and eased into the chair across the circular table from the High Wizard, glad for the warmth from the. hearth. The books remaining on the shelves behind Jeslek had been rearranged and no longer appeared randomly piled on their sides.

  Anya and Fydel were already seated, Anya to Cerryl’s left, Fydel to his right. A decanter of wine sat on a silver tray, with a single empty goblet beside it. Anya, Fydel, and Jeslek all had partly filled before them.

  Fydel’s fingers tapped the polished wood of the conference table, once, before Anya raised her eyebrows. “We can begin.” Jeslek smiled.

  “I am at your command.” Cerryl returned the smile, then reached for the decanter and half-filled the remaining goblet. While he did not need the wine, the gesture was important, and he took a sip of the wine, an amber vintage, unlike that he had been offered when he had first arrived, but one also verging on turning to vinegar. Too much chaos around Jeslek.

  The slightest hint of a smile touched the corners of Anya’s mouth, while Fydel tapped the table once more.

  “You will do your own commanding soon.” Jeslek glanced from Fydel to Cerryl, then back at Fydel.

  Anya kept her eyes averted from both Cerryl and the square-bearded mage.

  “I’ve written it down and sent it to Kinowin and Redark,” Jeslek said with a smile. “Fydel, you are to defend Elparta and to take the fight to the Spidlarians, as necessary. Cerryl, you are to work at rebuilding Elparta, and you are to keep the peace. You may conscript locals as necessary for building and rebuilding.”

  Cerryl nodded. That was an option he didn’t like, but he also doubted that he would find all that many carpenters and masons in the lancers-and fewer still who would admit to such skills.

  “If it appears that the renegade Black commander-this Brede-is preparing for a massive attack, Fydel, you will summon me immediately.” Jeslek’s eyes flashed. “Is that clear?”

  “Yes, High Wizard.” The timbre of Fydel’s voice verged on that of boredom.

  “In like terms, Cerryl, you are to rebuild Elparta so that it can serve as our sta
ging base for next year’s attack. The river piers must be rebuilt, and enough housing for 50-score lancers and 250-score levies.”

  Cerryl nodded. Two hundred fifty score? “What about supplies? And coins?”

  “You will have 1,000 golds, as will Fydel. You will have to raise provisions and supplies locally. The Guild will continue to pay the lancers, but their pay will be held, as normal, until they return to Fairhaven.”

  Cerryl held in a wince. The held pay was not going to go over well with the lancers, and that would mean trouble with peacekeeping and the locals.

  “The men need some coins,” Fydel finally said in a low voice. “Use your golds as you wish.” Jeslek shrugged. “I am releasing all the levies except the levied lancers from Hydlen. I will be taking ten score with me. That leaves you with twenty-five score.” His eyes fixed on Fydel and hardened.

  They lost fifteen score lancers in taking Elparta? Cerryl pursed his lips. Fifteen score? This Brede is better than anyone will admit.

  “As you command, High Wizard,” Fydel responded politely.

  “I am going to raise the coins and the armsmen necessary to take the rest of Spidlar in the spring. Personally.” Jeslek’s sun-gold eyes did not glitter but seemed cold and flat, like a serpent’s. “Anya will be assisting me in this winter’s preparations.”

  Anya still refrained from looking directly at either Fydel or Cerryl.

  “You may all go.” With a lazy smile, Jeslek stood. “You each have much to accomplish in the days before Anya and I depart.”

  Cerryl took a last small swallow of the wine he had barely tasted, then stood quickly, before the other two.

  Jeslek remained standing by the table. The lancer subofficer closed the door after the three left the library.

  Outside, Anya stepped up beside Cerryl as he walked along the hall and into the foyer. The scent of trilia and sandalwood accompanied her, as always. “You’re no longer ‘young Cerryl.’ ”